SPEECH DELIVERED AT THE CELEBRATION OF THE BURNS CENTENARY, BOSTON
JANUARY 25, 1859
“His was the music to whose tone
The common pulse of man keeps time
In cot or castle’s mirth or moan,
In cold or sunny clime.
Praise to the bard! his words are driven,
Like flower-seeds by the far winds sown,
Where’er, beneath the sky of heaven,
The birds of fame have flown.”