text:  He who portrayed the "Cottar's Saturday Night" in strains that are unrivaled in simplicity and yet fervour--in solemnity and in truth--He who breathed forth the patriotic words which tell of the glories of Wallace and immortalize alike the poet and the hero--He who culled inspiration from the modest daisy and yet thundered forth the heroic strains of "The Song of Death"--He who murmured words which appear the very incarnation of poetry and of love and yet hurled forth the bitterest shafts of satire--a Poet by the hand of nature despising as it were the rules of art and yet triumphing over those very rules which he set at nought--at whose name every Scottish heart beats high--whose name has become a household word in the cottage as in the palace--to whom shall we pay our homage of whom shall we be proud if it is not our own immortal Burns? But I feel that I am detaining you too long