Volume Vi Part 30 (1/2)
THE HILLS OF THE HEATHER.
Give the swains of Italia 'Mong myrtles to rove, Give the proud, sullen Spaniard His bright orange grove; Give gold-sanded streams To the sons of Chili, But, oh! give the hills Of the heather to me.
The hills where the hunter Oft soundeth his horn, Where sweetest the skylark Awakens the morn; The gray cliff, the blue lake, The stream's das.h.i.+ng glee, Endear the red hills Of the heather to me.
There Health, rosy virgin, For ever doth dwell; There Love fondly whispers To Beauty his tale; There Freedom's own darling!
The Gael, lives free, Then, oh! give the hills Of the heather to me.
JAMES D. BURNS.
One of the most interesting sacred poets of the present age, James D.
Burns, was born at Edinburgh on the 18th February 1823. A pupil of Heriot's Hospital, he became a student in the University of Edinburgh, where he took the degree of Master of Arts, and completed, with marked distinction, a course of theology. Receiving license as a probationer of the Free Church, he was in 1845 ordained to the ministry at Dunblane.
Having resigned his charge from bad health in 1848, he proceeded to Madeira, where he undertook the pastoral superintendence of a Presbyterian congregation. He subsequently travelled in Spain and Italy.
In 1854 he published ”The Vision of Prophecy, and other Poems,” a collection of his poetical compositions, of which the greater number are of a scriptural or sacred character. Mr Burns is now minister of a Presbyterian church at Hampstead, Middles.e.x.
RISE, LITTLE STAR!
Rise, little star!
O'er the dusky hill,-- See the bright course open Thou hast to fulfil.
Climb, little star!
Higher still and higher.
With a silent swiftness And a pulse of fire.
Stand, little star!
On the peak of heaven; But for one brief moment Is the triumph given.
Sink, little star!
Yet make heaven bright, Even while thou art sinking, With thy gentle light.
Set, little star!
Gladly fade and die, With the blush of morning Coming up the sky.
Each little star Crieth, Life, O man!