Through busiest street and loneliest glen Are felt the flashes of his pen; He rules mid winter snows, and when 45 Bees fill their hives; Deep in the general heart of men His power survives. What need of fields in some far clime Where Heroes, Sages, Bards sublime, 50 And all that fetched the flowing rhyme From genuine springs, Shall dwell together till old Time Folds up his wings? Sweet Mercy! to the gates of Heaven 55 This Minstrel lead, his sins forgiven; The rueful conflict, the heart riven With vain endeavour, And memory of Earth's bitter leaven, Effaced for ever. 60 But why to Him confine the prayer, When kindred thoughts and yearnings bear On the frail heart the purest share With all that live?-- The best of what we do and are, 65 Just God, forgive! * * * * * FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT [Footnote A: Though "suggested" on "the day following," these stanzas were not written then; but "many years after." They must, however, find a place in the "Memorials" of this 1803 Tour in Scotland.--Ed.] [Footnote B: Burns's poem, thus named.--Ed.] See the note to the previous poem. The line 'These pathways, yon far-stretching road!' refers probably to the road to Brownhill, past Ellisland farmhouse where Burns lived. "The day following" would be Aug. 19th, 1803. The extract which follows from the Journal is a further illustration of the poem. August 8th. "... Travelled through the vale of Nith, here little like a vale, it is so broad, with irregular hills rising up on each side, in outline resembling the old-fashioned valances of a bed. There is a great deal of arable land; the corn ripe; trees here and there--plantations, clumps, coppices, a newness in everything. So much of the gorse and broom rooted out that you wonder why it is not all gone, and yet there seems to be almost as much gorse and broom as corn; and they grow one among another you know not how. Crossed the Nith; the vale becomes narrow, and very pleasant; cornfields, green hills, clay cottages; the river's bed rocky, with woody banks. Left the Nith about a mile and a half, and reached Brownhill, a lonely inn, where we slept. The view from the windows was pleasing, though some travellers might have been disposed to quarrel with it for its general nakedness; yet there was abundance of corn. It is an open country--open, yet all over hills. At a little distance were many cottages among trees, that looked very pretty. Brownhill is about seven or eight miles from Ellisland. I fancied to myself, while I was sitting in the parlour, that Burns might have caroused there, for most likely his rounds extended so far, and this thought gave a melancholy interest to the smoky walls...."