Classic Poem

CENTRAL PARK, NEW YORK , 1880.

We greet you, Robie, here to-night,
Beneath these stars so pure and bright;
We greet you, poet, come at last
With " Will " and me your lot to cast.

We've talked about you many a day,
And wondered when you'd be this way.
Reach out your hand, and gie's a shake
Just ance, for auld acquaintance' sake.

We welcome you from Scotia's land,
And reach to you a brither's hand;
A kindred soul to greet you turns —
Will Shakespeare, this is Robie Burns.

We've sung your songs here many a night
Till that dear star is lost in light,
And Willie says the lines you wrote
Will even do for him to quote.

He likes your verses wondrous weel,
And says you-are a glorious chiel;
In fact, the only one that knows
The space 'twixt poetry and prose.

O Robie, if we had a plaid,
We'd quite convert yon Stratford lad.
He said, in truth, but yester-morn,
" I'm Scotch in wit, though English born;

" And, Walter, it may yet appear
That Scotland takes in Warwickshire.
Let Avon be the border line,
Blot ont the Tweed, or draw it fine. "

So, Willie, brew your peck o' maut,
And set the board wi' Attic sant,
For Rob has come at last, you see —
We were a pair, but now we're three.

We need nae ither comrade now,
No modern bard o' classic brow;
'Tis lang before anither man
Will be admitted to our clan.

In stormy nights 'twas lonesome here
When " Will " recited half o' " Lear; "
But now he quotes O'Shanter's tale
In thunder, lightning, and in hail,

And says his witches can't compare
With those that chased O'Shanter's mare.
He's even learned your " Deil Address, "
To quote some night for good Queen Bess,

For, Robie, this is haunted ground,
Where spirits keep their nightly round,
And when the witchin' hour is near
You'll see strange beings gather here.

I saw Queen Bess the other night
Beside him, clad in vesture bright,
While kings and queens, a noble throng,
In dim procession passed along;

And walls seemed rising from the earth,
Like Leicester's tower at Kenilworth;
And all the pageant that was there
Seemed floating in the moonlit air.

Ay, beauty, jealousy, and pride,
In Dudley's halls walked side by side,
While Amy Robsart seemed to stand
With fair Ophelia, hand in hand.

And, Robie, what a vision came
As Willie whispered Ariel's name!
The towers dissolved, and round him drew
The stately, gentle, fair, and true —

Miranda, Juliet, Imogen,
Hermione, and Katharine,
While Rosalind among them stood —
The sunlight of sweet Arden's wood.

'Twere long to pass them in review,
For still the circle wider grew,
Until the airy vision bright
Was lost at last in liquid light.

So let me whisper in your ear,
Never to tell what passes here.
There'll be a grand reception soon
To greet the lad frae Bonnie Doon.

We'll gather up the jolliest crew —
Falstaff, Prince Hal, and Rhoderick Dhu;
And " a' the rantin' brither Scots
Frae Maiden Kirk tae John o' Groats. "

So, Robie, mak' yoursel' at home,
'Mang friends and brithers you have come,
And here's a land that's quite as fair
As that between the Doon and Ayr.

A land that glories in its youth,
That owns no creed but living truth,
Where " pith o' sense and pride o' worth "
A refuge find frae rank and birth;

A land that's made your verses real,
Whose guinea-stamp is honor's seal;
Ay, Robie, here they've quite forgot
To write the " Sir " — just Walter Scott.

And here your songs will ever ring
Through a' the years the centuries bring,
Till all are free, and every sea
Shall know nae shore but liberty.