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Poem September 14, 1824

The Portland Gazette

Portland, Cumberland County, Maine

What is this article about?

An elegy mourning the grave of Scottish poet Robert Burns, using the metaphor of a swan on the Nith River to reflect on his life, faults, and ejection from his farm by a landlord. Notes explain the swan imagery.

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Full Text

POETRY.

THE GRAVE OF BURNS.

At the foot of the Monumental Tower,
To the memory of Robert Burns,

[From the Mercantile Advertiser.]

Weary little snowy dove,
The great shrine—the silent tomb,
Where thinking strangers love to come,
Wise genius mourns,
The last—the solitary home
Of thee, poor Burns?

Yet—aye, that dome adorns thy bed,
'Twas even by those who scarcely bread
Began, thro' thee—not a shred
In house thy wants;

But now would o'er thy mouldering head,
Build monuments

The rude spot is thine. And who
Shall turn thee from thy tenure now?
Thy lease is long, thy landlord true,
Thy troubles cease;
Great possess no more than thou,
From heaven's lease.

Swan of the Nith! thy wing was light,
Thy plumes were whitest of the white,
But wild and wayward was thy flight,
From wave to wave
One course was thine, head strong and bright
E'en to thy grave.

Swan of the Nith! if aught in thee
Sullied thy whiteness, none should see
The blemish! men should view like me,
Thy life's short dream,
And let thy faults, like swan's feet, be
Sunk in the stream.

Burns was ejected from his farm by an unfeeling landlord.

It is said that the swan thinks her feet a blemish and therefore seldom shows them.

What sub-type of article is it?

Elegy

What themes does it cover?

Death Mourning

What keywords are associated?

Burns Grave Robert Burns Elegy Swan Nith Poet Mourning Landlord Ejection

What entities or persons were involved?

[From The Mercantile Advertiser.]

Poem Details

Title

The Grave Of Burns.

Author

[From The Mercantile Advertiser.]

Subject

The Grave Of Robert Burns

Key Lines

Weary Little Snowy Dove, The Great Shrine—The Silent Tomb, Where Thinking Strangers Love To Come, Wise Genius Mourns, The Last—The Solitary Home Of Thee, Poor Burns? Swan Of The Nith! Thy Wing Was Light, Thy Plumes Were Whitest Of The White, But Wild And Wayward Was Thy Flight, From Wave To Wave One Course Was Thine, Head Strong And Bright E'en To Thy Grave. And Let Thy Faults, Like Swan's Feet, Be Sunk In The Stream.

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