OTWITHSTANDING the spirit of many

of his lyrics, and the exquisite sweetness and simplicity of others, we cannot but regret that so much of his time and talents was frittered away in compiling and composing for musical collections.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

Of him who walked in glory and in joy,
Behind his plough upon the mountain-top.
WORDSWORTH.

He had a very manly face, and a very melancholy look; but on the coming of those he esteemed, his looks brightened up, and his whole face beamed with affection and genius. I saw him years afterwards as he lay in his coffin: his broad open brow was pale and serene, and around it in masses, touched with grey, lay his sable hair. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

Independently of his writings, the character of Burns was one of great massiveness and power. There was a cast of true tragic greatness about it. There was a largeness in his heart, and a force in his passions, that corresponded with the mass of his intellect and the vigour of his genius. We receive just such an impression from reading his life as we do from perusing one of the greater tragedies of Shakespere.

HUGH MILLER.

Burns, with pungent passionings

Set in his eyes.

E. B. BROWNING.

DRYDEN.

NE portion of informing fire was given To brutes, the inferior family of heaven:

The smith Divine, as with a careless
beat,

Struck out the mute creation at a heat:
But when arrived at last to human race,
The Godhead took a deep considering space,
And to distinguish man from all the rest,
Unlock'd the sacred treasures of his breast;
And mercy mix'd with reason did impart,
One to his head, the other to his heart:
Reason to rule, and mercy to forgive;
The first is law, the last prerogative.

UT to be just, 'twill to his praise be found,
His excellence more than his faults abound;
Nor dare I from his sacred temple tear
The laurel which he best deserves to wear.
ROCHESTER.

He wielded a power over the public mind approaching the absolute, and which he could have turned to virtuous, instead of vicious accountat first, it might have been amidst considerable resistance and obloquy, but ultimately with triumphant success. This he never attempted, and must therefore be classed, in this respect, with such writers as Byron, whose powers gilded their pollutions, less than their pollutions degraded and defiled their powers.

G. GILFILLAN.

His life was long, and when his head was grey,
His fortune broken, and usurp'd his bay,
His dauntless genius own'd no cold dismay;
Nor in repining notes of vain regret
He made his crack'd pipe pitifully fret.
But when cashier'd and laid upon the shelf,
To shame the court excell'd his former self.
H. COLERIDGE.

He was destined, if not to give laws to the stage of England, at least to defend its liberties, to improve burlesque into satire, and to leave to English literature a name second only to those of Milton and Shakespere. SIR WALTER SCOTT.

THOMAS CHATTERTΟΝ.

SPRING.

HE budding floweret blushes at the light, The meads be sprinkled with the yellow hue,

In daisied mantles is the mountain

dight,

The fresh young cowslip bendeth with the dew;
The trees enleafed, into heaven straight,

When gentle winds do blow, to whistling din is brought,

The evening comes, and brings the dews along,
The ruddy welkin shineth to the eyne,

Around the ale-stake, minstrels sing the song,
Young ivy round the door-post doth entwine;
I lay me on the grass, yet to my will,
Albeit all is fair, there lacketh something still.

AUTUMN.

When autumn bleak and sunburnt doth appear,
With his gold hand gilding the falling leaf,
Bringing up winter to fill up the year,
Bearing upon his back the ripened sheaf;

When all the hills with woddie sede is white;

When lightning and meteors do meet from far the sight;

When the fair apples, red as evening sky,
Do bend the tree into the fertile ground;
When juicy pears, and berries of black die,
Do dance in air, and call the eyne around,
Then, be the evening foul, or evening fair,
Methinks my heart is stained with some care.

OOR Chatterton! He sorrows for thy fate, Who would have praised and loved thee, ere too late.

Poor Chatterton, farewell! of darkest hues, This chaplet cast I on thy unshaped tomb. But dare no longer on the sad theme muse, Lest kindred woes persuade a kindred doom. S. T. COLERIDGE.

The marvellous boy,—

The sleepless soul that perished in his pride.

His genius was universal, he excelled in every species of composition; so remarkable an instance of precocious talent being quite unexampled. His prose was excellent, and his power of picturesque description and satire great. WORDSWORTH.

It may be affirmed of him that, with the evidences of a rare poetic power, such as is without parallel at his age, his works prove a capacity for further development to which it is impossible to fix a limit. DANIEL WILSON.

Chatterton was a prodigy of genius, and would have proved the first of English poets, had he reached a mature age. WARTON.