Show X I 1 pilgrims at hoefs home travelers turn to birthplace of bard as to a holy spot special correspondence it was with eager interest that sunburned australian a bonnie assle and a nutmeg yani form bcd a triangular party from the hipp ng port 0 glasgow A corn mon sympathy and appreciation drew us to the home of scotia s bard wild copples nodded approval and that a modest crimson tipped flower which dots the scottish fields railed in sympathy upon our pil grimage leaving the broad fields we skirted the open sea which glim in the sunshine and a mound immortalized by the poet towered fore us in the distance if seemed a huge haystack its conical structure rising boldly from the water we recognized in the stern outlines ailsa cragg the island famed in verse and familiarly known as paddy s milestone the wild birds nestle here highland cottage and a gunshot near shore would startle multitudes of timid creatures whose rookeries are in its rocky slopes opposite stretch the long green I 1 shores of arran in contrast to the high ocean rock we entered the quiet town whose every foot of soil Is hallowed by the early life of the sweet singer the natives knew our destination and besought our patron age we put our money on a bobtail ed nag and headed the dray for the immortal shrine of alloway the all lage street was lined with rows of thrifty homes two story gray stone houses whose bay windows were half hidden by roses which clambered to the top flowers bloomed beside the gravel walks and the little town seem ed a sheltered haven blessed by the invisible presence of whose hand guides every plow 1 the poets birthplace we stopped before a low hut with whitewashed walls and a root of thatch its straw a foot in depth was corded on in hegy layers and as the top became sodden more layers were added the eaves stretched tar over the sides so the water could wash down the slope and the weather stained rain beaten root formed an impervious covering with reverent thought we passed the recording stile of the hut so poor but neat thirteen hundred pilgrims some days pay tribute here and it was V orth 3 miles of travel and dreary days on the atlantic to stand within this old clay biggin its rough anever floor of stone was holy ground cold and cheerless was the birthroot birth room of the sweet singer who told us that A blast of january wind blew hansel in on robin from that rude bed a bunk in the wall the poet in th darkest days at mount oliphant the story work and want was repeated fati was against the pious farmer for tune derided him and the wolf growl ed at the door poor crops re poor soil and poor seasons anc ater the gay poet looked back 01 hese dark days as combining th cheerless gloom of a hermit with th unceasing moll of a galley slave bul a book of songs was his delight anc whether following cart or plow th verses cheered his work thoughts of the years of struggle crowded upon us as we stood by th cold hearth and gazed into the deac ashes which like the poets life flickered into brightness and died out all about us was poor and and old an old time portrait on th wall marred and defaced by tourists was formerly the sign outside the beyond the living rooms was the long row of stalls and cowsheds of the gude man s farm the basi room is now a small emporium fitted for the relic hunter the new part all spick and span serves as lunch room and museum for curios with sadness we shifted the scene from the birthplace quiet peaceful ayr to the burial place of burns that dirty brawling town dumfries what a pit wherein to sink his noble self how the change must have rasped his finer nature but the poet s crown had fallen in the dust the farm chosen in the interests of poetry rather than produce had failed friends had deserted the struggle tor bread was maintained through the groveling duties of the excise we challenge a more pathetic picture the gay reckless lover the social success the divine poet the national singer reduced to the role of petty detective among the solway smugglers prying tor illicit beer trade among the housewives this or starvation for the wee toddling things at home so for business be seized the kegs and levied the fines but for pleasure he dropped to the boisterous rollicking crew at the rn amid this moral darkness there was no lessening of the mental light from out of ehfe depths sounded the sweet strains of his lyre these last five years at dumfries were the songs tor shekels and he rapturously rolled out his ditties caroling the gay notes like a bird on the wing A mans a man the year 1795 opened with that bugle call to freedom A man s a man for a that over a hundred years this battle cry of equality has thrilled the world it Is a synonym of the poets name this noblest paean of the peasant bard will ever be the watchword of humanity by life s flickering candle the last love song was penned then the light died out n the socket the discard ed poet became a dead hero and a knell of sorrow was rung by a mourn ing nation we read of the great honors at the last a military funeral with arms reversed and muffled drum despite the shadows let us catch the sunshine of his life remember ing that he made us heirs of an im mortal legacy let us be grateful for the heritage throwing their veil of charity over every weakness and as we glory in each worthy thought and noble song of this heaven born poet we 11 a be proud robin ruins of arbroath Arb roath abbey farst looked out upon the world and only so much daylight saw he then as glimmered through one foot of space A few signs of his humble home remain unchanged as he rack and dresser where dame bums kept her bowls and stirred her par ritch above the dilapidated grate hung crane and hook and cabout it hovered the brave heirs to honest poverty through the bleak worthem winter we recalled the pic ture of the household assembled at table each with book and bowl it was a model with parents intel honest faithful amid such christian guidance we wonder why the oldest son was not a better man the bark headed in such a stream should have sailed on life s river with s smoother current but we find it tempest tossed borne down by bois berous winds and deluged by sorrow standing on the clean hearthstone hearth stane and looking into the wee bit ingle cotter s saturday night took new significance we realized that from scenes like these old scotia s grand eurs rise here the quiet lad gazed into the flickering embers and caught the inspiration of his life in the face of the tall worn cotter and priest like father the lad saw that nobility which was glorified in A man s a man tor a that in these two rooms the peasant s butt and ben the lad lived seven years the father proved a luckless farmer and the 1 te was one of grindles ns toll |