LURNS'S ANNIVERSARY.

Evening Star, Issue 9915, 29 January 1896, Page 2

LURNS'S ANNIVERSARY.

The following waa the addretl which Mr Thomas Denniston delivered at Invercargill on Monday night:—

Wherever Scotchmen are to be found—an 1 where will you not find them!—you will ses this festival proudly held in memory of one who for more than a hundred years has symbolised the genius and inspired the sentiment of his nation. It is true that within that period, in Scotland, in England, aid in Ireland, other poets have arisen of illustrious name; but of them all I think there is hardly one whose fame has not suffered some measure of eclipse, and not one for whom, as for Burns, the years have but served to tighten his grasp on the affection and admiration of his countrymen. Nothiug is more striking in the history of literature and of literary men than the steady growth of the fame of the poet of Scotland. His origin, as you know, was humble. But he sprang from a atock, stern, unbending, and godfearing, such as had been for centuries the glory and the stay of his country. Born in a cottage, following the plough from his youth, he sang bis first notes to the peasants of Ayrshire, hardly contcious of genius and not dreaming of renown, but conquering, nevertheless, before long the applause of the critics of Edinburgh, and gaining at last the universal eir of his countrymen. But although reaching this eminence before his short life had ended, it has taken the hundred years that h2 himself predicted to broaden out his fame, until now he belongs not to Scotland only but to the world. The great arbiters of literature have long since determined the place of Burns in the domain within which they rule, and that place is in the foremost rank of the poets of any nation. He has not ceased to be, by excellence, the bard and the seer of Scotland, but passing the bounds of nationality his voice has penetrated to every country where letters are cultivated and the language of poetry is beard. I need not tell you who are familiar with the commonplace of literature how largely the words of the Ayrshire ploughman have furnished proverbs for the pulpit, for the senate, for the philosopher, and the journalist. I need not tell you that they have permeated even the whole world of nature. The mavis does not sing upon the spray without recalling that verse of Burns which is instinct with its mellow warbling. The Btock-dove does not murmur in the glen ; the wild-whistling blackbird does not flee to bis thicket without causing the strain of ' Afton Water' to come back upon the heart; and on the Scottish moorland " the solitary whistle of the curlew" and the "plaintive cadence of the plover" keep still alive the memory of him who once watched and listened '• with the enthusiasm of devotion and poetry." I know, ladies and gentlemen, that there is expected from anyone who holds the position I have the honor of occupying to-night something in the form of a critical eulogy of Robert Burns ; but although the subject is fruitful and perennial, I shall not attempt to pursue it now. I shall not take up your time in trying to analyse the genius of the poet or to lay bare the secret of the abiding influence of Tiis verse. Neither shall I endeavor to picture to you that marvellous personality of which you nave heard so much; to account for its living charm, or for its con tinning sway over the hearts of Scotchmen. All this has been done already by masters in the art of criticism. The Burns of history, the Burns of his own ballads, the Burns of Carlyle, of Lockhart, of Taine, and of Cunningham i* already in your bands. It is because your

tore for the man and the poet is rooted and ettttled that you are here to do honor to his Wenlorft attd it Would matter little if you Were to.be shown once more the warrant f«r toour regard, ahd reverence. Equally needkas would it be, even if I could speik in A jvay wojrthy of the. theme, to charactxrisc H»r t you thoae poenu arid gongs of Burn 3 vhioh already have a hold upon your hearts, and which form the crown and flower of Scottish minstrelsy. I shall ask you rather to listen to a few stanzw by the greatest of living English poet*, William Watson, who lately at Burns'a tomb has paid one of the finest tributes that ever were offered by one poet to the memory of another—something certainly that has had no equal since Elizabeth Barrett Browning sang her plaint at the grave of Cowper.

For mid an age of dust and dearth Once more had bloomed immortal worth, There, in the strong splenetic North, The spring began— A mighty mother had brought forth A mighty mau.

And so his fierce and tender strain Lives, and his idlest words remain To Hout oblivion, that in vain

' Strives to destroy One lightest record of his pain Or of his jny. And though thrice statelier 11:11111:5 decay, His own can wither not away While plighted lass and lad shall stray Among the broom, 'Where evening touches glen and brae With rojy gloom. While Hope aud Love with youth abide ; While age sits at the ingleside ; While yet there have not wholly died 1 The heroic tires, The patriot passion and the pride In noble sires.

And let mc now, in a single word, express my regret that there is not hero to-night a gentleman whose presence was expected and who would have giveu peculiar interest and character to the gathering. Mr Arthur Burns, the grand-nephew of the poet, has written expressing his sorrow that lie is prevented from being with us, and asking us to accept of his apology. Let us hope that on some future anniversary Mr Burns will be able to redeem his promise. It remains for me, ladies and gentlemen, only to congratulate you on the remarkable success that h*s attended the first year of the Invcrcargill Burns Club. Tho effect of its meetings has been to quicken the spirit of Scottish nationality, to bring the Scottish members of the community into closer touch wiih one another, and to promote a knowledge and appreciation of Scottish literature aid song. And let me say how delighted we have been to welcome within our ranks those Englishmen aud Irishmen that unite with us in admiration of the poet who speaks to their hearts as to ours, because ht3 verse is instinct with the spirit of universal brotherhood. I trust that still greater prosperity will mark your efforts ; that your enthusiasm will grow in strength ; and that you will continue to gather togjther from year to year to keep fresh in this community the immortal memory of Robert Burns.