"O pale, pale now, those rosy lips
I aft hae kissed sae fondly!
And closed for aye the sparkling glance
That dwelt on me sae kindly!
And mouldering now in silent dust
The heart that lo'ed me dearly--
But still within my bosom's core
Shall live my Highland Mary."

Or,

"Had we never loved sae kindly,
Had we never loved sae blindly,
Never met--or never parted,
We had ne'er been broken-hearted."

Scott left an enormous mass of writing behind him, and almost all of
it is good. Burns left very much less, and among it a surprising
amount of inferior stuff. But such pathos as the above Scott cannot
touch. I can understand the man who holds that these deeps of pathos
should not be probed in literature: and am not sure that I wholly
disagree with him. The question certainly is discutable and worth
discussing. But such pathos, at any rate, is immensely popular: and
perhaps this will account for the hold which Burns retains on the
affections of a race which has a right to be at least thrice as proud
of Scott.

However, if Burns is honored at the feast, Scott is read by the
fireside. Hardly have the rich Dryburgh and Border editions issued