ROBERT BURNS.*
* This lecture is printed from notes found among Colonel
Ingersoll's papers, but was not revised by him for
publication.
A facsimile of the original manuscript as written by Colonel Ingersoll in the Burns' cottage at Ayr, August 19, 1878.
We have met to-night to honor the memory of a poet—possibly the next to the greatest that has ever written in our language. I would place one above him, and only one—Shakespeare.
It may be well enough at the beginning to inquire, What is a poet? What is poetry?
Every one has some idea of the poetic, and this idea is born of his experience—of his education—of his surroundings.
There have been more nations than poets.
Many people suppose that poetry is a kind of art depending upon certain rules, and that it is only necessary to find out these rules to be a poet. But these rules have never been found. The great poet follows them unconsciously. The great poet seems as unconscious as Nature, and the product of the highest art seems to have been felt instead of thought.