It may be objected that in all this there is only one word, and but two or three forms of words that are not English.  But the accent, the rhythm, the air of it are all Scots, and it was a Burns thinking in his native tongue who wrote it, not the Burns of

“Anticipation forward points the view “;

or

“Pleasures are like poppies spread,
 You grasp the flower, the bloom is shed.”

or any other of the exercises in the school of Thomson and Pope.

It is easy to see that though Burns admired unaffectedly the “classic” writers, his native realism and his melody made him a potent agent in the cause of naturalism and romance.  In his ideas, even more than in his style, he belongs to the oncoming school.  The French Revolution, which broke upon Europe when he was at the height of his career, found him already converted to its principles.  As a peasant, particularly a Scotch peasant, he believed passionately in the native worth of man as man and gave ringing expression to it in his verse.  In his youth his liberal-mindedness made him a Jacobite out of mere antagonism to the existing regime; the Revolution only discovered for him the more logical Republican creed.  As the leader of a loose-living, hard drinking set, such as was to be found in every parish, he was a determined and free-spoken enemy of the kirk, whose tyranny he several times encountered.  In his writing he is as vehement an anti-clerical as Shelley and much more practical.  The political side of romanticism, in fact, which in England had to wait for Byron and Shelley, is already full-grown in his work.  He anticipates and gives complete expression to one half of the Romantic movement.

What Burns did for the idea of liberty, Blake did for that and every other idea current among Wordsworth and his successors.  There is nothing stranger in the history of English literature than the miracle by which this poet and artist, working in obscurity, utterly unknown to the literary world that existed outside him, summed up in himself all the thoughts and tendencies which were the fruit of anxious discussion and propaganda on the part of the authors—­Wordsworth, Coleridge, Lamb—­who believed themselves to be the discoverers of fresh truth unknown to their generation.  The contemporary and independent discovery by Wallace and Darwin of the principle of natural selection furnishes, perhaps, a rough parallel, but the fact serves to show how impalpable and universal is the spread of ideas, how impossible it is to settle literary indebtedness or construct literary genealogy with any hope of accuracy.  Blake, by himself, held and expressed quite calmly that condemnation of the “classic” school that Wordsworth and Coleridge proclaimed against the opposition of a deriding world.  As was his habit he compressed it into a rude epigram,

“Great things are done when men and mountains meet;
 This is not done by jostling in the street.”