Page:A biographical dictionary of eminent Scotsmen, vol 6.djvu/345

Rh took up his residence on Shirley-Common. His disease continued to make progress, and in the course of a few weeks he fell a victim to its power, on the 15th of September, 1827. "He died," says his biographer, "in the faith of the gospel, and in the hope of eternal life."

He is buried in the church-yard of Millbrook, the parish in which Shirley-Common lies. Those admirers of his genius who would fain have prolonged his life, have perpetuated their regard for him, by erecting an obelisk of Peterhead granite over his grave, bearing, with the dates of his birth and death, the following simple inscription:—

Such is a "faithful chronicle" of the principal external events in the short life of Robert Pollok. Of the most important inward revolution of which man's little world is susceptible, that change, without which a man "cannot enter the kingdom of God," he has given the following most impressive account in the "Course of Time." It is one of the most interesting fragments of autobiography we have ever met with, and compensates, in some measure, for the meagreness of the present sketch; which, imperfect as it is, seems all that circumstances will permit to be gathered together respecting Pollok. The extract, though perhaps rather too long for such a purpose, will also serve as a specimen of the poetry produced by the subject of our memoir. It will remind many readers of some passages of a similar kind, of exquisite beauty, in Cowper.

of this mood I do remember well We name him not, what now are earthly names? In humble dwelling born, retired, remote; In rural quietude, 'mong hills, and streams, And melancholy deserts, where the sun Saw, as he passed, a shepherd only, here And there, watching his little flock, or heard The ploughman talking to his steers; his hopes, His morning hopes, awoke before him, smiling, Among the dews and holy mountain airs; And fancy coloured them with every hue Of heavenly loveliness. But soon his dreams Of childhood fled away, those rainbow dreams So innocent and fair, that withered Age, Even at the grave, cleared up his dusty eye, And passing all between, looked fondly back To see them once again, ere he departed: These fled away, and anxious thought, that wished To go, yet whither knew not well to go, Possessed his soul, and held it still awhile. He listened, and heard from far the voice of fame, Heard and was charmed: and deep and sudden vow