  Thomas Aird, one of the most distinguished of the living Scottish poets, was born in the parish of Bowden, Roxburghshire, in 1802. He received the rudiments of his education at Bowden and Melrose parish schools; and went through a course of literary and philosophical study at the University of Edinburgh. In 1827 he published a little treatise, entitled "Religious Characteristics." After a residence of some years in Edinburgh, in the course of which he contributed occasionally to Blackwood's Magazine, and other periodicals, he was, in 1835, on the recommendation of his steadfast friend Professor Wilson, appointed editor of the Dumfries Herald, a conservative journal newly started in Dumfries. The paper has prospered under his management, and he is editor still. In 1845 he published "The Old Bachelor in the Old Scottish Village," a collection of tales and sketches of Scottish scenery, character, and life. In 1848 he collected and published his poems. In 1852 he wrote a memoir of his friend, David Macbeth Moir (the well-known "Delta" of Blackwood's Magazine), and prefixed it to an edition of Moir's poems, which he edited for behoof of the poet's family, under the generous instructions of the Messrs Blackwood. In 1856 a new edition of Mr Aird's poems appeared, with many fresh pieces, and the old carefully revised; Messrs Blackwood being the publishers.
THE SWALLOW. The little comer 's coming, the comer o'er the sea,
The comer of the summer, all the sunny days to be;
How pleasant, through the pleasant sleep, thy early twitter heard—
Oh, swallow by the lattice! glad days be thy reward!
Thine be sweet morning, with the bee that 's out for honey-dew,
And glowing be the noontide, for the grasshopper and you;
And mellow shine, o'er days' decline, the sun to light thee home—
What can molest thy airy nest? Sleep till the morrow come.
The river blue, that lapses through the valley, hears thee sing,
And murmurs much beneath the touch of thy light-dipping wing;
The thunder-cloud, over us bow'd, in deeper gloom is seen,
When quick relieved it glances to thy bosom's silvery sheen.
The silent power that brings thee back, with leading-strings of love,
To haunts where first the summer sun fell on thee from above,
Shall bind thee more to come aye to the music of our leaves,
For here thy young, where thou hast sprung, shall glad thee in our eaves.
GENIUS. Eye of the brain and heart,
O Genius, inner sight,
Wonders from thee familiar start,
In thy decisive light.
Wide and deep the eye must go,
The process of our world to know.
Old mountains grated to the sea,
Sow the young seed of isles to be.
States dissolve, that Nature's plan
May bear the broadening type of man.
Passes ne'er the Past away;
Child of the ages springs to-day.
Life, death, and life! but circling change,
Still working to a higher range!
Make thee all science, Genius, clear
Our world; all Muses, grace and cheer.
And may the ideal thou hast shewn,
With joy peculiar be thine own;
For thee the starry belts of time,
The inner laws, the heavenly chime;
Thine storm and rack—the forests crack,
The sea gives up her secrets hoary;
And Beauty thine, on loom divine,
Weaving the rainbow's woof of glory.
Power of the civic heart,
More than a power to know,
Genius, incarnated in Art,
By thee the nations grow.
Lawgiver thine, and priest, and sage,
Lit up the Oriental age.
Persuasive groves, and musical,
Of love the illumined mountains all.
Eagles and rods, and axes clear,
Forum and amphitheatre;
These in thy plastic forming hand,
Forth leapt to life the classic Land.
Old and new, the worlds of light,
Who bridged the gulf of Middle Night?
See the purple passage rise,
Many arch'd of centuries;
Genius built it long and vast,
And o'er it social knowledge pass'd.
Far in the glad transmitted flame,
Shinar, knit to Britain, came;
Their state by thee our fathers free,
O Genius, founded deep and wide,
Majestic towers the fabric ours,
And awes the world from side to side.
Mart of the ties of blood,
Mart of the souls of men!
O Christ! to see thy Brotherhood
Bought to be sold again,
Front of hell, to trade therein.
Genius face the giant sin;
Shafts of thought, truth-headed clear,
Temper'd all in Pity's tear,
Every point and every tip,
In the blood of Jesus dip;
Pierce till the monster reel and cry,
Pierce him till he fall and die.
Yet cease not, rest not, onward quell,
Power divine and terrible!
See where yon bastion'd Midnight stands,
On half the sunken central lands;
Shoot! let thy arrow heads of flame
Sing as they pierce the blot of shame,
Till all the dark economies
Become the light of blessed skies.
For this, above in wondering love,
To Genius shall it first be given,
To trace the lines of past designs,
All confluent to the finish'd Heaven.
|
  |
