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Carlyle s'est encore occupé de Burns dans ses lectures On Heroes, Hero-Worship and the Heroic in History . Dans la sixième Lecture: The Hero as Man of Letters. Johnson, Rousseau, Burns. Il y a l
If he's a hero who can love and hate. As few can do, yet look just like the many; Who has a mind so poised by the weight Of his own worth, that e'en without a penny, Or one poor menial slave to grace his state, He'd feel as soaring and as proud of heart, As Rothschild's self or even Bonaparte. How many heroes never had a name! How many that have had one have none now!
What is the end of fame? 'tis but to fill A certain portion of uncertain paper: Some liken it to climbing up a hill Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour; For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill, And bards burn what they call their «midnight taper,» To have, when the original is dust, A name, a wretched picture, and worse bust. What are the hopes of man?
Heroes are men, and man is heav'n knows what, A yea, and else a nay, a Gordian riddle, An Alexander perhaps may cut the knot Some future day, and thus, just in the middle Of all our ruminatings on our lot, Show us that all our reasoning is but fiddle Faddle, and all our boasted hard-earned knowledge, Is even less than what I learnt at college. Heroes are more than men; mine's more than any.
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