A lofty precipice in front,
A silent tarn below,
Far in the bosom of Helvellyn,
Remote from public road or dwelling,
Pathway or cultivated land,
From trace of human foot or hand.
—Wordsworth.
Stranger, however great,
With holy reverence bow;
There's one in that poor shed—
One by that paltry bed—
Greater than thou!—Caroline Smithey.
The glorious and mighty Lord,
Who sits at Thy right hand,
Shall, in His day of wrath, strike through
The kings who Him withstand;
He shall among the heathen judge;
He shall with bodies dead
The places fill: o'er many lands
He wound shall every head.
—Book of Psalms.
Burns was five feet ten inches in height, firmly built, symmetrical, with more of the roughness of a rustic than the polish of a fine gentleman. There was something in his bearing which bespoke conscious pre-eminence; and the impress thus communicated was confirmed by his swarthy countenance, every lieutenant of which indicated mental wealth and power: the brow broad and high; the eyes like orbs of flame; the nose well formed, though a professional physiognomist would have said that it was deficient in force; the mouth impassioned, majestic, tender, as if the social affections and poetic muse had combined to take possession of it; and the full, rounded, dimpled chin which made the manly face more soft and lovable.
—William M'Dowall.
