I 14W V 4 4 4~~t ~~Ia *4 1b % Is a -1 %Ik lqt~ iiliiii iiiiiiiii~i-iiiii:-Iilii~:i:iii~iiiiiii ~~~ii~-:iii-ii~~'iii~-iiiiiiiiiii ii~~~iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiilii;;: i:- ii i-ii:iiiiii i-Ii~ii~iiiii-i-i-il sisli ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~r:i li~~~~Ei..........::... -' "i....................... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~?........... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~..:.......................-"..........::..............:.-.:i................. iil9 ~"~ ~l i~............. ~.? 1,'? ~ ~I~.... ~i!......~!1-i~,? ~ i~1~ i ~,? ~1 Ma f::::0:. —:-.. -5..D.........:. A -.!?;E i:::-:. —.-'-i.i;:.~:E:i ".iS:"-:'i:.!::!'".:::?'- ~. S11~111~,'.i'11~i!''.::~: ~ii' ~. i ~ ~~!i~~!i?~'?!~i~~ i~~i-~?-,~!~~i i~'"i!il -i.~~'ii ~ ~i!!~. ~i! i~~i,, i THE OP ROBERT BURNS: LIFE, NOTES AND CORRESPONDENCE: A. CUNNINGHAM, ESQ iginal e fro tw d r&tiun ut Sir Egrtmn Vrqhgrs, Iat. HARTFORD: PUBLISHED BY WM. JAS. HAMERSLEY. 1855. ALLOWEEN..114 THE JOLLY O BEGGARS... 128 THE C(OTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT... 140TAM O' SHANTER ~ 152 JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO..... 164 W-ILLIE BREWED A PEC1K O' MATT... 176 DUNCAN GRAY.... 188 "WHEN WILD VWARS' DEADLY BLAST WAS BLAWN", ~ 200 AULD LANG SYNE...... 212 OH LET ME IN THIS ANE NIGHT.. 224 THE VISION...... 236 THERE WAS A Lass... 248 BANNocKxuE.x ~... 260 Lifr nf Sndrtt Z!unts, PAGE PAGE!ntiaatory Remarks. 1 ADDENDA:Life..... -8 Letter of Gilbert Burns to Dr. Currie 87 Letter of a Lady to the Dumfries Journal Second Letter of Gilbert Burns 88 on the Character,' &c., of Burns 68 Widow, Children, and Brother, of An Enquiry into' the Literary Merits of Burns. 94 Burns. *.. 71 Phrenological Development of Burns. 95 AMditRl atnrks of &nhert'3ura. The Death and Dying Words of Poor The Twa Dogs... 139 Mailie.. -. 101 Lament 141 Poor Mailie's Elegy. 102 Address to Edinburgh.. 142 Epistle to Davie.... 102 The Brigs of Ayr. 142 Address to the Deil...Morni 103 On Captain Matthew Henderson. 145 The Auld Farmer's NewYear Morning Tam O' Shanter. 146 Salutation to his-Auld Mare Maggie 105 Tragic Fragment. 148 Halloween.106, Winter, a Dirge.148 A Winter Night.. 108 A Prayer under the Pressure of Violent Epistle to J. Lapraik.. 109 Anguish. 149 To the Same.... 110 A Prayer on the Prospect-of Death. 149 To William Simpson.... 111 Stanzas on the same Occasion. 149 Death and Dr. Hornbook. 113 Elegy on the Death of Robert Ruisseaux 149 The Holy Fair.. 114 The Calf. 150 The Ordination.117 The Twa Herds, or the Holy Tulzie. 150 ToJaines Smith.... 118 Holy Willie's Prayer. 151 The Jolly Beggars-A Cantata.. 119 Epitaph on Holy Willie.. 152 Man was Made to Mourn... 123 Epistle to John'Gondie of Kilmarnock 152 To a Mouse...... 124 Epistle to John Rankine.. 152 The Vision. 124 Third Epistle to John Lapraik.. 152 The Author's Earnest Cry and Prayer 127 Epistle to the Rev. John M'Math.. 153 Scotch Drink. 129 The American War 154 Address to the Unco Good.. 130 Second Epistle to Davie, a Brother Poet 154 Tam Samson's Elegy... 130 To Ruin 155 Despondency.... 131 1 The First Six Verses of the Ninetieth The Cotter's Saturday Night. 132 Psalm....155 To a Mountain Daisy.1. 134 The First Psalm...' 155 Epistle to a Young Friend. 135 To a Louse... 156 A Dedication to Gavin Hamilton, Esq. 136 The Inventory 156 A Dream. 137 A Note to Gavin Hamilton, Esq. 157 A Bard's Epitaph.. 138 Willie Chalmers..... 157 viii CONTENTS. PatG P AG Olines Written on a Bank Note. 158 Written in an Envelope, enclosing a To a Kiss. 158 Letter to Captain Grose... 182 Verses Written under Violent Grief. 158 Address of elzebub to the President of Verses Left at a Friend's House where the Highlld Society.. 182 the Author Slept one Night. 158 Lament of Sueen of Scots.. 182 To Mr. M'Adam.. 159 The Whistle.... 183 Lines on Meeting with Basil, Lord Daer 159 Elegy on Miss Burnet of Monboddo. 184 Epistle to Major Logan.. 159 Lament for James, Earl of Glencairn. 184 Lament on Leaving Scotland... 160 Lines sent to Sir John Whiteford, Bart. 185 On a Scotch Bard 160 Third Epistle to Mr. Graham, of Fintry 185 Written ona Blank Leaf of a Copyof Poems 161 Fourth Epistle to Mr. Graham, of Fintry 186 The Farewell.. 161 The Rights of Woman.... 186 To a Haggis -161 A Vision..... 187 To Miss Logan, with Beattie's Poems. 162 Libesy, a Fragment... 187 Extempore in the Court of Session. 162 To Mr. Maxwell, on his Birth-Day. 187 To the Guidwife of Wauchope House. 162 On Pastoral Poetry. 188 Verses Written under the Portrait of.Sonnet, on Hearing a Thrush Sing. 188 Fergusson the Poet... 163 The Tree of Liberty.....188 Inscription on the Headstone of Fergusson 163 To General Dumourier 189 Prologue, Spoken by Mr. Woods on his Lines sent to a Gentleman whom he had Benefit Night..163 Offended 189 Epistle to William Creech... 164 Monody on a Lady Famed for Her Caprice 189 On the Death of Sir James Hunter Blair 165 Epistle from AEsopus to Maria. 190 On Scaring some Water-Fowl in Loch- Sonnet on the Death of Captain Riddel. 191 Turit 165' Impromtu on Mrs. Riddel s Birth-Day 191 The Humble Petition of Bruar Water. 166 Verses to Miss Graham of Fintry 191 The Hermit 166 The Vowels, a Tale. 1'91 Verses written over the Chimney-piece Verses to John Rankine..' of the Inn at Kenmore, Taymouth. 167 On Sensibility.192 Elegy on the Death of Lord'Dundas. 167 Address Spoken -by Miss Fontenelle on Verses written by the Fall of Fyers. 168 her Benefit Night.. 192 On Reading of the Death of John M'Leod 168. To Chloris.193 On William Smellie.. 168 Address to the Shade of Thomson 193 Address to Mr. William Tytler.. 168 Ballads on Mr. Heron's Elections, Ballad A Sketch.. 169 First. 193 To Miss Cruikshanks.. 169 Ballad Second, The Election 195 An Extempore Effusion, on being' Ap- Ballad Third, An Excellent New Song. 194 pointed to the Excise 169' On Life... 195 To Clarinda, with a Present'of a Pair of Inscription for an Altar to Independence 195 - Drinking Glasses... 169 On the Death of a Favourite Child.'!'19b Too larinda, on his Leaving Edinburgh. 169 To' Mr. Mitchell' ~.... 196 Eipistle to Hugh Parker.. 170 The Ruined Maid's Lament.'. 196 Written in Friar's Carse Hermitage, on The Dean of.the Faculty. 196 the Banks:of Nith,..170 Verses on the Destruction of the Woods Exteminpore to Captain'Riddel.. 171 near Drumlanrig. 197 A Mother's Lament'. 171 On the Duke of Queensberry.. 197 Elegy on the Year.1. 171.Verses to John M'Murdo. -.. 197 Address to the Tooth-Ache.. * 172 On Mr. M'Murdo, Inscribed on a Pane Ode, Sacred to the Memory of Mirs. Oswald 172 -. of Qlass in his House.. 197 Letter to James Teqrnant. 172 Impromtu on Willie Stewart.. 198 A Fragment, Inscribed to the Right Hon. To Miss Jessy Lewars.. 198 C. J Fox... 173 Tibbie, I hae seen the Day... 198 On Seeing a Wounded Hare limp by pie, Montgomery's Peggy... 198' which a Fellow had just Shot. 173 Bonny Peggy Alison. 198 The.Kirk's Alarm, a Satire... 174 Here's to thy Health, my Bonny Lass 198 To: Dr. Blacklock. 175 -Young Peggy.. 199 Delia. 175 John Barleycorn.199 Sketch, New-Year's Day... 175 The Rigs o' Barley.... 200 Prologue, spoken at the Dumfries Theatre 176 The Ploughman. 200 Prologue, for Mr. Sutherland's. Benefit Song composed in August.. 200 Night, Dumfries..... 176 Yon Wild Mossy Mountains... 201 Written to a Gentleman who had sent M Iy Nannie, 0..... 201 the Poet a Newspaper... 177 Green Grow the Rashes... 202 Peg Nicholson..177 The Cure for all Care... 20. To My Bed 178 On Cessnock Banks... -202'First Epistle' to Mr. Graham -of Fintry. 178s The Highland Lassie. 203 The Five Carlines 1:79' Powers Celestial.... 203 acond Epistle to Mr. Graham of Fintry 180 From thee, Eliza,..203 ~in Captain Grose's Peregrinations Menie...,.. 203 thr-ough Scotland'.... 181 The Farewell,., 204 C(ON TrENTS. The Braes o Baillochi yle 204 Oh; Steer her up..22 The Lass o' Ballochmyle 205 It was a' for outr Rightfu' King. 23 The Gloomy Night is Gathering Fast 205 Oh, wha- is She that Loes mea. 22 The Banks o' Doon. 205 Caledonia 222 the Birks of Aberfeldy 20.5 Oh, lay thy Loof in Mine, Lass.. 223 I'm owre Young to Marry Yet. 206 Anna, thy Charms.... 223 Rt'Pherson's Farewell. 20 GoomyDember... How, Long and Dreary is the Night 206 Oh, Mally's meek, Mally's sweet. 224 Here's a Health to Them that's Awa. 206 Cassillis' Banks... 4 Strathallan's Lament.. 207 My Lady's Gown, there's Gairs upon't 2g4 The Banks of the Devon.. 207 The Fete Chamipetre... 224 Braving Angry Winter'sStorms. 207 The Dumfries Volunteers... 225 My Peggy's Face..... 207 Oh, wert Thou in the Cault Blast.. 225 Raving Winds around her Blowing WindsLovely Polly Stwart. 225 Highland Harry...-' YestreenI had a Pint o' Wine. 226 Musing on the Roaring Oeean. 08 The Lea Rig'.... 226 Blythe was She.. 208 Bonnie Lesley... 226 The Gallant Weaver. 208'Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary? 226 The Blude-red Rose at Yulemay Blaw. 209 My Wife's a Winsome Wee Thing.. 227 A Rose-bud by my Early Walk 209 Highland Mary... * * 227 Bonnie Castle Gordon. 209 Auld Rob Morris.. 227 When Januar' Wind... 209 Duncan Gray. 227 The Young Highland Rover 2 0 Poortith Cauld.. *.. 223 Bonnie Ann... 210' Gala Water....:228 Blooming Nelly.". 210 LordGregory'. ~ -. 2z2 My Bonnie Mary.... 211 Mary Morison'.. 226 Ane Fond Kiss'.'. 211 Wandering Willie..... 29 -The Smiling Spring. 211 The Soldier's Return'... 22!) The-Lazy Mist... 211 Blythe hae I been on yon Hill.. 23 Of a' the Airts the Wind can Blaw. 211 Logan Braes. 230 lOh, were I on Parnassus' IIill. 212 Oh, gin my Love were )oni Red Rose. 230:TWhe Chevallier's Lamlent 212 Bonnie Jean. 230 ly Heart's in the Highlands.. 212 VMele o' the Mill.2381'JohnAnderson... 213 Open the Door to me, o... 23' To Mary in Heaven.'213 Young Jessie. 1 Young Jockey... 213 Adown winding Nith I did Wander. 23~1 The D;.y Returns 2..13 Had I a Cave.. 2 Oh, Willie Brew'd. 2.3 Phillis the Fair.... 3 I Gaed a Wafu' Gate Yestreen 2.'274 By Allan Stream I hanc'd to Rove. 232 The Banks of Nith - 214 Come let me take Thee to my Breast. 232 My Heart is a-breaking, Dear Tittie. 214 Whistle and I'll Come to 3ou, lly Lad. 235 There'll never be Peace.214 Dainty Davie. 233 Meikle thinks my Love... 215 Bruce's Addregs., d 233 How can I be Blythe and Glad.. 215 Behold the Hour. 233 I do Confess thou art sae Fair. 215 Auld Lang Syne. 234,unting Song.... 215 Where are the Joys... 23: What can a Young Lassie 215 Thou hast Left me Ever.. 234 The Bonnie Wee Thing 216 Deluded Swain, the Pleasure. 234 Lovely Davies... -216 Thine I am, my Faithful Fair.. 234 Oh, for ane-and-twenty, Tam 216 My Spouse, Nancy.... 235 tKenmure's on and Awa. 217 The BanksofCree'.... Bess and her Spinning Wheel 217 On the Seas and Far Away.. 23.5 Oh Luve will Venture in. 217 Ca' the Yowes to the Knowes. 236 In Simmer, when the Hay was 3Mawn 217, She says she Loes me Best of A'. 236 Turn again, thou Fair Eliza. 218 Saw ye my Philly.. 23'Willie Wastle.. 218 How Long and Dreary is the Night?. 2X6 Such a Parcel of Rogues in a Nation. 218 Let not Woman e'er Complain.. 7 Song of Death. 219 Sleep'st thou, or Wak'st thou. 237 She's Fair and Fause.. 219 My Chloris, mark how Green the Groves 237 Flow Gently, Sweet Afton. 219 It -was the Charming Month of May. 237 The Lovely Lass of Inverness.. 219 Farewell, thou Stream' that Winding A red, red Rose 220 Flows. 237 Louis, what Reck I by Thee. 220 Lassie wi' the Lint-white Icls.'. 2I The Exciseman.. 220 Philly and Willy. 2' Somebody. -. 220 Contented wi' Little..i8 I'll aye ca' in by yo Townby yon Town 220 Can'st thou Leave meI:hus, my-Ka'tv:2. Wilt thou be my Deaie.. 221 For a' That, and a' That... 2,39 Oh, Wat ye Wha's in yon Town. 221 My Nannie's Awa... 23 But Lately Seen.. 221 Craigieburn Wood....'40 Could ought of Song..'. 221 Oh Lassie, art thou Sleeping yet. 240 CONTENTS. PIAGZ IPA1 Address to the Woodlargk., 240 The Laddies by the Banks o' Nith. 255 OnChloiris being Ill,.. 240 EPIeauxms, &c. 256 Their Groves o' Sweet Myrtle. 241 On Captain Grose.. 266 How Cruel arethe Parents'. 241 On a Henpecked Country Squire 256'Twas na'her'Bonnie Blue Ee was my Another on his Widow. 256..Ruin..241 On Elphinstone's Translations of MarMark'yon Pomp of Costly'Fashion 241 tial's Epigrams... 256 Oh, this is no my Ain Lassie.. 241 Oh Miss J.,Scott, ofAyr.. 256 Now Spring has Clad the Grove in Green 242 On an Illiterate Gentleman 256 Oh, Bonnie was yon Rosy Brier.. 242 Written under the Picture of Miss Porlorn my' Love, no Comfort near. 242 Burns 256 Hey for a Lass wi"a Tocher. 243 Wtten on the Window of the Inn at Last May aBraw Wooer., 243 Carron 56 Fragment. 243 Written on a Pane of Glass in the Inn Jessy..243 at Moffat... 257 Fairest Maid on Devon Banks 244 Fragment.25 Handsome Nell. 244 On Incivility shown him at Invernary 257 My Father was a Farmer... 244 Highland Hospitality.. 257 Up in the MorningEarly. 245 Lines on Miss Kemble.. 257 Hey; the Dusty Miller... 245 On the Kirk at Lamington 2567 Robin.'...245 The Solemn League and Covenant 257 The Bells of Mauchline 2. 45 On a certain Parson's Looks. 257 Her Flowing Locks... 245 On Seeing the Beautiful Seat of the The Sons of Old Killie.. 246 Earl of *... 257 The-Joyful Widower ~. 246 On the Earl of ~*... 267O, Whare did you Get'.'. 246 On the Same..257 There was a Lass. 246 To the Same, on the Author being Landlady, Count the Lawin. 246 threatened with his resentment 257 Rattlijn Roarin' Willie.. 247 On an Empty Fellow. 258 Simmner's a Pleasant Time... 247 Written on a Pane of Glass, on the M:y Love she's but a Lassie yet.. 247 Occasion of a National Thanksgiving 258 T.he Captain's Lady.... 247 The True Loyal Natives. 258 First when Meggy was my Care.. 247 Inscription on a Goblet.. 253 There's a Youth in this City.. 248 Extempore on Mr. Syme.. 258 Oh aye' my Wife she Dang me.. 248 To Mr. Syme. 258 EppieAdair..... 248 The Creed of Poverty.. 258 The Battle of Sheriff-Muir. 248 Written in a Lady's Pocket Book 253 The Highland Widow'sLament. 249 To John Taylor.. 258 Whare hae ye Been!. 249 To Miss Fontenelle.. 258 Theniel Menzie's Bonnie Mary. 249 The Toast. 259 Frae the Friends and Land I Love. 250 Excisemen Universal 259 Gane is the Day... 250 To Dr. Maxwell,-on Miss Jessy Staig's'The Tither Morn.. 250 recovery. 259 Come Boat me o'er to Charlie.. 250 On Jessy Lewars... 259 It is na, Jean, thy Bonnie Face 250 Toast to the Same -2. 59. I hae a Wife o' my Ain.. 25I Epitaph on the Same...5 Withsdale's Welcome Home. 251 To the Same. 2 My Collier Laddie... 251 Graces before Meat.... 259 As I was a-Wandering.... 251 EPITAPHS 260 Ye Jacobites by Name... 252 On the Author's Father.* 260 Lady Mary Ann..... 252 On a Henpecked Country Squire 260 Out over the Forth 252 On a Celebrated Ruling Elder. 260 rockey's taen the Parting Kiss *. 2 On a Noisy Polemic... 260 The Carles o' Dysart... 25' On Wee Johnny. 260 Lady Onlie. 253 On John Dove, Innkeeper, Mlauchline:60. Yoiing Jamie, Pride of a' the Plain 263 For Robert Aiken, Esq. 260 Jenny's a' wat, Poor Body... 253 On a Friend... 260 The Cardin' o't.... 253 For Gavin Hamilton.. 260 To thee, Loved Nith... 53 On Wat..60 Sac Far Awa -. * * 253 On a Schoolmaster in Cleish Parish, Wae is my Heart. 254 Fifeshire. 26 Amang the Trees.. 254 On Mr. W. Cruikshanks. 261 The Highland Laddie... 254 For William Nicol... 261 Bannocks o' Barley... 254 OnW- - -. - 261'Robin Shure in Hairst.. 254 On the Same. 261 Sweetest May..... 255 OnGabrielRichardson, Brewer 261 The Lass of Ecclefechan. 255 On John Busby, Writer, Dumfries. 261 jere's a Bottle and-an Honest Friend 255 On the Poet's Daughter. 261 O naPloughman....2526 hOn a Ploughman. 266 On a Picture representing Jacob's The Weary Pund o' Tow; * 255 Dream-. *. ~ ~61 CONTENTS. xi rrrn untur of Vuruot PAGE PAOb To Mr. John Murdloch, Schoolmaster 265 To Mr. Robert Muir.; * ~ 290 To -. [An early Love'Letter] 266 To Gavin Hamilton, Esq. 291 To the Same.. 266 To Mr. Walker, of Blair Athole 292 To the Same ~. 267 To Mr. Gilbert Burns. * * 292 To the Same'. *68 To Miss Margaret Chalmers 292 To Mr. James Burness, Writer 268 To the Rev. John Skinner. 293 To Mr. James Burness, Montrose. 269 To James Hoy, Esq., Gordon Castle, 294 To theSame 269 To the Same.. 294 ToMr. James Smith, Miaucline.. 270 To Robert Ainslie, Esq., Edinburgh 295 To Mr. John Richmond, Edinburgh. 270 -Tothe Earl of Glencairn. 295 To.Mr. John Kennedy. 271 To Charles Hay, Esq., Advocate 296 ToMr. Robert Muir, Kilmarnock 271 To Miss M=-N. ~ ~ 296 ToMr. Aiken. 271 To Miss Chalmers 296 To Mr. M'Whinnie, WVriter, Ayr 272 To the Same,..296 To Mr. John Kennedy.. 272 To the Same.. 297 To Mr. John Ballantine, of Ayr. 272 To the Same.. ~. 297 To Mr. David rice. 272 To Sir John Whitefoord 298 To Mrs Dunlop, of Dunlop. 273 Miss Margaret Chalmers. s98 To Mr. John Richmond, Edinburgh. 273 To Miss Williams, on reading her Poem 299 To Mr. David Brice, Shoemaker 273 To Mr. Richard' Brown, Irvine.300 To Mr. John Richmond... 274 To Mr. Gavin Hamilton... 301 To Mr. Robert Muir, Kilmarnock 274 To Clarinda. 3 01 To Mr. John Kennedy.. 274 To the Same. 302 To Mr. Burness, Montrose. 274 To the Same.. 302 ToMr. Robert Aiken.. 275 Tothe Same... 0 To Mrs. Stewart, of Stair. 276 To the Same. 304 In the name of thefNine. 276 To the Same. 305 To Gavin Hamiltonr, Esq., Mauchline. 277 To the Same. 303 To.John Ballantine, Esq., Banker, Ayr. 277 To the Same. 3..06 To Mr.William Chalmers, Writer, Ayr 278 To the Same. 8307 To. Dr. Mackenzie, Mauchline. 278 TotheSame.. 309 To John Ballantine, Esq.. ~ 278 To Mrs Dunlop.. 30& To the Earl of Eglinton 279 To Clarinda.. 309 To John Ballantine, Esq.. 279 To the Same. 809 To Mrs. Dunlop.. 279 To the Same.... 310 To Dr. Moore 280 To the Same.... 310. To the Rev. G. Lawrie, Newmills' 281 To the Same... 310 To James Dalrymple, Esq., Orangefield. 281 To the Same.... 311 To Dr. Moore ~. 82 To the Same.~ 312 To John Ballantine, Esq... 282 To the Same... 312 To Mr. William Dunbar... 28 To the Same.... 312 To the Earl of Glencairn. 283 To Mrs. Dunlop.313 To Mr. James Candlish, Student in Physic 283 To Clarinda. 313 To -, on Fergusson's Headstone. 283 To Robert Graham, Esq., of Fintry 313 To the Earl of Buchan. 84 To the Rev. John Skinner... 314 To Mrs. Dunlop... 285 To Richard Brown.. 314 To the Same... 285 To Mrs. Rose, of Kilravock... 314 To Dr. Moore... 286 To Clarinda. 313 To Mrs. Dunlop. 286 To Miss Chalmers.. 315 To Jame~ Johnson, Editor of the" Scots To Richard Brown. 316 Musical Museum".. 286 To Miss Chalmers.. 8316 To the Rev. Dr. Hugh Blair.. 87 To Clarinda.. 316 To William Creech, Esq., Edinburgh. 287 To Mr. William Cruikshank. 317 To Mr. James Candlish.. 287 To Robert Ainslie, Esq.. 317 To Mr. Patison, Bookseller, Paisley. 287 To Clarinda..i. 18 To Mr. W. Nicol, Master of the High To Richard Brown 819 School, Edinburgh... 288 To Mr. Muir.. 319 To William Nicol, Esq. 288 To Clarinda. 320 To Mr. W. Nicol, Master of the High' To Miss, —*. 320 School, Edinburgh 288 To Miss Chalmers....320 To William Cruikshank,'St. James's To Mrs. Dunlop.321 Square, Edinburgh... 289 To Richard Brown.. 321 To Mr. John Richmond... 289 To Mr. Robert Cleghorn: 321 To Robert Ainslie, Esq.. 290 To Miss Chalmers. 22 To the Same.....290 To Mr. William Dunbar, Edinburgh 322 x~~ii~ ~CONTENTS. 2E&.G PAGN To Mrs. Dunlop.. 3 ToMr. Hill 362 To Mr. James Smith, Avon Printfleld 323 To Mrs. Duflop. 362 To Protessor Dugald Stewart.. 324 To Mr. Collector Mitchell. 363 ToMrs. Dunlop.... 324 ToDr. Moore. 3 864 To Mr. Robert Ainslie,. 324 To Mr. Murdoch, London.. 364 To Mrs. Dunlop. *.. 324 To Mr. M'Murdo... 35 To the Same.. ~, 325 To Mrs. Dunlop. 365 To Mr. Robert Ainslie. * * 326 To Mr. Cunningham.. 365 Tothe Same... 6 To Dr. Anderson.... 366 To the Same... 326 To Crauford Tait, Esq.;, 366 To Mr. Peter Hill. 327 To Dr. Blacklock.. 367 To Mr. George Lockhart 328 To Mrs. Dunlop. 367 To Mrs. Dunlop. 328 To Charles Sharpe, Esq.... 368 To Mr. William Cruikshanks.. 329 To Lady W. M. Constable 368 To Mrs. Dunlop. 329 To Mr. William Dunbar, WS.. 369 To the Same.. 330 To Mr. Peter Hill.. 369 To Mr. Beugo. 331 To Mr. Cunningham... 370 To Miss Chalmers, Edinburgh. 332 To A. F. Tytler, Esq.. 370 To Mr. Morrison, Mauchline. 333 To —. 370 ToMrs. Dunlop, of Dunlop 333 To the Rev. G. Baird. 370 To Mr. Peter Hill 334 To Mrs. Dunlop 371 To the Editor of "Edinburgh Evening To the Rev. Areh. Alison 371 Oourant.".335 To Dr. Moore.... 37 To Mrs. Dunlop.336 To Mrs. Graham.... 373 ToMr. James Johnson. 336 To Mr. Cunningham. 373 To Dr. Blacklock.... 337 To Mr. Alexander Dalziel... 374 To Mrs. Dunlop... 337 To Mrs. Dunlop.. 374 To Miss Davies.. 338 To Mr Cunningham.. 375 To Mr. John Tennant... 338 To the Earl of Buchan.. 375 To the Rev. F. Carfrae... 339 To Lady E. Cunningham. 76 ToMrs. Dunlop.... 339 To ir Thomas Sloan.. 376 ToDr. Moore..... 30 To Colonel Fullarton. 376 To Mr. Robert Ainslie.. 341 To Miss Davies.... 377 To.Professor Dugald Stewart..: 41 To Mrs. Dunlop.. 377 To Bishop Geddes... 342 To Mr. Ainslie. 378 To Mr. James Burness. 342 To —-. 373 To Mrs Dunlop.. 343 To Francis Grose, Esq., F.S.A 3. 379 To Mr... -.344 To Mr. William Smellie, Printer 379 To Dr. Moore. ~. 44 To Mr William Nicol. 379 To Mr. Hill..... 345 To Francis (;rose; Esq;, F.S.A. 380 To Mrs. Dunlop. 346 To Mr J. Clarke..381 ToMrs M'Murdo.. 346 To Mrs. Dunlop 382 To Mr. Cunningham. 3s6 To Mr. Cunningham. 383 To Mr. Samuel Brown, 347 Mr. Thomson to Burns... 384 To Richard Brown. 347 Burns to Mr. Thomson.... 384 To Mr. James Hamilton.. 8 To Mrs. Dunlop.... 385 To William Creech, Esq. 348 To the Same.. 35 To Mr. M'Auley, ot Dumbarton 348 Mr. Thomsonto Burns. 385 To Mr. Robert Ainslie. 349 Burns to Mr. Thomson.....86 To Mr. M'Murdo.. 49 Burns to Mr. Thomson.. 387 ToiMrs, Dunlop.... 350 Burns to Mr. Thomson.... 387 To-Miss Williams ~. 350 Mr. Thomson to Burns... 388 ToMr. John Logan. 351 Burns to Mr. Thomson.... 389 To Mrs. Dunlop... 51 Burns to Mr. ThomSon., 889 To Captain Riddel, Carse 352 To Mrs. Dunlop.. 389 To Captain Riddel. 35. To R Graham, Esq., Fintry 390 To Mr. Robert Ainslie. 33 To Mrs. Dunlop.. 890 Wo.Mr. Richard Brown.. 353 To the Same. 891 TGRobert Graham, Esq.,;45 Burns to Mr. Thomson... 391 To Mrs. Dunlop.. 354 Mr. Thomson to Burns 392 -0 Lady Winfred Maxwell Constable 355 Postcript, from the Hon. A. Erkine. 392 To Provost Maxwell.. 35i Burns to Mr. Thomson.. 393 To Mr. Sutherland, Player.. 356 To Clarinda. 393 ITO Sir John Sinclair.. 357 To Mr. Cunningham.... 391 To Mr. Gilbert Burns. 357 Burns to Mr. Thomson 9.. 394 -To Mr. William Dunbar, W:S 358 To Miss Benson...395 lTO Mrs. Dunlop. 358 Burns to Mr. Thomson 395 TEb Mr. Peter Hill, Bookrseller, Edinburgh 359 Mr. Thomson to Burns... 395 Tb Mr. W. )ieol, * 360 -Burns to Mr. Thomson. 396 To Mr. Cunningham ~ 361 To Patrick Miller, Esq. 8~ ~ 397 CONTENTS. xM rAG PLOra To John Francis Erskine, Esq... 397 Burns to Mr. Thomson. 423 Mr. Thomson to Burns.. 399 Burns to Mr. Thomson. 423 Burns to Mr. Thomson. ~.. 399 Mr. Thomson to Burns. 424 Burns to Mr. Thomson 400 Mr. Thomson to Burns. 425 Mr. Thomson to Burns ~. 400 Burns to Mr. Thomson ~ 425 To Mr. Robert Ainslie. 400 Mr. Thomson to Burns... 427 To Miss Kennedy. 401 Burns to Mr. Thomson.. 427 Burns to Mr. Thomson.. 402 Burns to Mr. Thomson.... 428 Burns to Mr. Thomson. ~ ~. 402 Mr Thomson to Burns.. 429 Mr. Thomson to Burns. ~. 402 Burns to Mr. Thomson ~.. 429 Burns to Mr. Thomson... 403 Burns to Mr. Thomson. 430 Burns to Mr. Thomson.. 403 To Peter Miller, Jun., Esq.. ~. 431 Mr. Thomson to Burns... 404 Mr. Thomson to Burns.. 431 Burns to Mr. Thomson. 404 Burns to Mr. Thomson... 4389 Burns to Mr. Thomson... 404 Burns to Mr. Thomson ~. 482 Mr. Thomson to Burns. *. 40J Mr. Thomson to Burns. *.. 432 Burns to Mr. Thomson... 405 Burns to Mr. Thomson ~ 432 Burns to Mr. Thomson. 4!)5 Mr. Thomson to Burns. ~. 433 Burns to Mr. Thomson.. 406 Burns to Mr. Thomson ~ 433 Burns to Mr. Thomson ~ ~ 406 To Mrs. Riddel... ~. 433 Burns to Mr. Thomson.. 406 To the Same ~. 434 To Miss Craik.. 406 To Mr. Heron, of Heron.. 434 To Lady Glencairn... 407 To Miss Fontenelle. * 435 Mr. Thomson to Burns.. 408 Mr. Thomson to Burns.. 435 Burns to Mr. Thomson... 408 Burns to Mr. Thomson 4385 Burns to Mr. Thomson, 409 Burns to Mr. Thomson., ~ 4385 Mr. Thomson to Burns.. 409 Mr. Thomson to Burns.. 436 Burns to Mr. Thomson.. 410 Burns to Mr. Thomson.. 436 Burns to Mr. Thomson.. 411 Mr. Thomson to Burns... 437 Mr. Thomson to Burns.. 412 Burns to Mr. Thomson *... 437 Burns to Mr. Thomson.. 412 Burns to Mr. Thomson. 437 Burns to Mr. Thomson.. 413 Mr. Thomson to Burns * *. 437 Burns to Mr. Thomson.. 413 To Mrs. Dunlop.. 437 Mr. Thomson to Burns,. 44 To Mr. Alexander Findlater.. 438 To John M'Murdo, Esq.. 414 To the Editor of the "Morning Chronicle" 438 To the Same.... 415 To Mrs. Dunlop... 439 To Captain -.,.... 415 Address of the Scotch Distillers. 440 To Mrs. Itiddel.... 415 To the Hon. the Provost, Bailies, and To a Lady.... 416 Town Council of Dumfries. 441 To the Earl of Buchan. 416 To Mrs. Riddel..... 441 To Captain Miller.. 416 To Mrs. Dunlop. ~. ~ 441 To Mrs. Riddel.. 416 Mr. Thomson to Burns. ~ 442 To the Same. ~. ~ ~. 417 Burns to Mr. Thomson. ~. 442 To the Same. ~ ~. 417 Mr. Thomson to Burns. 0. 442 To the Same. ~.,. 417 Burns to Mr. Thomson ~ ~. 443 To the Same..... 417 Mr. Thomson to Burns ~. *. 443 To John Syme, Esq.... 418 Burns to Mr. Thomson.. 443 To Miss -.. 418 Burns to Mr. Thomson... 443 To Mr. Cunningham.... 419 To Mrs. Riddel... 444 Mr. Thomson to Burns.. 419 To Mr. Clarke... 444 Burns to Mr. Thomson... 4z0 To Mr. James Johnson.. 0 444 To the Earl of Glencairn * 0. 420 To Mr. Cunningham,,. * 444. To David Macculloch, Esq... 421 To Mr. Gilbert Burns.. 445 To Mrs. Dunlop..... 421 To Mrs. Burns.., * 445 To Mr. James Johnson... 421 To Mrs. Dunlop.. 445 Burns to Mr. Thomson... 422 To Mr. James Burness, 0 446 To Mr. Samuel Clarke, Jun... 422 Burns to Mr. Thomson... 446 Mr. Thomson to Burns... 422 Mr. Thomson to Burns.... 446 Burns to Mr. Thomson. e. 422 To James Gracie, Esq... 447 Mr. Thomson to Burns.. 423 To Mr. JamesArmour. * * 447 NomSs to the Life of Burns 9.. *. 449 NoTEs to the Poems of Burns.. 476 NoTvs to the Correspondence of Bums * * I GLOYSa........ * C~I- I -t t"ft tPa t i# ifiqfntp g Erma Iar t. produced persons of high distinction in. every branch of philosophy and literature; THOUGH the dialect in which many of the and her history, while a separate and indehappiest effusions of ROBERT BURNS are pendent nation, has been successfully excomposed be peculiar to Scotland, yet his plored. Buttt the present character of the reputation has extended itself beyond the people was not then formed, the nation then limits of that country, and his poetry has presented features similar to those which been admired as the offspring of original the feudal system and the Catholic religion genius, by persons of taste in every part of had diffused over Europe, modified, indeed, the sister islands. It seems proper, there- by the peculiar nature of her territory and fore, to write the memoirs of his life, not climate. The Reformation, by which such with the view of their being read by Scotch- important changes were produced on the men only, but also by natives of England, national character, was speedily followed by and of other countries where the English the accession of the Scottish monarchs to language is spoken or understood. the English throne; and the period which Robert Burns was, in reality, what he has elapsed from that accession to the Union, been represented to be, a Scottish peasant. has been rendered memorable, chiefly, by To render the incidents of his humble story those bloody convulsions in which both generally intelligible, it seems, therefore, divisions of the island were involved, and advisable to prefix some observations on the which, in a considerable degree, concealed charader and situation of the order to which from the eye of the historian the domestic he belonged-a class of men distinguished history of the people, and the gradual varia. by many peculiarities: by this means we tions in their condition and manners. Since shall form a more correct notion of the the Union, Scotland, though the seat of advantages with which he started, and of I two unsuccessful attempts to restore the the obstacles which he surmounted. A few house of Stuart to the throne, has enjoyed observations on the Scottish peasantry will a comparative tranquillity; and it is since not, perhaps, be found unworthy of atten- this period that the present character of her tion in other respects-and the subject is, peasantry has been in a great measure iin a great measure, new. Scotland has formed, though the political causes affectins B LIFE OF BURNS. it are to be traced to the previous acts of be spared from his professional studies useful her separate legislature. to others as well as to himself, by assuming A slight acquaintance with the peasan- the respectable character of a schoolmaster. try of Scotland will serve to convince al It is common for the established schools, unprejudiced observer, that they possess a even in the country parishes of Scotland, to degree of intelligence not generally found enjoy the means of classical instruction; among the same class of men in the other and many of the farmers, and some even countries of Europe. In the very humblest of the cottagers, submit to much privation, condition of the Scottish peasants, every that they may obtain, for one of their one can read, and most persons are more or sons at least, the precarious advantage of less skilled in writing and arithmetic; and, a learned education. The difficulty to be under the disguise of their uncouth appear- surmounted arises indeed, not from the ance, and of their peculiar manners and expense of instructing their children, but dialect, a stranger will discover that they from the charge of supporting them. In the possess a curiosity, and have obtained a country parish schools, the English landegree of information, corresponding to guage, writing and accounts, are generally these acquirements. taught at the rate of six shillings, and These advantages they owe to the legal Latin at the rate of ten or twelve shillings, provision made by the Parliament of Scot- per annum. In the towns the prices are land in 1646, for the establishment of a somewhat higher. school in every parish throughout the It would be improper in this place to kingdom, for the express purpose of educa- inquire minutely into the degree of instructing the poor-a law which may challenge tion received at these seminaries, or to comparison with any act of legislation to attempt any precise estimate of its effects, be found in the records of history, whether either on the individuals who are the subwe consider the wisdom of the ends in jects of this instruction, or on the comview, the simplicity of the means employed, munity to which they belong. That it is, or the provisions —made to render these on the whole, favollra le to industry and means effectual to their purpose. This ex- morals, though doubtless with some indicellent statute was repealed on the accession vidual exceptions, seems to be proved by of Charles II. in 1660, together with all the the most striking and decisive experience; other laws passed during the Common- and it is equally clear, that it is the cause of wealth, as not being sanctioned by the Royal that spirit of emigration and of adventure assent. It slept during the reigns of Charles so prevalent aniong the Scotch. Knowledge and James II., but was re-enacted precisely has, by Lord \Verulam, been denominated in the same terms, by the Scottish Parlia- power; by others it has, with less propriety, ment, in 1696, after the Revolution; and been denominated virtue or happiness: we this is the last provision on the subject. may with confidence consider it as motion. Its effects on the national character may be A human being, in proportion as he is considered to have commenced about the informed, has his swishes enlarged, as well period of the Union, and doubtless it co- as the means of gratifying those wishes. operated with the peace and security arising He may be considered as taking within the from that happy event, in producing the sphere of his vision a large portion of the extraordinary change in favour of industry globe on which lwe tread, and discovering and good morals, which the character of the advantage at a greater distance on its surcommon people of Scotland has since under- face. His desires or ambition, once excited. gone. are stimulated by his imagination; and The church establishment of Scotland distant and uncertain objects, giving freer happily coincides with the institution just scope to the operation of this faculty, often mentioned, which may be called its school acquire, in the mind of the youthful advenestablishment. The clergyman, being every- turer, an attraction from their very distance where resident in his particular parish, and uncertainty. If, therefore, a greater debecomes the natural patron and superinten- gree of instruction be given to the peasantry dant of the parish school, and is enabled in of a country comparatively poor, in the various ways to promote the comfort of the neighbourhood of other countries rich in teacher, and the proficiency of the scholars. natural and acquired advantages, and if The teacher himself is often a candidate the barriers be removed that kept them for holy orders, who, during the long course separate, emigration from the former to the of study and probation required in the latter will take place to a certain extent, Scottish church, renders the time which can by laws nearly as uniform as those by RELIGIOUS EDUCATION. 3 which heat diffuses itself among surrounding national church; and hence the first and bodies, or water finds its level when left to most constant exercise of ingenuity among its natural course. By the articles of the the peasantry of Scotland, is displayed in Union, the barrier was broken down which religious disputation. With a strong attachdivided the two British nations, and know- ment to the national creed, is conjoined a ledge and poverty poured the adventurous bigoted preference for certain forms of wornatives of the north over the fertile plains ship; the source of which would be often of England; and more especially, over the altogether obscure, if we did not recollect colonies which she had settled in the east that the ceremonies of the Scottish Church and in the west. The stream of population were framed in direct opposition, in every continues to flow from the north to the point, to those of the Church of Rome. south, for the causes that originally impelled The eccentricities of conduct, and singuit continue to operate; and the richer larities of opinion and manners, which cllacountry is constantly invigorated by the racterised the English sectaries in the last accession of an informed and hardy race century, afforded a subject for the comic of men, educated in poverty, and prepared Inuse of Butler, whose pictures lose their for hardship and danger; patient of labour interest since their archetypes are lost. and prodigal of life. Some of the peculiarities common among The preachers of the Reformation in the more rigid disciples of Calvinism in Scotland were disciples of Calvin, and Scotland, in the present times, have given brought with them the temper as well as scope to the ridicule of Burns, whose the tenets of that celebrated heresiarch. hurnmour is equal to Butler's, and whose The Presbyterian form of worship and of drawings from living manners are singularly church government was endeared to the expressive and exact. Unfortunately, the people, front its being established by them- correctness of his taste did not always corselves. It was endeared to them, also, by respond with the strength of his genius. the stru ggle it had to maintain with the The information and the religious educaCatholic and Protestant episcopal churches; tion of the peasantry of Sco;tland, promote over both of which, after a hundred years isedateness of conduct, and habits of thought of fierce, and sometimes bloody contention, and reflection. These good qualities are not it finally triumphed, receiving the counte- counteracted by the establishmlent of poor nalnce of government and the salction of j laws. Happily, in Scotland, the same legislaw. During this long period of contention lature which established a system of instrucand of suffering, the temper of the people tion for the poor, resisted the introduction became more and more obstinate and of a legal provision for the support of bi-goted; and the nation received that deep i poverty; hence it will not appear surprising, tinme of fanaticism which coloured their if the Scottish peasantry have a more than public transactions, as well as their private usual share of prudence and reflection, if virtues, and of which evident traces may be they approach nearer than persons of their found in our own times. When the public order usually do to the definition of a schools were established, the instruction man-that of "a being that looks before communicated in them partook of the re- and after." These observations must indeed li-,ious character of the people. The Cate- be taken with many exceptions; the fatvourchisni of the Westminster Divines was the able operation of the causes just mentioned universal school-book, and was put into the is counteracted by others of an opposite hands of the youngm peasant as soon as he tendency; and the subject, if fully examined, had acquired a knowledge of his alphabet; would lead to discussions of great extent. and his first exercise in the art of reading, When the Reformation was established in introduced him to the most mysterious Scotland, instrumental music was banished doctrines of the Christian faith. This prac- from the churches, as savouring too much tice is continued in our owel times. After the of "profane minstrelsy." Instead of being Assembly's Catechism, the Proverbs of Solo- regulated by an instrument, the voices of mon, and the New and Old Testament follow the congregation are led and directed by a in regular succession; and the scholar de- person under the name of a precentor, and parts, gifted with the knowledge of the the people tre all expected to join in the sacred writings, and receiving their doctrines tune which he chooses for the psalm which according to the interpretation of the West- is to be sung. Church music is therefore a minlster Confession of Faith. Thus, with the part of the education of the peasantry of instructionl of infancy in the schools of Scotland, in which they are usually inScotland, are blended the dogmas of the structed in the long winter nights by the 4 LIFE OF BURNS. parish schoolmaster, who is generally the The prevalence of this taste, or rather precentor, or by itinerant teachers, more passion, for dancing, among a people so celebrated for their powers of voice. This deeply tinctured with the spirit and docbranch of education had, in the last reign, trines of Calvin, is one of those contrafallen into some neglect, but was revived dictions which the philosophic observer so about thirty or forty years ago, when the often finds in national character and manners. music itself was reformed and improved. It is probably to be ascribed to the Scottish The Scottish system of psalmody is, how- music, which, throughout all its varieties, ever, radically bad. Destitute of taste or is so full of sensibility, and which, in its harmony, it forms a striking contrast with livelier strains, awakes those vivid emotions the delicacy and pathos of the profane airs. that find in dancing their natural solace and Our poet, it will be found, was taught church relief. music, in which, however he attained little This triumph of the music of Scotland proficiency. over the spirit of the established religion, That dancing should also be very gene- has not however, been obtained, without rally a part of the education of the Scottish long-continued and obstinate struggles. The peasantry, will surprise those who have only numerous sectaries who dissent from the seen this description of men; and still more Establishment on account of the relaxation those who reflect on the rigid spirit of Cal- which they perceive, or think they perceive, vinism, with whilch the nation is so deeply in the Church, from her original doctrines affected, and to which this recreation is so and discipline, universally condemn the pracstrongly abhorrent. The winter is also the tice of dancing, and the schools where it is season when they acquire dancing, and, taught; and the more elderly and serious indeed, almost all their other instruction. part of the people, of every persuasion, They are taught to dance by persons gene- tolerate rather than approve these meetings rally of their own number, many of whom of the young of both sexes, where dancing work at daily labour during the summer is practised to their spirit-stirring music, months. The school is usually a barn, and where care is dispelled, toil is forgotten, the arena for the performers is generally and prudence itself is sometmles lulled to a clay floor. The dome is lighted by sleep. (1) candles stuck in one end of a cloven stick, The Reformation, which proved fatal to the other end of which is thrust into the the rise of the other fine arts in Scotland, wall. Reels, strathspeys, contra-dances, and probably impeded, but could not obstruct, hornpipes, are here practised. The jig, the progress of its music-a circumstance so much in favour among the English that will convince the impartial inquirer, peasantry, has no place among them. The that this music not only existed previously attachment of the people of Scotland of to that era, but had taken a firm hold of every rank, and particularly of the peasan- the nation, thus affording a proof of its try, to this amusement, is very great. antiquity stronger than any produced by After the labours of the day are over, the researches of our antiquaries. (2) young men anid women walk many miles, The implllression which the Scottish music in the cold and dreary nights of winter, has made on the people, is deepened by its to these country dancing-schools; and the union with the national songs, of which instant that the violin sounds a Scottish various collections of unequal merit are air, fatigue seems to vanish, the toil-bent before the public. These songs, like those rustic becomes erect, his features brighten of other nations, are many of them huwith sympathy, every nerve seems to thrill morous, but they chiefly treat of love, war, with sensation, and every artery to vibrate and drinking. Love is the subject of the with life. These rustic performers are greater proportion. Without displaying indeed less to be admired for grace than the higher powers of the imagination, they for agility and animation, and for their exhibit a perfect knowledge of the human accurate observance of time. Their modes heart, and breathe a spirit of affection, and of dancing, as well as their tunes, are com- sometimes of delicate and romantic tenmoit to every rank in Scotland, and are derness, not to be surpassed in modern now generally known. In our own day poetry, and which the more polished strains they have penetrated into England, and of antiquity have seldom possessed. have established themselves even in the The origin of this amatory character in circle of royalty. In another generation the rustic muse of Scotland, or of the they will be naturalised in every part of greater number of these love-songs themthe island. selves, it would be difficult to trace; they SOCIAL INTERCOURSE OF THE SEXES. 6 have accumulated in the silent lapse of modified by moral causes beyond any other time, and it is now perhaps impossible to affection of the mind. Of these, music and give an arrangement of them in the order poetry are the chief. Among the snows of of their date, valuable as such a record of i Lapland, and under the burning sun of taste and manners would be. Their present Angola, the savage is seen hastening to his influence on the character of the nation is, mistress, and everywhere he beguiles the however, great and striking. To them we | weariness of his journey with poetry and must attribute, in a great measure, the song. (3) romantic passion which so often character- I In appreciating the happiness and virtue ises the attachments of the humblest of of a community, there is perhaps no single the people of Scotland, to a degree that, if criterion on which so much dependence may we mistake not, is seldom found in the j be placed, as the state of the intercourse same rank of society in other countries. between the sexes. Where this displays The pictures of love and happiness exhibited j ardour of attachment, accompanied by purity in their rural songs, are early impressed on I of conduct, the character and the influence the mind of the peasant, and are rendered of women rise in society, our imperfect more attractive from the music with which nature mounts in the scale of moral excelthey are united. They associate themselves lence; and, from the source of this sinlle with his own youthful emotions; they ele- affection, a stream of felicity descends, vate the object as well as the nature of his which branches into a thousand rivulets that attachment; and give to the impressions enrich and adorn the field of life. WAhere of sense the beautiful colours of imaination. the attachment between the sexes sinks into Hence, in the course of his passion, a Scottish an appetite, the heritage of olr species is peasant' often exerts a spirit of adventure, comparatively poor, and man approaches the of which a Spanish cavalier need not be condition of the brutes tlat perish,.'If we ashamed. After the labours of the day are could with safety indulge the pleasing supover, he sets out for the habitation of his position that Fingal lived and that Ossian mistress, perhaps at many miles' distance, snm;ig" (4), Scotland, judging from this critererardless of the lenlgth or the dreariness rion, miight be considered as ra-iillngn high f the -way. He approach.es her in secrecy, in happiness and virtue in very remote ares. under the disguise of night. A signal at To appreciate her situation by tile same the door or w-indow, perhaps agreed on, and criterion in our own tirnes, awould be a understood by none but her, gives in- delicate and a difficult undertaking. After formation of his arrival; and sometimes it considering the probable influence of her is repeated again and again, before the ca- popular songs and her national music, and pricious fair-one will obey the summons. examining how far the effects to be expected But if she favours his addresses, she escapes from these are supported by facts, the inunobserved, and receives the vows of her quirer would also have to examine the lover under the glooim of twilight or the influence of other causes, and particularly deeper shade of night. Interviews of this of her civil and ecclesiastical institutions, by kind are the subjects of many of the Scottish which the character, and even the manners songs, some of the most beautiful of which of a people, though silently and slowly, are Burns has imitated or improved. In the often powerfully controlled. In'the point art which they celebrate he was perfectly iof view in which we are considering the skilled; he knew and had practised all its subject, the ecclesiastical establishments of mysteries. Intercourse of this sort is indeed Scotland may be supposed peculiarly fauniversal, even in the humblest condition vourable to purity of conduct. The dissoof man in every region of the earth. But i luteness of manners among the Catholic it is not unnatural to suppose that it may I clergy, which preceded, and in some measure exist in a greater degree, and in a more produced the Reformation, led to an exromantic form, among the peasantry of a traordinary strictness on the part of the country who are supposed to be more than reformers, and especially in that particular commonly instructed;-who find in their in which the licentiousness of the clergy rural songs expressions for their youthful had been'carried to its greatest heightemotions; —and in whom the embers of the intercourse between the sexes. On this passion are continually fanned by the point, as on all others connected with auste. breathings of a music fiull of tenderness rity of manners, the disciples of Calvin and sensibility. The direct influence of assumed a greater severity than those of physical causes on the attachment between the Protestant Episcopal church. The the sexes is comparatively small, but it is | punishment of illicit connection between 6 LIFE OF BURNS. the sexes was, throughout all Europe, a duct among the peasantry founded upon province which the clergy assumed to them- foresight and reflection, on the subject of selves; and the church of Scotland, which marriage the reverse of this is true. Irreat the Reformation renounced so many gular marriages, it may be naturally sup. powers and privileges, at that period took posed, are often improvident ones, in this crime under her more especial juris- whatever rank of society they occur. The diction. Where pregnancy takes place with- children of such marriages, poorly endowed out marriage, the condition of the female by their parents, find a certain degree of causes the discovery; and it is on her, instruction of easy acquisition, but the therefore, in the first instance, that the comforts of life, and the gratifications of clervy and elders exercise their zeal. After ambition, they find of more difticult attainexamlination before the kirk-session, touch- ilernt in their native soil; and thus the ing the circumstance of her guilt, she must marriage laws of Scotland conspire, with endure a public penance and sustain a other circumstances, to produce that habit public rebuke from the pulpit, for three of emigration, and spirit of adventure, for Sabbaths successively, in the face of the which the people are so remarkable. congregation to vwhich she belongs, and thus Tlle malners and appearance of the Scothave her weakness exposed, and her shame tish peasantry do not bespeak to a stranger blazoned. The sentence is the same with the degree of their cultivation. In their respect to the male, but how much lighter own country, their industry is inferior to the punishment! It is well known that that of the same description of men in the this dreadful law, worthy of the iron minds southern division of the island. Industry and of Calvin and of Kinux, has often led to the usefill arts reached Scotland later than consequences, at the very mention of which England; and though their advance has human nature recoils. (5) been rapid there, the effects produced are VWhile the punishment of incontinence as vet far inferior both in reality and in prescribed by the institutions of Scotland is appearance. The Scottish farmers have in severe, the culprits have an obvious tmethod general neither the opulence nor the comof avoiling it, afforded thenm by the law forts of those of Esingland, neither vest the respecting marriage, the validity of which same capital in the soil, nor receive from requires neither the ceremonies of the it the same return. Their clothing, their church, nor any other ceremonies, but food, and their habitations, are almost simply the deliberate acknowledgement of everywhere inferior. (6) Their appearance in each other as husband and wife, made by these respects corresponds with the appearthe parties before witnesses, or in any other ance of their country; and under the way that gives legal evidence of such an operation of patient industry, both are imacknowledgemnent having taken place. And proving. Industry and the useful arts came as the parties themselves fix the date of later into Scotland than into England, betheir marriage, an opportunity is thus given cause the security of property came later. to avoid the punishmellnt, and repair the con- With causes of internal agitation and warfare, sequences, of illicit gratification. Such a similar to those which occurred to the more degree of laxity respecting so serious a con- southern nation, the people of Scotland were tract muight- produce much confusion in the exposed to more imuminent hazards and to descent of property without a still farther more extensive and destructive spoliation, indulgence; but the law of Scotland, legi- from external war. Occupied in the maintetimating all children born before wedlock, nance of their independence against their on the subsequent marriage of their parents, more powerful neighbours, to this purpose renders the actual date of the marriage were necessarily sacrificed the arts of peace, itself of little consequence. Marriages con- and, at certain periods, the flower of their tracted in Scotland without the ceremonies population. And whllen the union of the of the church, are considered as irregular, crowns produced a security from national and the parties usually submit to a rebuke i wars with England, for the century sucfor their conduct, in the face of their ceeding, the civil wars common to both respective congregations, which is'not how- divisions of the island, and the dependence, ever necessary to render the marriage valid. perhaps the necessary dependence, of the Burns, whose marriage, it will appear, was Scottish councils on those of the more irregular,; does not seem to have undergone powerful kingdom, counteracted this disadthis part of the discipline of the church. vantage. Evem the union of the British Thus, though the institutions of Scotland nations was not, from obvious causes, imare in many particulars favourable to a con- mediately followed by all the benefits which PATRIOTISM OF THE SCOTCH. 7 it was ultimately destined to produce. At would neither have fettered his eloquence, length, however, these benefits are distinctly nor deprived it of its due effect. felt, and generally acknowledged. Property A striking particular in the character of is secure; manufactures and commerce in- the Scottish peasantry, is one which it is creasing; and agriculture is rapidly improv- hoped will not be lost-the strength of ing in Scotland. As yet indeed, the farmers their domestic attachments. The privaare not, in general, enabled to make improve- tions to which many parents submit for the ments out of their own capitals, as in good of their children, and particularly to England; but the landholders who have obtain for them instruction, which they conseen and felt the advantages resulting from sider as the chief good, has already been them, contribute towards them with a liberal noticed. If their children live and prosper, hand. Hence property, as well as population, they have their certain reward, not merely is accumulating rapidly on the Scottish soil; as witnessil(, but as sharing of their prosand the nation, enjoying a great part of the perity. Even in the humblest ranks of the blessings of Englishmen, and retaining peasantry, the earnings of the children may several of their own happy institutions, generally be considered as at the disposal might be considered, if confidence could be of their parents: perhaps in no country is placed in human foresight, to be as yet only so large a portion of the wages of labour in an early stage of their progress. Yet applied to the support and comfort of those there are obstructions in their way. To whose days of labour are past. A similar the cultivation of the soil are opposed the strength of attachment extends through all extent and the strictness of the entails; to the domestic relations. Our poet partook the improvement of the people, the rapidly largely of this amiable characteristic of his increasing use of spirituous liquors, a de- humble compeers: he was also strongly testable practice, which includes in its con- tinctured with another striking feature which sequences almost every evil, physical and belongs to them-a partiality for his native moral. (7) The peculiarly social disposition country, of which many proofs may be found of the Scottish peasantry exposes them to in his writings. This, it must be confessed, this practice. This disposition, which is is a very strong and general sentiment fostered by their national songs and music, among the natives of Scotland, differin-r, is perhaps characteristic of the nation at however, in its character, according to the large. Though the source of many character of the different minds in which pleasures, it counteracts, by its conse- it is found-in some appearing a selfish quences, the effects of their patience, in- prejudice, in others a generous affection. dustry, and frugality, both at home and An attachment to the land of their birth abroad, of which those especially who have is, indeed, common to all men. It is found witnessed the progress of Scotsmen in among the inhabitants of every region of other countries must have known many the earth, from the arctic to the aslt-arctic striking instances. circle, in all the vast variety of climate, of Since the Union, the manners and language surface, and of civilisation. To analyse this of the people of Scotland have no longer a general sentiment, to trace it through the standard among themselves, but are tried by mazes of association up to the primary affecthe standard of the nation to which they are tion in which it has its source, would neithcr united. Though their habits are far from be a difficult nor an unpleasing labour. On being flexible, vet it is evident that their the first consideration of the subject, we manners and dialect are undergoing a rapid should perhaps expect to find this attachment change. Even the farmers of the present strong in proportion to the physical advan. day appear to have less of the peculiarities of tages of the soil; but inquiry, far from their country in their speech than the men confirming this supposition, seems rather to of letters of the last generation. Burns, who lead to an opposite conclusion. In those never left the island, nor penetrated farther fertile regions where beneficent nature yields into England than Carlisle on the one hand, almost spontaneously whatever is necessary or Newcastle on the other, had less of the to human wants, patriotism, as well as every Scottish dialect than Hume, who lived for other generous sentiment, seems weak and many years ill the best society of England languid. In countries less richly endowed, and France-or perhaps than Robertson,who where the comforts, and even necessaries of wrote the Einglish language in a style of life, must be purchased by patient toil, the such purity; and if he had been in other affectifts of the mind, as well as the faculties respects fitted to take a lead in the British of the understanding, improve under exertion, House of Commons, his pronunciation and patriotism flourishes amidstits kindred 8 LIFE OF BURNS. virtues. Where it is necessary to combine present the fields of battle where the tide of for mutual defence, as well as for the supply invasion was rolled back, and whereon the of common wants, mutual good-will springs ashes rest of those who have died in defence from mutual difficulties and labours, the of their nation! social affections unfold themselves, and extend The operation of the various causes we from the men with whom we live to the soil have mentioned is doubtless more general on which we tread. It will perhaps be and more permanent, where the scenery of found, indeed, that our affections cannot a country, the peculiar manners of its inbe originally called forth, but by objects habitants, and the martial achievements of capable, or supposed capable, of feeling our their ancestors, are embodied in national sentiments, and of returning them; but songs, and united to national music. By when once excited, they are strengthened by this combination, the ties that attach men to exercise; they are expanded by the powers the land of their birth are multiplied and of imagination, and seize more especially on stren(thened, and the images of infancy, those inanimate parts of creation, which strongly associating with the generous affecform the theatre on which we have first felt tions, resist the influence of time, and of the alternations of joy and sorrow, and first new impressions; they often survive in tasted the sweets of sympathy and regard. countries far distant, and amidst far different If this reasoning be just, the love of our scenes, to the latest period of life, to soothe country, although modified, and even ex- the heart with the pleasures of memory, tinguished in individuals by the chances and when those of hope die away. changes of life, may be presumed, in our If this reasoning be just, it will explain general reasonings, to be strong among a to us why among the natives of Scotland, people, in proportion to their social, and more even of cultivated minds, we so generally find especially to their domestic affections. Under a partial attachment to the land of their free governments it is found more active birth, and why this is so strongly disthan under despotic ones, because, as the coverable in the writings of Burns, who individual becomes of mIore consequence in joined to the higher powers of the underthe community, the community becomes of standing the most ardent affections. Let more consequence to him. In small states it not men of reflectionl think it a superfluous is generally more active than in large ones, labour to trace the rise and progress of a for the same reason, and also because the character like his. Born in the coindition independence of a small community being of a peasant, he rose, by the force of his maintained withl difficulty, and frequently mind, into distinction and influence, and in endangered, sentiments of patriotism are his works has exhibited what are so rarely more frequently excited. In mountainous found, the charms of original genius. ~Vith countries it is generally found more active a deep insight into the human heart, his than in plains, because there the necessities poetry exhibits high powers of imagination of life often require a closer union of the -it displays, and as it were embalms, the inhabitants; and more especially, because peculiar mainlers of his country; alnd it in such countries, though less populous than nmay be considered as a monunlent, not to plains, the inhabitants, instead of being his own name only, but to the expiring scattered equally over the wh6le, are usually genius of an ancient and once indepenldent divided into small communities on the sides nation. In relating the incidents of his life, of their separate vallies,. and on the banks caIdour will prevent us from dwlelling, of their respective streams-situations well invidiously oil those failings which justice calculated to call forth and to concentrate forbids us to conceal; we will tread lightly the social affections, amidst scenery that acts over his yet warm ashes, and respect the most powerfully on the sight, and makes laurels that shelter his untimely grave. a lasting impression on the memory. It may also be remarked, that mountainous countries are often peculiarly calculated to nourish sentiments of national pride and ROBERT BUnNS was, as is well known, the independence, from the influence of history son of a farmer in Ayrshire, and afterwards on the affections of the mind. In such himself a farmer there; but, havilng been countries from their natural strength, inferior unsuccessful, he was about to emigrate to nations have maintained their independence Jamaica. He had previously, however, atagainst their more powerful neighbourn, and tracted some notice by his poetical talenits valour, in all ages, has made its most success- in the vicinity where he lived; and having ful efforts against oppression. Such countries pubhshed a small volume of his poems at BURNS' SKETCH OF H1LS OWN LIFE 9 Kilmarnock, this drew upon hhim more After you'have perused tliese pages, hould general attention. In! consequence of'the you think them trifling and impertineit,.I encouragement -he received, he repaired to only beg leave to' tell' you, -that.the- por Edin'burgh, and there published, -by sub- author wrote them,under- some twitc-h g scription, an impfoved and enlarged edition. qualms of conscience, arising.from suspicion of his poems, which met with extraordinary that' he was, doing what he ought not to success. By the profits arising from the do-a predicament he has more than oonce sale of:this edition, -he was enabled to been in before." enter: on a farm in Dumfries-shire; and.- "I have not the most distant pretensions having im'arried.a person to whom lie had to assume'that character which the pyebeen long attached, he retired to devote the coated guardians of escutcheons call a remihainder of his life to agriculture.'He gentleman. When at Edinburgh last whitei was again; however, unsuccessful;'and, I got acquainted in- the Herald's Office; abandoning his farm, he removed into the and, looking through that: granary'-of town of Dumfries, where he filled an inferior honours, I there: found almost every'name office' in the'Excise, and where he termi-' in the kingdom! but for me, nated his life in July 1796, in his thirty-'My ancient but ignoble blood eighth year. Has:crept'thro' scoundrels ever since the The strength.and originality of his genius flood.' procured him the notice of many.persons, Gules, Purpure, Argent, &c., quite disowned distinguished in the republic of letters, and, me." among others, that of Dr. Moorej, well My father was of the north of Scotiand, known for his Views of Society and Manners the son of a farmer' and was thron-'by.early on the Continent of Europe, for his Zeluco, misfortunes. on the world at large, where, and various other:works. To this' gentle-'after many years' wanderings and sojournman our poet addressed a letter, after'his ings, he picked up a pretty large quantity of first visit to Edinburgh, giving. a history of observation and- experience,' to which I'am his life, up to the period' of'his' writing. indebted for: most of my little'pretensions In a composition never intended to see the to wisdom. I'have met with few who unlight,'-elegance, or perfect correctness of derstood men, their malners, and their sways, composition, will not. be expected. These,' equal to him; but stubborn, unlgainly' however, will be compensated by the oppor-: integrity, and headlong ungovernable'irasci. tunity. of seeing our poet, as he gives' the' bility, are,disqualifying circumstmances, conincidents of his life,.unfold the peculiarities sequently I-was born a very poor man's'son.n of. his character with all the careless vigour. For the first' six or seven years of mylife,-my' and open sincerity of his mind. father was gardener to a worthy gentleman "I' Mauchlise, 2nd August, 1787. of small: estate in the neighbourhood of Ayr. Had' he continued in that station,.' "SIR.- For some months past I have mlust have marched off to'be one- of the'little been rambling over the country, but I am underlings about a farm-house; but it was now confined witll some lingering complaints, his de arest wish'and prayer to have it ia originating,, as I take it, in the stomach.; his power to keep' his'children under his To divert my spirits a, little in this miser-' own eye till they could discern -betwe'eii able. fog of' ennui, I have. taken a whim to good and-evil; so, with' with the assistance give you a history of myself. My:. name of his generous master, my father ventured has made some little noise in this country'on' a small' farm on his estate''At those — you have done me the'honour to interest: years I was by no means — a; favourite with yourself very warmly in my behalf;. and.' I' any body.. I was a'good deal noted for. a think a'faithful account. of what character' retentive memory, a stubborn'sturdy some. of a man I am, and.how.:I came by.that' thing. in my disposition, and'an enthusiastic character, may perhaps amuse you imlan idle.. idiotic piety. I say idiotic piety, because I moment. I will give you: an onest nara.was then'but a child. Though it- cost the tive, though I know it will be often at my'schoolmaster some. thrashings, I'made. an own. expense; for -I assure you sir, have, excellent English'scholar, and by the'time like Solomon, whose character, excepting, in |I.was ten) or eleven years'f age, I was a the" t'rifling affair of -wisdom,. I sometimes critic in- substantives,' verbs, and' particles.,think I resemble-I hayve I'say, like him -In my infant and boyish'days,. too, I owed turned my eyes to- behold snmdness' and fiolly, much' to an old.oman- who' resided in'th and, like him, too frequently shaken bands family, remarkable: for her ign6ranceecrewith their intoxicating friendship.i -. —.' * dulity, an: osuperstition. S ha:b[di'i 10 LIFE OF BURNS. qse;'the largest collection in: the: country It takes a few dashes into the world, to give oitales and songs concerninlg-devils, ghosts, the young'great man that proper, decent, firies, broWnies, witches, warlocks,' spunkies, unnoticing- disregard for the poor insignikepies,. elf-candles, dead-lights,j,-tvraiths, ficant, stupid.devils,. the.mechanics and apparitions, cantraips,::giantsechan an:e ted peasantry around him; who were pJerhaps towers dragons, and other trumpery.: This born in the same village.- My young supecltivated the latent seeds of poetry, but had riors never insulted the clouterly' appearance so. strong.an effect on my imagination, that of my plough-boy carcase, thb two extremes to0 ~this hour, in my nocturnal rambles, I of which ~Were often exposed to'all the'inso'etimes. keep a esarp -arp'look-out in sus- clemencies of all seasons. They would give pVicius places; and though nobody can be me stray volumes of -books: among-them, morre sceptical than I am in such matters, even then, I could pick' up some observayef it often.takes an effort of philosophy to tions; and one,' whose heart I am sure not ishake i off these idle terrors. The earliest even the Munny Begum scenes have tainted, composition that I recollect taking pleasure helped meto a little French. Parting with in was' The Vision'of Mirza, and a,hymn these my.young friends andbeiefactors, as of -Addison's, beginning, "Howl are. thy they occasionally went off for. the East or servants;, blest, oh Lord!".: particularly.West Indies, was often to me a sore afflicremnelmber one half-stanza, which was music -tion; but I was soon called to more serious to 0my boyish ear: — evils. My'father's generous master died;' For though on dreadful whirls we hung the farm proved a ruinous b argain; ad to Uliglh on the broken wave.' clench the misfortune, we fell into' the hands I met.with these pieces in' Mason's English of a factor, who sat for the picture'I have Collection, one. of my school-booka.'he drawn of one, in my; tale of Twa Dogs. twto'first books I ever read in private, and My father was advanced in life when -he wbich?' gave me more pleasure. than, any. married; I was:the eldest of seven children; two:.books'I ever read since,.were the Life and he, worn out by qarly hardships, was of Hannibal, and TheHistory-of Sir William munfitfor labour. My-father's spirit-was soon Wallace. "Hannibal gaye my, young ideas irritated, but not easily broken. There was sUCh a -turn, that.I. used to strut in.rap- a freedom in his lease in two years more; tures up and down after the recruiting drum and'to weather' these two years, we- reandi-bag-pipe, and, wish myself tall- enough trenched' our. expenses. We lived very to be asoldier; while the'story of Wallace poorly. I was a dexterous ploughman, for pOuiied-a Scottish. prejudice into my veins, i my age'; and the next eldest to me was a which will, boil along there till the flood- brother (Gilbert) who could drive the plough gaates of'life shut in eternal rest.".:very well, and. help me to thrash -the corn. "polemical divinity about this time was j A novel-writer-might perhaps have viewed put.ting the'country half.mad; and.I, ambi — these scenes with some satisfaction, but' so tioius' of'shining. in conversation!parties on I'did not I; my indignation yet'boils at the Sundays, between sermons, at funerals, &c., recollection of, the scoundrel factor's insoused, a few'-years afterwards, to puzzle- lent, threatening letters, which used to Calvinism with so much heat' and.indiscre-. set us all- in tears." tion, that I raised a hue and cry. of, heresy - "This kind of life-the cheerless gloom agfst me, whicah'has not ceased to this of hermit,- with- the,unceasing toil of a ahorst:." e,."'ch.has not Ceased to this [ galley-slave, brought me to my- sixteenth ":My vicinity to Ayr was of some.:advan-. year; a little before which period I'first tage to me. My social disposition, when committed the:sin of'rhyme., You know not:checked bysome modificati'ons ofspirited our country custom of coupling a man prid'e, was, like our Catechism definition. of. and woman together as partners in'the nfiiniitude, without bounds; or limits. I labours of harvest. In my fifteenth autumn formed'several connections -with' other my partner was a bewitching creaturea. younikers w ho.possessed superior. advan- year younger than myself.- My scarcity of tages, the youiigling actors, who were.busy English denies me the power of'doing her inthe:.rehearsal of parts in which~.they'. justice in that language; but. you know were.shortly'to appear on.the stage of life,. the' S6ottish idiom-she -.was a bonnie, where,. alas! I was. destined:to,-.drudge sweet, sonsie tass. In short, she-altogebehind; the scenes. I it is not comrmonly:at''ther unwittingly to herself, initiated'me in tisgreen age that our; yong:'gentry have that delicious passion which, in spite of. acid a j.stI sense of the. immense-distance be- disappointment, gi-horse:: prudence,; and tweeii,tem and' their'ragged playfellows... ook-worrm philosophy I hold t'o be the'fist BURNS' LIBRARY. 1I of human joys, our dearest blessing here Tusll and Dickson on Agriculture, the Panbelow! How she caught the contagion, I theon, Locke's Essay on the Human Under. cannot tell; you medical people talk much stanlding, Stackhouse's History of the Bible, of infection from breathing the same air, the Justice's British Gardener's Directory, touch, &c., but I never expressly said I loved Bayle's Lectures, Allan Ramsay's Works, her. Indeed I did not know myself why I Taylor's Scripture Doctrine of Original Sin) liked so much to loiter behind with her A Select Collection of English Songs, aild when returning in the evening from our Hervey's Meditations, had formed the whole labours; why the tones of her voice made of my reading. The collection of songs was my heart-strings thrill like an iAolian harp; my vade mzecum. I pored over them driving and particularly, why my pulse beat such a my cart, or walking to labour, song by song) furious ratan when I looked and fingered verse by verse-carefully noting the true, over her little hand to pick out the cruel tender or sublime, from affectation and nettle-stings and thistles. Among her other fustian. I am convinced I owe to this love-inspiring qualities, she sang sweetly; practice much of my critic craft, such as it and it was her favourite reel to which I at- is." tempted giving anembodied vehicle in rhyme. "In my seventeenth year, to give my (8) [I was not so presumptuous as to imagine manners a brush, I went to at country that I could make verses like printed ones, dancing school. My father had an Illaccomposed by men who had Greekand Latin; countable antipathy against these meetings, but my girl sang a song, which was said and mny going was, what to this moment I to be composed by a small country laird's son, repent, in opposition to his wishes. My oni one of his father's maids, with whom he father, as I said before, was subject atQ was in love, and I saw no reason why I might stronge passions; from that instance of a not rhyme as well as he; for, excepting that obedience in me he took a sort of dislike to, he could smear sheep, and cast peats, his me, which I believe was one e.aus of thi, father living in the moor-lands, he had no dissipation which marked ary suncceedilp m re scholar-craft than myself." years. I say dissipation, comparatively withl, "'l'hus with me began love and poetry; the strictness, and sobriety, 1alc regularity, w'ich at times have been my only, and till of Presbyterian country hfe.; for. though. w. thin the last twelve months, have beel my the Will o' Wisp Meteonr of' thpughtle~s highest enjoyment. SMy father struggled on whim were almost the sole lights of my till he reached the freedom in his lease, path, yet early ingrained piety qgd virtue. when he entered on a larger farm, about ten kept mIe for several years afterwards within miles farther in the country. The nature of the line of innocence. Thp.great misfortune, the bargain he made was such as to throw of my life was to want an aim. I had felt a little ready money into his hands at the early somen stirrings of. ambition, bsnt they commencement of hlis lease; otherwise the were the blind gropings of Homer's Cyclops affair would have been impracticable. For round, the walls. of his cave, I saw my four years we lived comfortably here; but a father's situation entailed on me perpetual difference commencing between him and his lahour. The only two openings by which landlord as to terms, after three years' tossing I could enter the temple of fortune, was and whirling in the vortex of litigation, my the gate of niggardly economy, or the path father was just saved from the horrors of of little, chicaning bargain-making. The first a jail by a consumption, which, after two is so contracted an aperture, I never could years' promises, kindly stepped in, and squeeze myself into it; the last I always carried him away, to where the wicked cease hated-there was contamination in the very from troubling, and the weary are at rest." entrance! Thus abandoned of aim or view "It is during the time that we lived on in life, with a strong appetite for sociability, this farm that my little story is most as well from native hilarity as from a pride eventful. I was, at the beginning of this of observation and remark-a constitutional period, perhaps the most ungainly, awkward melancholy or hypochondriasm that made boy in the parish-no solitaire was less me fly to solitude; add to these incentives acquainted with the ways of the world. to social life, my reputation for bookish What I knew of ancient story was gathered knowledge, a certain wild logical talent, from Salmon's and Guthrie's geographical and a strength of thought, something like grammars; and the ideas I had formed of the rudiments of good sense, and it will not modern manners, of literature and criticism, seem surprising that I was generally a I got from the Spectator. These, with welcome guest where I visited, or any great Pope's Works, some plays of Shakspeare, wonder that, always where two or three met 12 LIFE OF BURSNS. together, there was I among them. But from the sphere of my studies. I, however, far beyond all other impulses of my heart, struggled on with my sines and co-sines for was un penchant 2 1' adorable mnoitie du genre i a few days more; but, stepping into the humain. My heart was completely tinder, i garden one charming noon to take the sum's and was eternally lighted up by some goddess altitude, there I met my angel, or other; and as in every other warfare in i'Like Proserpine, gathering flowers, this world,myfortune was various,sometimes Herself a fairer flower I was received with favour, and sometimes It was in vain to think of doing any more I was mortified with a repulse. At the plough, good at school. The remaining week I scythe, or reaphook, I feared no competitor, staid I did nothing but craze the faculties of and thus I set absolute want at defiance; my soul about her, or steal out to meet and as I never cared farther for my labours her; and the two last nights of my stay in than while I was in actual exercise, I spent the country, had sleep been a mortal sin, the evenings in the way after my own heart. the image of this modest and innocent girl A country lad seldom carries on a love- had kept me guiltless." adventure without an assisting confidant. J "I returned home very considerably imI possessed a curiosity, zeal, and intrepid proved. My reading was enlarged with the dexterity, that recommended me as a proper very important addition of Thomlson's and second on these occasions; and, I dare say, Sheustone's Wtorks. I had seen human I felt as much pleasure in being in the secret nature in a new phasis; and I engaged several of half the loves of the parish of Tarbolton, of my school-fellows to keep up a literary as ever did statesman in knowing the in- correspondence with me. This improved me trigues of half the courts of Europe. (9) in composition. I had met with a collection The very goose-feather in my hand seems of letters by the wits of Queen Anne's reign, to know instinctively the u-ell-worn path of and I pored over them most devoutly; I my imagination, the favourite theme of my kept copies of any of my own letters that song, and is with difficulty restrained from pleased me; and a comparison between giving you a couple of paragraphs on the them and the composition of most of my love-adventures of my compeers, the humble correspondents, flattered my vanity. I inmates of the farm-house and cottage; but carried this whim so far, that though I had the grave sons of science, ambition, or avarice, not three farthings' worth of busilness in baptise these things by the name of follies. the world, yet almost every post brought me (10) To the sons and daughters of labour and as many letters as if I had been a broad poverty, they are matters of the most serious plodding son of day-book and ledger." nature; to them, the ardent hope, the stolen "My life flowed on much in the same interview, the tender farewell, are the course till my twenty-third year. iv;e greatest and most delicious parts of their l'aMoulr, et vive la bagatelle, were my sole enjoyments." principles of action. The addition of two "Another circumstance in my life which more authors to my library gave me great made some alteration in my mind and man- pleasure; Sterne and M'Kenzie-Tristram ners was, that I spent my nineteenth sum- Shandy and The MTan of Feeling-were mer on a smuggling coast, a good distance my bosom favourites. Poesy was still a from home, at a noted school, to learn darling walk for my mind, but it was only mensuration, surveying, dialling, &c., in indulged in accordinl to the humour of the which I made a pretty good progress. But hour." I made a greater progress in the knowledge "I had usually half a dozen or more pieces of mankind. The contraband trade was at on hand; I took up one or other, as it that time very successful, and it sometimes suited the momentary tone of the mind, and happened to me to fall in with those who dismissed the work as it bordered on fatigue. carried it on. Scenes of swaggering riot My passions, when once lighted up, raged and roaring dissipation were till this time like so many devils, till they got vent in new to me; but I was no enemy to social rhyme; and then the conning over my life. Here, though I learnt to fill my glass, verses, like a spell, soothed all into quiet! and to mix without fear in a drunken None of the rhymes of those days are in squabble, yet I went on with a high hand print, except Winter, a Dirge, the eldest of with my geometry, till the sun entered my printed pieces; The Death of Poor Virgo, a month which is always a carnival Mailie, John Barleycorn, and songrs first, in my bosom, when a charming filette, who second, and third. (11) Song second was lived next door to the school, overset my the ebullition of that passion which ended trigonometry, and set me off at a tangent the fore-mentioned school-business." LUCKLESS FARMING SPECULATION. 13 "My twenty-third year was to me an im- me a mischief; and the consequence was portant era. Partly throughwhim, and partly that, soon after I resumed the plough, I that I wished to set about doing some- wrote the Poet's Welcome. (13) My readthing in life, I joined a flax-dresser in a ing only increased, while in this town, by neighbouring town (Irvine) to learn his two stray volumes of Pamela, and one of trade. This was an unlucky affair. My * * *; Ferdinand Count Fathom, which gave me and, to finish the whole, as we were giving some idea of novels. Rhyme, except some a welcome carousal to the new-year, the shop religious pieces that are in print, I had given took fire, and burnt to ashes,and I was left, up; but meeting with Fergusson's Scottish like a true poet, not worth a sixpence." Poems, I strung anew my wildly-sounding "I was obliged to give up this scheme: lyre with emulating vigour. When my the clouds of misfortune were gathering father died, his all went among the hellthick round my father's head; and, what hounds that prowl in the kennel of justice; was worst of all, he was visibly far gone in but we made a shift to collect a little money a consumption; and, to crown my distresses, in the family amongst us, with which to a belle fille whom I adored, and who had keep us together; my brother and I took a pledged her soul to meet me in the field of ne ghbouring farm. Mly brother wanted matrimlony, jilted me, with peculiar circum- my hair-brained imagination, as well as my stances of mortification. The finishing evil social and amorous madness; but, in good that brougnht up the rear of this infernal file, sense, and every sober qualification, he was was my constitutional melancholy being in- far my superior." creased to such a degree, that for three "I entered on this farm with a full resomonlths I was in a state of mind scarcely to lution, Come, go to, I will be iwnise! I read be envied by the hopeless wretches who have farming books-I calculated crops-I atgot their mittimnus-Dl)epart pror me, ye ac- tended markets-and, in short, in spite of curse(l!" the devil, and the world, and the flesh, I "From this adventure I learned something believe I should have been a wise man; of a town life; but the principal thing ivhich but the first year, from unfortunately gave my mind a turn, was a friendship I buying bad seed, the second, from a late formed with a young fellow, a very noble harvest, we lost half our crops. This overcharacter, but a hapless son of misfortune. set all my wisdom, and I returned, like the HIe was the son of a simple mechanic; but dog to his vomit, and the sow that was washed, a great man in the neighbourhood taking to her wallowing in the mire." hiim under his patronage, gave him a genteel "I now began to be known in the neigheducation, with a view of bettering his situa- bourhood as a maker of rhymes. The first tion in life. The patron dying just as he of my poetic offspring that saw the light, was ready to launch out into the world, was a burlesque lamentation on a quarrel the poor fellow in despair went to sea, between two reverend Calvinists, both of where, after a variety of good and ill for- them dramatis personae in my Holy Fair. tune, a little before I was acquainted with I had a notion myself that the piece had him, he had been set on shore by an Ame- some merit; but to prevent the worst, I gave rican privateer, on the wvild coast of Con- a copy of it to a friend who was very fond naught, stripped of everything. I cannot of such things, and told him that I could quit this poor fellow's story without adding, not guess who was the author of it, but that that he is at this time master of a large I thought it pretty clever. With a certain West-Indiaman belonging to the Thames." description of the clergy, as well as laity, it "His mind was fraught with ilndepen- met with a roar of applause. (14) Holy dence, magnlanimity, and every manly virtue. Willie's Prayer next made its appearance, I loved and admired him to a degree of and alarmed the kirk-session so much, that enthusiasm, and of course strove to imitate theyv held several meetings to look over their him. In some measure I succeeded-I had spiritual artillery, if haply any of it might pride before, but he taught it to flow in be pointed against profane writers. Unproper channels. His knowledge of the luckily for me, my wanderings led me on world was vastly superior to mine, and I another side, within point-blankshot of was all attention to learn. He was the only their heaviest metal. This is the unforman I ever saw who was a greater fool than tunate story that gave rise to my printed myself, where woman was the presiding star; poem-The Lament. This was a most mebut he spoke of illicit love with the levity lancholy affair, which I cannot yet bear to of a sailor, which hitherto I had regarded reflect on, and had very nearly given me with horror. (12) Ilere his fiiendship did one or two of the principal qualifications for 14 LIFE OF BURNS. a place among those who have lost the mine overthrew all my schemes, by opening chart, and mistaken the reckoning, of I new prospects to my poetic ambition. The rationality. I gave up my part of the farm doctor belonged to a set of critics for whose to my brother-in truth it was only nomi- applause I had not dared to hope. His nally mine-and made what little prepara- opinion, that I would meet with encouragetion was in my power for Jamaica. But, ment in Edinburgh for a second edition, before leaving my native country for ever, I fired me so much, that away I posted for resolved to publish my poems. I weighed Ithat city, without a single acquaintance, or my productions as impartially as was in my a single letter of introduction. The baneful power: I thought they had merit, and it star that had so long shed its blasting infiLuwas a delicious idea that I should be called ence in my zenith, for once made a revolua clever fellow even though it should never tion to the nadir; and a kind Providence reach my ears-a poor negro-driver; or per- placed me under the patronage of one of haps a victim to that inhospitable clime, the noblest of men, the Earl of Glencairn. and gone to the world of spirits! I can Oublie ssoi, Grand Dieu, si jamais je truly say, that pauvre inconnu as I then was, I'oublie!" I had pretty nearly as high anl idea of myself "I need relate no farther. At Edinburgh and of my works as I have at this moment, l I was in a new world; I mingled among when the public has decided in their favour. many classes of men, but all of them new to It ever was my opinion, that the mistakes me, and I was all attention to catch the and blunders, both in a rational and relioious characters and the manners living as they point of view, of which we see thousands rise. Whether I have profited, time will daily guilty, are owing to their ignorance of show. * * * " themselves. To know myself had been all "MIy most respectful compliments to along my constant study. I weighed myself Miss AV. (16) Her very elegant and friendly aone-I balanced myself with others-I letter I cannot answer at present, as nmy watched every means of information, to see presence is requisite in Edinburgh, and I how much ground I occupied as a man and set out to-morrow." (17) as a poet;-I studied assiduously Nature's design in my formation-where the lights At the period of our poet's death, his and shades in my character were intended. brother, Gilbert Burns, wvas ignorant that I was pretty confident my poems would he had himself written the forgoing narrameet with some applause (15); but, at the tire of his life while in Ayrshire; and worst, the roar of tile Atlantic would deafen having been applied to by Mirs. Dunlop for the voice of censure, andl the novelty of 1 some memoirs of his brother, he complied West-Indian scenes make me forget neg- I with her request in a letter, from which the lect. I thresv off six hundred copies, of I following narrative is chiefly extracted. which I had got subscriptions for about!When Gilbert Burns afterwards saw tilhe three hundred and fifty. My vanity was I letter of our poet to Dr. MIoore, he made highly gratified by the reception I met iwith some annotations upon it, which shall be from the public; and, besides, I pocketed, noticed as we proceed. all expenses deducted, nearly twenty pounds. Robert Burns was born on the 25th day This sum, came very seasonably, as I was of January 1759, in a small house about thinking of indenting myself, for want of two miles from the town of Ayr, and within money to procure my passage. As soon a few hundred yards of Alloway church, as I was master of nine guineas, the price which his poem of Tam o' Shanter has of wafting me to the torrid zone, I took a rendered immortal. (18) The name, which steerage-passage in the first ship that was the poet and his brother modernised into to sail from the Clyde; for Burns, was originally Burnes or Burness.'Hungry ruin had me in the wind.' Their father, William Burnes, was the son "I had been for some days skulking of a farmer in Kincardineshire, and had from covert to covert, under all the terrors received the education common in Scotland of a jail; as some ill-advised people had un- to persons in his condition of life; he could coupled the merciless pack of the law at my read and write, and had some knowledge of heels. I had taken the last farewell of my arithmetic. His family having fallen into few friends; my chest was on the road to reduced circumstances, he was compelled to Greenock; I had composed the last song I leave his home in his nineteenth year, and should ever measure in Caledonia —l'he turned his steps towards the south, in quest Gloomy Night is Gathering Fast-when a of a livelihood. The sanle necessity attended letter from Dr. Blacklock to a friend of his elder brother Robert. "I have often WILLIAM BURNES OR BURNS. 15 heard my father" (says Gilbert Burns, in tolerably well (20), and to write a little. his letter to Mlrs. Dunlop) "describe the H Ie taught, us, too, the English grammar. anguish of mind he felt when they parted I was too young to profit much from his on the top of a hill on the confines of their lessons in grammar, but Robert made some native place, each going off his several way proficiency in it-a circumstance of conin search of new adventures, and scarcely sisiderable weight in the unfolding of his knowing whither he went. MIy father un- genius and character; as he soon became dertook to act as a gardener, and shaped remarkable for the fluency and correctness his course to Edinburgh, where he wrought of his expression, and read the few books hard when he could get work, passing that came in his way with much pleasure through a variety of difficulties. Still, how- and improvement: for even then he was a ever, he endeavoured to spare something reader when he could get abook. lMurdoch, for the support of his aged parent; and I whose library at that time had no great recollect hearing him mention his having variety in it, lent him The Life of Hannibal, sent a bank-note for this purpose, when which was the first book he read (the schoolmoney of that kind was so scarce in Kin- books excepted), and almost the only one cardineshire, that they scarcely knew how he. had an opportunity of reading while he to employ it when it arrived." From Edin- was at school; for'The Life of Wallace, burgh, William Burnes passed westward which he classes with it in one of his letters into the county of Ayr, where he engaged to you, he did not see for some years after himself as a gardener to the laird of Fairly, wards, when he borrowed it from the blackwith whom he lived two years; then chang- smlith who shod our horses." ing his service for that of Crawford of It appears that William Biurnes approved Doonside. At length, being desirous of himself greatly in the service of dir. Fersettling in life, he took a perpetual lease of guson, by his intelligelce, industry, and seven acres of land from Dr. Campbell, illtegrity. In consequence of this, with a physician in Ayr, with the view of com- view of promoting lis interest, Mr. Ferguson imen(irng nurseryman and public gardener; leased him a farm, of which we hav-e the and, having built a house upon it with his following account:own hands, married, in December, 1757, "Thlle farm was upwards of seventy lgiles Brown, the mother of our poet, who acres (21) (between eillhty and nlinlety, Enstill survives. (19) The first fruit of this glish statute measure), the rent of which marriage was Robert, the subject of these was to be forty pounds annually for the memoirs, born on the 25th of January, 1759, first six years, and afterwards forty-five as has already been mentioned. Before pounds. dly father eldeavoutred to sell his \William Burnes had made much progress leasehold property, for the purpose of stockin preparing his nursery, he was withdrawn ing this farm, but at thalt time was unlable, from that undertaking by Mir. Ferguson, and Air. Ferguson lent hims a hulndredl pounds who purchased the estate of Doonlholm, in for that purpose. -le removed to llis newv the immediate neighbourhood, and engaged situation at \Vhitsuntitde, 1766. It was, I him as his gardener and overseer; and this think, not above two years after this, that was his situation when our poet was born. Miurdoch, our tutor ald ienild, left this part Though in the service of dir. Fergusol, lie of the country; and there being no school lived in his own house, his wife illalaging near us, and our little services beirln useful her family and her little dairy, which con- oun the farm, my fiather undertook to teach sisted sometimes of two, sometimes of three us arithmetic in the winter evenings, by milch-cows; and this state of unambitious candle-light; and inl this way my two eldest content continued till the year 1Iti66. His sisters got all the education they received. son Robert was sent by him in his sixth year I remember a circumstance that happened to a school at Alloway Milln, about a mile at this time, which, though triflirg in distant, taught by a person of tile name of | itself, is fresh in my memory, and may Campbell; but this teacher being ill a few serve to illustrate the early character of ny months appointed master of the workhouse brother. Murdoch came to spend a night at Ayr, W'illiam Burnes, in conjunction with with us, and to take his leave when he soine other heads of families, engaged John was about to go into Carrick. HIe brought Murdoch in his stead. The education of our us, as a present and memorial of him, a poet, and of his brother Gilbert, was in com- small compendium of English Grammar, and mon; and oftheirproficiencyunder Mr. Mur- the tragedy of Titus Andronicus, anld, by doch, we have the following account: — way of passing the evening, he began to "With him we learnt to read English read the play aloud. We were all attention 16 LIFE OF BURNS. for some time, till presently the whole party to purchase Tile Ready Reckoner, or was dissolved in tears. A female in the Tradesman's Sure Guide, and a book to play (I have but a confused remembrance of teach him to write letters. Lulckily, in it) had her hands chopt off, and her tongue place of The Complete Letter-Writer, he got cut out, and then was insultingly desired to by mistake a small collection of letters by call for water to wash her hands. At this, the most eminent writers, with a few in an agony of distress, we with one voice sensible directions for attaining an easy desired he would read no more. My father epistolary style. This book was to observed, that if we would not hear it out. Robert of the greatest consequence. it would be needless to leave the play with It inspired him with a strong desire to us, Robert replied, that if it was left he excel in letter-writing, while it furnished would burn it. My father was going to him with models by some of the first writers chide him for this ungrateful return to his in our lanluage." tutor's kindness; but Murdoch interfered, " My brother was about thirteen or declaring that he liked to see so much fourteen,'when my father, regretting that sensibility; and he left the School for Love, w e wrote so ill, sent us, week about, during a comedy, translated I think from the a sunrnier quarter, to the parish school of French, in its place." (22) Dal lslymple, which, though between two or "Nothing," continues Gilbert Burns, t three miles distant, was the nearest to us, "could be more retired than our general that we miliht have an opportunity of manner of living at Mount Oliphant; we remedyiin this defect. About this time rarely saw any body but the members of our a bookish acquaintance of my father's proown family. There were no boys of our cured us a reading of two volumes of own age, or near it, in the neighbourhood. Richairdson's Pamela, which was the first Indeed, the greatest part of the land in the novel we read, and the only part of Richardvicinity was at that time possessed by son's works my brother was acquainted with shopkeepers, and people of that stamp, who till towards the period of his commenrcing had retired from business, orwho kept their author. Till that time, too, he remainled farm in the country, at the same time te that unacquainted with Fielding, with Smollett they followed business in town. Mnly father (two volumes of Ferdinand Count Fathom, was for some time almost the only comn- I and two voluimes of Peregrinle Pickle, expanion we had. lie conversed famiharly on cepted), with Hume, with Robertson, and all subjects with us, as if we had been almost all our authors of eminence of the men; and was at great pails, while we later times. I recollect, indeed, my father accompanied him iii the labours of the borrowed a volume of English history from farm, to lead the conversation to such i\Ir. Hamilton of Bourtreehill's gardener. subjects as mlight tend to increase our It treated of the reign of Janmes I., and his knowledge, or conlfirmr us in virtuous habits. I unfortunate son Charles, but I do not know He borrowed Salomon's Geographical Gram- w' ho was the author; all that I remember mar for us, and endeavoured to make us i of it is something of Charles's conversation acquainted with the situation and history with his children. About this time, Murof the different countries of the world; i doch, our former teacher, after having been while, from a book-society in A.yr, lie pro- ii different places in the country, and having cured for us the reading of Durham's Physico taught a school somne time in Dumfries, and Astro-Theology, and Ray's Wisdom of calme to be the established teacher of the God in the Creation, to give us some idea English language in Ayr, a circumstance of of astronomy and natural history. Robert considerable consequence to us. The reread all these books with an avidity and mesmbrance of my father's former friendindustry scarcely to be equatlled. My ship, and his attachment to my brother, father had been a subscriber to Stackliouse's made him Ao every thiing in his power for History of the Bible, then lately pub- our improvement. Hie sent us Pope's lished by James Meuros in Kilmarnock: works, and some other poetry, the first from this Rtobert collected a competent that we had an opportunity of reading, knowledge of ancient history; for no book excepting what is contained in the English was so voluminous as to slacken his in- Collection, and in the volume of the dustry, or so antiquated as to damp his Edinbulrgh Mlagazine for 1772; excepting researches. A brother of my mother, who also those excellent new songs that are had lived with us some time, and had learned hawked about the country in baskets, or some arithmetic by our winter evening's exposed on stalls in the streets." candle, went ihto a bookseller's shop in PAyr, "The summer after we had been at BURNS STUDIES LATIN. 17 Dalrymple school, my father sent Robert *of him without tracing his future history. to Ayr, to revise his English grammar, He continued for some years a respected with his former teacher. -le had been and useful teacher at Avr, till one evening there only one week, when he was obliged that he had been overtaken in liquor, he to return to assist at the harvest. When happened to speak somewhat disrespectfully the harvest was over, he went back to of Dr. Dalrymplie, the parish minister, who school, where he remained two weeks; had not paid him that attention to which and this completes the account of his he thought himself entitled. In Ayr he school education, excepting one summer might as well have spoken blasphemy. He quarter, some time afterwards, that he found it proper to give up his appointattended the parish school of Kirkoswald ment. He went to London, where he still (where he lived with a brother of my lives, a private teacher of French. He mother's), to learn surveying." has been a considerable time married, and " During the two last weeks that he keeps a shop of stationery wares." (24) was with Murdoch, he himself was engaged "The father of Dr. Paterson, now phy. in learning French (23), and he communi- sician at Ayr, was, I believe, a native of cated the instructions he received to my Aberdeenshire, and was one of the estabbrother, who, when he returned, brought lished teachers in Ayr when my father home with him a French dictionary and settled in the neighbourhood. He early grammar, and the Adventures of Telemachus recognised my father as a fellow native of in the original. In a little while, by the the north of Scotland, and a certain degree assistance of these books, he had acquired of intimacy subsisted between them during such a knowledge of the language, as to Mr. Paterson's life. After his death, his read and understand any French author in widow, who is a very genteel woman, and prose. This was considered as a sort of of great worth, delighted in doing what she prodigy, and through the medium of AMur- thought her husband would have wished doch, procured him the acquaintance of to have done, and assiduously kept up her several lads in Ayr, who were at that attentions to all his acquaintances. She time gabbling French, and the notice of kept alive the intimacy with our family, by some families, particularly that of Dr. frequently inviting my father and mother Malcolm, where a knowledge of Frenlch to her house on Sundays, when she met was a recommendation." them at church." " Observing the facility with which he "When she came to know my brother's had acquired the French language, Mr. passion for books she kindly offered us the Robinson, the established writing-master use of her husband's library, and from her in Ayr, and MIr. lMurdoch's particular we got the Spectator, Pope's Translation of friend, having himself acquired a con- Homer, and several other books that were siderable knowledge of the Latin language, of use to us. Mount Oliphant, the farm by his own industry, without ever having my father possessed in the parish of Ayr, learned it at school, advised Robert to make is almost the very poorest soil I know of the same attempt, promising him every in a state of cultivation. A stronger assistance in his power. Agreeably to this proof of this I cannot give, than that, advice, he purchased the Rudiments of the notwithstanding the extraordinary rise in Latin Tongue, but finding this study dry the value of lands in Scotland, it was let, and uninteresting, it was quickly laid aside. after a considerable sum laid out in ins He frequently returned to his Rudiments proving it by the proprietor, a few years on any little chagrin or disappointment, ago, fiNe pounds per annum lower than the particularly in his love affairs; but the rent paid for it by my father, thirty years Latin seldom predominated more than a ago. My father, in consequence of this, day or two at a time, or a week at most. soon came into ditficulties, which were Observing, himself, the ridicule that would increased by the loss of several of his cattle attach to this sort of conduct if it were by accidents and disease. To the buffetknown, he made two or three humorous ings of misfortune, we could only oppose stanzas on the subject, which I cannot now hard labour and the most rigid economy. recollect, but they all ended, We lived very sparingly. For several years'So 1'11 to my Latin again.' butcher's meat was a stranger in the house, "Thus you see br. Murdoch was a while all the members of the family exerted principal means of my brother's improve- themselves to the utmost of their strength, inent. Worthy man! though foreign to and rather beyond it, in the labours of the. my present purpose, I cannot take leave farm. My brother, at the age of thirteen 0 18 LIFE OF BURNS. assisted in thrashing the crop of corn, and toms of his passion were often such as at fifteen was the principal labourer on the nearly to equal those of the celebrated farm, for we had no hired servant, male Sappho. I never indeed knew that he or female. The anguish of mind we felt fainted, sunk, and died away; but the at our tender years, under these straits agitations of his mind and body exceeded and difficullties, was very great. To think anything of the kind I ever knew in real of our father growing old (for he was now life. He had always a particular jealousy above fifty), broken down with the long- of people who were richer than himself, or continued fatigues of his life, with a wife who had more consequence in life. His and five other children, and in a declining love, therefore, rarely settled on persons of state of circumstances-these reflections this description. When he selected any produced in my brother's mind and mine one out of the sovereignty of his good sensations of the deepest distress. I doubt pleasure, to whom he should pay his parnot but the hard labour and sorrow of this ticular attention, she was instantly invested period of his life, was in a great measure with a sufficient stock of charms, out of the cause of that depression of spirits with the plentiful stores of his own imagination; which Robert was so often afflicted through and there was often a great dissimilitude his whole life afterwards. At this time he between his fair captivator, as she appeared was almost constantly afflicted in the even- to others, and as she seemed when invested ings with a dull headache, which, at a future in the attributes he gave her. One generally period of his life, was exchanged for a reigned paramount in his affections; but as palpitation of the heart, and a threatening Yorick's affections flowed out toward Maof fainting and suffocation in his bed in dame de L- at the remise door, while the the night-time. eternal vows of Eliza were upon him, so "By a stipulation in my father's lease, Robert was frequently enlcountering other he had a right to throw it up, if he thought attractions, which formed so many underproper, at the end of every sixth year. lIe plots in the drama of his love. As these attempted to fix himself in a better farm connections were governed by the strictest at the end of the first six years, but failing rules of virtue and modesty (from which in that attempt, he continued where he was he never deviated till he reached his 23rd for six years more. He then took the year), he became anxious to be in a situafarm of Lockllea, of 130 acres, at the rent tion to marry. This was not likely soon to of twenty shillings asl acre, in the parish of be the case while he remained a farmer, as Tarbolton, of Mr. -, then a merchant in the stocking of the farm required a sum of Ayr, and now (1797) a merchant ill Iiver.- money he had no probability of being pool. IHe removed to this farm on Whit- master of for a great while. He began, sunday, 1777, and possessed it only seven therefore, to think of trying some other line years. No writing had ever been made out of life. Hie and I had for several years taken of the conditions of the lease; a mis- land of my father for the purpose of raising understanding took place respecting them; flax on our own account. In the course the subjects in dispute were submLitted to of selling it, Robert began to think of turning arbitration, and the decision involved my flax-dresser, both as being' suitable to his father's affairs in ruin. IIe lived to know grand view of settling in life, and as subserof this decision, but not to see any execution vient to the flax raising. Hle accordingly in consequence'of it. He died on the wrought at the business of a flax-dresser in 13th of February, 1784." Irvine for six months, but abandoned it at "The seven years we lived in Tarbolton that period, as neither agreeing with his parish (extending from the 19th to the health nor inclination. In Irvine he had 26th of my brother's age), were not marked contracted sonle acquaintance of a freer by much literary improvement; but during manner of thinking and living than he had this time, the foundation was laid of certaii been used to, whose society prepared him habits in my brother's character, which for overleaping the bounds of rigid virtue afterwards became but too prominent, and which had hitherto restrained him. Towhich malice and envy have taken delight wards the end of the period under review to enlarge on. Though when young he (in his 26th year), anld soon after his father's was bashful and awkward in his intercourse death, he was furnished with the subject with women, yet, when he approached man- of his epistle to John Rankin. During hood, his attachment to their society became this period also he became a freemason, very strong, and he was constantly the which was his first introduction to the life victim of come fair enslaver. The symp- of a boon companion. Yet, notwithstand BURNS AT MOSSGIEL. 19 ing the circumstances and the praise he fore, between them, that they should make has bestowed on Scotch drink (which seems a legal acknowledgment of an irregular and to have misled his historians), I do not private marriage; that he should go to recollect, during these seven years, nor till Jamaica to push his fortune; and that she towards the end of his commencing author should remain with her father till it might (when his growing celebrity occasioned his please Providence to put the means of sup. being often in company), to have ever porting a family in his power." seen him intoxicated; nor was he at all "Mrs. Burns was a great favourite of her given to drinking. A stronger proof of the father's. The intimation of a marriage was general sobriety of his conduct need not the first suggestion lie received of her real be required than what I am about to give. situation. He was in the greatest distress, During the whole of the time we lived in and fainted away. The marriage did not the farm of Lochlea with my father, he appear to him to make the matter better. allowed my brother and me such wages for A husband in Jamaica appeared to him our labour as he gave to other labour- and his wife little better than none, and ers, as a part of which, every article of an effectual bar to any other prospects of our clothing manufactured in the family, a settlement in life that their daughter was regularly accounted for. Whlen my migrht have. They therefore expressed a father's affairs drew near a crisis, Robert wish to her, that the written papers which and I took the farm of Miossgiel, consisting respected the marriage should be cancelled, of 118 acres, at the rent of ~90 per annum and thus the marriage rendered void. In (the farm on which I live at present), from her melancholy state, she felt the deepest Mr. Gavin Hamilton, as art asylumn for the remorse at having brought such heavy afflicfamily in case of the worst. It was stocked tion on parents that loved her so tenderly, by the property and individual savings of and submitted to their entreaties. Their the whole family, and was a joint concern I wish was mentioned to Hlobert. He felt among us. (25) Every member of the family the deepest anguish of mind. He offered was allowed ordinary wages for the labour he to stay at home and provide for his wife and performed on the farm. (26) My brother's family in the best manner that his daily allowance and mine was seven pounds per lbours could provide for them, that being annum each. And dluring the whole time the only means in his power. Even this this family concern lasted, which was for offer they did not approve of; for humbie four years, as well as during the preceding as Miss Armour's station was, and thoullh period at Lochlea, his expenses never in great her inmprudence had been, she still, in any one year exceeded his slender income. the eyes of her partial parents, might look As I was entrusted with the keeping of to a better connection than that with my the family accounts, it is not possible that friendless and unhappy brother, at that time there can be any fallacy in this statement without house or bidillng-place. Robert at in mybrother's favour. Iis temperance and length consented to their wishes; but his frugality were every thing that could be feelings on this occasion were of the most wished." distracting nature; and the impression " The farm of Mossgiel lies very high, and of sorrow was not effaced, till by a regular mostly on a cold wet bottom. The first marriage they were indlissolubly united. In four years that we were on the farm were the state of mind which this separation provery frosty, and the spring was very late. duced, he wished to leave the country as Our crops in consequence were very un- soon as possible, and agreed with Dr. profitable; and, notwithstanding our utmost Douglas to go out to Jamaica as an assistant diligence and economy, we found ourselves i overseer, or, as I believe it is called, a bookobliged to give up our bargain, with the loss keeper on his estate. As he had not suffiof a considerable part of our original stock. cient money to pay his passage, and the It was during these four years that Robert vessel in which Dr. Douglas was to procure formed his connexion with Jean Armour, a passage for him was not expected to sail afterwards MIrs. Burns. This connexion for somle time, Mr. Hamilton advised him to could no lory#er be conecealed about the time publish his poems in the mean time by subwe came to a final determination to quit scription, as a likely way of getting a little the farm. Robert durst not engage with money, to provide him more liberally in: a family in his poor unsettled state, but was necessaries for Jamaica. Agreably to this anxious to shield his partner, by every advice, subscription-bills were printed immnemeans in his power, from the consequences diately, and the printing was commenced at of their imprudence. It was agreed, there. Kilmarnock, his preparations going on at the 20 LIFE OF BURN1S. same time for his voyage. (27) The recep- to Ayr and Kirkoswald schools; and he was tion, however, which his poems met with in greatly delighted with his warmth of heart the world, and the friends they procured and his conversational powers. I-le had, him, made him change his resolution of indeed, that dislike of dancing-schools which going to Jamaica, and he was advised to go Robert mentions, but so far overcame it to Edinburgh to publish a second edition. during Robert's first month of attendance, On his return, in happier circumstances, he that he allowed all the rest of the family that renewed his connection with Mrs. Burns, were fit for it to accompany him during and rendered it permanent by a union for the second month. Robert excelled in life." dancing, and was for some time distractedly Thus, madam, have I endeavoured to fond of it." give you a simple narrative of the leading "' In the original letters to Dr. Moore, our circumstances in my brother's early life. poet described his ancestors as "renting The remaining part he spent in Edinburgh, lands of the noble Keiths of 3Marischal, and or in Dumfries-shire, and its incidents are as having had the honour of sharing their well known to you as to me. His genius fate." "I do not," continues he, "use the having procured him your patronage and word honour with any reference to political friendship, this gave rise to the correspond- principles; loyal and disloyal, I take to be ence between you, in which, I believe, his merely relative terms, in that ancient and sentiments were delivered with the most formidable court, known in this country respectful, but most unreserved confidence, by the name of Club-law, where the right and which only terminated with the last is always with the strongest. But those days of his life." who dare welcome ruin, and shake hands This narrative of Gilbert Burns may serve with infamy, for what they scarcely believe as a commentary on the preceding sketch to be the cause of their God, or their of our poet's life by himself. It will be king, are, as MNlark Antony says in Shaksseen that the distraction of umind which he peare of Brutus and Cassius, honozrable mentions arose from the distress and sorrow men. I mention this circumstance, because in which he had involved his future wife. it threw my father on the world at large." The whole circumstances attending this This paragraph has been omitted in printconnexion are certainly of a very singular ing the letter, at the desire of Gilbert Burns; nature. (28) and it would have been unnecessary to The reader will perceive, from the fore- have noticed it on the present occasion, going narrative, how much the cllildren of had not several manuscript copies of that William Burnes were indebted to their letter been in circulation. "I do not know," father, who was certainly a man of uncom- observed Gilbert Burns, "how my brother mon talents, though it does not appear that could be misled in the accounlt he has given he possessed any portion of that vivid of the Jacobitism of his ancestors. I believe imagination for which the subject of these the Earl MIarischal forfeited his title and memoirs was distinguished. In page 13, it estate in 1715, before my father was born; is observed by our poet, that his father had and, among a collection of parish-certificates an unaccountable antipathy to dancing- in his posession, I have read one, stating schools, and that his attending one of these that the bearer had no concern in the late brought on him his displeasure and even wicked rebellion." On the information of one, dislike. On this observation Gilbert has who knew William Burnes soon after he made the following remark, which seems arrived in the country of Ayr, it may be entitled to implicit credit: —"I wonder how mentioned, that a report did prevail that he Robert could attribute to oulr father that had taken the field with the young Cheva-;lasting resentment of his going to a danc- lier-a report which the certificate mnentioned ing-school against his will, of which he was by his son was, perhaps, intended to counterincapable. I believe the truth was, that he, act. Strangers from the north, in the low about this time, began to see the dangerous country of Scotland, were in those days liable impetuosity of my brother's passions, as well to suspicions of having been, in the as his not being amenable to counsel, which familiar phrase of the country, "Out in often irritated my father, and which he the forty-five" (1745), especially when they would naturally think a dancing-school was had any stateliness or reserve about them, not likely to correct. But he was proud of as was the case with William Burnes. It Robert's genius, which he bestowed more may easily be conceived, that our poet expense in cultivating than on the rest of would cherish the belief of his father's havthe family,in the instances of sending him ing been engaged in the daring enterprise THE ORIGINAL OF THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 21 of Prince Charles Edward. The generous Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, attachment, the heroic valour, and the final How guiltless blood for guilty man was misfortunes of the adherents of the house shed; [name, How he who bore in heaven the second of Stuart, touched with sympathy his youth- Had not on earth whereon to lay his head, ful and ardent mind, and influenced his How his first followers and servants sped; original political opinions. (29) The precepts sage they wrote to many a The father of our poet is described by land one who knew him towards the latter end How he, who lone in Patmos banished, of his life, as above the common stature, And heard great Babylon's doom pronounced, thin, and bent with labour. His counte- by IIeaven's command! nance was serious and expressive, and the Then kneeling down to heaven's eternal scanty locks on his head were grey. He King, [prays; was of a religious turn of mind, and, as The saint, the father, and the husband, is usual among the Scottish peasantry, a'Hope springs exulting on triumphant good deal conversant in speculative theology wing,' [days; That thus they all shall meet in future There is, in Gilbert's hands, a little manual There ever bask in uncreated rays, of religious belief, in the form of a dialogue No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, between a father and his son, composed Together hymning their Creator's praise, by him for the use of his children, in In such society, yet still more dear; which the benevolence of his heart seems to While circling time moves round in an eternal have led him to soften the rigid Calvinism sphere. of the Scotch church, into something ap- Then homeward all take off their several proaching to Arminianism. HIe was a way; devout man, and in the practice of calling The youngling cottagers retire to rest: his family together to join in praver. It is The parent pair their secret homage pay, known that the following exquisite picture, And offer up to heaven the warm request: That lie who stills the raven's clam'rous in the Cotter's Saturday Night, represents nest, William Burnes and his family at their And decks the lily fair in flowery pride, evening devotions:- Would, in the way his wisdom sees the best, Fol them and for their little ones provide; "The cheerful supper done, with serious But, chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine face, [wide; preside!" They, round the ingle (30), form a circle The sire turns o'er, with patria-cllal grace, Of a family so interesting as that which The big hall-Bible, once his father's pride: inhabited the cottage of William Burnes, and His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, [bare; particularly of the father of the family, the His lyart haffets (31) wearing thin and reader will perhaps be willing to listen to Those strains that once did sweet in Zion some farther account. What follows is given glide, are; by one already mentioned with so much He wales (32) a portion with judicious y one already mentioned with so much And'Let us worship God!" he says with honour in the narrative of Gilbert Burns, solemn air. Mr. Murdoch, the preceptor of our poet, They chant their artless notes in simple who, in a letter to Joseph Cooper Walker, guise; [aim: Esq., of Dublin, author of the Historical They tune their hearts, by far the noblest Memoirs of the Irish Bards, and of the HisPerhaps Dundee's (33) wild warbling inea- torical Memoir of the Italian Tragedy, thus sures rise, [name; expresses himself Or plaintive fart/rs (34), worthy of the Or noble -Elgin (35) beets (36) the heavenly "SIR.-I was lately favoured with a letter flame, from our worthy friend, the Rev. Wim. The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays; Adair, in which he requested me to comCompar'd with these Italian trills are tame, municate to you whatever particulars I The tickled ears no heart-felt raptures could recollect concerning Robert Burns, raise; [praise the Ayrshire poet. My business being at No unison have they with our Creator's the Ayrshire poet. s u ybusiness ing at The priest-like father reads the sacred page, present multifarious and harassing my (37) attention is consequently so much divided, HowAbram was the friend of God on high: and I am so little in the habit of expressOr Moses bade eternal welfare wage ing my thoughts on paper, that at this With Amalek's ungracious progeny; distance of time I can give but a very imOr how the royal bard did groaning lie, [ire; Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging perfect sketch of the early part of the life Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry; of that extraordinary genius, with which Or rapt Isaiah wild seraphic fire; alone I am acquainted. Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. William Burnes, the father of the poet, 22 LIFE OF BURNS. was born in the shire of Kincardine, and syllables byrule, spelling withoutbook, passbred a gardener. He had been settled in ing sentence, &c., Robert and Gilbert Ayrshire ten or twelve years before I were generally at the upper end of the class, knew him, and had been in the service of even when ranged with boys by far their Mr. Crawford of Doonside. He was afterwards seniors. The books most commonly used employed as a gardener and overseer by in the school were the Spelling Book,'the Provost Ferguson of Doonholm, m the parish New Testament, the Bible, Mason's Collecof Alloway, which is now united with that tion of Prose and Verse, and Fisher's of Ayr. In this parish, on the roadside, a English Grammar. They committed to Scotch mile and a half fiom the town of Ayr, memory the hymns, and other poems of and half a mile from the bridge of Doon, that collection, with uncommon facility. Willian Burnes took a piece of land, consist- This facility was partly owing to the method ing of about seven acres; part of which he pursued by their father and me in instructlaid out in garden ground, and part of ing them, which was, to make them thowhich he kept to graze a cow, &c., still roughly acquainted with the meaning of continuing in the employ of Provost Fer- every word in each sentence that was guson. Upon this little farm was erected be committed to memory. By the bye, this a humble dwelling, of which William Burnes may be easier done, and at an earlier was the architect. It was, with the excep- period, than is generally thought. As soon tion of a little straw, literally a tabernacle as they were capable of it, I taught them of clay. In this mean cottage, of which to turn verse into its natural prose order; I myself was at times an inhabitant, I sometimes to substitute synonymous exreally believe there dwelt a larger portion pressions for poetical words, and to supply of content than in any palace in Europe. all the ellipses. These, you know, are the The Cotter's Saturday Night will give some means of knowing that the pupil understands idea of the temper and manners that pre- his author. These are excellent helps to the vailed there." arrangement of words in sentences, as well "In 1765, about the middle of March, as to a variety of expressionl." Mr. W. Burnes came to Ayr, and sent to "Gilbert always appeared to me to posthe school where I was improving in writ- sess a more lively imagination, and to be ing, under my good friend Mr. Robinson, more of the wit, than Robert. I attempted desiring that I would come and speak to to teach themn a little church-music. Here him at a certain inn, and bring my writing i they were left far behind by all the rest book with me. Thiis was immediately corn- of the school. Robert's ear, in particular, plied with. lavin examined my riti writings remarkably dull, and his voice un. he was pleased with it-you will readily tunable. It was long before I could get allow he was not difficult-and told me them to distinguish one tune from another. that he had received very satisfactory infor- Robert's countenance was generally grave, mation of Mr. Tennant, the master of the and expressive of a serious, contemplative, English school, concerning my improvement and thoughtful mind. Gilbert's face said, in English, and in his method of teach- 3lirth, with thee I mean to live; and cering. In the month of May following, I was tainly, if any person who knew the two boys engaged by Mr. Burnes, and four of his had been asked which of them was the neighbours, to teach, and accordingly began most likely to court the muses, he would to teach the school at Alloway, which was surely never have guessed that Robert had situated a few yards from the argillaceous a propensity of that kind." fabric above-mentioned. My five employers "In the year 1767, Mr. Burnes quitted undertook to board me by turns, and to his mud edifice, and took possession of a make up a certain salary, at the end of the farm (Mount Oliphant), of his own improvyear, provided my quarterly payments fromn ing, while in the service of Provost Fergu. the different pupils did not amount to that sonl. This farm being at a considerable gum." distance from the school, the boys could "My pupil, Robert Burns, was then be- not attend regularly; and some changes tween six and seven years of age; his taking place among the other supporters of preceptor about eighteen. Robert, and his the school, I left it, having continued to younger brother, Gilbert, had been grounded conduct it for nearly two years and a half." a little in English before they were put "In the year 1772, I was appointed under my care. They both made a rapid (being one of five candidates who were progress in reading, and a tolerable progress examined) to teach the English school at in writing. In reading, dividing words into Ayr; and in 1773, Robert Burns came to IBURNS STUDIES FRENCH. 23 board and lodge with me, for the purpose of always rational information in view, had revising English grammar, &c., that he still some questions to propose to my might be better qualiSed to instruct his more learned friends, upon moral or natural brothers and sisters at home. He was now philosophy, or some such interesting subject. with me day and night, in school, at all Mrs. Burnes, too, was of the party as much meals, and in all my walks. At the end of i as possible; one week, I told him, that, as he was now, one week, I tol him, that, as he was now'But still the house affairs would draw her pretty much master of the parts of speech, thence, [patch, &c., I should like to teach him something Which ever as she could with haste disof French pronunciation; that when he She'd come again, and with a greedy ear, should meet with the name of a French Devour up their discourse'town, ship officer, or the like, in the news- and particularly that of her husband. At papers, he might be able to pronounce it all times and in all companies she listened all times, and in all companies, she listened something like a French word. Robert was to him with a more marked attention than 0 ~. *.., to him with a more marked attention than glad to hear this proposal, and immedi- to any body else. Whei under the necesately we attacked the French with good; sity of being absent while he was speakcoura, e.'" ing, she seemed to regret, as a real loss, that "Now there was little else to be heard o ha hut the declension of nouns, the coi- she had missed what the good man had * of verbs, &c. W, eion walking said. This worthy woman, Agnes Brown, j had the most thorough esteem for her hustogether, and even at meals, I was con- band of any woman I ever knew. I can scantly tellin- him the names of different by no means wonder that she highly objects, as they presented themselves, in tm(l him; for I mylf hav alway French; so that he was hourly layinIg in esteemed him; for I myself have always Frenc; so that lie was holy lyin in considered William Burnes as by far the a stock of words, and so netmes little best of the human race that ever I had phrases. In short, he took such pleasure ine pleasure of bei acqaited withlearlning, and I in teachin, that it is " n earnii,,, and mitainh, and uamay a worthy character I have known. ifficult to say which of the two was mostc difficult to say which of the two wa most' I can cheerfully join with Robert ain the last zealous il the business; alnd about the enLu of his epitaph (borroved from Goldthe second week ofour study of the FIrelch, we began to read a little of the Adven tures smith), of Ielemachus, in Fenelon's owvn Ad-rd3."' And ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side.' of Telemachus, in Fenelon's own words." "But now the plains of Mount Oliphant' I-Ie was an excellent husband, if I may began to whiten, and Robert was sum- judge from his assiduous attention to the moiled to relinquish the pleasin- scenes that ease and comfort of his worthy partner, surround the grotto of Calypso, and, armed iand from her affectionate behaviour to with a sickle, to seek glory by signalising him, as well as her unwearied attention to himself in the field of Ceres-and so he the duties of a mother." did; for, although but about fifteen, I was' tie was a tender and affectionate father; told that he performed the work of a man." he took pleasure in leading his children in " Thus was I deprived of my very apt pupil, i the path of virtue, not in driving them, as and consequently agreeable companion, at some parents do, to the performance of the end of three weeks, one of which wuas duties to which they themselves are averse. spenlt entirely in the study of English, and Ie took care to find fault but very seldom; the other two chiefly ii that of French. and therefore, when he did rebuke, he was I did not, however, lose sighlt of him, but listened to with a kind of reverential awe. was a frequent visitant at his father's house, A look of disapprobation was felt; a rewhen I had my half holiday; and very proof was severely so; and a strip with often went, accomnpanlied with one or two the tawz, even on the skirt of the coat, persons nlore intelligent than myself, that gave heart-felt pain, produced a loud lamengood Willian Burnes might enjoy a mental i tation, and broulght forth a flood of tears." feast. Then the labouring oar was shifted "He had the art of gaining the esteem to some other hand. The father and the and goodwill of those that were labourers son sat down with us, when we enjoyed a under him. I thhik I never saw him angry conversation, wherein solid reasoning, sensi- but twice; the one time, it was with the ble remark, and a moderate seasoning of foreman of the band, for not reaping the jocularity, were so nicely blended, as to field as he was desired; and the other render it palatable to all parties. Robert time, it was with an old man, for using had a hundred questions to ask me about smutty inuendoes and double entendres. the French, &c.; and the father, who had Were every foul-mouthed old man to receive 24 LIFE OF B3URNS. a reasonable check in this way, it would be but it is mislaid. Please remember me, in to the advantage of the rising generation. the best manner, to my worthy friend Mr. As he was at no time overbearing to 1 Adair, when you see him, or write to him." inferiors, he was equally incapable of that "Iart Street, Bloomsbnury Square, passive, pitifill, paltry spirit, that induces London, Feb. 22, 1799." some people to keep booing and booing in the presence of a great man. He always treated As the narrative of Gilbert Burns was superiors with a becoming respect; but he I written at a time when he was ignorant of never gave the smallest encouragement to the existence of the preceding narrative of aristocratical arrogance. But I must not his brother, so this letter of Mr. Murdoch pretend to give you a description of all the was written without his having any knowmanly qualities, the rational and Christian ledge that either of his pupils had been virtues, of the venerable William Burnes. employed on the same subject. The three Time would fail me. I shall only add relations serve, therefore, not merely to that he carefully practised every known illustrate, but to authenticate each other. duty, and avoided every thing that was I Though the information they convey might criminal; or, in the apostle's words, Ilerein have been presented Nwithin a shorter comdlid he exercise himnself, in livinlg a life void pass, by reducing the whole into one of oqf'etce towards God and towards smez. unbroken narrative, it is scarcely to be Oh for a world of men of such dispositions! doubted, that the intelligent reader will be We should then have no wars. I have often far tmore gratified by a sight of these original wished, for the good of mankind, that it documents themselves. were as custollm:ry to honour and perpetuate [Th'le poet mentions in his own narrative the memory of those who excel in moral his visit in his nineteenth summer to Kirkrectitu(de as it is to extol what are called oswvald parish, and his mingling in scenes heroic actions: then would the matsoleum I of dissipation there amongst thle Carrick of the friend of my youth overtop and smugglers. The following additional parsurpass most of the monuments I see ill ticulars respecting this period of his life will Westsminster Abbey." probably be interesting: they were col"Although I cannot do justice to the cha- lected by the present editor, but appeared racter of this worthy man, yet you will originlally in Chalmbers Edinbutryh Joltral. perceive, from these few particulars, what If Burns be correct in stating that it was kind of person had the prinlcipal hand in the his nineteenth summser which he spent in education of our poet. He spoke the Kirkosuwald parish, the date of his residence English language with snore propriety (both there must be 1777. AVWhat seems to have with respect to diction and pronunlciation) suggested his goinlg to Kirkoswald school, than any man I ever knew wRith no greater was the connlection of his mother with advantages. This had a very good effect that parish. She was the daughter of on the boys, who began to talk, and reason Gilbert Brown, farmer of Craigenton, in like men, mruch sooner than their neighbours. this parochial division of Carrick, in which I do not recollect ally of their colltempo- she had many friends still living parraries, at my little seminary, who afterwards tieularly a brother, Samuel Brown, who made any great degree as literary charac- resided, in the miscellaneous capacity of tars, except Dr. Tennant, who was chaplain farl-labourer, fisherman, and dealer in wool, to Colonel Fullarton's regiment, and who is at the farm-house of Ballochneil, above a now in the East Indies. lie is a mall of mile from the village of Kirkoswald. This genius and learning; yet affable, and free Brown, though not the farmer or guidlman from pedantry." of the place, was a person held to be "Mr. Burnes, in a short time, found that in creditable circumstances in a district he had overrated iMount Oliphant, and where the distinction between master and that he could not rear his numerous family servant was, and still is, by no means great. upon it. After being there soume years, he Iis wife was the sister of Niven, the removed to Lochlea, in the parish of Tar- tenant; and he lived in the "chamber" bolton, where, I believe, Robert wrote most or better portion of the farm-house, but of his poems." was now a widower. It was with Brown "But here, sir, you will permit me to pause. that Burns lived during ihis attendance at I can tell you but little more relative to our Kirkoswald school, walking every morning poet. I shall, however, in my next, send to the village wihere the little seminary you a copy of one of his letters to me, of learning was situated, and returning at about the year 1783. I received one since, night. HUGH RODGER THE SCHOOLMASTER. 25 The district into which the young poet of pany him, and stay till it was time for both Kyle was thus thrown, has many features of to come back to school on Monday morning. a remarkable kind. Though situated on the There was also an interval between the shore of the Firth of Clyde, where steamers morning and afternoon meetings of the are every hour to be seen on their passage school, which the two youths used to spend between enlightened and busy cities, it is to together. Instead of amusing themselves this day the seat of -simple and patriarchal with ball or any other sport, like the rest of usages. Its land, composed of bleak green the scholars, they would take a walk by uplands, partly cultivated and partly pas- themselves in the outskirts of the village, toral, was, at the time alluded to, occupied and converse on subjects calculated to imby a generation of primitive small farmers, prove their minds. By and bye, they fell many of whom, while preserving their native upon a plan of holding disputations or argusimplicity, had superadded to it some of ments on speculative questions, one taking the irregular habits arising from a concern one side, and the other the other, without in the trade of introducing contraband much regard to their respective opinions on goods on the Carrick coast. (38) Such the point, whatever it might be, the whole dealings did not prevent superstition from object being to sharpen their intellects. flourishing amongst them in a degree of They asked several of their companions to vigour of which no district of Scotland come and take a side in these debates, but now presents any example. The parish not one would do so; they only laughed at has six miles of sea coast; and the village, the young philosophers. The matter at where the church and school are situated, is length reached the ears of the master, who, in a sheltered situation about a couple however skilled in mathematics, possessed of miles inland. but a narrow understanding and little geneThe parish schoolmaster, Hugh Rodger, ral knowledge. With all the bigotry of the enjoyed great local fame as a teacher of old school, he conceived that this supereromensuration and geometry, and was much gatory employrment of his pupils was a piece employed as a practical land surveyor. On of absurdity, anid he resolved to correct them the day when Burns entered at the school, in it. One day, therefore, when the school anott er youth, a little younger than himself, was fuilly met, and in the midst of its usual also entered. This was a native of the business, he went up to the desk where neighbouring town of Maybole, who having Burns and Willie were sitting opposite to there completed a course of classical study, each other, and began to advert in sarcastic was now sent by his father, a respectable I terms to what he had heard of them. They shopkeeper, to acquire arithmetic and men- had become great debaters, he understood, suration under the famed mathematician and conceived themselves fit to settle affairs of Kirkoswald. It was then the custom, of importance, which wiser heads usually let when pupils of their age entered at a alone. Ile hoped their disputations would school, to take the master to a tavern, and not ultimately become quarrels, and that implement the engagement by treating him they would never think of coming from to some liquor. Burns and the Maybole I words to blows; and so forth. The jokes of youth, accordingly united to regale Rodger schoolmasters always succeed amongst the wvith a potation of ale, at a public house in boys, who are too glad to find tihe awful the village, kept by two gentlewomanly sort man in any thing like good humour, to of persons named Kennedy-Jean and question either the moral aim or the point Anile Kennedy-the former of whom was of his wit. They therefore, on this occadestined to be afterwards married to im- sion, hailed the master's remarks with hearty mortal verse, under the appellation of peals of laughter. Nettled at this, Willie Kirk1ton Jeanz, and whose house, in con- resolved he would "speak up" to Rodger; sideration of some pretensions to birth or I but first he asked Burns in a whisper if he style above the common, was always called } would support him, which Burns promised "the Leddies' House." From that time, to do. He then said that he was sorry to Burns and the Maybole youth became find that Robert and he had given offence; inltimate friends, insomuch, that, during this it had not been intended. And indeed he summer, neither had any companion with I had expected that the master would have whom he was more frequently in company been rather pleased to know of their endeathan with the other. Burns was only at the vours to improve their minds. He could village during school hours; but when his assure him that such improvement was the friend Willie returned to the paternal dome sole object they had in view. Rodger on Saturday nights, the poet would accom- sneered at the idea of their improving their 26 LIFE OF BURNS. minds by nonsensical discussions, and con- I the like kind. His innate thirst for distinetemptuously asked what it was they disputed I tion and superiority was manifested in these about. Willie replied, that generally there as in more important affairs; but though he was a new subject every day; that he could was possessed of great strength, as well as not recollect all that had come under their skill, he could never match his young bedattention; but the question of to-day had fellow, John Niven. Obliged at last to been-" Whether is a geat general or a re- acknowledge himself beat by this person in spectable merchant the most valuable mem- bodily warfare, he had recourse for amends ber of society;?" The dominie laughed to a spiritual mode of contention, and would outrageously at what he called the silliness engage young Niven in an argument about of such a question, seeing there could be no some speculative question, when, of course, doubt for a moment about it. "Well," said he invariably floored his antagonist. His Burns, "if you think so, I will be glad if you satisfaction on these occasions is said to take any side you please, and allow me to have been extreme. One day, as he was take the other, and let us discuss it before walking slowly along the street of the village the school." Rodger most unwisely assented, in a manner customary to him, with his eyes and commenced the argument by a flourish bent on the ground, he was met by the in favour of the general. Burns answered Misses Biggar, the daughters of the parish by a pointed advocacy of the pretensions of pastor. lIe would have passed without the merchant, and soon had an evident su- noticing them, if one of the young ladies periority over his preceptor. The latter had not called him by name. She then replied, but without success. His hand was rallied him on his inattention to the fair observed to shake; then his voice trembled; sex, in preferring to look towards the inaniand he dissolved the house in a state of mate ground, instead of seizing the opporvexation pitiable to behold. In this anecdote, tunity afforded him of indulging in the w'v;o can fail to read a prognostication of most invaluable privilege of man, that of fature eminence to the two disputants? The beholding and conversing with the ladies. one became the most illustrious poet of his "Madam," said he, "it is a natural and c-untry; and it is not unworthy of beiig right thing for man to contemplate the m nstioned in the same sentence, that the ground, from whence he was taken, and for oiher advanced, through a career of success- woman to look upon and observe man, from ful industry in his native town, to the pos- whom she was taken." This was a conceit, session of a large estate in its neighbourhood, but it was the conceit of " no vulgar boy." and some share of the honours usually There is a great fair at Kirkoswald in the reserved in this country for birth and aristo- beginning of August-on the same day, we cratic connection. believe, with a like fair at Kirkoswald hi The coast in the neighbourhood of Burns's Northumberland, both places having taken residence at Ballochneilpresented a range of their rise from the piety of one person, rustic characters upon whom his genius was Oswald, a Saxon king of the heptarchy, destined to confer an extraordinary interest. whose memory is probably honoured in At the farm of Shanter, on a slope overlook- these observances. D)uring the week preing the shore, not far from Turnberry Castle, ceding this fair in the year 1777, Burns lived Douglas Graham, a stout hearty speci- made overtures to his Maybole friend, men of the Carrick farmer, a little addicted Willie, for their getting up a dance, on the to smugglin,,, but withal a worthy and evening of the approaching festival, in one upright member of society, and a kind- of the public-houses of the village, and innatured man. He had a wife named Helen viting their sweethearts to it. Willie knew lI'Taggart, who was unusually addicted to little at that time of dances or sweethearts; superstitious beliefs and fears. The steading but he liked Burns, and was no enemy to where this good couple lived is now no more, amusement. He therefore consented, and it for the farm has been divided for the in- was agreed that some other younmg men crease of two others in its neighbourhood; should be requested to join in the underbut genius has given them a perennial ex- taking. The dance took place, as designed, istence in the tale of Tam o'Shanter, where the requisite music being supplied by a their characters are exactly delineated under hired band; and about a dozen couples parthe respective appellations of Tam and took of the fun. When it was proposed to Kate. * * * * part, the reckoning was called, and found to At Ballochneil, Burns engaged heartily in amount to eighteen shillings and fourpence. the sports of leaping, dancing, wrestling, It was then discovered that almost every putting (throwing) the stone, and others of one present had looked to his neighbours for BURNS IN LOVE WITH PEGGY THOMSON. 27 the means of settling this claim.. Burns, bewildering passion of the poet. Peggy the originator of the scheme, was in the was the theme of his "Song composed in poetical condition of not being master of a August," beginning, single penny. The rest were in the like " Now westlin winds and slaughtering guns condition, all except one, whose resources Brings Autumn's pleasant weather." amounted to a groat, and Maybole Willie, who possessed about half-a-crown. The She afterwards became Mrs. Neilson, and last individual, who alone boasted any lived to a good age in the town of Ayr worldly wisdom or experience, took it upon where her children still reside. him to extricate the company fiom its diff- At his departure from Kirkoswald, he culties. By virtue of a candid and sensible engaged his Maybole friend and some other narration to the landlord, he induced that lads to keep up a correspondence with him. individual to take what they had, and give His object in doing so, as we may gather credit for the remainder. The payment of from his own narrative, was to improve the debt is not trhe worst part of the story. himself in composition. "I carried this Seeing no chance from begging or borrow- whim so far." says he, "that, though I had ing, Willie resolved to gain it, if possible, not three farthings' worth of business in the by merchandise. Observing that stationery world, yet almost every post brought me as articles for the school were procured at many letters as if I had been a broad ploddKirkoswald with difficulty, he supplied him- ing son of day-book and ledner." To self with a stock from his father's warehouse Willie, in particular, he wrote often, and in at Maypole, and for somne wneeks sold pens the most friendly and confidential terms. and laper to his companions, ith so much When that individual was commencing ad-vantage, that at length he realised a sufft- business in his native town, the poet ad. ciest amount of profit to liquidate the ex- dressed him a poetical epistle of appropriate pense of the dance. Burns and he then advice, headed with the well-known lines went in triumph to the inn, and not only from Blair's Grave, beinningsettled the claim to the last penny, but "Friendship mysterious cement of the soul, gave the kind-hearted host a bowl of thanks Sweetener of life and solder of society." into the bargain. Willie, however, took This correspondence continued till the period care from that timle forth to engage in no of the publication of the poems, when schemes for country dances without looking I Burns wrote to request his friend's good carefully to the probable state of the pockets offices in increasing his list of subscribers. of his fellow adventurers. The young man was then possessed of little Burns, according to his own account, con- influence; but what little he had, he ex. cluded his residence at Kirkoswald in a erted with all the zeal of friendship, and blaze of passion for a fair filette who lived with considerable success. A considerable next door to the school. At this time, number of copies was accordingly transowing to the destruction of the proper mitted in proper time to his care, and soon school of Kirkoswald, a chamber at the end after the poet came to IMaybole to receive of the old church, the business of parochial the money. His friend collected a few instruction was conducted in an apartment i choice spirits to meet him at the King's on the ground floor of a house in the main i Arms Inn, and they spent a happy night street of the village, opposite the church- I together. Burns was on this occasion paryard. From behind this house, as from ticularly elated, for Willie, in the midst of behind each of its neighbours in the same their conviviality, handed over to him above row. a small stripe of kail-yard (Aunlice, seven pounds, being the first considerable kitchen garden) runs back about fifty yards, sum of money the poor bard had ever posalong a rapidly ascending slope. When sessed. In the pride of his heart, next Burns went into the particular patch behind morning, he determined that he should not the school to take the sun's altitude, he had walk home, and accordingly he hired from only to look over a low enclosure to see the his host a certain poor hack mare, well sinlllar patch connected with the next house. known along the whole road from Glasgow Here, it seems, Peggy Thomson, the to Portpatrick-in all probability the first daughter of the rustic occupant of that hired conveyance that Poet Burns had ever house, w-as walking at the time, though enjoyed, for even his subsequent journey to more probably engaged in the business of Edinburgh, aspicious as were the prospects cutting a cabbage for the family dinner, j under which it was undertaken, was perthan imitating the flower-gathering Proser- formed on foot. Willie and a few other pine, or her prototype Eve. Hence the | youths who had been in his company on the 28 LIFE OF BURNS. preceding night, walked out of town before to ascend some eminence during the agitahim, for the purpose of taking leave at a tions of nature; to stride along its summit, particular spot; and before he came up, while the lightning flashed around him; and, they had prepared a few mock-heroic verses amidst the howlings of the tempest, to aposin which to express their farewell. When trophise the spirit of the storm. Such Burns rode up, accordingly, they saluted situations he declares most favourable to him in this formal manner, a little to his devotion: —"Rapt in enthusiasm, I seem surprise. He thanked them, however, and to ascend towards Him who walks on the instantly added, "qWhat need of all this wingys of the winds!" If other proofs were fine parade of verse? It would have been wanting of the character of his genius, this quite enough if you had said- might determine it. The heart of the poet Here comes Burns, is peculiarly awake to every impression of On Rosinante; beauty and sublimity; but with the higher She's d - poor, order of poets, the beautiful is less attractive But he's d -canty." than the sublime. The company then allowed Burns to go on The gaiety of many of Burns's writings, his way rejoicing. (39.) and the lively and even cheerful colouring Under the humble roof of his parents, it with which he has portrayed his own chaappears that our poet had great advantages; racter, may lead some persons to suppose, but his opportunities of information at that the melancholy which hung over him school were more limited as to time than towards the end of his days was not an orithey usually are among his countrymen in ginal part of his constitution. It is not to his condition of life; and the acquisitions be doubted, indeed, that this melancholy which he made, and the poetical talent acquired a darker hue in the progress of his which he exerted, under the pressure of early life; but, independent of his own and of his and incessant toil, and of inferior, and per- brother's testimony, evidence is to be found haps scanty nutriment, testify at once the among his papers, that he was subject very extraordinary force and activity of his mind. early to those depressions of mind, which In his frame of body he rose nearly to five are perhaps not wholly separable from the feet ten inches, and assumed the proportions sensibility of genius, but which in him arose that indicate agility as well as strength. In to an uncommon degree. The following the various labours of the farm he excelled letter, addressed to his father, will serve as a all his competitors. Gilbert Burns declares proof of this observation. It was written at that in mowing, the exercise that tries all the time when he was learning the business the muscles most severely, Robert was the of a flax dresser, and is dated only man that, at the end of a summer's day, he was ever obliged to acknowledge as "Irvine, December 27, 1781. his master. But though our poet gave the " IIONOURED SIR.-I have purposely de. powers of his body to the labours of the layed writing, in the hope that I should have farm, he refused to bestow on them his the pleasure of seeing you on New-year'sthoughts or his care. While the plough- day; but work comes so hard upon us, that share iunder his guidance passed through the I do not choose to be absent on that account, award, or the grass fell under the sweep of as well as for some other little reasons, which his scythe, he was humming the songs of I shall tell you at meeting. MIy health is his country, musing on the deeds of ancient nearly the same as when you were here, only valour, or wrapt in the illusion of fancy, as my sleep is a little sounder; and, on the her enchantments rose on his view. Happily whole, I am rather better than otherwise, the Sunday is yet a sabbath, on which man though I mend by very slow degrees. The and beast rest from their labours. On this weakness of my nerves has so debilitated my day, therefore, Burns could indulge in a free mind, that I dare neither review past events, intercourse with the charms of nature. It nor look forward into futurity; for the least was his delight to wander alone on the anxiety or perturbation in my breast, probanks of the Ayr, whose stream is now im- duces most unhappy effects on my whole mortal, and to listen to the song of the frame. Sometimes, indeed, when for an hour blackbird at the close of the summer's day. or two my spirits are a little lightened, I But still greater was his pleasure, as he glimmer a little into futurity; but my prinhimself informs us, hi walking on the cipal, and indeed my only pleasurable emsheltered side of a wood, in a cloudy winter ployment, is looking backwards and forwards day, and hearing the storm rave among the in a moral and religious way. I am quite trees; and more elevated still his delightl transported at the thought, that ere long, BURNS'S DEBATING CLUB. 29 very soon, I shall bid an eternal adieu to all. ful and generous mind. In such a state of the pains and uneasinesses, and disquietudes reflection, and of suffering the imagination of this weary life, for I assure you I am of Burns naturally passed the dark boundaheartily tired of it; and, if I do not very ries of our earthly horizon, and rested on much deceive myself, I could contentedly and those beautiful representations of a better gladly resign it. world, where there is neither thirst, nor hun-'The soul, uneasy and confin'd at home, ger, nor sorrow; and where happiness shall Rests and expatiates in a life to come.' be in proportion to the capacity of happiness. "It is for this reason I am more pleased Such a disposition is far from being at vawith the 15th, 16th, and 17th verses of the riance with social enjoyments. Those who 7th chapter of Revelations, than with any have studied the affinities of mind, know that ten times as many verses in the whole Bible, a melancholy of this description, after a while, andwould not exchange the noble enthusiasm seeks relief in the endearments of society, and with which they inspire me, for all that this that it has no distant connection with the world has to offer. (40) As for this world, I flow of cheerfulness, or even the extravagance despair of ever making a figure in it. I am of mirth. It was a few days after the writing not formed for the bustle of the busy, nor of this letter that our poet, "in giving a welthe flutter of the gay. I shall never again come carousal to the new year, with his gay be capable of entering into such scenes. In- companions," suffered his flax to catch tire, deed, I am altogether unconcerned at the and his shop to be consumed to ashes. (42) thoughts of this life. I foresee that poverty The energy of Burns's mind was not exand obscurity probably await me; I am in hausted by his daily labours, the effusion of some measure prepared, and daily preparing, his muse, his social pleasures, or his solitary to meet them. I have but just time and meditations. Some time previous to his enpaper to return you my grateful thanks for gagement as a flax-dresser, having heard that the lessons of virtue and piety you have given a debating club had been established in Ayr, sme, which were too much neglected at the he resolved to try how such a meeting would time of giving them, but which, I hope, have succeed in the village of Tarbolton. About been remembered ere it is yet too late. Pre- the end of the year 1780, our poet, his brosent my dutiful respects to my mother, and ther, and five other young peasants of the my compliments to AMr. and _Mrs. lMuir; and neighbourhood, formed themselves into a sowith wishing you a merry New-year's-day, I ciety of this sort, the declared objects of shall conclude. I am, honoured sir, your which were to relax themselves after toil, to dutiful son, "ROBERT BURNS. promote sociality and friendship, and to im" P. S.-My meal is nearly out; but I am prove the mind. The laws and regulations going, to borrow, till I get more." were furnished by Burns. The members were to meet after the labours of the day This letter, written several years before were over, once a week, in a small public. the publication of his poems, when his name house in the village, where each should offer was as obscure as his condition was humble, his opinion on a given question or subject, displays the philosophic mlelancholy which so supporting it by such arguments as he generally forms the poetical temperament, thoulght proper. The debate was to be con. and that buoyant and ambitious spirit which ducted with order and decorum; and after indicates a mind conscious of its strength. it was finished, the members were to choose At Irvine, Burns at this time possessed a a subject for discussion at the ensuing meetsingle room for his lodging, rentedperhaps at ing. The sum expended by each was not to the rate of a shilling a-week. He passed his exceed threepence; and, with the humble days in constant labour as a flax-dresser, and potation that this could procure, they were his food consisted chiefly of oatmeal, sent to to toast their mistresses, and to cultivate him from his father's family. The store of friendship with each other. This society this humble, though wholesome nutriment, continued its meetings regularly for some it appears was nearly exhausted, and he was time; and in the autumn of 1782, wishing about to borrow till he should obtain a sup- to preserve some account of their proceedply. (41) Yet even in this situation, his ings, they purchased a book, into which their active imagination had formed to itself pic- laws and regulations were copied, with a tures of eminence and distinction. His de- preamble, containing a short history of their spair of making a figure in the world, shows transactions down to that period. This how ardently he wished for honourable fame; curious document, which is evidently the and his contempt of life, founded on this work of our poet, has been discovered, and it despair, is the genuine expression of a youth- deserves a place in his memoirs. 30 LIFE OF BURNS.' IIISTORY OF TITE RISE, PROCEE.DINGS, AND them a girl every way ageeablle in person REGULATIONS OF THIE BACHELORS' CLUB. conversation, and behaviour, but without any' Of birth or blood we do not boast, fortune: which of them shall he choose?' Nor gentry does our club afford; Finding ourselves very happy in our society, But ploughman and mechanics we we resolved to continue to meet once a In Nature's simple dress record.' month in the same house, in the way and "As the great end of human society is to I manner proposed, and shortly thereafter we become wiser and better, this ought there- chose Robert Ritchie for another member. fore to be the principal view of every man in In May, 1781, we brought in David Sillar, every station of life. But as experience has (43) and in June, Adam Jamaison, as mremtaught us, that such studies as inform the bhers. About the beginning of the year 1782, head and mend the heart, when long con- we admitted Matthew Patterson and John tinued, are apt to exhaust the faculties of the'Orr, and in June following we choose James mind, it h-as been found proper to relieve Patterson as aproper brotherforsuch asociety. and unbend the mind by some employment Tie club being thus increased, we resolved to or another, that may be agreeable enough to meet at Tarbolton on the race night, the July keep its powers in exercise, but at the same following, and have a dance in honour of our time not so serious as to exhaust them. But society. Accordinrly, we did meet, each one superadded to this, by far the greater part of with a partner, and spent the evening in such mankind are under the necessity of earning. innocence and merriment, such cheerfulness the ststlepence of human life by the labour of and good humour, that every brother will their bod(ies, whereby, not only the faculties long remember it with pleasure and delight." of mind, but the nerves and sinews of the To this preamble are subjoined the rules and body, are so fatiued, that it is absolutely regulations. necessary to have recourse to some amuse- Thlle philosophical mind will dwell with mlent or diversion, to relieve the wearied man, interest and pleasure on an institution that worn dowvn with the necessary labours of combhined so skilfully the means of instruclife. tion and of happiness; and if grandeur look3 "As the best of things, however, have been down with a snlile on these simple annals, perverted to the worst of purposes, so, under let us trust that it will be a smile of benevothe pretence of am-iusement and dliversion, lence and approbation. It is with regret men hasve plunged into all the madness of that the sequel of the history of the Bacheriot and dissipation; and, instead of attend- lors' Club of Tarbolton must be told. It ing to the grand design of human life, they survived several years after our poet removed have bedgan with extravagance and folly, and from Ayrshire, bult no longer sustained by ended with guilt and wretchedness. Im- his talents, or cemented by his social affecpressed with these considerations, we, the tions, its imeetings lost much of their attracfollowing lads in the parish of Tarbolton, i tion; and at length, in an evil hour, dissenviz. Ilguh Reid, Robert Burns, Gilbert Burrns, sion arising among-st its mnembers, the instiAlexander Brown, Walter Mitchell, Thomas tution was given up, and the records comWright, and William M'Gavin, resolved, for mitted to the flames. Happily, the preamble our mutual entertainment, to unite ourselves and the regulations were spared; arid, as into a club, or society, under such rules and umatter of instruction and of example, they regulations, that while we should forget our are transmitted to posterity. cares and labours in mirth and diversion, we After the famrnily of our bard removed from might not transgress the bounds of inno- Tarbolton to the neighbourhood of Mauchcence and decorum; and after agreeing on iline, he and his brother were requested to these, and some other regulations, we held assist in forming a similar institution there. our first meeting at Tarbolton, in the house The regulations of the club at Matuchlille of John Richard, upon the evening of the were nearly the same as those of the club at 11th November, 1780, commonly called Tarbolton; but onelaudablealteration was Hallowe'en, and after choosing Robert Burns made. The fines for noln-attendance had at president forthe night,weproceeded todebate Tarbolton been spent in enlarging their on this question:'Suppose a young man, scanty potations: at Mauchliile it was fixed, bred a farmer, but without any fortune, has that the money so arising should be set it in his power to marry either of two women, apart for the purchase of books, and the first the one a girl of large fortune, but neither work procured in this manner was the 5Mirhandsome in person nor agreeable in conver- ror, the separate numbers of which were at sation, bat who can manage the household that time recently collected and published in affairs of a farm well enough; the other of 1 volulues. After it, followed a number of THE PECULIAR TASTES OF BURNS. 31 other works, chiefly of the same nature, lating all the effusions of his muse, and preand among these the Lounger. The so- siding over all his social enjoyments. But to ciety of Mauchline still [1800] subsists, and the thousands who share the original condiappeared in the list of subscribers to the tion of Burns, and who are doomed to pass first edition of the works of its celebrated their lives in the station in which they were associate. born, delicacy of taste, were it even of easy The members of these two societies were attainment, would, if not a positive evil, be originally all young men from the country, at least a doubtful blessing. Delicacy of and chiefly sons of farmers-a description of taste may make many necessary labours irkpersons, in the opinion of our poet, more some or disgusting; and should it render the agreeable in their manners, more virtuous in cultivator of the soil unhappy in his situatheir conduct, and more susceptible of im- tion, it presents no means by which that provement, than the self-sufficient mechanics situation may be improved. Taste and liteof country towns. With deference to the rature,which diffuse so manycharmsthroughConversation Society of Mauchline, it may out society, which sometimes secure to their be doubted, whether the books which they votaries distinction while living, and which purchased were of a kind best adapted to still more frequently obtain for them pospromote the interest and happiness of per- thumous fame, seldom procure opulence, or sons in this situation of life. The Mirror even independence, when cultivated with the and the Lounger, though works of great utmost attention, and canl scarcely be purmerit. may be said, on a general view of their sued with advantage by the peasant in the contents, to be less calculated to increase the short intervals of leisure which his occupaknowledge than to refine the taste of those tions allow. Those who raise themselves who read them; and to this last object their from the condition of daily labour, are usually morality itself, which is, however, always per- men who excel in the practice of some useful fectly pure, may be considered as subordi- art, or who join habits of ildustry and sonate. As works of taste, they deserve great briety to an acquaintance w ith solve of the praise. They are, indeed, retined to a high more common branches of knowlede-e. The degree of delicacy; and to this circumstance penm'anship of Butterworthi. and tile arithit is perhaps owing, that they exhibit little mnetic of Cocker, may be studied by men in or nothing of the peculiar manners of the the humblest walks of life andl they will a(re or country in which they were produced. assist the peasant more in the pursuit of inBut delicacy of taste, though the source of dependence than the study of Homer or of many pleasures, is not without some dlisal- Shakespeare, though he could comprehend, vantages; and, to render it desirable, the and even imitate, the beauties of those impossessor should, perhaps, in all cases, be mortal bards. raised above the necessity of bodily labour, These observations are not offered with. unless, indeed, we should include under this out some portion of doubt and hesitation. term the exercise of the imitative arts, over The subject has many relations, and would which taste immediately presides. Delicacy justify an ample discussion. It may be of taste may be a blessing to him who has observed, on the other hand, that the first the disposal of his own time, and who can step to improvement is, to awaken the choose what book he shall read, of what di- desire of improvement, and that this will be version he shall partake, and what company most effectually done by such reading as he shall keep. To men so situated, the cul- interests the heart and excites the imaginativation of taste affords a grateful occupation tion. The greater part of the sacred in itself, and opens a path to many other writings themselves, which in Scotland are gratifications. To men of genius, in the more especially the manual of the poor, possession of opulence and leisure, the culti- came under this description. It may be furvation of the taste may be said to be essen- ther observed, thatevery human being is the tial; since it affords employment to those properjudge of his own happiness, and,within faculties, which without employment would the path of innocence, ought to be perdestroy the happiness of the possessor, and mitted to pursue it. Since it is the taste of corrects that morbid sensibility, or, to use the Scottish peasantry to give a preference the expressions of Mr. HIume, that delicacy to works of taste and of fancy (44), it may of passion, which is the bane of the temper- be presumed they find a superior gratifica. ament of genius. Happy had it been for our tion in the perusal of such works; and it bard, after he emerged from the condition of may be added, that it is of more cona peasant, had the delicacy of his taste sequence they should be made happy in equalled the sensibility of his passions, regu- their original condition, than furnished 32 LIFE OF BURNS. with the means, or with the desire, of rising the senate and the bar, which in this, as above it. Such considerations are, doubt- in all other free governments, is productive less, of much weight; nevertheless, the of so much influence to the few who excel in previous reflections may deserve to be it, yet little regard has been paid to the examined, and here we shall leave the subject. humbler exercise of speech in private conThough the records of the society at versation-an art that is of consequence to Tarbolton are lost, and those of the society every description of persons under every at Mauchline have not been transmitted, form of government, and on which eloquence yet we may safely affirm, that our poet was of every kind ought perhaps to be founded. a distinguished member of both these The first requisite of every kind of elocuassociations, which were well calculated to tion, a distinct utterance, is the offspring of excite and to develope the powers of his much time and of long practice. Children mind. From seven to twelve persons con- are always defective inl clear articulation, stituted the society of Tarbolton, and such and so are young people, though in a less a number is best suited to the purposes of degree. What is called slurring in speech, information. Where this is the object prevails with some persons through life, of these societies, the number should be especially in those who are taciturn. Arsuch, tliat each person may have an oppor- ticulation does not seem to reach its utmost tunity of imparting his sentiments, as well degree of distinctness in men before tile as of receiving those of others; and the age of twenty, or upwards; in women it powers of private conversation are to be reaches this point somewhat earlier. Feemployed, not those of public debate. A male occupations require much use of limited society of this kind, where the speech, because they are duties in detail. subject of conversation is fixed beforehand, Besides, their occupations being generally so that each member may revolve it pre- sedenltary, the respiration is left at liberty. viously in his mind, is perhaps one of the Their nerves being more delicate, their happiest contrivances hitherto discovered sensibility as well as fancy is more lively; the for shortening the acquisition of knowledge, natural consequence of which is, a more and hastening the evolution of talents. frequent utterance of thought, a greater Such an association requires indeed some- fluency of speech, and a distinct articulation what more of regulation than the rules of at an earlier age. But in men who have politeness, established in common coinversa- not mingled early and familiarly with the tion, or rather, perhaps, it requires that the world, though rich perhaps in knowledge, rules of politeness, which in animated colver- and clear in apprehension, it is often sation are liable to perpetual violation, should painful to observe the diffi(ulty with which be vigorously enforced. The order of speech their ideas are communicated by speech, established in the club at Tarbolton, ap- through the want of those habits that conpears to have been more regular than was nect thoughts, words, and sounds together; required in so small a society; where all which, when established, seem as if they had that is necessary seems to be the fixing on arisen spontaneously, but which, in truth, a member to whom every speaker shall are the result of long, and painful practice address himself, and who shall in return and when analysed, exhibit the phenomena secure the speaker from interruption. Con- of most curious and complicated association. versation, which among men whom intimacy Societies then, such as we have been and friendship have relieved from reserve I describing, while they may be said to put and restraint, is liable, when left to itself, each member in possession of the knowto so many inequalities, and which, as it ledge of all the rest, improve the powers of becomes rapid, so often diverges into sepa- utterance; and by the collision of opinion, rate and collateral branches, in which it is I excite the faculties of reason and reflection. dissipated and lost, being kept within its To those who wish to improve their minds channel by a simple limitation of this kind, in such intervals of labour as the condition which practice renders easy and familiar, of a peasant allows, this method of abbreflows along in one full stream, and becomes viating instruction, may, under proper smoother, and clearer, and deeper, as it regulations, be highly useful. To the flows. It may also be observed, that in student, whose opinions, springing out of this way the acquisition of knowledge solitary observation and meditation, are becomes more pleasant and more easy, from seldom in the first instance correct, and the gradual improvement of the faculty which have, notwithstandingi, while confined employed to convey it. Though some to himself, an increasing tenedency to assume attention has been paid to the eloquence of in his own eye the character of demonstra JEAN AR31OUR. 33 tions, an association of this kind, where i daughter of a substantial country mason. they may be examined as they arise, is of One night; there was a rockin at Mossgiel, the utmost importance; since it may pre- where a lad named Ralph Sillar sang a vent those illusions of imagination, by swhich number of songs in what was considered a genius being bewildered, science is often superior style. ~When Burns and Blane debased, and error propagated through were retired to their usual sleepin, place in successive generations. And to men who the stable-loft, the former asked the latter having cultivated letters, or general science, what he thought of Sillar's singing, to which in the course of their education, are en- Blance answered that the lad thought so gaged in the active occupations of life, and much of it himself, and had so many airs no longer able to devote to study or to about it, that there was no occasion for books the time requisite for improving or others expressing a favourable opinion-yet, preserving their acquisitions, associations of he added, "I would not give Jean Armour this kind, where the mind may unbend for a score of him." "You are always from its usual cares in, discussions of talking of this Jean Armour," said Burns; literature or science, afford the most pleas- "I wish you could contrive to bring me to ing, the most useful, and the most rational see her." Blane readily consented to do so, of gratifications. and next evening, after the plough was WVhether in the humble societies of which loosed, the two proceeded to Mauchline for he was a member, Burns acquired much that purpose. Burns went into a publicdirect information, may perhaps be ques- house, and Blane went into the singingtioned. It cannot, however, be doubted, school, which chanced to be kept in the that by collision the faculties of his mind floor above. When the school was diswould be excited; that by practice his missing, Blane asked Jean Armour if she habits of enunciation would be established; would come to see Robert Burns, who was and thus we have some explanation of that below, and anxious to speak to her. Having early command of words and of expression heard of his poetical talents, she said she whiich enabled him to pour forth his would like much to see him, but was afraid thoughts in language not unworthy of his to go without a female companion. This genius, and which, of all his endowments, difficulty being overcome by the frankness seemed, on his appearance ill Edinburgh, of a Miss Morton-the Miss Morton of the the most extraordinary. For associations Six'Mauchline Belles-Jean went down to of a literary nature, our poet acquired a the room where Burns was sitting. "From considerable relish; and happy had it been that time," Blane adds very naively, "I had for him, after he emerged from the con- little of the company of Jean Armour." dition of a peasant, if fortune had permitted Here for the present ends the story of him to enjoy them in the degree of which Blane. The results of Burns's acquainthe was capable, so as to have fortified his ance with Jean have been already in part principles of virtue by the purification of his detailed. When her pregnancy could be no taste; and given to the energies of his longer concealed, the poet, under the inmind, habits of exertion that might have fluence of honourable feeling, gave her a excluded other associations, in which it written paper, in which he acknowledged must be acknowledged they were too often his being her husband-a document suffiwasted, as well as debased. cient to constitute a marriage in Scotland, [The allusions in Burns's letter, and that if not in the eye of decency, at least in that of his brother, to his connection with Jean of law. But her father, from a dislike to Armour, afford but a vague account of Burns, whose theological satires had greatly that affair; and it seems necessary that shocked him, and from hopelesness of his some farther and clearer particulars should being able to support her as a husband, now be given. insisted that she should destroy this paper, John Blane reports the following in- and remain as an unmarried woman. teresting circumstances respecting the Some violent scenes ensued. The parents attachmcnlt of the poet to Miss Armour:- were enraged at the imprudence of their There was a singing school at Mauchline, daughter, and at Burns. The daughter, which Blane attended. Jean Armour was trembling beneath their indignation, could ulso a pupil, and he soon became aware of ill resist the command to forget and her talents as a vocalist. He even con- abandon her lover. He, in his turn, was tracted a kind of attachment to this young filled with the extremest anguish when woman, though only such as a country lad informed that she had given him up. Anoof his degree might entertain for the ther event occurred to add to the torments. D 34 LIFE OF BURNS. of the unhappy poet. Jean, to avoid the -- "a weary dream, immediate pressure of her father's dis- The dream of ane that never wauks." pleasure, went about the month of May In a letter dated June 12, 1786, he says (1786) to Paisley, and took refuge with a "Poor ill-advised ungrateful Armour came relation of her mother, one Andrew Purdie, home on Friday last. You have heard all a wright. There was at Paisley a certain the particulars of that affair, and a black Robert Wilson, a good-looking young affair it is. What she thinks of her conduct weaver, a native of Mauchline, and who was now, I don't know; one thing I do know, realising wages to the amount of perhaps she has made me completely miserable. three pounds a-week by his then flourishing Never maln loved, or rather adored, a woprofession. Jean Armour had danced with man more than I did her; and, to confess a this "gallant weaver" at the Mauchline truth between you and me, I do love her dancing-school balls, and, besides her still to distraction, after all, though I relative Purdie, she knew no other person won't tell her so if I were to see her, in Paisley. Being in much need of a which I don't want to do. * * May small supply of money, she found it neces- Almighty God forgive her ingratitude and sary to apply to Mr. Wilson, who received perjury to me, as I from my very soul her kindly, although he did not conceal that forgive her." On the 9th July he writes — he had a suspicion of the reason of her visit " I have waited on Armour since her return to Paisley. When the reader is reminded home, not from the least view of reconciliathat village life is not the sphere in which tion, but merelyto ask for her health, and-to high-wrought and romantic feelings are you I will confess it-from a foolish hankermost apt to flourish, he will be prepared ing fondness-very ill-placed indeed. The in some measure to learn that Robert mother forbade me the house, nor did Jean Wilson not only relieved the necessities show the penitence that might have been of the fair applicant, but formed the wish to expected. However, the priest, I am ic. possess himself of her hand. lie called for formed, will give me a certificate as a single her several times at Purdie's, and informed man, if I comply with the rules of the her, that, if she should not become the wife church, which, for that very reason, I intend of Burns, he would enzgage himself to none to do. I am going to put on sackcloth and while she remained unmarried. Sirs. ashes this day. I am indulged so far as to Burns long after assured a female friend appear in my own seat. Peccavi, pater, that she never gave the least encourage- miserere mei." ment to Wilson; but, nevertheless, his In a letter of July 17, to Mr. David visits occasioned some gossip, which soon Brice of Glasgow, the poet thus continues found its way to Mauchline, anld entered the his story:-I have already appeared pubsoul of the poet like a demoniac possession. licly in church, and was indulged in the He now seems to have regarded her as lost liberty of standing in my own seat. Jean to him for ever, and that not purely through arid her friends insisted much that she the objections of her relations, but by her should stanld along with me in the kirk, but own cruel and perjured desertion of one the minister would not allow it, which bred whom she had acknowledged as her hus- a great trouble, I assure you, and I am band. It requires these particulars, little blamed as the cause of it, though I am sure as there may be of pleasing about them, to I am innocenlt; but I am very much pleased, make us fully understand much of what for all that, not to have had her company," Burns wrote at this time, both in verse and And again, July 30-" Armour has got a prose. Long afterwards, he became con- warrant to throw me in jail till I find secu. vinced that Jean, by no part of her conduct rity for an enormous sum. This they keep with respect to Wilson, had given him just an entire secret, but I got it by a channel cause for jealousy: it is not improbable they little dream of; and I am wandering that he learned in time to make it the sub- from one friend's house to another, and, ject of sport, and wrote the song, "Where like a true son of the gospel,'have no Cart rins rowing to the sea," in jocular where to lay my head.' I know you will allusion to it. But for months-and it is pour an execration on her head, but spare distressing to think that these were the the poor ill-advised girl, for my sake; months during which he was putting his though may all the furies that rend the matchless poems for the first tinie to press injured, enraged lover's bosom, await her -he conceived himself the victim of a mother until her latest hour! I write in a faithless woman, and life was to him, as he moment of rage, reflecting on my miserable himself describes it, situation-exiled, abandoned, forlorn," JEAN ARMIOUR'S TWIN CHILDREN. 33 In this dark period, or immediately before fil, and the scene was concluded by his it (July 22), the poet sizned an instrument, giving the ailing lady a hearty caress, and in anticipation of his immediately leaving rallying her on this promising beginning of the kingdom, by which he devised all her history as a mother. property of whatever kind he might leave It would appear, from the words used by behind, including the copyright of his the poet on this occasion, that he was not poems, to his brother Gilbert, in considera- without hope of yet making good his matrition of the latter having undertaken to monial alliance with Jean. This is rendered support his daughter Elizabeth, the issue of the more likely by the evidence which exists "Elizabeth Paton in Largieside." Intima- of his having, for some time during Seption of this instrument was publicly made tember, entertained a hope of obtaining an at the Cross of Ayr, two days after, by excise appointment, through his friends William Chalmers, writer. If he had been Hamilton and Aiken; in which case he upon better terms with the Armours, it would have been able to present a respectseems unlikely that he would have thus able claim upon the countenance of the devised his property without a respect for Armours. But this prospect ended in disthe claims of his offspring by Jean. appointment; and there is reason to conAfter this we hear no more of the legal elude, that, in a very short time after the severities of Mr. Armour-the object of accouchemlent, he was once more forbidden which was, not to abridge the liberty of the to visit the house in which his children and unfortunate Burns, but to drive him away all but wife resided. There was at this time from the country, so as to leave Jean more a person named John Kennedy, who traeffectually disengaged. The POEAMs now velled the district on horseback as mnercanappeared, and probably had some effect in tile agent, and was on intimate terms with allaying the hostility of the old man to- Burns. One day, as he was passing, Mosswards their author. It would at least giel, Burns stopped him, and made the appear that, at the time of Jean's accouche- request that he would return to lanauchline ment, September 3, the " skulkling" had with a present for "his poor wife." Kellrnnedy ceased, and the parents of the young woman consented, and the poet hoisted upon the were not so cruel as to forbid his seeing her. poiimmel of the saddle a bag filled with the We now resume the story of John Blane. delicacies of the farm. Iie proceeded to At this time, Blalnce had removed from Mr. Armour's house, and requested perMossgiel to MIauchline, and become servant mission to see Jean, as the bearer of a to Mir. Gavin Hamilton; but Burns still message and a present from Robert Burns. remembered their old acquaintance. When, Irs. Armour violently protested against his in consequence of information sent by the being admitted to all interview, and beArmours as to Jean's situation, the poet stowed upon him sundry unceremonious came from MIossgiel to visit her, he called appellations for being the friend of such a in passing at Mr. Hamilton's, and asked man; she was, however, overruled in this John to accompany him to the house. instance by her husband, and Kennedy was Blane went with him to Mr. Armour's, permitted to enter the apartment where where, according to his recollection, the Jean was lying. He had not been there bard was received with all desirable civility. many minutes, when he heard a rushing Jean held up a pretty female infant to and screaming in the stair, and, immediately Burns, who took it affectionately in his after, Burns burst into the room, followed arms, and, after keeping it a little while. closely by the Armours, who seemed to have returned it to the mother, asking the bless- exhausted their strength in endeavouring to ing of God Almighty upon her and her repel his intrusion. Burns flew to the bed, infant. He was turning away to converse and putting his cheek to Jean's, and then in with the other people in the room, when succession to those of the slumbering Jean said, archly, "But this is not all-here infants, wept bitterly. The Armours, it is is another baby," and handed him a male added by Kennedy, who has himself rechild, which had been born at the same ported the circumstances (45), remained untime. He was greatly surprised, but took affected by his distress; but whether he that child too for a little into his arms, and was allowed to remain for a short time, or repeated his blessing upon it. (This child immediately after expelled, is not mentioned. was afterwards named Robert, and still After hearing this affecting anecdote of lives: the girl was named Jean, but only Burns, the Lament may verily appear to us lived fourteen months.) The mood of the as arising from melancholy poet then changed to the mirth- " No idly feigned poetic pains." (46) 68 LIFE OF BURNS. The whole course of the Ayr is fine; but fare, and wished it preserved from the the banks of that river, as it bends to the rudely-browsing cattle, or the withering easteastward above Mauchline, are singularly ern blast? Such was the scene, and such the beautiful, and they were frequented, as ray hour, when, in a corner of my prospect, I be imagined, by our poet in his solitary spied one of the fairest pieces of nature's walks. Here the muse often visited him. workmanship that ever crowned a poetic In one of these wanderings, he met among landscape, or met a poet's eye; those visionthe woods, a celebrated beauty of the west ary bards excepted who hold commerce with of Scotland-a lady, of whom it is said that atrial beings! Had calumny and villany the charms of her person correspond with taken my walk, they had at that moment the character of her mind. (47) This inci- sworn eternal peace with such an object. dent gave rise, as might be expected, to a " What an hour of inspiration for a poet I poem, of which an account will be found in It would have raised plain, dull, historic the following letter, in which he enclosed it prose into metaphor and measure. to the object of his inspiration:- "The enclosed song was the work of my return home; and perhaps it but poorly "To M\IIss ~ answers what might have been expected "_MIossyiel, 18th Nrovember, 1786. from such a scene. (48) * * *' "MADAM.-Poets are such outr6 beings, "I have the honour to be, madam, your so much the the children of wayward fancy most obedient, and very humble servant, and capricious whim, that I believe the "ROBERT BURNS." world generally allows them a larger latitude'Twas even-the dewy fields were green, in the laws of propriety, than the sober sois On every blade the mearls hang: (49) The Zephyr wanton'd round the bean, of judgment and prudence. I mention this And bore its fragrant sweets alang; as an apology for the liberties that a name- In every glen the mavis sang, less stranger has taken with you in the All nature listening seemed the while, enclosed poem, which he begs leave to pre- Except where greenwood echoes rang, sent you with. Whether it has poetical Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle. merit any w worthy worf the theme, I am With careless stheme I onward straved, not the proper judge, but it is the best MIyheat rejoicedinnature's oy, my abilities call produce: and what to a When, maiden firn a lonely glde, A maiden fair I chanced to spy; good heart will perhaps be a superior grace, IIer look was like the morning's eye, it is equally sincere as fervent. Her hair like nature's vernal smile, "The scenery was nearly taken from real Perfection whispered passing by, life, though I dare say, madam, you do not Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle! (50) recollect it, as I believe you scarcely noticed Fair is the morn in flowery May, the poetic reveur as he wandered by you. Ad sweet is night in Autumnmild; VrWhen rov through the garden gay, I had roved out as chance directed, in the Or wanderving the lonely wildgay, Or wandering in the lonely wild: favourite haunts of umy Inuse, on the banks But woman, Nature's darling child! of the Ayr, to view nature in all the gaiety There all her charms she does compile; of the vernal year. The evening sun was Even there her other works are foil'd flaming over tle distant western hills; not By the bony lass o' Ballochmyle. a breath stirred the crimson opening Oh had she been a country maid, And I the happy country swain I blossom, or the verdant spreading leaf. It And the happy country s hedwain was a golden moment for a poetic heart. Thouh sheltered in the lowestshed That ever rose on Scotland's plain, I listened to the feathered warblers, pouring Through weary winter's wind and rain, their harmony on every hand, with a con- With joy, with rapture I would toil; genial kindred regard, and frequently And nightly to my bosom strain turned out of my path, lest I should disturb The bonny lass o' Ballochmyle. their little songs, or frighten them to Then pride might climb the slippery steep, another station. Surely, said I to myself, Where fame and honours lofty shine; she must be a wretch indeed, who, regard- And thirst of gold might tempt the deep, Or downward seek the Indian mine; less of your harmonious endeavours to Give me the cot below the pine, please him, can eye your elusive flights to To tend the flocks, or till the soil, discover your secret recesses, and to rob you And every day have joys divine of all the property nature gives you, your With the bony lass o' Ballochmyle." dearest comforts, your helpless nestlings. In the manuscript book in which our poet Even the hoary hawthorn twig that shot has recounted this incident, and into which::across the way, what heart at such a time the letter and poem are copied, he complains,but must have been interested in its wel- that the Lady made no reply to his effusions, SUSCEPTIBILITY OF BURNS. 37 and this appears to have wounded his self- of this passion died early in life, and the imlove. It is not, however, difficult to find an pression left on the mind of Burns seems to excuse for her silence. Burns was at this have been deep and lasting. (51) Several time little known; and, where known at all, years afterwards, when he was removed to noted rather for the wild strength of his!Nithsdale, he gave vent to the sensibility of humour, than for those strains of tenderness his recollections in the following impassioned in which he afterwards so much excelled. To lines. In the manuscript book from which the lady herself his name had, perhaps, never we extract them, they are addressed To Mary been mentioned, and of such a poem she in Heaven! might not consider herself as the proper "Thou linrering star, with lessning ray, judge. Her modesty might prevent her That lov'st to greet the early morn, from perceiving that the muse of Tibullus Again thou usher'st in the day breathed in this nameless poet, and that her AMy Mary from my soul was torn. beauty was awakening strains destined to im- Oh, Mary! dear departed shade! mortality on the banks of the Ayr. It may! Where is thy place of blissful rest? mortality on the banks of the Ayr. It may Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? be conceived, also, that supposing the verse Heartthou thegroans that rendhis breastt duly appreciated, delicacy might find it difi- That s hour Can I forget cult to express its acknowledgments. The C an I forget the hallowed grove, fervent imagination of the rustic bard pos- Where by the windinlg Ayr we met sessed more of tenderness than of respect. To live one day of parting love? Instead of raising himself to the condition of I Eternity will not efface the object of his admiration, he presumed to Those records dear of transports past; Thy image at our last embrace; reduce her to his own, and to strain this Ah! little thought we'twas our last! high-born beauty to his daring bosom. It is',. zn IAyr gurgling kissed his pebbled shore, true, Burns might have found precedents for Ayr gurgling kissed wild woods, thinin O'erhung with wild woods, thick'ning, such freedoms among the poets of Greece green; and Rome, and, indeed, of every country. The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, And it is not to be denied, that lovely wo- I Twin'd amorous round the raptured scene. men have generally submitted to this sort of I The flowers sprang waton to be prest, The birds sang love on every spray, profanation with patience, and even with The bir too too soon, te on every sprt Till too, too soon, the glowing west good humour. To what purpose is it to re- Proclaim'd the speed of winged day. pine at a misfortune which is the necessary Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes, consequence of their own charms, or to re- And fondly broods with miser care; monstrate with a description of men who are Time blit the impression stronger makes, incapable of control? As streams their channels deeper wear. "The lunatic, the lover, and the poet My lary, dear departed shade Are of imagination all compact."' Where is thy pllace of blissful rest? Scest thou thy lover lowly laid? [breast?" It;nay be easily presumed, that the beau Scear'st thou th e groloer lowly la t rend his tiful nymph of Ballochmyle, whoever she may have been, did not reject with scorn the To the delineations of the poet by himself, adorations of our poet, though she received by his brother, and by his tutor, these addithem with silent modesty and dignified tions are necessary, in order that the reader reserve. I may see his character in its various aspects, The sensibility of our bard's temper, and and may have an opportunity of forming a the force of his imagination, exposed him, in just notion of the variety, as well as of the a particular manner, to the impressions of power of his original genius. (52) beauty; and these qualities, united to his We have dwelt the longer on the early impassioned eloquence, gave him in turn a part of his life, because it is the least known, powerful influence over the female heart. and because, as has already been mentioned, The banks of the Ayr formed the scene of this part of his history is connected with youthful passions of a still tenderer nature, some views of the condition and manners of the history of which it would be improper to the humblest ranks of society, hitherto little reveal, were it even in our power; and the observed, and which will perhaps be found traces of which will soon be discoverable only I neither useless nor uninteresting. in those strains of nature and sensibility to About the time of his leaving his native which they gave birth. The song entitled county, his correspondence commences; and Highland Mary is known to relate to one of in the series of letters given to the world, these attachments. " It was written," says the chief incidents of the remaining part of our bard, "on one of the most interesting his life will be found. This authentic, passages of my youthful days." The object though melancholy record, will supersede in 38 LIFE OF BURNS. future the necessity of any extended narra- I on the 23rd of October, 1786, when he dined tive. at my house in Ayrshire, together with our Burns set out for Edinburgh in the month common friend Mr. John Mackenzie, surgeon of November, 1786. He was furnished with in Mauchline, to whom I am indebted for the a letter of introduction to Dr. Blacklock pleasure of his acquaintance. I am enabled (53), from the gentleman to whom the doctor to mention the date particularly, by some had addressed the letter which is represented verses which Burns wrote after he returned by our bard as the immediate cause of his home, and in which the day of our meeting visiting the Scottish metropolis. He was is recorded. Myexcellent andmuchlamented acquainted with Mr. Stewart, Professor of friend, the late Basil, Lord Daer, happened Moral Philosophy in the university, and to arrive at Catrine the same day, and by had been entertained by that gentleman at the kindness and frankness of his manners, Catrine, his estate in Ayrshire. He had left an impression on the mind of the poet been introduced by Mr. Alexander Dalzeil which was never effaced. (56) The verses I (54) to the Earl of Glencairn, who had ex- allude to are among the most imperfect of pressed his high approbation of his poetical his pieces; but a few stanzas may perhaps talents. He had friends, therefore. who be an object of curiosity to you, both on could introduce him into the circles of lite- account of the character to which they relate, rature as well as of fashion, and his own and of the light which they throw on the manners and appearance exceeding every situation and feelings of the writer, before expectation that could have been formed of his name was known to the public. them, he soon became an object of general I cannot positively say, at this distance of curiosity and admiration. (55) The following time, whether, at the period of our first circumstance contributed to this in a con- acquaintance, the Kilmarnock edition of his siderable degree:-At the time when Burns poems had been just published, or was yet arrived in Edinburgh, the periodical paper, in the press. I suspect that the latter was entitled The Lounger, was publishing, every the case, as I have still in my possession Saturday producing a successive number. copies in his own handwriting of some of Iris His poems had attracted the notice of the favourite performances; particularly of his gentlemen engaged in that undertaking, and verses On Turning up a Mouse with his the ninety-seventh number of those unequal, Plough; on the Mlountain Daisy; and The though frequently beautiful essays, is devoted Lament. On my return to Edinburgh, I to An Account of Robert Burns, the Ayrshire showed the volume, and mentioned what I Plogllihman, with extracts from his Poems, knew of the author's history to several of written by the elegant pen of -Mr. Mackenzie. my friends; and among others to Mr. Henry The Lounger had an extensive circulation \lackenzie, who first recommended him to among persons of taste and literature, not public notice in the 97th number of The in Scotland only, but in various parts of Lounger. England, to whose acquaintance, therefore, "At this time Burns's prospects in life our bard was immediately introduced. The were so extremely gloomy, that he had paper of Mr. Mackenzie was calculated to seriously formed a plan of going out to introduce him advantageously. The extracts Jamaica in a very humble situation, not are well selected; the criticisms and reflec- however without lamenting that his want of tions are judicious as well as generous; and patronage should force him to think of a in the style and sentiments there is that project so repugnant to his feelings, when happy delicacy, by which the writings of the his ambition aimed at no higher an object author are so eminently distinguished. The than the station of an exciseman or gauger extracts from Burns's poems in the ninety- in his own country. seventh number of The Lounger, were copied "His manners were then, as they continued into the London as well as into many of the ever afterwards, simple, manly, and indeprovincial papers, and the fame of our bard pendent; strongly expressive of conscious spread throughout the island. Of the genius and worth, but without any thing that manners, character, and conduct of Burns at indicated forwardness, arrogance, or vanity. this period, the following account has been He took his share in conversation, but not given by Mr. Stewart, Professor of Moral more than belonged to him; and listened Philosophy in the University of Edinburgh, with apparent attention and deference on in a letter to the editor, which he is particu- subjects where his want of education delarly happy to have obtained permission to prived him of the means of information. If insert in these memoirs:- there had been a little more of gentleness "The first time I saw Robert Burns was and accommodation in his temper, he would, BURNS VISITS EDINBURGtH. 39 I think, have been still more interesting; happiness and the worth which they conbut he had been accustomed to give law in tained. the circle of his ordinary acquaintance; and " In his political principles he was then a his dread of any thing approaching to mean- Jacobite; which was perhaps owing partly ness or servility, rendered his manner some- to this, that his father was originally from what decided and hard. Nothing perhaps, the estate of Lord MIareschal. Indeed, he was more remarkable among his various at- did not appear to have thought much on tainments, than the fluency, and precision, such subjects, nor very consistently. He and originality of his language, when he had a very strong sense of religion, and exspoke in company; more particularly as he pressed deep regret at the levity with which aimed at purity in his turn of expression, he had heard it treated occasionally in some and avoided more successfully than most convivial meetings which he frequented. I Scotchmen the peculiarities of Scottish speak of him as he was in the winter of phraseology. 1786-7; for afterwards we met but seldom, "He came to Edinburgh early in the winter and our conversations turned chiefly on his following, and remained there for several literary projects, or his private affairs. months. By whose advice he took this "I do not recollect whether it appears or step, I am unable to say. Perhaps it was not from any of your letters to me, that snolgested only by his own curiosity to see a you had ever seen Burns. (57) If you have, little more of the world; but, I confess, I it is superfluous for me to add, that the dreaded the consequences from the first, idea which his conversation conveyed of the lid always wished that his pursuits and powers of his mind, exceeded, if possible, habits should continue the samle as in the that which is suggested by his writings. former part of life-with the addition of, Among the poets whom I have happened to what I considered as then completely within know, I have been struck, in more than one his reach, a good farm on moderate terms, in instance, with the unaccountable disparity a part of the country agreeable to his taste. between their general talents, and the occa"The attentions he recei\ed during his stay sional inspirations of their more favoured in town fromn all ranks and 4lescriptions of moments. But all the faculties of Burns's persons, were such as would have turned mind, were, as far as I could judge, equally any head but his own. I cannot say that I vigorous; and his predilection for poetry could perceive any unfavourable effect was rather the result of his own enthusiastic which they left on his mind. IHe retained and impassioned temper, than of a genius the same simplicity of manners and ap- exclusively adapted to that species of compearance which had struck me so forcibly position. From his conversation I should when I first saw him in the country; nor have pronounced him to be fitted to excel in did he seem to feel any additional self-im- whatever iwalk of ambition he had chosen to portance from the number and rank of his exert his abilities. new acquaintance. His dress was perfectly "Among the subjects on which he was suited to his station, plain and unpretend- accustomed to dwell, the characters of the iutg, with a sufficient attention to neatness. individuals with whom he happened to meet, If I recollect right, he always wore boots; was plainly a favourite one. The remarks and, when on more than usual ceremony, li he made on them were always shrewd and buckskin breeches. pointed, though frequently inclining too "The variety of his engagements, while in much to sarcasm. His praise of those he Edinburgh, prevented me from seeing him loved was sometimes indiscriminate and so often as I could have wished. In the extravagant; but this, I suspect, proceeded course of the spring, he called on me once rather rather from the caprice and humour or twice, at my request, early in the morn- of the moment, than from the effects of ing, and walked with me to Braid Hills, in attachment in blinding his judgment. His the neighbourhood of the towmn, when he wit was ready, and always impressed with charmed me still more by his private con- the marks of a vigorous understanding; but, versation than he had ever done in company. to my taste, not often pleasing or happy, I-e was passionately fond of the beauties of His attempts at epigram, in his printed nature; and I recollect once he told me, works, are the only performances, perhaps, when I was admiring a distant prospect in that he has produced totally unworthy of one of our morning walks, that the sight of his genius. so many smoking cottages gave a pleasure "In summer 1787, I passed some weeks to his mind, which none could understand in Ayrshire, and saw Burns occasionally. who had not witnessed, like himself, the I think that he made a pretty long excur. 40 LIFE OF BURNS. sion that season to the Highlands, and that him. a passage or two in Franklin's works, he also visited what Beattie calls the Arca- which I thought very happily executed, dian ground of Scotland, upon the banks of upon the model of Addison; but he did not the Teviot and the Tweed. appear to relish, or to perceive the beauty "I should have mentioned before, that, not- which they derived from their exquisite withstanding various reports I heard during simplicity, and spoke of them with indiffethe preceding winter, of Burns's predilection rence, when compared with the point, and for convivial, and not very select society, I antithesis, and quaintness of Junius. The should have concluded in favour of his influence of this taste is very perceptible in habits of sobriety, from all of him that ever his own prose comnpositions, although their fell under my own observation. lie told me great and various excellences render some indeed himself, that the weakness of his of them scarcely less objects of wonder stomach was such as to deprive him entirely than his poetical performances. The late of any merit in his temperance. I was, Dr. Robertson used to say, that considering however, somewhat alarmed about the effect his education, the former seemed to him the of his now comparatively sedentary and more extraordinary of the two. luxurious life, when he confessed to me, the " His memory was uncommonly retentive, first night he spent in my house after his at least for poetry, of which he recited to me, winter's campaign in town, that he had lreluaently long compositions with the most been much disturbed when in bed, by a minute accuracy. They were chiefly ballads, palpitation at his heart, which, he said, was and other pieces in our Scottish dialect; a complaint to which he had of late become great part of them, he told me, he had subject. learned in his childhood from his mother, " in the course of the same season, I was who delighted in such recitations, and whose led by curiosity to attend for an hour or two poetical taste, rude as it probably was, gave, u Mason Lodge in MIauchline, where Burnls it is presumable, the first direction to her presided. He had occasion to make some son's genius. short unpremeditated compliments to differ- "Of the more polished verses which accient individuals from wh)m he htld no reason dentally fell into his hands in his early to expect a visit, and everytilv' he said years, lie mentioned particularly the recomnwas happily conceived, and forcibly as well mIendatory poems by dlitrerent authors, preas fluiintly expressed. If I am not mistakenl, ixed to Ifervey's Meditations; a book he told iole, that in that village, before goinu' which has always had a very wide circulato Edinblurgh, he had belolnged to a sall tl lion tonon such of the country people of club of such of the inhabitants as had a Scotland as affect to unite some degree of taste for books, wvhen they used to converse taste with their religious studies. And and debate on any interesting questionls thiat ciese poems (although they are certainly occurred to them in the course of their below mediocrity) lihe continued to read with reading. His imaniiner of speaking in public a degree of rapture beyond expression. He had evidently the marks of some practice in;ook notice of this fact himself, as a proof extempore elocution. how much the taste is liable to be illu" I must not omit to mention, what I have eaced by accidental circumrstaices. always considered as characteristical in a "H1is father appeared to me, from the high degree of true genius, the extremel account he gave of him, to have been a facility and good-nature of his taste, ill respectable and worthy character, possessed judging of the compositions of others of a mild superior to what might have been where there was any real ground for praise expected from his station in life. He asI repeated to him many passages of Englislh cribed much of his own principles and feelpoetry with which he was unacquainted, and inMs to the early impressions he had received have more thfan once witnessed the tears of froim his instructions and example. I recoladhniration and rapture with which he heard lect that he once applied to him (and, he them. The collection of songs by Dr. added, that the passage was a literal stateAikiii, which I first pat into his hands, he ment of the fact) the two last lines of the read Nvith unmixed delight, notwithstanding, following passage in the Minstrel, the lhole his former efforts in that very difficult of which he repeated with great enthusiasm: species of writing; and I have little doubt'Shall I be left forgotten in the dust, that it had some effect in polishing his subthat it had som effect h polisinghis su -When fate, relenting, lets the flower revive; sequent compositions. Shall nature's voice, to man alone unjust, "In judging of prose, I do not think his Bid him, though doom'd to perish, hope to taste was equally sound I once read to live I LITERARY RECEPTION OF BURNS. 41 Is it fero his fair virtue oft must strive surprise, at the distinct conception he apWithl disappointment, penury, and pain? peared from it to have formed of the general No! Heaven's immortal spring shall yet principles of the doctrine of association." (60) arrive; The scene that opened on our bard in And man's majestic beauty bloom again, The scene that opened on our bard in Bright thro' th' eternal year of love's tri- Edinburgh was altogether new, and in a umplhant reign. [taught: variety of other respects highly interesting, This truth sublime his simple sire had especially to one of his disposition of mind. In sooth,'twas almost all the shepherd To use an expression of his own, he found himself "suddenly translated from the "With respect to Burns's early education, veriest shades of life," into the presence, I cannot say anything with certainty. IeI and, indeed, into the society, of a number always spoke with respect and gratitude of of persons, previously known to him by the schoolmaster who had taught him to report as of the highest distinction in his read English, and who, finding- in his scholar country, and whose characters it was natural a more than ordinary ardour for knowledge, for him to examine with no common curihad been at pains to instruct him in the osity. (61) grammatical principles of the language. He From the men of letters, in general, his began the study of Latin, but dropt it reception was particularly flattering. The before he had finished the verbs. I have late Dr. Robertson, Dr. Blair, Dr. Gregory, sometimes heard him quote a few Latin AMr. Stewart, iMr. Mackenzie, and Mir. Fraser words, such as omlia vilCit amor, &c., but Tytler, may be mentioned in the list of they seemed to be such as he had caught those who perceived his uncommon talents, from conversation, and which he repeated who acknowledged more esp cially his by rote. I think he had a project, after he powers in conversation, and who interested came to Edinburgh, of prosecuting the themselves in the cultivation of his study under his intimate friend, the late genius. (6:?) In Edinburgh literary and IMr. Nicol, one of the masters of the gram- fashionable society are a good deal mixed. mar-school here; but I do not know that Our bard was an acceptable guest in the he ever proceeded so far as to make the gayest and most elevated circles, and freattempt. quently received from female beauty and "HI-e certainly possessed a smattering of elegance those attentions above all others French; and if he had an affectation in most grateful to him. (63) At the table of anything, it was in introducing occasionally Lord MIonboddo he was a frequent guest; a word or phrase from that language. It is and while he enjoyed the society, and parpossible that his kno-wlede in this respect took of the hospitalities of the venerable might be more extensive than I suppose it jud'e, he experienced the kindness and conto be; but this you can learn from his more desceilsion of his lovely and accomplished intimate acquaintance. It would be worth daughter. The singular beauty of this while to inquire, whether he was able to young lady was illuminated by that happy read the French authors with such facility expression of countenance which results as to receive from them any improvement from the union of cultivated taste and to his taste. For my own part, I doubt it superior understanding with the finest affecmuch; nor would I believe it, but on very tions of the mind. The influence of such stron. and pointed evidence. attractions was not unfelt by our poet. "If my memory does not fail me, he was "There has not been anything like ilMiss well instructed in arithmetic, and knew Burnet," said he in a letter to a friend, "in something of practical geometry, particu- all the combination of beauty, grace, and larly of surveying. All his other attain- goodness, the Creator has formed since ments were entirely his own. Milton's Eve on the first dav of her exist"The last time I saw him was during the ence." In his Address to Edinburgh, she winter 1788-89,(59) when he passed an is celebrated in a strain of still greater evening with me at Drumseugh, in the elevation:neighbourhood of Edinburgh, where I was " Fair Burnet strikes th' adorning eye, then living. My friend, Mr. Alison, was Heaven's beauties on my fancy shine I the only other person in company. I never I see the Sire of Love on high, saw him more agreeable or interesting. A And own his work indeed divine!" present which Mr. Alison sent him after- This lovely woman died a few years afterwards of his Essays on Taste, drew from wards in the flower of youth. Our bard Burns a letter of acknowledgment, which I expressed his sensibility on that occasion, remember to have read with some degree of in verses addressed to her memory. 4L2 LIFE OF BURNS. Among the men of rank and -fashion, whatever influence might be produced on his Burns was particularly distinguished by conduct, his excellent understanding suffered James, Earl of Glencairn. (64) On the no corresponding debasement. He estimated motion of this nobleman, the Caledonian his friends and associates of every descripIlIunt, an association of the principal of the tion at their proper value, and appreciated nobility and gentry of Scotland, extended his own conduct with a precision that might their patronage to our bard, and admitted give scope to much curious and melancholy him to their gay orgies. He repaid their reflection. He saw his danger, and at times notice by a dedication of the enlarged and formed resolutions to guard against it; but improved edition of his poems, in which he he had embarked on the tide of dissipation, has celebrated their patriotism and indepen- and was borne along its stream. dence in very animated terms. Of the state of his mind at this time, an "I congratulate my country that the blood authentic, though imperfect, document reof her ancient heroes runs uncontaminated, mains, in a book which he procured in the and that, from your courage, knowledge, and spring of 1787, for the purpose, as he himself public spirit, she may expect protection, informs us, of recording in it whatever wealth, and liberty. * * 4 * * * * seemed worthy of observation. The following _May corruption shrink at your kindling in- extracts may serve as a specimen:dignant glance; and may tyranny in the ruler, and licentiousness in the people, "Edinburgh, A equally find in you an inexorable foe." "As I have seen a good deal of human It is to be presumed that these generous life in Edinburgh, a great many characters sentiments, uttered at an era singularly which are new to one bred up in the shades propitious tb independence of character and of life as I have been, I am determined to conduct, were favourably received by the take down my remarks on the spot. Gray persons to whom they were addressed, and observes, in a letter to Mr. Palgrave, that that they were echoed from every bosom, as' half a word fixed upon, or near the spot, is well as from that of the Earl of Glencairn. worth a cart-load of recollection.' I don't This accomplished nobleman, a scholar, a know how it is with the world in general, man of taste and sensibility, died soon but with me, making my remarks is by no afterwards. Had he lived, and had his means a solitary pleasure. I want some one power equalled his wishes, Scotland migj..t tolaughwith me, someoneto be gravewithme, still have exulted in the genius, instead of some one to please me and help my discrimilamenting the early fate of her favourite nation, with his or her own remark, and at bard. times, no doubt, to admire my acuteness and A taste for letters is not always conjoined penetration. The world are so busied with with habits of temperance and regularity; selfish pursuits, ambition, vanity, interest, or and Edinburghl, at the period of which wc pleasure, that very few think it worth their speak, contained, perhaps, an uncommon while to make any observation on what proportion of men of considerable talents, passes around them, except where that obdevotr. to social excesses, in which their servation is a sucker, or branch of the darling talents were wasted and debased. plant they are rearing in their fancy. Nor Burns entered into several parties of this am I sure, notwithstanding all the sentidescription, with the usual vehemence of his mental flights of novel-writers, and the sage character. His generous affections, his philosophy of moralists, whether we are ardent eloquence, his brilliant and daring capable of so intimate and cordial a coalition imagination, fitted him to be the idol of such of friendship, as that one man may pour out associations; and accustoming himself to his bosom, his every thought and floating conversation of unlimited range, andto festive fancy, his very inmost soul, with unreserved indulgences that scorned restraint, he gra- confidence to another, without hazard of dually lost some portion of his relish for the losing part of that respect which man deserves more pure, but less poignant pleasures, to be from man; or, from the unavoidable imperfound in the circles of taste, elegance, and fections attending human nature, of one day literature. This sudden alteration in his repenting his confidence. habits of life operated on him physically as "For these reasons I am determined to well as morally. The humble fare of an make these pages my confidant. I will sketch Ayrshire peasant he had exchanged for the every character that any way strikes me, to luxuries of the Scottish metropolis, and the I the best of my power, with unshrinking effects of this change on his ardent constitu- I justice. I will insert anecdotes, and take tion could not be inconsiderable. But I down remarks, in the old law phrase, without -lURNS AND HIS CONTEMPORARIES. 43 feud or favour. Where I hit on any thing company consisted of his lordship, dunderclever, my own applause will in some measure pate, and myself), that I was within half a feast my vanity; and, begging Patroclus' point of throwing down my gage of conand Achates' pardon, I think a lock and key temptuous defiance; but he shook my hand, a security, at least equal to the bosom of any I and looked so benevolently good at parting. friend whatever. | God bless him! though I should never see " My own private story likewise, my love! him more, I shall love him until my dying adventures, my rambles; the frowns and day! I am pleased to think I am so capable smiles of fortune on my bardship; my poems of the throes of gratitude, as I am miserably and friagments, that must never see the light, deficient in some other virtues. shall be occasionally inserted. In short, "With Dr. Blair I am more at my ease. I never did four shillings purchase so much never respect him with humble veneration; friendship, since confidence went first to but when he kindly interests himself in my market, or honesty was set up to sale. welfare, or still more, when he descends "To these seemingly invidious, but too from his pinnacle, and meets me on equal just ideas of human friendship, I would ground in conversation, my heart overflows cheerfully make one exception-the connec- with what is called liking. When he negtion between two persons of different sexes, lects me for the mere carcase of greatness, when their interests are united and absorbed or when his eye measures the difference of by the tie of love- our points of elevation, I say to myself, with'When thought meets thought, ere from the scarcely any emotion, what doJI care for him lips it parlt, [heart.' or his pomp either?" And each warm wish springs mutual from the The intentions of the poet in procuring There confidence, confidence that exalts them this book, so fully described by himself, the more in one another's opinion, that en- were very imperfectly executed. He has dears them the more to each other's hearts, inserted in it few or no incidents, but seveunreservedly'reigns and revels.' But this ral observations and reflections, of which is not my lot; and, in my situation, if I am the greater part that are proper for the wise (which, by the bye, I have no great public eye will be found interwoven in his chance of being), my fate should be cast letters. The most curious particulars in with the Psalmist's sparrow,'to watch alone the book are the delineations of the characon the house tops.' Oh the pity! ters he met with. These are not numerous; * * * * * * but they are chiefly of persons of distinc"There are few of the sore evils under tion in the republic of letters, and nothing the suni give me more uneasiness and but the delicacy and respect due to living chagrin than the comparison how a man of characters prevents us from committing genius, nay of avouwed worth, is received them to the press. Though it appears that every where, with the reception which a in his conversation he was sometimes dismere ordinary character, decorated with the posed to sarcastic remarks on the men with trappings and futile distinctions of fortune, whom he lived, nothing of this kind is dismeets. I imagine a man of abilities, his coverable in these more deliberate efforts of breast glowing with honest pride, conscious his understanding, which, while they exhibit that men are born equal, still giving honour great clearness of discrimination, manifest to whom honour is due; he meets at a great also the wish, as well as the power, to man's table, a Squire something, or a Sir bestow high and generous praise. somebody; he knows the noble landlord, at As a specimen of these delineations, we heart, gives the bard or whatever he is, a give the character of Dr. Blair, who has share of his good wishes, beyond, perhaps, now paid the debt of nature, in the full any one at table; yet how will it mortify confidence that this freedom will not be him to see a fellow whose abilities would found inconsistent with the respect and scarcely have made an eightpenny tailor, and veneration due to that excellent man, the whose heart is not worth three farthings, last stir in the literary constellation, by meet with attention and notice, that are which the metropolis of Scotland was, in withheld from the son of genius and the earlier part of the present reign, so poverty! beautifully illuminated. * "The noble Glencairn has wounded me to "It is not easy forming an exact judg. the soul here, because I dearly esteem, ment of any one; but, in my opinion, Dr. respect, and love him. He showed so much Blair is merely an astonishing proof of attention, engrossing attention, one day, what industry and application can do. to the only blockhead at table (the whole Natural parts like his are frequently to be 44 LIFE OF BURNS. met with; his vanity is proverbially known specific, Burns urged him to bring forward among his acquaintance; but he is justly at the passages which he thought exceptionable. the head of what may be called fine writing; He made several attempts to quote the and a critic ot the first, the very first, rank poem, but always in a blundering, inaccurate in prose; even in poetry, a bard of Nature's manner. Burns bore all this for a good making can only take the pas of his He while with his usual good-natured forbearhas a heart not of the very finiest water, but iance. till at length, goaded by the fastidious far from being an ordinary one. In short, criticisms and wretched quibblings of his he is truly a worthy and most respectable opponent, he roused himself, and with an character." eye flashing contempt and indignationl, and [Mr. Cromek informs us that one of the with great vehemence of gesticulation, he poet's remarks, when he first came to Edin- thus addressed the cold critic:'Sir, I now burgh, was, that between the men of rustic perceive a man may be an excellent judge life and the polite world, he observed little of poetry by square and rule, and after all, difference; that in the former, though un- be a d-d blockhead."' "To pass from polished by fashion and unenlightened by these trifles," says nMr. Lockart, "it needs science, he had found much observation, no effort of imagination to conceive what and much intelligence; but a refined and the sensations of an isolated set of scholars accomplished woman was a thing almost (almost all either clergymen or professors) new to him, and of which he had formed must have been in the presence of this bigbut a very inadequate idea. Mr. Lockhart boned, black-browed, brawny stranger, with adds, that there is reason to believe that, his great flashing eyes, who having forced his Burns was much more a favourite amongst way amlong them from the plough-tail, at a the female than the male part of elevated single stride, manifested, in the whole Edinburgh society to which he was intro- strain of his bearing and conversation, a duced, and that in consequence, in all pro- most thorough conviction, that, ill the bability, of the greater deference he paid to society of tile most eminent umen of his the gentler sex. "It is sufficiently apparent," nation, he was exactly where lie was enadds Mir. L., " that there were many points titled to be; hardly deigned to flatter them in Burns's conversational habits, which by exhibiting even an occasional symptom men, accustomed to the delicate observances of being flattered by their notice; by turns of refined society, might be more willing calmly measured himself agaillst the most to tolerate under the first excitement of cultivated understandil'us of his time in personal curiosity, than from any very de- discussion; overpowered the bton mots of liberate estimate of the claims of such a the most celebrated convivialists by broad genius, under such circumstances developed. floods of merriment, impregnated with all He by no means restricted his sarcastic the burning life of genius; astounded observations on those whom he encountered bosoms habitually enveloped in the thricein the world to the confidence of his note- plied folds of social reserve, by compelling book, but startled ears polite with the them to tremble, nay, to tremble visibly, utterance of audacious epigrams, far too beneath the fearless touch of natural pathos; witty not to obtain general circulation in and all thiis without indicating the smallest so small a society as that of the northern willillgness to be ranked among those procapital, far too bitter not to produce deep fessionlal ministers of excitement, who are resentment, far too numerous not to spread content to be paid in money and smiles for fear almost as widely as admiration." An doing what the spectators and auditors example of his unscrupulousness is thus would be ashamed of doing in their own given by nMr. Cromek. "At a private persons, even if they had the power of doings breakfast, in a literary circle of Edinlburgh, it; and, last, and probably worst of all, the conversationl turned on the poetical who was known to be in the habit of enlimerit and pathos of Gray's Elegy, a poem I vening societies which they would have of which he was enthusiastically fond. A scor. ed to approach, still more frequently clergyman present, remarkable for his love than their own, with eloquence no less of paradox, and for his eccentric notions magificent; with wit in all likelihood still upon every subject, distinguished himself more daring; often enough, as the superiors by an injudicious and ill-timed attack on whom he fronted without alarm, might have this exquisite poem, which Burns, with guessed from the beginning, and had, ere generous warmth for the reputation of long, no occasion to guess, with wit pointed Gray, manfully defended. As the gentle- at themselves."] man's remarks were rather general than " By the new edition of his poems, (65) THE DIARY. 45 Burns acquired a sum of money that Reception extremely flattering. Sleep at enabled him not only to partake of the Coldstream. pleasures of Edinburgh, but to gratify a "Tuesday. Breakfast at Kelso —charm. desire he had long entertained, of visiting ing situation of the town-fine bridge over those parts of his native country most at- the BTweed. Enchanting views and prostractive by their beauty or their grandeur; -ects on both sides of the river, especially a desire which the return of summer natu- on the Scotch side. * * * Visit rally revived. The scenery on the banks of Roxburgh Palace — fine situation of it. the Tweed, and of its tributary streams, Ruins of Roxburgh Castle-a holly-bush strongly interested his fancy; and accord- growing where James II. was accidentally ingly he left Edinburgh on the 6th of May, killed by the bursting of a cannon. A small 1787, on a tour through a country so much old religious ruin, and a fine old garden celebrated in the rural songs of Scotland. planted by the religious, rooted out and IIe travelled on horseback, and was accom- destroyed by a Hottentot, a maitre d'hotel panied, during some part of his journey, by of the duke's-clinlate and soil of BerMr. Ainslie, now writer to the signet, a Nwickshire, and even Roxburghshire, superior gentleman who enjoyed much of his friend- to Ayrshire-bad roads-turnip and sheep ship and of his confidence. Of this tour a husbandry, their great improvements. * * * journal remains, which, however, contains Low markets, consequently lovw lands-maonly occasional remarks on the scenery, and nificence of farmers and farm-houses. Come which is chiefly occupied with an accoust of up the Teviot, and up the Jed to Jedburgh the author's different stages, and with his to lie, and so wish myself good-night. observations on the various characters to " Wednesday. Breakfast with Mr. Fair. whom he was introduced. In the course of * * * * Charming romantic situation this tour he visited Mr. Ainslie of Berrywell, of Jedburgh, with gardens and orchards, the father of his companion; Mir. Brydone, intermingled among the houses and the the celebrated traveller, to whom he carried ruins of a once maoguificicent cathedral. All a letter of introduction from ATr. M:lacken- the towns here have the appearance of old zie; the Rev. Dr. Somerville of Jedburgh, rude grandeur, but extremely idle. Jed, a the historian; Mr. and Mrs. Scott of fine ronmantic little river. Dined with -Wauchope; Dr. Elliott, a physician, retired Captainl Rutherford, * * * return to to a romnantic spot on the banks of the Jedburgh. AWalk up the Jed with some Roole; Sir Alexander Don; Sir James HIall ladies to be shown Love-lane, and Blackof Dun-flass; and a great variety of other burn, two fairy-sceles. Introduced to Mr. respectable characters. Every where the Potts, writer, and to Mir. Somerville, the fame of the poet had spread before him, clergyman of the parish, a man and a and every where he received the most hos- gentleman, but sadly addicted to punning. pitable and flattering attentions. At Jed- (66). * * * * * burgh he continued several days, and was "Jedbztrgh Saturday. Was presented by hououred by the magistrates with the free- the magistrates with the freedom of the dom of their borough. The following may town. serve as a specimen of this tour, which the "Took farewell of Jedburgh with some perpetual reference to living characters pre- melancholy sensations. vents our giving at large:- "Monday, llhay 14th, Kelso. Dine with "Saturday, May 6th. Left Edinburgh — the farmers' club-all gentlemen talking of Lammer-muir-hills, miserably dreary in ge- high matters-each of them keeps a hunter neral, but at times very picturesque. from ~30 to ~50 value, and attends the fox"Lanson-edge, a glorious view of the hunting club in the county. Go out with Merse. Reach Berrywell. * * * 1lr. Rer, one of the club, and a friend of The family meeting with my compagnon de MIr. Ainslie's, to sleep. In his mind and voytage, very charming; particularly the manners, Mr. Ker is astonishingly like my sister. * * dear old friend Robert Muir-every thing "Sunday. Went to Church at Dunse. in his house elegant. He offers to accomHIeard Dr. Bowmaker. I pany me in my English tour. " Monday. Coldstream —glorious riverl " Tuesday. Dine with Sir Alexander Tweed-clear and majestic-fine bridge — Don-a very wet day. * * * Sleep at dine at Coldstream with Mfr. Ainslie and Mr. Ker's again, and set out next day for MSr. Foreman. Beat Mlr. Foreman in a 5Melrose-visit Dryburgh, a fine old ruined dispute about Voltaire. Drink tea at Lenel- abbey, by the way. Cross the Leader, and House with MIr. and Mrs. irydone. * * *, come up the Tweed to Melrose. Dine 46 LIFE OF BURNS. there, and visit that far-famed glorious Inverary-to-morrow night's stage, Dumruin-come to Selkirk up the banks of barton. I ought sooner to have answered Ettrick. The whole country hereabouts, your kind letter, but you know I am a man both on Tweed and Ettrick, remarkably of many sins." stony." Part of a letter from our bard to a friend Having spent three weeks in exploring (68), giving some account of his journey, has this interesting scenery, Burns crossed over been comlmllmicated to the editor. The into Northumberland. Mr. Ker, and Mr. reader will be amused with the following Hood, two gentlemen with whom he had extract:become acquainted in the course of his tour, "On our return, at a Highland gentleaccompanied him. I-He visited Alnwick man's hospitable mansion, we fell in with a Castle, the princely seat of the Duke of merry party, and danced till the ladies left Northumberland; the Hermitage and Old us, at three in the morning. Our dancing Castle of Warkworth; Morpeth and New- was none of the French or English insipid castle. In this last town he spent two formal movements; the ladies sane Scotch days, and then proceeded to the south-west songs like angels, at intervals: then we flew by Ilexam and Wardrue, to Carlisle. After at Bab at the bewster, TlLlochlgorum, Loch speinding a day at Carlisle with his friend Erroch side (69), &c., like mid-es sporting Mr. Mitchel, lie returned into Scotland, and in the mottie sun, or craws progrlosticating at Annan his journal terminates abruptly. a storm in a hairst day. When the dear Of the various persons with whom he lasses left us, we ranged round the bowl till became acquainted in the course of this the good-fellow hour of six; except a few journey, he has, in general, given some ac- minutes that we went out to pay our devocount, and ahnost always a favourable one. tions to the glorious lamp of day peering That on the banks of the Tweed, and of over the towering top of Benlomonid. We the Teviot, our bard should find nymphs all kneeled; our worthy landlord's soin held that were beautiful, is what mi;llt be con- the bowl, each man a full glass in his hand; fidently presuened. Two of these are par- and I, as priest, repeated some rhyming nonticularly described in his j umrnal. But it sense, like Th'lomas-a-Rhymer's prophecies I does not appear that the scenery, or its in- suppose. After a small refreshment of tble habitants, produced any effort of his muse, gifts of Somnus, we proceeded to spend tlle as was to have been wished and expected. dtay on Lochlomiondl l and reached Dumlbarton From Annan, Burns proceeded to Dumfries, inl the evening. We dined at another good and thence through Sanquhar, to Mossgiel, fellow's house, and consequently push'd the near IMauclhline, in Ayrshire, where he bottle; whllen we went out to inount our arrived about the 8th of June, 1787, after a horses, we found ourselves'No vera fou. bcut long absence of six busy and eventfill gaylie yet.' My two friends aLnd I rode months. It will easily be conceived with soberly down the Loch side, till by came what pleasure and pride he was received by a Highlandman at the gallop, on a tolerably his mother, his brothers, and sisters. He good horse, but which had never known the had left them poor, and comparatively ornaments of iron or leather. AWe scorned friendless; he returned to them hiigh in to be out-galloped by a Hlighlandman, so off public estimation, and easy in his circum- we start6d, whip and spur. My companions, stances HI-e returned to them unchanged though seemingly gaily mounted, fell sadly in his ardent affections, and ready to share astern; but my old mare, Jenny Geddes, with them to the uttermost fartlling, the one of the Rosinante family, she strained pittance that fortune had bestowed. (67) past the Highlandman in spite of all his Having remained with them a few days. efforts, with the hair-halter: just as I was he proceeded again to Edinburgh, and imn- passing him, Donald wheel:l his horse, as if mediately set out on a journey to the to cross before me to mar my progress, Then Highlands. Of this tour no particulars have down came his horse, and threw his breekless been found among his manuscripts. A rider in a clipt hedge; and down came letter to his friend Mr. Ainslie, dated Arro- Jenny Geddes over all, and my bardship char, by Lochlony, June 28, 1787, commences between her and the Highilaldman's horse. as follows:- Jeiniv Geddes trode over me with such "I write you this on my tour through a cautious revcrence, that matters were not so country where savage streams tumble over bad as might well have been expected; so I savage mountains, thinly overspread with came off with a few cuts and bruises, and a savage flocks, which starvingly support as thorough resolution to be a pattern of sosavage inhabitants. My last stage was briety for the future. BURNS AND NICOL. 47 "I have yet fixed on nothing with respect Dr. Adair, of Harrowgate (71), of which this to the serious business of life. I am, just as gentleman has favoured us with the following usual, a rhyming, mason-making, raking, account:aimless, idle fellow. However, I shall some- "Burns and I left Edinburgh together in where have a farm soon. I was going to say, August, 1787. We rode by Linglithgow a wife too; but that must never be my and Carron, to Stirling. We visited the iron blessed lot. I am but a younger son of the works at Carron, with which the poet was house of Parnassus, and, like other younger forcibly struck. The resemblance between sons of great families, I may intrigue, if I that place and its inhabitants, to the cave of choose to run all risks, but must not marry. the Cyclops, which must have occurred to "I am afraid I have almost ruined one every classical reader, presented itself to source, the principal one, indeed, of my Burns. At Stirling the prospects from the former happiness-that eternal propensity I castle strongly interested him; in a former always had to fall in love. My heart no visit to which, his national feelings had bee.x more glows with feverish rapture. I have no powerfully excited by the ruinous and rofiess paradisiacal evening interviews stolen from state of the hall in which the Scottish parthe restless cares and prying inhabitants of liaments had frequently been held. ilis this weary world. I have only * * * *. indignation had vented itself in some impruThis last is one of your distant acquaintance, dent, butnotunpoetical lines, which had given has a fine figure, and elegant manners, and, much offence, and which he took this opporttlin the train of some great folks whom you nity of erasing, by breaking the parne of tilhe know, has seen the politest quarters in window at the inn on which they werewrittel. Europe. I do like her a good deal; but "At Stirling we met with a company of what piques me is her conduct at the cornm- travellers fromn Edinburgh, among whom was mencement of our acquaintance. I frequently a character in many respects congenial with visited her when I was in, and after that of Burns. This was Nicol, one of thl passing regularly the intermediate degrees teachers of the High Grammar School at between the distant formal bow and the Edinburgh-the same wit and power of familiar grasp round the waist, I ventured, conversation, the same fondness for convivial in rmy careless way, to talk of friendship in society, and thoughtlessness of to-morrowv, rather ambiguous terms; and, after her characterised both. Jacobitical principles ill return to,I wrote to her in the same politics were common to both of them; style. Miss, construing my words farther I and these have been suspected, since the supplose than I intended, flew off in a taingent revolution of France, to have given place of female dignityand reserve,like a mountain- in each to opinions apparently opposite. (72) lark ill anl April morning; and wvrote me an I regret that I have preserved no neernanswer which measured me out very com- orabilia of their conversation, either on pletely what an immense way I had to travel this or on other occasions, when I happened before I could reach the climate of her favour. to meet them together. Many songs were But I am an old hawk at the sport; and sung; which I mention for the sake of obh. wrote her such a cool, deliberate, pruldent serving, that when Burns was called on irs reply, as brought my bird from her aerial his turn, he was accustomed, instead of towerings, pop down at my foot like corporal singing, to recite one or other of his own Trim!s hat. (70) shorter poems, with a tone anid emphasis ~" As for the rest of my acts, and my wars, which, though not correct or harmonious, and all my wise sayings, and why my mare were impressive and pathetic. This he did was called Jenny Geddes, they shall be on the present occasion. recorded in a few weeks hence, at Linlithgow, "From Stirling we went next moring in the chronicles of your memory, by through the romantic and fertile vale of " ROBERT BURNS." Devon to Harvieston, in Clackmannanshire, then inhabited by Mrs. Hamilton (73), with From this journey Burns returned to his the younger part of whose family Burns had friends in Ayrshire, with whom he spent the been previously acquainted. He introduced month of July, renewing his friendships, and me to the family, anid there was formed my extending his acquaintance throughout the first acquaintance with Mrs. Hamilton's country, where he was now very generally eldest daughter, to whom I have been knownl and admired. In August he again married for nine years. Thus was I invisited Edinburgh, whence he undertook debted to Burns for a connection from another journey towards the middle of this which I have derived, and expect farther to month, in company with Mr. M. Adair, now derive, much happiness. 48 LIFE OF BURNS. "During a residence of about ten days at abbey, and the abbey-church, now con. HIarvieston, we ilade excursions to visit secrated to Presbyterian worship. Here [ various parts of the surrounding scenery, mounted the cutty stool, or stool of reinferior to none in Scotland in beauty, pentance, assuming the character of a sublimity, and romantic interest; par- penitent for fornication; while Burns, from ticularly Castle Campbell, the ancient seat the pulpit, addressed to me a ludicrous of the family of Argyle; and the famous reproof and exhortation parodied from that cataract of the Devon, called the Caldron which had been delivered to himself in Linn; and the Rumbling Bridge, a single Ayrshire, where he had, as he assured mle, broad arch, thrown by the devil, if tradition once been one of seven who mounted the is to be believed, across the river, at about seat of shamse together. the height of a hundred feet above its bed.'In the church-yard two broad flag-stones I am surprised that none of these scenes marked the grave of Robert Bruce, for whose should have called forth an exertion of memory Burns had more than common Burns's muse. But I doubt if he had much veneration. lie knelt and kissed the stone taste for the picturesque. I well remember, with sacred fervour, and heartily (suus ut that the ladies at Harvieston, who accom- mos erat) execrated the worse than Gothic panied us on this jaunt, expressed their neglect of the first of Scottish heroes." (76) disappointment at his not expressing, in The surprise expressed by Dr. Adair, in more glowing and fervid language, his im- his excellent letter, that the romantic pressions of the Caldron Linn scene, cer- scenery of the Devon should have failed tainily highly sublime, and somewhat horrible. to call forth any exertion of the poet's muse, "A visit to Mrs. Bruce of Clackmannan, is not in its nature singular; and the disa lady above ninety, the lineal descendant of appointnlent felt at his not expressing that race which gave the Scottish throne its ill more glowing language his emotions oin brightest ornament, interested his feelings the sight of the famous cataract of that more powerfully. This venerable dame, with river, is similar to what was felt by the characteristical dignity, informed me, on my friends of Burns on other occasions of the observing that I believed she was descended same nature. Yet the inference that l)r. from the famlily of Robert Bruce, that Adair seems inclined to draw from it, that Robert Bruce was sprung from her family, he had little taste for the picturesque might Though alhnost deprived of speech by a be questioned, even if it stood unconparalytic affection, she preserved her hospi- troverted by other evidence. The muse of tality and urbanity. She was in possession Burns was in a high degree capricious; she of the hero's helnmet and two-handed sword, came uncalled, and often refused to attend with which she conferred on Burns and at his bidding. Of all the numerous submyself the honour of knighthood, remarking, jects suggested to him by his friends and that she had a better righl1t to confer that correspondents, there is scarcely one that he title than soume people. * * You adopted. The very expectation that a parwill, of course, conclude, that the old lady's ticular occasion would excite the energies political tenets were as Jacobitical as the of fanLcy, if communlicated to Burns, seemed poet's, a conformity which contributed not a in him, as in other poets, destructive of the little to the cordiality of our reception and i effect expected. Hence perhaps may be entertainment. She gave, as her first toast explained, why the banlks of the Devon and after dinner, Aiwa' Uncos, or Away with the of the Tweed form no part of the subjects Strangers. Who these strangers were, you of his sonlg. rill readily understand. Mrs. A. corrects A similar train of reasoning may perhaps me by saying it should be Jlooi, or Hooi explain the want of emotion with which he Uncos, a sound used by shepherds to direct viewed the Caldron Linn. Certainly there their dogs to drive away the sheep. (74) are no affections of the mind more deadened "We returnied to Edinburgh by Kinross by the influence of previous expectation, (on the shore of Lochleven) and Queensferry. than those arising from the sight of natural I am inclined to think Burns knew nothing objects, and more especially of objects of of poor Michael Bruce, who was then alive granldeur. Miinute descriptions of scenies, at Killross, or had died there a short while of a sublime nature, should never be given before. A meeting between the bards, or a to those who are about to view them, parvisit to the deserted cottage and early grave ticularly if they are persons of great strength of poor Bruce, would have been highly and sensibility of imagination. Language interesting. (75) seldom or never conveys an adequate idea of "At Dunfermline we visited the ruined such objects, but in the mind of a great poet LINES ON THE DEVON. 49 it may excite a picture that far transcends I the strength of his passions. He died in the them. The imagination of Burns miglht summer of 1797. Having received the form a cataract, in comparison with which elements of a classical instruction at his the Caldron Linn should seem the purling parish-school, Mr. Nicol made a very rapid of a rill, and even the mighty falls of Niagara and singular proficiency; and by early a humble cascade. (77) undertaking the office of an instructor himWhether these suggestions may assist in self, he acquired the means of entering himexplaining our bard's deflciency of impres- self at the University of Edinburgh. There sion on the occasion referred to, or whether he was first a student of theology, then a it ought rather to be imputed to some student of medicine, and was afterwards pre-occupation, or indisposition of mind, we employed in the assistance and instruction presume not to decide: but that he was in of graduates in medicine, in those parts of general feelingly alive to the beautifill or their exercises in which the Latin language sublime in scenery, may be supported by is employed. In this situation he was the irresistible evidence. It is true this pleasure contemporary and rival of the celebrated was greatly heightened in his mind, as might Dr. Brown, whom he resembled in the be expected, when combined with moral particulars of his history, as well as in the emotions of a kind with which it happily leading features of his character. The unites. That under this association Burns office of assistant-teacher in the High School conltemplated the scenery of the Devon with being vacant, it was as usual filled up by the eye of a genuine poet, the following lines competition; and in the face of some preo written at this very period may bear judices, and perhaps of some well-founded witness:- objections, Mr. Nicol, by superior learning, " ON A YOUNG LADY, (78) RESIDING ON TIE carried it from all the other candidates. BAINKS OF THE SMAIL RIVER DEVON, IN This office lie filled at the period of which CLACKMANNANSIIIRE, BUT 5HOSE INFANT we speak. YEARS WVERE SPENT IN AYRSHIRE. It is to be lamented, that an acquaintance IIow pleasant the banks of the clear-winding with the writers of Greece and Rome does Devon, [blooming fair; not always supply an original want of taste With green-spreading bushes, and flowers aid correctness in mausers and conduct; But the bonniest flower on the Banks of the and where it fails of this effect, it sometimes Devas once a sweet bud on the brae of the inflames the native pride of temper, which sild boe the swedun on this swheet-blshin o treats with disdain those delicacies in which Mild be the sun on this sweet-blushing flower [dew! i it has not learnt to excel. It was thus with In the gay rosy morn as it bathes in the the fellow-traveller of Burns. Formed by And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower, nature in a model of great strength, neither That steals on the evening each leaf to his person nor his manners had any tincture renew. of taste or elegance; and his coarseness was Oh spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes, not compensated by that romantic sensi. aW!ith chil hoary wing as ye usher the bility, and those towering flights of imagiAnd far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes nation, which distinguished the conversation The verdure and pride of the garden and of Burns, in the blaze of whose genius all lawn I the deficiencies of his manners were abLet Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies, sorbed and disappeared. And England triumphant display her proud Mr. Nicol and our poet travelled in a rose; post-chaise, which they engaged for the A fairer than either adorns the green vallies journey and passig through the heart of Wrhere Devon, sweet Devon, meanderingWS."the Highlands, stretched northwards, about ten miles beyond Inverness. There they The different journies already mentioned bent their course eastward, across the island, did not satisfy the curiosity of Burns. and returned by the shore of the German About the beginning of September, he again sea to Edinburgh. In the course of this set out from Edinburgh on a more extended tour, some particulars of which will be found tour to the highlands, in company with in a letter of our bard, they visited a number Mir. Nicol, with whom he had now con- of remarkable scenes, and the imagination of tracted a particular intimacy, which lasted Burns was constantly excited by the wild during the remainder of his life. Mr. Nicol and sublime scenery through which he was of Dumfries-shire, of a descent equally passed. Of this several proofs may be found humble with our poet. Like him lie rose in the poems formerly printed. (79) Of the by the strength of his talents, and fell by history of one of these poems, the Humble E 50 LIFE OF BURNS. Petition of Bruar Water, and of the bard's I his abilities, because he knew it was ability visit to Athole-house, some particulars will alone gave him a title to be there. The be found in his correspondence; and by the Duke's fine young family attracted much of favour of Mr. Walker, of Perth, then residing his admiration; he drank their healths as in the family of the Duke of Athole, we honest meen and bonnie lasses, an idea which are enabled to give the following additional was much applauded by the company, and account:- with which he has very felicitously closed "On reaching Blair, he sent me notice of his poem. (81) his arrival (as I had been previously ac- "Next day I took a ride with him quainted with him), and I hastened to meet through some of the most romantic part of him at the inn. The Duke, to whom he that neighbourhood, and was highly gratibrought a letter of introduction, was from filed by his conversation. As a specimen of home; but the Duchess, beiing informed of his happiness of conception and strength of his arrival, gave him an invitation to sup expression, I will mention a remark which and sleep at Athole-house. lie accepted he made on his fellow-traveller, who was the invitation; but as the hour of supper walking at the time a few paces before us. was at some distance, begged I would iIn tile ite was a man of a robust but clumnsy interval be his guide through the grounds. person; and while Burns was expressinl to It was already growing (lark; yet the me the value he entertained for him, on softened though faint and uncertain view of account of his vigorous talents, although their beauties, which the moonlight afforded they were clouded at times by coarsenless of. us, seemed exactly suited to the state of his manners;'in short,' he added,' his mind is feelings at the time. I had oftell, like like his body-he has a confouIded strong others, experienced the pleasures which arise I iii-knlee'd sort of a soul.' from the sublime or elegalnt landscape, but'iuch attention was paid to Burns both I never saw those feelings so intense as in before and after the Duke's return, of which Burns. When we reached a rustic hut on lie was perfectly sensible, without being the river Tilt, where it is overhung by a vain; and at his departure I reconlmended woody precipice, from which there is a noble to him, as the most appropriate return he waterfall, lie threw himlself on the heathy could make, to write some descriptive verses seat, and gave himself up to a tender, on ally of the scenes with which he had abstracted, and voluptuous enthusiasm of been so much delighted. After leaving imagination. I cannot help thinking it Blair, lie, by the Duke's advice, visited the might have been here that lie conceived the IFalls of Bruar, and in a few days I received idea of the following lines, which lie after- a letter from Inverness, with the verses wards introduced into his poem on Brimar enclosed." (82) Water, when only fancying such a combilla- It appears that the impression made by tion of objects as were now present to his I our poet onl the noble family of Athole, was eye. ill a high degree favourable; it is certain he'Or by the reaper's nightly beam, was charmed with the reception he received Miild, chequering thlroughi the trees, from them, anid lie often mentioned the two Rave to niy darkly-dashing strealm, days he spent at Athole-house as among Hoarse-sfwellin, on the breeze.' tile happiest of his life. le was warmly It was with much difficulty I prevailed on invited to prolong his stay, but sacrificed him to quit this spot, and to be introduced Isis incllinations to his enlgarement with in proper time to supper. Mr. Nicol; which is the more to be re"My curiosity was great to see how lie gretted, as lie would otherwise have been would conduct himself in company so inltroduced to Mr. Dundas (83) (then daily different from what he had been accustomed expected on a visit to the Duke), a circurnto. (80) His manner was unembarrassed, stance that mlight have had a favourable plain, and firm. He appeared to have coli- influence on Burns's future fortunes. At plete reliance on his own native good- sense Athole-house he met, for the first time, for directing his behaviour. He seemed at Mir. Graham of Fintry, to whom he was once to perceive and to appreciate what was afterwards indebted for his office in the dsle to the company and to himself, and Excise. never to forget a proper respect for the The letters and poems which he addressed separate species of dignity belonging to to Mir. Graham, bear testimony of his selleach. He did not arrogate conversation, sibility, and justify the supposition, that he but, when led into it, he spoke with ease, would not have been deficient in gratitude propriety, and manliness. lie tried to exert had he been elevated to a situation better BURNS LEAVES GORDON CASTLE. 61 suited to his disposition and to his Helpless wretches sold to toil, talents. Or the ruthless native's way, A few days after leaving Blair of Athole, Bent on slaughter. blood, and spoil: our poet and his fellow-traveller arrived at Woods tha t ever verdant wave; I leave the tyrant and the slave; Fochabers. Illn the course of the preceding Give me the groves that lofty brave winter Burns had been introduced to the The storms by Castle-Gordon. Duchess of Gordon at Edinburgh, and pre-,Wildly here, without control, suming on this acquaintance, he proceeded Natur reigns and rules the whole; to Gordon Castle, leaving Mr. Nicol at the In that sober pensive mood inn in the village. At the castle our poet Dearest to the feeling soul, was received with the utmost hospitality She plants the forest, pours the flood; and kindness, and the family being about to Lite's poor day I'll musing rave, sit down to dinner, he was invited to take And fiald t nie ht a shelteding cave, *,Vhere waters flow and wild woods wave, his place at table as a matter of course. By bonnie Castle-Gordon." (85) This invitation he accepted, and after drinking a few glasses of wine, he rose up, and Burns remained at Edinburgh during the proposed to withdraw. On being pressed greatev part of the winter, 1787-8, (86) and to stay, he mentioned, for the first time, his again entered into the society and dissipaengagement with his fellow-traveller; and tion of that metropolis. (87) It appears his noble host offering to send a servant to that on the 31st Decemllber he attended a conduct Mr. Nicol to the castle, Burns in- meeting to celebrate the birth-day of the sisted on undertakinglr that office himself. lineal descendant of the Scottish race of He was, however, accompanied by a gentle- kings, the late unfortunate Prince Charles man, a particular acquaintance of the duke, Edward. 5Whatever might have been the by whom the invitation was delivered in all wish or purpose of the original institulltors the forms of politeness. The invitation of this asenual meeting, there is no reason came too late; the pride of Nicol was to suppose that the gentlemen of whoml it inflamed into a high degree of passion, by was at this time composed, were not perthe neglect which he had already suffered. fectly loyal to the killg on the throne. It lie had ordered the horses to be put to the is not to be conceived that they enllertained carriage, being determined to proceed on any hope of, aniy wish for, the restoration of his journey alone; and they found him the -lHouse of Stuart; but, over their sparkparading the streets of Fochabers, before ling N-ine, they indllged the generous feelthe door of thle inn, venting his anger on ings which the recollection of fallen greatllness the postilion, for the slowness with wrhich is calculated to inspire, and commilenlorated he obeyed his commands. As no explana- the heroic valour which strove to sustain it tiou nor entreaty could change the purpose in vain-valour worthy of a nobler cause, of his fellow-traveller, our poet was reduced and a happier fortune. On this occasion to the necessity of separating from him our bard took uipon himself the office of a entirely, or of instantly proceeding with him poet-laureate, and produced all ode, which, onl their journey. He chose the last of though d(eficient in the complicated rhythm these alternatives; and seating himself and polished versification that such coinsbeside Nicol in the post-chaise, with morti- positions require, might on a fair comnpetilication asid regret, he turned his back on tion, where energy of feelings and of Gordon Castle, where he had promised him- expression were alone in question, have won self some happy days. Sensible, however, the butt of Malmsey from the real laureate of the great kindness of the noble family, of that day. he made the best return in his power, by The following extracts may serve as a the following poem:- (84) specimen: $ $ $ "Streams that glide in orient plains, "False flatterer, Hope, away! Never bound by winter's chains; Nor think to lure us ts ill days of yore: Glowing here on golden sands, We soleninise this sorrowing natal day, There commix'd with foulest stains To prove our loyal truth — we can no more; From tyranny's empurpled bands; Anmd, own-ing heaven's mysterious sway, These, their richly-gleamlling waves, Submissive low, adore. 1 leave to tyrants and their slaves; Ye honoured mighty dead Give me the stream tlshat sweetly haves Who nobly perished in the glorious cause, The banks b Castle-Gordon. Your king, your country, and her laws! Spicy forests, ever gay, From great Dundee, who smiling victory Shading from the burning ray led, 62 LIFE OF BURNS. And fell a martyr in her arms, I Scottish Georgics, a subject which Thomson (What breast of northern ice but warms?) has bv no means exhausted ill his Seasons. To bold Balhnerino's undying name, [flame, To bol aerino's undin name, [ame, lhat beautifull landscapes of rural life and Whose soul of fire, lighted at heaven's high Deserves the proudest wreath departed heroes manners might not have been expected from claim. (88) a pencil so faithful and forcible as his, which could have exhibited scenes as famiNor unreveng'd your fate shall be, liar and interesting as those in the Gentle It only lags the fatal hour: ItYour blood shall fith incessnt cry Shepherd, which every one who knows our Awake at last th' unsparing power. swains in their unadulterated state, inAs from the cliff, with thundering course, stantly recognises as true to nature. But The snowy ruin smokes along, to have executed either of these plans, With doubling speed and gathering force, steadiness and abstraction from company Till deep it crashing whehns the cottage in were wanting, not talents. When I asked So vengeance" * * I C[the vae! him whether the Edinburgh literati had In relating the incidents of our poet's mended his poems by their criticisms.'Sir,' life in Edinburgh, we ought to have men- said he,'these gentlemen remind me of tioned the sentiments of respect and sympa- some spinsters in my country, who spin thy with which he traced out the grave of their thread so fine that it is neither fit for his predecessor Fergusson, over whose weft nor woof.' He said he had not changed ashes, in the Canongate churchyard, he ob- a word except one, to please Dr. Blair." (90) tained leave to erect a humble monument, Having settled with his publisher, MIr. which will be viewed by reflecting minds Creech, in February 1788, Burns found himwith no common interest, and which will self master of nearly five hundred pounds, awake in the bosom of kindred genius many after discharging all his expenses. Twvo a higil emotion. Neither should we pass hundred pounds he immediately advanced over the continued friendship he experienced to his brother Gllbert, who had taken upon from a poet then living the amiable and himself the support of their aged mother, accomplished Blacklock. To his encourag- and was struggling with many difficulties in ingc advice it was owing (as has already the farm of Atossgiel. AWith the remainder appeared) that Burns, instead of emigratinl of this sum, and some farther eventual proto the West Indies, repaired to Edinburgh. fits from his poems, he determined on settling lie received him there with all the ardour himself for life in the occupation of agriculof affectionate admiration —he eagerly in- ture, and took from Mr. M:liller of D)alswintroduced him to the respectable circle of his ton (91), the farm of Ellisland, on the banks friends-he consulted his interest-he bia- of the river Nith, six miles above Dumfries, zoned his fame-he lavished upon him all on which lie entered at NWhitsunday, 1788. the kindness of a generous and feeling Having been previously recommended to heart, into which nothing selfish or envious the Board of Excise, his name had been ever found admittance. Among the friends put on the list of candidates for the humble to whom he introduced Burns, was Mr. office of a gauger or exciseman (92); and Ramsay of Ochtertyre (89), to whom our poet he immediately applied to acquiring the inpaid a visit in the autumn of 1787 [October], formation necessary for filling that office, at his delightful retirement in the neigh- wheni the honourable board might judge it bourhood of Stirling, and on the banks of proper to employ him. He expected to be the Teith. Of this visit we have the follow- called into service in the district il which ingr particulars:- his farm was situated, and vainly hoped to "I have been in the company of many unite with success the labours of the farmer -men of genius" says Mr. Ramnsay, " some of with the duties of the exciseman. -theml poets; but never witnessed such | Ahen Burns had in this manner arranged flashes of intellectual brightness as from Ihis plans for futurity, his generous heart bhim, the impulse of the moment, sparks of turned to the object of his most ardent celestial fire! I never was more delighted, attachment, and, listening to no consideratherefore, than with his company for two tious but those of honour and affection, he days, tite-a-tete. In a mixed company I joined with her in a public declaration of should have made little of him; for, in the I marriage, thus legalising their union, and gamester's phrase, he did not always know rendering it permanent for life. when to play off and when to play on. Before Burns was known in Edinburgh, * * I not only proposed to him the a specimen of his poetry had recomme'nded writing of a play similar to the Gentle him to Mr. Miller of Dalswinton. UnderShepherd, qualent decet ease sororem, but standing that he intended to resame the AVOWED MARRIAGE OF BURNS. 53 life of a farmer, Mr. MNiller had invited him, On the 7th of April, we find him writing to in the spring of 1787, to view his estate in IMiss Chalmers, evidently with allusion to Nithsdale, offering him at the same time the this resolution:-" I have lately made some choice of any of his farms out of lease, at sacrifices, for which, were I viva voce with such a rent as Burns and his friends might you to paint the situation and recount the judge proper. It was inot in the nature of circumstances, you would applaud me." Burns to take an undue advantage of the And then, on the 28th, in a letter to Smith, liberality of MIr. Miller. He proceeded in] we see the resolution has been virtually this business, however, with more than acted upon. "To let you a little into the usual deliberation. Having made choice of secrets of my pericranium, there is, you the farm of Ellisland, lie employed two of must know, a certain clean-limbed, handhis friends skilled in the value of land, to some, bewitching young hussy of your acexamine it, and, with their approbation, quaintance, to whom I have lately given a offc"nd a rent to Mr. Miller, which was im- matrimonial title to my corpus. * * I mediately accepted. (93) It was not conve- intend to present 5Mrs. Burns with a printed nient for Mrs. Burns to remove immediately shawl, an article of which I dare say you from Ayrshire, and our poet therefore took have variety:'tis my first present to her up his residence alone at Ellislaisd, to pre- sinlce I irrevocably called her mine. * * pare for the reception of his wife and chil- Mrs. Burns ('tis only her private designadren, who joined him towards the end of the tion) presents her best compliments to you." year. He tells Ainslie, May 26, that the title is [Dr. Currie omits all allusion to the cir- now avowed to the world-a sufficient legal cunistanlces which led to a permanent union proof of marriage in Scotland. Ultimately, between Burns and his Jean. That the on the 3rd of August, as we learn from the mind of the poet, notwithstanding all past session books, the poet and Jean were irritation, and various entanglements with openly married; when Burns, being inother beauties, was never altogether alienated formed that it was customary for the bridefrom her, is evident; blt up to June 1787, groom, in such cases, to bestow something when he first returned from Edinburgh to on the poor of the parish, gave a guinea for Mauchline, he certainly did not entertain that purpose. The ceremony took place in any self-avowed notion of ever again renew- Dow's tavern, unsanctioned by tile lady's ing his acquaintance with her. It was in father, who never, to the day of the poet's this state of his feelings, that, one day, death, would treat him as a friend; even soon after his return from Edinburg'h, when Gavin Hamilton, from respect for the feelmeeting some friends over a glass at John ings of Armour, declined being present. It Dow's tavern, close to the residence of his was not till the ensuing winter that MIrs. once fondly loved mistress, he chanced to Burns joined her husband at Ellislandencounter her in the court behind the inn, their only child Robert following her in the and was immediately inflamed with all his subsequent spring.] former affection. Their correspondence was The situation ill which Burns now found renewed-was attended with its former re- himself was calculated to awaken reflection. sults-and, towards the end of the year, The different steps he had of late takelt when the poet was fixed helplessly in Edin- were in their nature highly important, and burgh by a bruised limb, her shame becom- might be said to have, in some measure, ing apparent to her parents, she was turned fixed his destiny. He had become a husband out of doors, and would have been utterly and a father; he had engaged in the managedestitute, if she had not obtained shelter ment of a considerable farm, a difficult and lafrom a relation in the village of Ardrossan. borious undertaking; in his success the happiJean was once more delivered of twins- ness of his family was involved. It was girls-on the 3rd of March, 1788: the time, therefore, to abandon the gaiety and infants died a few days after their birth. dissipation of which he had been too much In a letter of that date to Mr. R. Ainslie, enalnoured; to ponder seriously on the past, written from ~Mauchline, Burns says-"I and to form virtuous resolutions respecting found Jean banished, forlorn, destitute, and the future. That such was actually the friendless: I have reconciled her to her state of his mind, the following extract from fate, and I have reconciled her to her his common-place book may bear witness:mother." Soon after, he seems to have formed the resolution of overlooking all dis- Ellisland, Sunday, 14th June, 1788. honouring circumstances, in her past his- "This is now the third day that I have tory, and making her really his own for life. been in this country.'Lord, what is man!' 54 LIFE OF BURNS. What a bustling little bundle of passions, his mind, pictures of domestic content and appetites, ideas, and fancies! And what a peace rose on his imagination; and a few capricious'kind of existence he has here! * * days passed away, as he himself informs us, There is indeed an elsewhere, where, as the most tranquil, if not the happiest, which Thomson says, virtue sole survives. he had ever experienced. (94.)'Tell us, ye dead; It is to be lamented that at this critical W'ill none of you in pity disclose the secret, period of his life, our poet was without the What'tis you are, and we must shortly be; society of his wife and children. A great - A little time change had taken place in his situation; his Will make us wise as you are, and as close.' old haits were hroken, and the new circum"I am such a coward in life, so tired of stances in which he was placed were calcuthe service, that I would almost at any time, lated to give a new direction to his thoughts with Alilton's Adam,'gladly lay me in my and conduct. But his application to the mother's lap, and be at peace.' But a wife cares and labours of his farm was interrupted and children bind me to struggle with the by several visits to his family in Ayrshire; stream, till some sudden squall shall overset and as the distance was too great for a single the silly vessel, or, in the listless return of day's journey, he generally spent a night at years, its own craziness reduce it to a wreck. an isn n on the road. On such occasions he Farewell now to those giddy follies, those sometimes fell into company, and forgot the varnished vices, which, though half sancti- resolutions he had formed. Ill a little while, fled by the bewitching levity of wit and temptation assailed him nearer home. humour, are at best bult thriftless idling with His farme naturally drew upon him the the precious current of existence; nay, often attention of his neighbours, and he soon poisoning the whole, that, like the plains of formed a general acquaintance in the district Jericho, thie water is nclaght and tOae yround in which he lived.'Ihe public voice had now barren, and rothing short of a supernaturally pronounced on the subject of his talents; gifted Elisha call ever after heal the ev ils. the reception he had met with in Edinburgh " Vedlock, the circumstance that buckles had given him the cilrrency which fashion rme hardest to care, if virtue and religion bestows; he had surmounted the prejudices were to be any thiing with me but names, arisinlg from his humble birth, and he was was what in a few seasons [ must have received at the table of the gentlemen of resoived on; in my present situation it was Nitehsdale Nwithl welcome, with kinidness, and absolutely neessary. Humanity, generosity, even with respect. Their social parties too honest pride of character, justice to mly own often seduced him from his rustic labours happiness for after-life, so far as it could de- and his rustic fare, overthrew the unsteady pend (which it surely wvili a great deal) on fabric of his resolutions, and inflamed those internal peace; all thesejoined their warmest propelnsities which temperance might have suffrages, their most powerful solicitations, weakened, and prudence ultimately supwith a rooted attachment, to urge the step pressed. (95) It was not long, therefore, I have taken. Nor have I any reason onl her before Burns began to view his farm with part to repent it. can fancy how, but have dislike and desponldence, if not with disgust. never seen where, T could have made a better Unfortunately, he had for several years choice. Come then, let me act up to my looked to an office in the Excise as a certain favourite motto, that glorious passage in meanls of livelihood, should his other expectaYoung- tions fail. As has already been mentioned,' On reason build resolve, Iie had been recommended to the Board of That column of true majesty in man!'" Excise, and had received the instruction Under the impulse of these reflections, necessary for such a situation. He now Burns immediately engaged in rebuilding applied to be employed; and by the interest the dwelling-house ons his farm, which, in of Mr. Graham of Filntry, was appointed the state he found it, was inadequate to the exciseman, or, as it is vulgarly called, gauger, accommodation of his family. On this occa- of the district in which he lived. (96.) His sion he himself resumed at times the occupa- farm was after this in a great measure tion of a labourer, and found neither his abandoned to servants, while he betook himstrength nor his skill impaired. Pleased with self to the duties of his new appointment. surveying the grounds he was about to cul- He might, indeed, still be seen in the tivate, and with the rearing of a building that spring directing his plough, a labour in should give shelter to his wife and children, which he excelled; or with a white sheet, and, as he fondly hoped, to his owiu grey containing his seed-corn, slung across his hairs, sentiments of independence buoyed up shoulders, striding with measured steps BURNS IN THE EXCISE. 55 along his turned-up furrows, and scattering gentlemen, who had before met with him in the grain in the earth. But his farm no Edinburgh, paid a visit to him at Ellisland. longer occupied the principal part of his On calling at the house, they were informed care or his thoughts.(97) It was not at that he had walked out on the banks of the Ellisland that he was now in general to be river; and dismounting from their horses, found. Mounted on horseback, this high- they proceeded in search of him. On a minded poet was pursuing the defaulters of rock that projected into the stream, they the revenue among the hills and vales of saw a man employed in angling, of a Nithsdale, his roving eye wandering over singular appearance. He had a cap made the charms of nature, and muttering his of a fox's skin on his head, a loose greatwayward fancies as he moved along. coat fixed round him by a belt, from which "I had an adventure with him in the depended ail enormous Highland broadyear 1790," says Mr. Ramsay of Ochtertyre, sword. It was Burns. He received them in a letter to the editor, "when passing with great cordiality, and asked them to through Dumfries-shire, on a tour to the share his humble dinner-an invitation south, with Dr. Stewart of Luss. Seeing which they accepted. On the table they him pass quickly, near Closeburn, I said to found boiled beef, with vegetables, and my companion,'that is Burns.' On conling barley-broth, after the manner of Scotland, to the inn, the hostler told us he would be of which they partook heartily. After back in a few hours to grant permits; that dinner, the bard told them ingenuously where he met with anything seizable he was that he had no wine to offer them, nothing no better than any other gauger; in every- better than Highland whisky, a bottle of thing else, that he was perfectly a gentle- which Mrs. Burns set on the board. He lman. After leaving a note to be delivered produced at the same time his punch-bowl to him on his return, I proceeded to his made of Inverary marble; and, mixing the house, being curious to see his Jean, &c. I spirit with water and sugar, filled their was much pleased with his uxor ~Sabina glasses, and illnvited them to drink. (98) The quelis, and the poet's modest mansion, so travellers were in haste, and, besides, the unlike the habitation of ordinary rustics. flavour of the whisky to their sathron In the evening he suddenly bounced in palates was scarcely tolerable; but the upon lus, and said, as he entered,'I come, I generous poet offered them his best, and to use the words of Shakspeare, stewced in his ardent hospitality they found it imposhaste.' In fact, he had ridden incredibly sible to resist.:Burns was in his happiest fast after receiving my note We fell into mood, and the charms of his conversation conversation directly, and soon got into the were altogether fascinating. He ranged mare nizaysln of poetry. Ie told sme that over a great variety of topies, illuminating lie had now gotten a story for a drama, whatever he touched. IHe related the tales which he was to call Rob Macquechan's of his infancy and of his youth; he recited Elshon, from a popular story of Robert sone of the gayest and some of the tesnBruce being defeated on the water of Caern, derest of his poems; in the wildest of his whell the heel of his boot having loosened strains of mirth, he threw in some touches in his flight, he applied to Robert Mac- of melancholy, and spread around him the quechan to fit it; who, to make sure, ran electric emotions of his powerful mind. his awl nine inches up the killg's heel. We The HIighland whisky improved in its were now going on at a great rate, whlen flavour; the marble bowl was again and Mir. S- popped in his head; which put again emptied and replenished; the guests a stop to our discourse, which had become of our poet forgot the flight of time, and very interesting. Yet in a little while it I the dictates of iprudence: at the hour of was resumed; and such was the force and midnight they lost their way in returning versatility of the bard's genius, that lie to Dunlfries, and could scarcely distinguish made the tears run downu l Mr. S's it when assisted by the morning's dawn. cheeks, albeit unused to the poetic strain. Besides his duties in the excise, and his * * * From that time we met no more, sociai pleasures, other circumstances interanld I was grieved at the reports of him fered with the attention of Burns to his afterwards. Poor Burns! we shall hardly farm. He engaged in the formation of a ever see his like again. He was, in truth, a society for purchasing and circulating books sort of comet in literature, irregular in its among the farmers of his neighbourhood, of nlotions, which did not do good propor- which he undertook the management; and tioned to the blaze of light it displayed." he occupied himself occasionally in comIn the summer of 1791, two English posing songs for the musical work of Mr. 56 LIFE 0O' BURNS. Johnson, then in the course of publication. vicinity, there were never wanting persons These engagements, useful and honourable to share his social pleasures; to lead or in themselves, contributed, no doubt, to the accompany him to the tavern; to partake abstraction of his thoughts from the busi- in the wildest sallies of his wit; to witness ness of agriculture. the strength and the degradation of his The consequences may be easily imagined. genius. Notwithstanding the uniform prudence and Still, however, he cultivated the society good management of Mrs, Burns, and of persons of taste and of respectability. though his rent was moderate and reason- and in their company could impose on himable, our poet found it convenient, if not self the restraints of temperance and denecessary, to resign his farm to MIr.,Miller, corum. Nor was his muse dormant. In after having occupied it three years and a the four years which he lived in Dumfries, half. I's office in the excise had originally he produced many of his beautiful lyrics, produced about fifty pounds per annum. though it does not appear that he attempted Having acquitted himself to the satisfaction any poem of considerable length. During of the board, he had been appointed to a this time he made several excursions into new district, the emoluments of which rose the neighbouring country, of one of which, to about seventy pounds per annum. throughll Galloway, an account is preserved Hoping to support himself and his family in a letter of Mr. Syme, written soon after; on this humble income till promlotion should which, as it gives an animated picture of reach him, he disposed of his stock and of him by a correct and masterly hand, we his crop oa Ellisland by public auction, and shall present to the reader. removed to a sniall house which he had "I got Burns a grey I-ighland shelty to taken in Dumfries, about the end of the ride oil." Wre dined the first day, 27th year 1791. July, 1793, at Gleludenwynes of Parton! a Hitherto Burns, though addicted to excess beautiful situation on the banks of the Lee. in social parties, had abstained from the In the evening we walked out, and ascended habitual use of strong liquors, and his con- a gentle eminence, from which we had as stitution had not suffered any permanent fillne a view of Alpine scenery as can well be injury from the irregularities of his conduct. imaiined. A delightful soft evening showed In Dumfries, temptations to the sin that so all its willer as wvell as its grander graces. easily beset hitn contintlually presented them- Immediately opposite, and wvithin a mile of selves; and his irregularities grew by us, we saw Airds, a charmning romantic degrees into habits. these temptations place, where dwelt Low, the author of lMary unhappily occurred during his engagements wleep lo?nore for isle. (99) Th'n was classical in the bulsiness of his office, as well as ground for Burns. I-Ie viewed' the highest during his hours of relaxation; and though hill which rises o'er the source of I)ee;' he clearly foresaw the consequences of and would have staid till'the passisl7 spirit' yielding to them, his appetites and sensa- had appeared, had we not resolved to reach tions, which could not prevent the dictates Kennure that night. We arrived as Mr. of his judgment, finally triumphed over the I and Mrs. Gordon (100) were sitting down powers of his will. Yet this victory was to supper. not obtained without many obstinate strug- "H-lere is a genuine baron's seat. The gles, and at times temperance and virtue castle, an old building, stands on a large seemed to have obtained the mastery. Be- l natural moat. In front, the river Ken sides his engagements in the excise, and the winds for several miles through the most society into which they led, many circum- fertile and beautiful holm (101), till it exstances contributed to the melancholy fate J pands into a lake twelve miles long, the of Burns. His great celebrity made him banks of which, on the south, present a fine an object of interest and curiosity to j and soft lanldscape of green knolls, natural strangers, and few persons of cultivated wood, and here and there a grey rock. On minds passed through Dumfries without, the north, the aspect is great, wild, and, I attempting to see our poet, and to enjoy I may say, tremendous. In short, I can the pleasure of his conversation. As he i scarcely conceive a scene more terribly rocould not receive them under his own mantic than the castle of Kenmure. Burns humble roof, these interviews passed at the thinks so highly of it, that he meditates a inns of the town, and often terminated in description of it in poetry. Indeed, I bethose excesses which Burns sometimes pro- I lieve he has begun the work. We spent voked, and was seldom able to resist. And I three days with Mr. Gordon, whose polished among the inhabitants of DuLmfries and its hospitality is of an original and endearing ST. MARY'S ISLE. 57 kind. Mrs. Gordon's lap-dog, Echo, was'When --, deceased to the devil went dead. She would have an epitaph for him. down, [own crown; Several had been made. Burns was asked Twas nothing would serve him but Satan's for one. This was setting Hercules to his Thy fool's head, quoth Satan, that crown shall a wear never, [clever.' distaff. He disliked the subject; but, to I grant thou'rt as wicked, but not quite so please the lady, he would try. Here is what he produced:- "Well, I am to bring you to Kirkcudbright'In wood and wild, ye warbling throng, along with our poet, without boots. I Your heavy loss deplore! carried the torn ruins across my saddle in Now half extinct your powers of song, spite of his fulminations, and in contempt Sweet Echo is no more. of appearances; and what is more, Lord Ye jarring screeching things around, Selkirk (102) carried them in his coach to Scream your discordant joys!: Dumfries. He insisted they were worth Now half your din of tuneless song mending. With Echo silent lies.' "We reached Kirkcudbright about one "We left Kenmure, and went to Gate- o'clock. I had promised that we should house. I took him the moor-road, where dine with one of the first men in our savage and desolate regions extended wide country, J. Dalzell. But Burns was in a around. The sky was sympathetic with the wild and obstreperous humour, and swore wretchedness of the soil; it became lower- he would not dine where he should be under ing and dark. The hollow winds sighed, the the smallest restraint. We prevailed, therelightnings gleamed, the thunder rolled. Th'lle fore, on Mr. Dalzell to dine with us in the poet enjoyed the awful scene; he spoke not inn, and had a very agreeable party. In the a word, but seemed rapt in meditation. In evening we set out for St. Mary's Isle. a little while the rain began to fall; it poured tohert had not absolutely regained the in floods upon us. For three hours did the milkiness of good temper, and it occurred wild elements rutmble their belly full upon once or twice to him, as he rode aolong, that our defenceless heads. Oh! oh!'twas foul. St. Mary's Isle was the seat of a Lord; yet We got utterly wet; and, to revenge our- that Lord was not an aristocrat, at least in selves, Burns insisted at Gatehouse on our his sense of the word. We arrived about getting utterly drunk. eight o'clock, as the family were at tea and "From Gatehouse, we went next day to coffee. St. Mary's Isle is one of the most Kirkcudbright, through a fine country. But delightful places that can, in my opinion here I must tell you that Burns had got a be formed by the assemblage of every soft, pair of jeremy boots for the journey, which but not tame object, which constitutes had been thoroughly wet, and which had natural and cultivated beauty. But not to been dried in such manner that it was not dwell on its external graces, let tme tell you possible to get them on again. The brawny that we found all the ladies of the family poet tried force, and tore them to shreds. (all beautiful) at home, and somle strainers; A whiffling vexation of this sort is more and, among others, who but Urbani! The trying to the temper than a serious calamity. Italian sang us many Scottish songs, accomWe were going to Saint Miary's Isle, the paiied with instrumental music. The two seat of the Earl of Selkirk, and the forlorn young ladies of Selkirk sang also. WNe had Burns was discomfited at the thought of his the song of Iord Gregory, which I asked ruined boots. A sick stomach, and a head- for, to have an opportunity of calling on ache, lent their aid, and the man of verse Burns to recite his ballad to that tune. He was quite accable. I attempted to reason did recite it; and such was the effect, that with him. Mercy on us, how he did fume a dead silence ensued. It was such a silence and rage! Nothing could reinstate him in as a mind of feeling naturally preserves temper. I tried various expedients, and at when it is touched with that enthusiasm last hit on one that succeeded. I showed which banishes every other thought but the him the house of * * * *, across the contemplation and indulgence of the svmbay of Wigton. Against * * *, with pathy produced. Burns's Lord Gregory is, whom lie was offended, he expectorated his in my opinion, a most beautiful and affectspleen, and regained a most agreeable tem- ing ballad. The fastidious critic may perper. He was in a most epigrammatic haps say, some of the sentiments and humour indeed! He afterwards fell on imagery are of too elevated a kind for such humbler game. There is one * * * * * a style of composition; for instance,'Thou whom he does not love. He had a passing bolt of Heaven that passest by;' and,' Ye blow at him. mustering thunder,' &c.; but this is a cold 58 LIFE OF BURNS. blooded objection, which will be said rather from a people who had so lately breathed than felt. the sentiments of universal peace and "We enjoyed a most happy evening at benignity, or obliterate in his bosom the Lord Selkirk's. We had, in every sense of pictures of hope and of happiness to which the word, a feast, in which our minds and those sentiments had given birth. Under our senses were equally gratified. The poet these impressions, he did not always conwas delighted with his company, and ac- duct himself with the circumspection and quitted himself to admiration. The lion prudence which his dependent situation that had raged so violently in the morning, seemed to demand. He engaged, indeed, was now as mild and gentle as a lamb. in no popular associations, so common at Next day we returned to Dumfries, and so the time of which we speak; but in comends our peregrination. I told you that, in pany he did not conceal his opinions of the midst of the storm, on the wilds of public measures, or of the reforms required Kenmure, Burns was wrapt in meditation. in the practice of our government; and What do you think he was about? He was sometimes, in his social and unguarded charging the English army, along with moments, he uttered them with a wild and Bruce, at Bannockburn. I-e was engaged unjustifiable vehemence. Information of inl the same manner on our ride home this was given to the Board of Excise, with from St. Mary's Isle, and I did not disturb the exaggerations so general in such cases. him. Next day he produced me the follow- A superior officer in that department was ing address of Bruce to his troops, and authorized to inquire into his conduct. gave me a copy for Dalzell:- Burns defended himself in a letter ad-'Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled,' &c. (103)" dressed to one of the board [Mer. Graham of Fintry], written with great independence Burns had entertained hopes of promo- of spirit, and with more than his accustomed tion in the Excise; but circumstances oc- eloquence. The officer appointed to inquire curred which retarded their fultilment, and into his conduct gave a favourable rewhich, in his own mind, destroyed all ex- port. (104) His steady friend, Mr. Graham pectation of their being ever fulfilled. The of Fintry, interposed his good offices in his extraordinary events which ushered in the behalf; and the imprudent gauger was revolution of France, interested the feelings, suffered to retain his situation, but given to and excited the hopes of men in every understand that his promotion was deferred, corner of Europe. Prejudice and tyranny and must depend on his future behaviour. seemed about to disappear from among This circumstance made a deep impresmen, and the day-star of reason to rise sion on the mind of Burns. Fame exupon a benighted world. In the dawn of aggerated his misconduct, and represented this beautiful morning, the genius of French him as actually dismissed from his office; freedom appeared on our southern horizon and this report induced a gentleman of with the countenance of an angel, but much respectability [AIr. Erskine of Marr] speedily assumed the features of a demon, to propose a subscription in his favour. and vanished in a shower of blood. The offer was refused by our poet in a Though previously a Jacobite and a letter of great elevation of sentiment, in cavalier, Burns had shared in the original which he gives an account of the whole of hopes entertained of this astonishing this transaction, and defends himself from revolution by ardent and benevolent minds. the imputation of disloyal sentiments on The novelty and the hazard of the attempt the one hand, and on the other, from the meditated by the First, or Constituent charge of having made submissions for the Assembly, served rather, it is probable, to sake of his office unworthy of his character. recommend it to his daring temper; and the "The partiality of my countrymen," he unfettered scope proposed to be given to observes, "has brought me forward as a every kind of talent, was doubtless gratify- man of genius, and has given me a character ing to the feelings of conscious but in- to support. In the poet I have avowed dignant genius. Burns foresaw not the manly and independent sentiments, which I mighty ruin that was to be the im- hope have been found in the man. Reasons mediate consequence of an enterprise, which, of no less weight than the support of a wife on its commencement, promised so much and children, have pointed out my present happiness to the human race. And even occupation as the only eligible line of life after the career of guilt and of blood com- within my reach. Still my honest fame is menced, he could not immediately, it may my dearest concern, and a thousand times be presumed, withdraw his partial gaze have I trembled at the idea of the degrading BURNS'S POLITICS. 69 epithets that malice or misrepresentation the pressing nature of public affairs called, may affix to my name. Often in blasting in 1795, for a general arming of the people, anticipation have I listened to some future Burns appeared in the ranks of the Dumfries hackney scribbler, with the heavy malice of volunteers, and employed his poetical talents savage stupidity, exultingly asserting that in stimulating their patriotism (106); and Burns, notwithstanding the facnfaronade of at this season of alarm, he brought forward independence to be found in his works, and the following hymn, worthy of the Grecian after having been held up to public view, Muse, when Greece was most conspicuous and to public estimation, as a man of some for genius and valour:genius, yet, quite destitute of resources Scene-A field of battle-Time of the day, within himself to support his borrowed evening-The wounded and dying of the dignity, dwindled into a paltry exciseman, victorious army are supposed to join in the and slunk out the rest of his insignilicalit following song Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth and existence in the meanest of pursuits, and ye skies, among the lowest of mankind. Now gay with the bright setting sun! "'In your illustrious hands, Sir, permit me Farewell loves and friendships, ye dear to lodge my strong disavowal anid defiance tender ties, of such slanderous falsehoods. Burns was race of existence is run a poor man from his birth, and ail exciseman Thou grim king of terrors, thou life's gloomy by necessity; but-I will say it! the foe, Go, frighten the coward and slave; [know, sterling of his honest worth poerty could Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant! but not debase, and his independent British No terrors hast thou to the brave! spirit oppression might bend, but could not Thou strik'it the dull peasant, he sinks in the subdue." dark, It was one of the last acts of his life to Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name; copy this letter into his book of manuscripts, Thou strik'st the young hero-a glorious accompanied by some additional remarks on mark! I~e falls in the blaze of his fame! the samne subject. It is not surprising, that at a seasoii of universal alarm for the In the field of proud honour-our swords in our hands, safety of the constitution, the indiscreet Our kin"g anl ourcountry to save- [sands, expressions of a malt so powerful as Burns While victory shines on life's last ebbing should have attracted notice. The times Oh! who would not rest with the certainly required extraordinary vigilance in brave! (107) those entrustedwith the administration of Though by nature of an athletic form, the government, and to ensure the safety of Burns had in his constitution the pecuthe constitution was doubtless their first liarities and the delicacies that belong to duty. Yet generous minds will lament the temperament of genius. He was liable, that their measures of precaution should from a very early period of life, to that have robbed the imagination of our poet interruption in the process of digestion, of the last prop on which his hopes of which arises from deep and anxious thought, independence rested; and by embittering and which is sometimes the effect, and his peace, have aggravated those excesses sometimes the cause, of depression of which were soon to conduct him to an spirits. Connected with this disorder of the untimely grave. (105) stomach, there was a disposition to headThough the vehemence of Burns's temper, ache, affecting more especially the temples increased as it often was by stimulating and eye-balls, and frequently accompanied liquors, might lead him into many improper by violent and irregular movements of the and unguarded expressions, there seems no heart. Endowed by nature with great reason to doubt of his attachment to our sensibility of nerves, Burns was, in his cormixed form of government. In his common- portal, as well as in his mental system, place book, where he could have no tempta- liable to inordinate impressions-to fever tion to disguise, are the following senti- of body as well as of nfind. This prements:-"Whatever might be my sentiments disposition to disease, which strict tempeof republics, ancient or modern, as to Irance in diet, regular exercise, and sound Britain, I ever abjured the idea. A con- sleep, might have subdued, habits of a very stitution, which, in its original principles, different nature strengthened and inflamed. experience has proved to be every way fitted Perpetually stimulated by alcohol in one or for our happiness, it would be insanity to other of its various forms, the inordinate abandon for asl untried visionary theory." actions of the circulating system became at In conformity to these sentiments, when length habitual; the process of nutrition 60 LIFE OF BURNS. was unable to supply the waste, and the' parent in any rank of life whatever. In powers of life began to fail. Upwards of a the bosom of his family he spent many a year before his death, there was an evident delightful hour in directing the studies of decline in our poet's personal appearance, his eldest son, a boy of uncommon talents. and though his appetite continued unim- I have frequently found him explainingo to paired, he was himself sensible that his this youth, then not more than nine years constitution was sinkingi. In his moments of age, the English poets, from Shakspeare of thought he reflected with the deepest to Gray, or storing his mind with examples regret on his fatal progress, clearly foresee- of heroic virtue, as they live in the pages of ing the goal towards which he was hastening, our most celebrated English historians. I without the strength of mind necessary to would ask any person of common candour, stop, or even to slacken his course. His if employments like these are consistent temper now became more irritable and with habitual drunkenness? It is not denied gloomy; he fled from himself into society, that he sometimes mingled with society often of the lowest kind. And in such unworthy of him. He was of a social and company, that part of the convivial scene in convivial nature. He was courted by all which wine increases sensibility and excites classes of men for the fascinating powers of benevolence, was hurried over, to reach the his conversation, but over his social scene succeeding part, over which uncontrolled uncontrolled passion never presided. Over passion generally presided. He who suffers the social bowl, his wit flashed for hours the poihttion of inebriation, how shall he together, penetrating whatever it struck, escape other pollution? But let us refrain like the fire from heaven; but even ill the from the mention of errors over which hour of thoughtless gaiety and merriment, delicacy and humanity draw the veil. I never knew it tainted by indecency. It [A similar view of the latter days of was playful or caustic by turns, following an Burns is taken by his biographers, Heron, allusion through all its windinigs; astollishIrving, Walker, and, in general, by all who ing by its rapidity, or amusing by its wild wrote soon after his death. Mr. Lockhart, originality, and grotesque, yret natural co)msupported by attestations from Gilbert binations, but never, within my obser ation, Burns, James Gray, then rector of the disgustingby its grossness. In hismorlinl grammar-school of Dumfries, and Mr. Find- hours, I never saw him like one sufferinl later, the poet's superior officer, gives a from the effects of last night'sintemperanlce. more favourable representation. The letter He appeared then clear and unclouded. He of Gray presents so interesting a picture of was the eloquent advocate of humanity, Burns in all respects, that we cannot resist justice, and political freedom. From his the temptation to connect it with the text paintings, virtue appeared more lovely, and of Currie:- piety assumed a more celestial mien. Wl hile "I love Dr. Currie, but I love the memory his keen eye was pregnant with fancy and of Burns more, and no consideration shall feeling, and his voice attuned to the very deter me from a bold declaration of the passion which he wished to colnmunicate, it truth.'The poet of the Cotter's Saturday would hardly have been possible to conceive Night, who felt all the charms of the any being more interesting and delightful. humble piety and virtue which he sang, is I may likewise add, that, to the very end of charged (in Dr. Currie's narrative) with his life, reading was his favourite amusevices which would reduce him to a level ment. I have never known any man so with the most degraded of his species. As intimately acquainted with the elegant I knew him during that period of his life English authors. He seemed to have the emphatically called his evil days, I am poets by heart. The prose authors he could enabled to speak from my own observation. quote either in their own words, or clothe It is not my intention to extenuate his their ideas.in language more beautiful than errors, because they were combined with their own. Nor was there ever any decay genius; on that account, they were only in any of the powers of his mind. To the the more dangerous, because the more last day of his life, his judgment, his seductive, and deserve the more severe re- memory, his imagination, were fresh and prehension; but I shall likewise claim that vigorous as when he composed the Cotter's nothing may be said in malice even against Saturday Night. The truth is, that Burns him..... It came under my own view pro- was seldom intoxicated. The drunkard soon fessionally, that he superintended the educa- becomes besotted, and is shunned even by tion of his children with a degree of care the convivial. Had he been so, lie could that I have never seen surpassed by any not long have continued the idol of every HABITS OF INTOXICATION. 61 party. It will be freely confessed, that the if he could live through the months of hour of enjoyment was often prolonged spring, the succeeding season might restore beyond the limit marked by prudence; but him. But they were disappointed. T'lhe what man will venture to affirm, that in genial beams of the sun infused no vigour situations where he was conscious of giving into his languid frame; the summer wind so much pleasure, he could at all times have blew upon liln, but produced no refreshment. listened to her voice? About the latter end of June he was advised "The men with whom he generally asso- to go into the country; and impatient of ciate(l were not of the lowest order, -fe medical advice, as well as of every species of numbered among his intimate friends many control, he determined for himself to try the of the most respectable inhabitants of Dum- effects of bathing in the sea. For this purfries and the vicinity. Several of those were pose he took up his residence at Brow, in attached to him by ties that th e hand of the Annjandale, about ten miles east of Dumcalumily, busy as it was, could never snap fries, on the shore of the Solway Firth. asunlder. They admired the poet for his It happened that at that time a lady with genius, and loved the man for the candour, whom he had been connected in frienidship generosity, and kindness of his nature. His by the sympathies of kindred genius, was early friends clung to him through good and residing in the immediate neighbourhood. bad report, with a zeal and fidelity that (109) Being informned of his arrival, she inprove their disbelief of the malicious stories vited him to dinner, and sent her carriage circulated to his disadvantage. Among them for hin to the cottage where he lodged, as were some of the most distinguished charac- he was unable to walk.';I was struck," ters in this country, and not a few females says this lady (in a confidential letter to a eminent for delicacy, taste, and genius. They friend written soon after), " with his appearwere proud of his friendship, and cherished ance on entering the room. The stamp of him to the last moment of his existence. death was imprinted onl his features. He He was endeared to them even by his mis- seemed already touching the brink of eternity. fortunes, and they still retain for his memory His first salutation was,'W'Vell, madam, have that affectionate veneration which virtue you ally commands for the other world?' I alone inspires." replied, that it seemed a doubtful case which In the midst of all his wanderings, Burns of us should be there soonest, and that I met nothing in his domestic circle but gen- hoped he would yet live to write my epitaph. tleness and forgiveness, except in the gnaw- (I was then in a bad state of health.) lie ings of his own remorse. He acknowledged looked ill my face Mwith an air of great kindhis transgressions to the wife of his bosom, ness, and expressed his concern at seeing me promised amendment, and aigain and again look so ill, with his accustomed sensibility. received pardon for his offences. But as At table he ate little or nothin, and he cornthe strength of his body decayed, his resolu- plained of having entirely lost the tone of tion became feebler, and habit acquired pre- his stomach. We had a long and serious dorninlating strength. conversation about his present situation, and From October 1795 to the January follow- the approaching termination of all his earthly ing, an accidental complaint confined him to prospects. He spoke of his death without the house. A few days after he began to go any of the ostentation of philosophy, but abroad, he dined at a tavern, and returned with firmness as well as feeling, as an event home about three o'clock in a very cold likely to happen very soon, and which gave mnorning, benumbed and intoxicated. (108) him concern chiefly from leaving his four This was followed by an attack of rheuma- children so young and unprotected, and his tism, which confined him about a week. His wife in so interesting a situation-in hourly appetite now began to fail; his hand shook, expectation of lying in of a fifth. He menand his voice faltered on any exertion or tioned, with seeming pride and satisfaction, emotion. His pulse became weaker and the promising genius of his eldest son, and mnore rapid, and pain in the larger joints, and the flattering marks of approbation he had in the hands and feet, deprived him of the received from his teachers, and dwelt parenjoyment of refreshing sleep. Too much ticularly on his hopes of that boy's future dejected in his spirits, and too well aware of conduct and merit. His anxiety for his his real situation to entertain hopes of re- family seemed to hang heavy upon him, and cox ery, he was ever musing on the approach- the more perhaps from the reflection that he ing desolation of his family, and his spirits had not done them all the justice he was so sank into a uniform gloom. well qualified to do. Passing from this subIt was hoped by some of his friends, that ject, he showed great concern about the care 62 LIFE OF BURNS. of his literary fame, and particularly the on the inhabitant? of the town and county in publication of his posthumous works. He which he had spent the latter years of his said he was well aware that his death would life. Flagrant as his follies and errors had occasion some noise, and that every scrap of been, they had not deprived him of the rehis writing would be revived against him to spect and regard entertained for the extrathe injury of his future reputation; that ordinary pow-ers of his genius, and the letters and verses written with unguarded generous qualities of his heart. The Gentleand improper freedom, and which he earnestly men-Volunteers of Dumfries determined to wished to have buried in oblivion, would be bury their illustrious associate with military handed about by idle vanity or malevolence, honours, and every preparation was made to when no dread of his resentment would re- render this last service solemn and impressive. strain them, or prevent the censures of shrill- The Fencible Infantry of Angus-shire, and tongued malice, or the insidious sarcasms of the regiment of cavalry of the Cinque Ports, envy, from pouring forth all their venom to at that time quartered in Dumfries, offered blast his fame. i their assistance on this occasion; the prin" Ile lamented that he had written many cipal inhabitants of the town and neighbourepigralls on persolls against whom he enter- hood determined to walk in the funeral tained no enmity, and whose characters he procession; and a vast concourse of persons should be sorry to wound; and many in- assembled, some of them from a considerable different poetical pieces, which he feared distance, to witness the obsequies of the would now;, with all their imperfections on Scottish Bard. On the evening of the 25th their head, be thrust upon the world. On of July, the remains of Burns were removed this account lie deeply regretted having de- from his house to the Town Hall, and the ferred to put his papers in a state of arrange- funeral took place on the succeeding day. A ment, as he n-was now quite incapable of the party of the volunteers, selected to perform exertion." The lady goes on to mention the military dutyin the churchyard,stationed many other topics of a private nature on thlenselves in the front of the procession, with which he spoke. " The conversation," she their arms reversed; the main body of the adds, " was kept up with great evenness aid corps surroullded and supported the coffin, alimationl oi his side. I had seldom seen onl wllichil ere placed tile hat and sword of his mind greater or more collected.'here their friend and fellow-soldier; the numerous was frequenitly a considerable degree of vila- body of attenldants ranged themselves in the city in his sallies, and they would probably rear; while the Fencible regimen ts of infantry have had a greater share, had not the conl- and cavalry lined the streets from the Townl cern and dejection I could not disguise Hall to the burial ground in the southern damped the spirit of pleasantry he seemed churchyard, a distance of more than half a not unwilliig to indulge. mile. The whllole procession moved forward "We parted about sunset on the evening to that sublime and affecting strain of music, of that day (the 5th of July 1796): the next the Dead March in Saul; aind three vollies day I saw him again, and we parted to meet tired over his grave marked the return of no more " Burns to his parent earth The spectacle At first Burns imagined bathing in the was inla high degree grand and solelnl, and sea had been of benefit to him: the pains in accorded with the general sentimeils of his linmbs were relieved; but this was imrme- sSi ln)atlhy and sorrow which the occasion had diately followed by a new attack of fever. called forth. When brought back to his own house in It wvas an affecting circumstance, that, on Dumfries, on the 18th of July, he was no the morning of the day of her husbanld's longer able to stand upright. At this time funeral, 5Mrs. Burns was unldergoillg the a tremor pervaded his frame: his tongue was painls of lalbour; and that during the solemn parched, and his mind sank into deliriumi, service Awe have just been describilg, the when not roused by conversation. Onl the posthllumous son of our poet was born, second and third day the fever increased, and''his infant boy, who received the nalle of his strength diminished. On the fourth, the Maxwell, was not destined to a long life. sufferings of this great, but ill-fated genius, -Ie has already become al inhabitant of the were terminated; and a life was closed ill same grave with his celebrated father. The which virtue and passionuhad beenin perpetual four other children of our poet, all soins (the variance. (110) eldest at that time about ten years of age), The death of Burns made a strong ald yet survive, and give every promise of prugeneral impression on all who had inlterested deuce and virtue that can be expected from themselves in his character, and especially their tender years. They remain under the ILLNESS AND DEATH OF BURNS. 63 care of their affectionate mother in Dum- which the justice and generosity of that fries, and are enjoying the means of educa- gentleman was pressing upon him. tion which the excellent schools of that Tihe sense of his poverty, and of the aptown afford; the teachers of which, inl proaching distress of his infant family, their conduct to the children of Burns, do pressed heavily on Burns as he lay on the themselves great honour. On this occasion bed of death. Yet he alluded to his indithe name of Mr. Whyvte deserves to be par- gence, at times, with something approaching ticularly mentioned, himself a poet as well to his wonted gaiety. " What business," as a man of science. (111) said he to Dr. Maxwell, who attended him Burns died in great poverty; but the in- with the utmost zeal, "has a physician to dependence of his spirit, and the exemplary waste his time on me? I am a poor pigeon prudence of his wife, had preserved him not worth plucking. Alas! I have not fromn debt. (112) He had received from his feathers enough upon me to carry me to my pierns a clear profit of about nine hundred grave." And when his reason was lost in pounds. Of this sum, the part expended on delirium, his ideas ran in the same melanhis library (which was far from extensive) Icholy train; the horrors of a jail were conarld in the humble furniture of his house, tinually present to his troubled imagination, remainied; and obligations were found for and produced the most affecting exclamat vo hlundred pounds advanced by him to the tions. assistance of those to whom he was united As for some months previous to his death b.y the ties of blood, and still more by those he had been incapable of the duties of his of esteem and affection. When it is con- office, Burns dreaded that his salary should sidered, that his expenses in Edinburgh, and be reduced one half, as is usual in such on his various journies, could not be incon- cases. His full emoluments were, however, siderable; that his agricultural undertaking continued to him by the kindness of Mr. was unsuccessful; that his income from the Stobie (113), a young expectant in the ExEExcise was for some time as low as fifty, cise, who performed the duties of his office and never rose to above seventy pounds without fee or reward; and AMr. Graham of a-year; that his family was large, and his Fintry, hearing of his illness, though unspirit liberal —no one will be surprised that acquainted with its dangerous nature, made his circumstances were so poor, or that, as ain offer of his assistance towards procuringo his health decayed, his proud and feeling him the means of preserving his health. heart sank undler the secret consciousness of Whatever might be the faults of Burns, inindig'ence, and the apprehensions of absolute gatitude was not of the number. Amongst want. Yet poverty never bent the spirit of his manuscripts, various proofs are found of Burns to any pecunlliry mleamlress. Neither tie sense he entertained of -Mr. Graham's chicanery nor sordidness ever appeared in friendship, which delicacy towards that genhis conduct. I-Ie carried his disregard of tlemnan has induced us to suppress; and on money to a blameable excess. Even in the this last occasion there is no doubt that his midst of distress he bore himself loftily to heart overflowed towards him, though he the world, and received with a jealous re- had no longer the power of expressing his luctalce every offer of friendly assistance. feelings. (114) His printed poems had procured him great On the death of Burns, the inhabitants celebrity, and a just and fair recompense for of Dumfries and its neighllbourhood opened the latter offsprings of his pen might have a subscription for the support of his wife produced him considerable emolument. In and family; and NMr. Miller, Mr. M'Mlurdo, thie year 1795, the editor of a London news- Dr. Maxwell, Mr. Syne, and Mr. Cunningpaper, high in its character for literature and ham, gentlemen of the first respectability, inldepenlldence of sentiment, made a proposal became trustees for the application of the to him, that he should furnish them, once money to its proper objects. The subscripa-week, with an article for their poetical tion was extended to other parts of Scotland, department, and receive from them a recom- and of England also, particularly London lense of fifty-two guineas per annum; an and Liverpool. By this means a sum was offer which the pride of genius disdained to raised amounting to seven hundred pounds; accept. Yet he had for several years fur- and thus the widow and children were resnished, and was at that time furnishing, the cued from imlmediate distress, and the most MIuseum of Johnson with his beautiful melancholy of the forebodings of Burns lyrics, without fee or reward, and was obsti- happily disappointed. It is true, this sum, liately refusing all recompense for his assist- though equal to their present support. is inance to the greater work of Mr. Thomson, sufficient to secure them from future penury. LIFE OF BURNS.'Their hope in regard to futurity depends on dinary attractions of his conversation-for the favourable reception of these volumes the sorcery which in his social parties he from the public at large, in the promoting of seemed to exert on all around him. In the which the candour and humanity of the company of women this sorcery was more reader may induce him to lend his assist- especially apparent. Their presence charmed ance. the fiend of melancholy in his bosom, and Burns, as has already been mentioned, awoke his happiest feelings; it excited the was nearly five feet ten inches in height, and powers of his fancy, as well as the tenderness of a form that indicated agility as well as of his heart; and, by restraining the vehestrength. His well-raised forehead, shaded mence and exuberance of his language, at with black curling hair, indicated extensive times gave to his manners the impression of capacity. His eyes were large, dark, full of taste, and even of elegance, which in the ardour and intelligence. His face was well company of men they seldom possessed. formed; and his countenance uncommonly This influence was doubtless reciprocal. A interesting and expressive. His mode of Scottish lady accustomed to the best society, dressing, which was often slovenly, and a declared with characteristic ndiivetd, that no certain fulness and bend in his shoulders, man's conversation ever carried her so comcharacteristic of his original profession, dis- pletely oqlf her feet as that of Burns; and guised ihi some degree the natural symmetry an Elnglish lady, familiarly acquainted with and elegance of his form. The external several of the most distingulished characters appearance of Burns was most strikingly of the present times, assured the editor, that ildicative of the character of his mind. in the happiest of his social hours, there was On a first view, his physiognomy had a cer- a charm about Burns which she had never tainl air of coarseness, mingled, however, seen equalled. This charm arose not more with an expression of deep penetration, and from the power than the versatility of his of calm thoullghtfullless, approaching to me- genius. No languor could be felt in the lancholy. There appeared inhis first manner society of a man who passed at pleasure and address, perfect ease and self-possession, from grave to gay, from the ludicrous to but a stern and almost supercilious elevation, the pathetic, from the simple to the subnot, indeed, inconlpatible with openness and lime; who wielded all his faculties with affability, which, however, bespoke a mind equal strenlgth and ease, and never failed to conscious of superior talents. Strangers impress the offspring of his fancy with the that supposed themselves approaching an stamp of his understandilln. Ayrshire peasant who could make rhymes, This, idleed, is to represent Burns in his and to whomn their notice was an honour, happiest phasis. Inlarge and mixed parties found themselves speedily overawed by the he was often silent and dark, sometimes presence of a man who bore himself with fierce and overbearing; he was jealous of dignity, and who possessed a singular power the proud mlan's scorn, jealous to an extreme of correcting forwardness and of repelling of the insolence of wealth, and prone to intrusion. (115) But though jealous of the avenge, even on its innocent possessor, the respect due to himself, Burns never enforced partiality of fortune. By nature kind, brave, it where he saw it was willingly paid; and, sincere, and in a singular degree compasthough inaccessible to the approaches of sionate, he was on the other hand proud, pride, he was open to every advance of irascible, and vindictive. His virtues and his kindness and of benevolence. His dark and failings had their origin in the extraordinary haughty countenance easily relaxed into a sensibility of his mind, and equally partook look of good will, of pity, or of tenderness; of the chills and glows of sentiment. His and, as the various emotions succeeded each friendships were liable to interruption from other in his mind, assumed with equal ease jealousy or disgust, and his enmities died the expression of the broadest humour, of away under the influence of pity or selfthe most extravagant mirth, rf the deepest accusation. His understanding was equal melancholy, or of the most sublime emotion. to the other powers of his mind, and his The tones of his voice happily corresponlded deliberate opinions were singularly candid with the expression of his features, and with and just; but, like other men of great and the feelings of his mind. When to these irregular genius, the opinions which he deendowments are added a rapid and distinct livered in conversation were often the apprehension, a most powerful understand- offspring of temporary feelings, and widely ing, and a happy command of language-of different from the calm decisions of his strength as well as brilliancy of expression- judgment. This was not merely true rewe shall be able to account for the extraor- specting the characters of others, but in CHARACTERISTICS OF BURNS. 65 regard to some of the most important points objects and situation, and no man could bear of human speculation. to live." On no subject did he give a more striking Thus it appears, that our powers of senproof of the strength of his understanding, sation, as well as all our other powers, are than in the correct estimate he formed of adapted to the scene of our existence; that himself. He knew his own failings; he they are limited in mercy, as well as in predicted their consequence; the melancholy wisdom. foreboding was never long absent from his The speculations of lir. Smellie are not to mind; yet his passions carried him down be considered as the dreams of a theorist; the stream of error, and swept him over the they were probably founded on sad experiprecipice he saw directly in his course. The ence. The being he supposes "with senses fatal defect in his character lay in the more delicate and refined, with perceptions comparative weakness of his volition, that more acute and penetrating," is to be found superior faculty of the mind, which, govern- in real life. He is of the temperament of ing the conduct according to the dictates of genius, and perhaps a poet. Is there, then, the understanding, alone entitles it to be no remedy for this inordinate sensibility? denominated rational; which is the parent Are there no means by which the happiness of fortitude, patience, and self-denial; which, of one so constituted by nature may be conby regulating and combining human exer- sulted? Perhaps it will be found, that tions, may be said to have effected all that regular and constant occupation, irksome is great in the works of matt, in literature, though at first it may be, is the true remedy. in science, or on the face of nature. The Occupation in which the powers of the unoccupations of a poet are not calculated to derstanding are exercised, will diminish the strengthen the governing powers of the force of external impressions, and keep the. mind, or to weaken that sensibility which imagination under restraint. requires perpetual control, since it gives Tl'hat the bent of every man's mind should birth to the vehemence of passion as well be followed in his education and ill his desas to the higher powers of imagination. tination in life, is a maxim which has been:Unfortunately, the favourite occupations of often repeated, but which cannot be admitted genits are calculated to increase all its pecu- without many restrictions. It may be geneliarities; to nourish that lofty pride which rally true when applied to weak minds, which disdains the littleness of prudence, and the being capable of little, must be encouraged restrictions of order: and, by indulgence, and strengthened in the feeble impulses by to increase that sensibility which, in the which that little is produced, But where present form of our existence, is scarcely indulgent nature has bestowed her gifts with compatible with peace or happiness, even a liberal hand, the very reverse of this maxim when accompanied with the choicest gifts of ought frequently to be the rule of conduct. fortune! In minds of a higher order, the object of It is observed by one who was a friend instruction and of discipline is very often to and associate of Burns (116), and who has restrain, rather than to impel; to curb the contemplated and explained the system of impulses of imagination, so that the passions animated nature, that no sentient being with also may be kept under control. (117) mental powers greatly superior to those of Hence the advantages, even in a moral men, could possibly live and be happy in point of view, of studies of a severer nature, this world. "If such a being really existed," which, while they inform the understanding, continues he, "his misery would be extreme. employ the volition, that regulating power With senses more delicate and refined; with of the mind, which, like all our other faculperceptions more acute and penetrating; ties, is strengthened by exercise, and on the with a taste so exquisite that the objects superiority of which virtue, happiness, and around him would by no means gratify it; honourable fame, are wholly dependent. obliged to feed on nourishment too gross for Hence also the advantage of regular and his frame-he must be born only to be constant application, which aids the volun miserable, and the continuation of his exist- tary power by the production of habits so ence would be utterly impossible. Even in necessary to the support of order and virtue, our present condition, the sameness and the and so difficult to be formed in the tempera. insipidity of objects and pursuits, the futility ment of genius. The man who is so of pleasure, and the infinite sources of ex- endowed and so regulated, may pursue his cruciating- pain, are supported with great course with confidence in almost any of the difficulty by cultivated and refined minds. various walks of life which choice or acclIncrease our sensibilities, continue the same dent shall open to him; and, provided he P 66 LIFE OF BURNS. employ the talents he has cultivated, may ment of art. In the temperament of sensihope for such imperfect happiness, and such i bility, which is, in truth, the temperament of limited success, as are reasonably to be ex- general talents, the principal object of discipected from human exertions. pline and instruction is, as has already been The pre-eminence among men, which pro- mentioned, to strengthen the self-command; cures personal respect, and which terminates and this may be promoted by the direction of in lasting reputation, is seldom or never the studies, more effectually, perhaps, than obtained by the excellence of a single faculty has been generally understood. of mind. Experience teaches us, that it has If these observations be founded in truth, been acquired by those only who have pos- they may lead to practical consequences of sessed the comprehension and the energy of some importance. It has been too much general talents, and who have regulated the custom to consider the possession of their application in the line which choice, or poetical talents as excluding the possibility perhaps accident, may have determined, by of application to the severer branches of the dictates of their judgment. Imagination study, and as, in some degree, incapacitating is supposed, and with justice, to be the the possessor from attaining those habits, leading faculty of the poet. But what poet and from bestowing that attention, which has stood the test of time by the force of are necessary to success in the details of this single faculty? Wtho does not see that business, and in the engagements of active Homer and Shakspeare excelled the rest of life. It has been common for persons contheir species in understanding as well as in sciouns of such talents, to look with a sort of imagination; that they were pre-eminent in disdain on other kinds of intellectual excelthe highest species of knowledge-the know- lence, and to consider themselves as in some ledge of the nature and character of man? degree absolved from those rules of prudence On the other hand, the talent of ratiocination by which humbler minds are restricted. is more especially requisite to the orator; They are too much disposed to abandon but no man ever obtained the palm of oratory, themselves to their own sensations, and to even by the highest excellence in this single suffer life to pass away without regular talent. Who does not perceive that Demros- exertion or settled purpose. thenes and Cicero -were not more happy in But though men of genius are generally their addresses to the reason than in their I prone to indolence, with them indolence and appeals to the passions? They knew, that unhappiness are in a more especial manner to excite, to agitate, and to delight, are allied. The unbidden splendours of imagiamong thne most potent arts of persuasion; nation may, indeed, at times irradiate the and they enforced their impression on the gloom which inactivity produces; but such understanding, by their command of all the visions, though bright, are transient, and sympathies of the heart. These observations serve to cast the realities of life into deeper might be extended to other walks of life. shade. In bestowing great talents, Nature He who has the faculties fitted to excel in seems very generally to have imposed on the poetry, has the faculties which,duly governed, possessor the necessity of exertion, if he and differently directed, might lead to pre- %would escape wretchedness. Better for him eminence in other, and, as far as respects than sloth, toils the most painful, or advenhimself, perhaps in happier destinations. tures the most hazardous. Happier to him The talents necessary to the construction than idleness were the condition of the of an Iliad, under different discipline and peasant, earning with incessant labour his application, might have led armies to vic- scanty food; or that of the sailor, though tory, or kingdoms to prosperity; might have haniging on the yard-arm, and wrestling with wielded the thunder of eloquence, or dis- the hurricane. covered and enlarged the sciences that con- These observations might be amply illusstitute the power and improve the condition trated by the biography of men of genius of of our species. (118)'Such talents are, every denomination, and more especially by indeed, rare among the productions of na- the biography of the poets. Of this last ture, and occasions of bringing them into description of men, few seem to have enjoyed full exertion are rarer still. But safe and the usual portion of happiness that falls to salutary occupations may be found for men the lot of humanity, those excepted who of genius in every direction, while the useful have cultivated poetry as an elegant amuseand ornamental arts remain to be cultivated, ment in the hours of relaxation from other while the sciences remain to be studied and occupations, or the small number who have to be extended, and principles of science to enigaged with success in the greater- or more be applied to the correction and improve- arduous attempts of the muse, in which all INFLUENCES OF MELANCHOLY. 67 the faculties of the mind have been fully Or are, or shall be, could this folly last. and permanently employed. Even taste, But soon your heaven is gone; a heaviet virtue, and comparative independence, do gloom Shuts o'er your head not seem capable of bestowing on men of o' * h genius peace and tranquillity, without such ~ Morning comes; your cares return occupation as may give regular and healthful With tenfold rage. An anxious stomach well exercise to the faculties of body and mind. May be endured-so may the throbbing head: The amiable Shenstone has left us the re- But such a dim delirium, such a dream cords of his imprudence, of his indolence, Involves you; such a dastardly despair, Tnmans your soul, as madd'ning Pentheus and of his unhappiness, amidst the shades felt, of the Leasowes; and the virtues, the learn- When, baited round Cithemron's cruel sides. ing, and the genius of Gray, equal to the He saw two suns and double Thebes ascend." loftiest attempts of the epic muse, failed to -Arcnstrong's Art of Preserving Health, b. iv. procure him in the academic bowers of Cambridge that tranquillity and that respect Such are the pleasures and pains of intoxiwhich less fastidiousness of taste, and greater cation, as they occur in the temperament of constancy and vigour of exertion, would have sensibility, described by a genuine poet, with doubtless obtained. a degree of truth and energy which nothing It is more necessary that men of genius but experience could have dictated. There should be aware of the importance of self- are, indeed, some individuals of this temcommand, and of exertion, because their perament on whom wine produces no cheerindolence is peculiarly exposed, not merely ing influence. On some, even in very to unhappiness, but to diseases of mind, and moderate quantities, its effects are painfully to errors of conduct, which are generally irritating; in large draughts it excites dark fatal. This interesting subject deserves a and melancholy ideas; and in draughts still particular investigation; but we must content larger, the fierceness of insanity itself. Such ourselves with one or two cursory remarks. men are happily exempted from a temptation Relief is sometimes sought from the melan- to which experience teaches us the finest choly of indolence in practices which, for a dispositions often yield, and the influence of time, soothe and gratify the sensations, but,which, when strengthened by habit, it is a which, in the end, involve the sufferer in humiliating truth, that the most powerful darker gloom. To command the external minds have not been able to resist. circumstances by which happiness is affected, It is the more necessary for men of genius is not in human power; but there are various to be on their guard against the habitual substances in nature which operate on the use of wine, because it is apt to steal on system of the nerves, so as to give a fictitious themn insensibly, and because the temptation gaiety to the ideas of imagiination, and to to excess usually presents itself to them in alter the effect of the external impressions j their social hours, when they are alive only which we receive. Opium is chiefly eri- to warnm and generous emotions, and when ployed for this purpose by the disciples of prudence and moderation are often con1Mahomet and the inhabitants of Asia; but teimled as selfishness and timidity. alcohol, the principle of intoxication in It is the more necessary for them to Beard vinous and spirituous liquors, is preferred in against excess ic the use of wine, because on Europe, and is universally used in the Chris- them its effects are, physically and morally, tian world. (119) Under thevarious wounds to in an especial manler injurious. In prowhich indolent insensibility is exposed, and portion to its stimulating influence on the under the gloomy apprehensions respecting system (on which the pleasurable sensations fiiturity to which it is so often a prey, how depend, is the debility that ensues-a destrong is the temptation to have recourse bility that destroys digestion, and terminates to an antidote by which the pain of these in habitual fever, dropsy, jaundice, paralysis, wounds is suspended, by which the heart is or insanity. As the strength of the body exhilirated, visions of happiness are excited decays, the volition fails; in proportion as in the mind, and the forms of external na- the sensations are soothed and gratified, the ture clothed with new beauty! sensibility increases; and morbid sensibility is the parent of indolence, because, while it " El~ysium opens round, impairs the regulating power of the mind, it A pleasing phrenzy buoys the lighten'd soul, exaggerates all the obstacles to exertion. And sanguine hopes dispel your fleeting care; And what was difficult, and what was dire, Yields to your prowess, and superior stars: become more and more difficult, and the great The happiest you of all that e'er were mad, purposes of utility, patriotism, or of honour 68 LIFE OF BURNS. able ambition, which had occupied the ima-. "It will actually be an injustice done to gination, die away in fruitless resolutions, or Burns's character, not only by future generain feeble efforts. tions and foreign countries, but even by his To apply these observations to the subject native Scotland, and perhaps a number of his of our memoirs, would be a useless as well contemporaries, that he is generally talked of, as a painful task. It is, indeed, a duty we and considered, with reference to his poetical owe to the living, not to allow our admira- talents only; for the fact is, even allowing tion of great genius, or even our pity for its his great and original genius its due tribute unhappy destiny, to conceal or disguise its of admiration, that poetry (I appeal to all errors. But there are sentiments of respect, who have had the advantage of being perand even of tenderness, with which this sonally acquainted with him) was actually duty should be performed; there is anrt awful not his forte. Many others, perhaps, may sanctity which invests the mansions of the have ascended to prouder heights in the dead; and let those who moralise over the region of Parnassus, but none certainly ever graves of their contemporaries, reflect with outshone Burns in the charms, the sorcery, humility on their own errors, nor forget how I would almost call it, of fascinating conversoon they may themselves require the can- sation, the spontaneous eloquence of social dour and the sympathy they are called upon argument, or the unstudied poignancy of to bestow. brilliant repartee; nor was any man, I believe, ever gifted with a larger portion of the'vivida vis animi.' His personal endowments Soon after the death of Burns, the follow- were perfectly correspondent to the qualifiing article appeared in the Dumfries Journal, cations of his mind-his form was manlyfrom which it was copied into the Edinburgh his action, energy itself-devoid in a great newspapers, and into various other periodical measure perhaps of those graces, of that publications. It is from the elegant pen of polish, acquired only in the refinement of a lady, already alluded to in the course of societies where in early life he could have no these memoirs (12l0), whose exertions for the opportunities of mixing; but where such was family of our bard, in the circles of literature the irresistible power of attraction that enand fashion in which she moves, have done circled him, though his appearance and her so much honour. manners were always peculiar, he never failed " The attention of the public seems to be to delight and to excel. His figure seemed much occupied at present with the loss it to bear testimony to his earlier destination has recently sustained in the death of the and employments. It seemed rather moulded Caledonian poet, Robert Burns; a loss cal- by nature for the rough exercises of agriculculated to be severely felt throughout the ture, than the gentler cultivation of the Belles literary world, as well as lamented in the Lettres. Iis features were stamped with narrower sphere of private friendship. It the hardy character of independence, and the was not, therefore, probable that such an firmness of conscious, though not arrogant, event should be long unattended with the pre-eminence; the animated expressions of accustomed profusion of posthumous anec- countenance were almost peculiar to himself; dotes and memoirs which are usually circu- the rapid lightnings of his eye were always lated immediately after the death of every the harbingers of some flash of genius, rare and celebrated personage: I had, how- whether they darted the fiery glances of ever, conceived no intention of appropriating insulted and indignant superiority, or beamed to myself the privilege of criticising Burns's with the impassioned sentiment of fervent writings and character, or of anticipating on and impetuous affections. His voice alone the province of a biographer. could improve upon the magic of his eye: "Conscious, indeed, of my own inability to sonorous, replete with the finest modulations, do justice to such a subject, I should have it alternately captivated the ear with the continued wholly silent, had misrepresenta- melody of poetic numbers, the perspicuity of tion and calumny been less industrious; but nervous reasoning, or the ardent sallies of a regard to truth, no less than affection for enthusiastic patriotism. The keenness of the memory of a friend, must now justify satire was, I am almost at a loss whether to my offering to the public a few at least of say,hisforte or his foible; forthough nature those observations which an intimate ac- had endowed him with a portion of the most quaintance with Burns, and the frequent pointed excellence in that dangerous talent, opportunities I have had of observing equally he suffered it too often to be the vehicle of his happy qualities and his failings for several personal, and sometimes unfounded, animoyears past, have enabled me to communicate. sities. It was not always that sportiveness INADEQUACY OF NATIVE CRITICISM. 69 of humour, that' unwary pleasantry,' which "It is said that the celebrated Dr. Johnson Sterne has depicted with touches so conci- professed to'love a good hater'-a temperaliatory, but the darts of ridicule were ment that would have singularly adapted him frequently directed as the caprice of the to cherish a prepossession in favour of our instant suggested, or as the altercations of bard, who perhaps fell but little short even parties and of persons happened to kindle of the surly doctor in this qualification, as the restlessness of his spirit into interest or long as the disposition to ill-will continued; aversion. This, however, was not invariably but the warmth of his passions was fortuthe case; his wit (which is no unusual matter nately corrected by their versatility. Ile was indeed) had always the start of his judgment, seldom, indeed never, implacable in his reand would lead him to the indulgence of sentmnants, and sometimes, it has been raillery uniformly acute, but often accompa- alleged, not inviolably faithful in his engagenied with the least desire to wound. The ments of friendship. Much, indeed, has suppression of an arch and full-pointed boz- been said about his inconstancy and caprice; mot, from a dread of offending its object, the but I am inclined to believe, that they origisage of Zurich very properly classes as a nated less in alevity of sentiment, than from virtue only to be soughtfor in the calendar of an extreme impetuosity of feeling, which saints; if so, Burns must not be too severely rendered him prompt to take umbrage; and dealt with for being rather deficient in it. his sensations of pique, where he fancied he He paid for his mischievous wit as dearly as had discovered the traces of neglect, scorn, any one could do. "Twas no extravaganlt or unkindness, took their measure of asperity arithmetic,' to say of him, as was said of from the overflowings of the opposite sentiYorick, that'for every ten jokes he got a ment which preceded them, and which seldom hundred enemies;' but much allowance will failed to regain its ascendancy in his bosom be made by a candid mind for the splenetic on the return of calmer reflection. He was warmth of a spirit whom'distress had spited candid and manly in the avowal of his errors, with the world,' and which, unbounded in its and his avowal wvas a reparation. His native intellectual sallies and pursuits, continually fierte never forsaking him for a moment, the experienced the curbs imposed by the way- value of a frank acknowledgment was enwardness of his fortune. The vivacity of hanced tenfold towards a generous mind, his wishes and temper was indeed checked by from its never being attended with servility. almost habitual disappointments, which sat His mind, organised only for the stronger heavy on a heart that acknowledged the and more acute operations of the passions, ruling passion of independenlce, without was impracticable to the efforts of superhaving ever been placed beyond the grasp of ciliousness that would have depressed it into penury. His soul was never languid or in- humility, and equally superior to the enactive, and his genius was extinguished only croachments of venal suggestions that might with the last spark of retreating life. His have led him into the mazes of hypocrisy. passions rendered him, according as they "It has been observed that lie was far from disclosed themselves in affection or antipathy, averse to the incense of flattery, and could an object of enthusiastic attachment, or of receive it tempered with less delicacy than decided enmity; for he possessed none of might have been expected, as he seldom that negative insipidity of character, whose transgressed extravagantly in that way himlove might be regarded with indifference, or self; where lie paid a compliment, it might whose resentment could be considered with indeed claim the power of intoxication, as contempt. In this, it should seem, the approbation from him was always an honest temper of his associates took the tincture tribute from the warmth and sincerity of his from his own; for he acknowledged in the heart. It has been sometimes represented universe but two classes of objects, those of by those who, it should seem, had a view to adoration the most fervent, or of aversion the depreciate, though they could not hope most uncontrollable; and it has been fre- wholly to obscure, that native brilliancy quently a reproach to him, that, unsusceptible which the powers of this extraordinary man of indifference, often hating where he ought had invariably bestowed on every thing that only to have despised, he alternately opened came from his lips or pen, that the history his heart and poured forth the treasures of of the Ayrshire ploughboy was an ingenious his understanding to such as were incapable fiction, fabricated for the purposes of obtainof appreciating the homage; and elevated to ing the interests of the great, and enhancing the privileges of an adversary some who the merits of what in reality required no foil. were unqualified in all respects for the honour The Cotter's Saturday Night, Tam o' Shanof a contest so distinguished. ter, and The Mountain Daisy, besides a 70 LIFE -OF BURNS. number of later productions, where the reprove the feelings he has consecrated with maturity of his genius will be readily traced, such lively touches of nature? And where and which will be given to the public as soon is the rugged moralist who will persuade us as his friends have collected and arranged so far to'chill the genial current of the them, speak sufficiently for themselves; and soul,' as to regret that Ovid ever celebrated had crney fallen from a hand more dignified his Corinna, or that Anacreon sang beneath in the ranks of society than that of a peasant, his vine? they had perhaps bestowed as unusual a "I will not, however, undertake to be the grace there, as even in the humbler shade of apologist of the irregularities even of a man rustic inspiration from whence they really of genius, though I believe it is as certain sprang. that genius never was free from irregulari"To the obscure scene of Burns's educa- ties, as that their absolution may, in great tion, and to the laborious, though honourable measure, be justly claimed, since it is perstation of rural industry in which his parent- fectly evident that the world had continued age enrolled him, almost every inhabitant of very stationary in its intellectual acquirethe south of Scotland can give testimony. ments, had it never given birth to any but His only surviving brother, Gilbert Burns, men of plain sense. Evenness of conduct, now guides the ploughshare of his forefathers and a due regard to the decorums of the in Ayrshire, at a farm near Miauchline; and world, have been so rarely seen to move our poet's eldest son, a lad of nine years of hand in hand with genius, that some have age, whose early dispositions already prove gone as far as to say, though there I cannot him to be in some measure the inheritor of wholly acquiesce, that they are even inhis father's talents as well as indigence, has compatible; besides, the frailties that cast been destined by his family to the humble their shade over the spleldour of superior employments of the loom. merit, are more conspicuously glaring than "That Burns had received no classical where they are the attendants of mere meeducation, and was acquainted with the diocrity. It is only on the gem we are disGreek and Roman authors only through the turbed to see the dust; the pebble may be medium of translations, is a fact of which all soiled, and we never regard it. The eccenwho were in the habit of conversing with him tric intuitions of genius too often yield the might readily be convinced. I have, indeed, soul to the wild effervescence of desires, seldom observed him to be at a loss in coll- always unbounded, and sometimes equally versation, unless where the dead languages dangerous to the repose of others as fatal to and their writers have been the subjects of its owin. No wonder, then, if virtue herdiscussion. When I have pressed him to tell self be sometimes lost in the blaze of me why he never applied himself to acquire kindling animation, or that the calin monithe Latin, in particular, a language which tions of reason are not invariably found his happy memory would have so soon en- sufficient to fetter an imagination, which abled him to be master of, he used only to scorns the narrow limits and restrictions reply with a smile, that he had already that would chain it to the level of ordinary learnt all the Latin he desired to know, and minds. The child of nature, the child of that was omnia vincit antor-a sentence, that sensibility, unschooled in the rigid precepts from his writings and most favourite pur- of philosophy, too often unable to control suits, it should undoubtedly seem that he the passions which proved a source of was most thoroughly versed in; but I really frequent errors and misfortunes to him, believe his classic erudition extended little, Burns made his own artless apology in if any, farther. language more impressive than all the argu"The penchant Burns had uniformly ac- menltatory vindications in the world could knowledged for the festive pleasures of the do, in one of his own poems, where he detable, and towards the fairer and softer lineates the gradual expansion of his mind objects of nature's creation, has been the to the lessons of the'tutelary muse,' who rallying point whence the attacks of his concludes an address to her pupil, almost censors have been uniformly directed, and unique for simplicity and beautiful poetry, to these, it must be confessed, he showed with these lineshimself no stoic. His poetical pieces blend with alternate happiness of description, the'I saw thy pulse's madd'ning play frolic spirit of the flowing bowl, or melt the WCild send thee pleasure's devious way; heart to the tender and impassioned senti- Misled by Fascys ree ivrenora ments in which beauty always taught him to But yet the light that led astray: pour forth his own. But who would wish to Was lightfrom heavenr.' PECULIA1RITIES, ETC. 71 "I have already transgressed beyond the life. If we add, that they also contain most bounds I had proposed to myself on first happy delineations of the characters, mancommitting this sketch to paper, which com- ners, and scenery, that presented themselves prehends what at least I have been led to to his observation, we shall include almost deem the leading features of Burns's mind all the subjects of his muse. His writings and character. A literary critique I do not may, therefore, be regarded as affording a aim at-mine is wholly fulfilled if, in these great part of the data on which our account pages, I have been able to delineate any of of his personal character has been founded; those strong traits that distinguished him, and most of the observations we have apof those talents which raised him from the plied to the man, are applicable, with little plough, where he passed the bleak morning variation, to the poet. of his life, weaving his rude wreaths of The impression of his birth, and of his poesy with the wild field-flowers that sprang original station in life, was not more evident around his cottage, to that enviable eminence on his form and manners, than on his of literary fame, where Scotland will long poetical productions. The incidents which cherish his memory with delight and grati- form the subjects of his poems, though some tude; and proudly remember that, beneath of them highly interesting, and susceptible her cold sky, a genius was ripenel, without of poetical imagery, are incidents in the life care or culture, that would have done honour of a peasant who takes no pains to disguise to climes more favourable to those luxuri- the lowliness of his condition, or to throw ances-that warmth of colouring and fancy into shade the circumstances attending it, in which he so eminently excelled. which more feeble or mire artificial minds " From several paragraphs I have noticed would have endeavoured to conceal. The in the public prints, ever since the idea of same rudeness and inattention appears in sending this sketch to some one of them the formation of his rhymes, which are was formed, I find private animosities have frequently incorrect, while the measure in not yet subsided, and that envy has not yet which many of the poems are written has exhausted all her shafts. I still trust, how- little of the pomp or harmony of modern ever, that honest fame will be permanently versification, and is, indeed, to an English affixed to Burns's character, which I think it ear strange and uncouth. The greater part will be found he has merited, by the candid of his earlier poems are written in the dialect and impartial among his countrymen. Anld of his country, which is obscure, if not where a recollection of the imprudences that unintelligible, to Englishmen; and which, sullied his brighter qualifications interpose, though it still adheres more or less to the let the imperfection of all human excellence speech of almost every Scotsman, all the be remnermbered at the same time, leaving polite and the ambitious are now endeavotrthose inconsistencies, which alternately ex- ing to banish from their tongues as well as alted his nature into the seraph, and sank it their writings. The use of it in composition again into the man, to the tribunal which naturally, therefore, calls up ideas of vulalone can investigate the labyrinths of the garity in the mind. These singularities are human heart- increased by the character of the poet, who Where they alike in trembling hope repose, delights to express himself with a simplicity -The bosom of his father and his God.' that approaches to nakedness, and with an AaGsy's Elegy. unmeasured energy that often alarms deli"Annalndale, August 7, 1796." cacy, and sometimes offends taste. Hence, After this account of the life and personal in approaching him, the first impression is, character of Burns, it may be expected that perhaps, repulsive: there is an air of coarsesome inquiry should be made into his ness about him, which is difficultly reconliterary merits. It will not, however, be ciled with our established notions of poetical, necessary to enter very minutely into this excellence. investigation. If fiction be, as some sup- As the reader, however, becomes better pose, the soul of poetry, no one had ever acquainted with the poet, the effects of his. less pretensions to the name of poet than peculiarities lessen. He perceives in his. Burns. Though he has displayed great poems, even on the lowest subjects, exprespowers of imagination, yet the subjects on sions of sentiment, and delineations of which he has written are seldom, if ever, manners, which are highly interesting. The imaginary; his poems, as well as his letters, scenery he describes is evidently taken from may be considered as the effusions of his real life; the characters he introduces, and sensibility, and the transcript of his own tile incidents he relates, have the impression musings on the real incidents of his humble of nature and truth. His humour, though 72 LIFE OF BURNS wild and unbridled, is irresistibly amusing, moric in the other, being confined to the and is sometimes heightened in its effects by mountainous districts. The English under the introduction of emotions of tenderness, the Edwards, and the Scots under Wallace with which genuine humour so happily and Bruce, spoke the same language. We unites. Nor is this the extent of his power. may observe also, that in Scotland, the hisThe reader, as he examines farther, discovers tory of poetry ascends to a period nearly as that the poet is not confined to the descrip- remote as in England. Barber, and Blind tive, the humorous, or the pathetic; he is Harry, James the First, Dunbar, Douglas, found, as occasion offers, to rise with ease and Lindsay, who lived in the fourteenth, into the terrible and the sublime. Every- fifteenth, and sixteenth centuries, were coeval where he appears devoid of artifice, per- with the fathers of poetry in Englanld; arid, forming what he attempts with little appa- in the opinion of Mr. Warton, not inferior rent effort, and impressing on the offspring to them inl genius or in composition. Though of his fancy the stansp of his understanldisig. the larlgua'e of the two countries gradually The reader, capable of forming a just esti- deviated from each other during this period, mate of poetical talents, discovers in these yet the difference onr the whole was not concircumstances marks of uncommon genius, siderable; not perhaps, greater than between and is willing to investigate more minutely the different dialects of the different parts of its nature and its claims to origillality. This England in our own time. last point we shall examine first. At the death of James V. in 1542, the That Burns had not the advantages of a language of Scotland was in a flourishing classical education, or of any degree of ac- condition, wanting only writers in prose quaintance with the Greek or Roman writers equal to those in verse. Two circumlstances, in their original dress, has appeared in the propitious on the whole, operated to prevent history of his life. He acquired, indeed, this. The first was the passion of the Scots some knowledge of the French language, for composition in Latin, and the second, but it does not appear that he was ever much the accession of James VI. to the English conversant in French literature, nor is there throne. It may easily be imagined, that if any evidence of his having derived ally of Buchanan had devoted his admirable talents, his poetical stores from that source. 5With even ill part, to the cultivation of his native tile English classics hie became well ac- tongue, as was done by the revivers of letters quainted in the course of his life, and tile in Itaily, lie would have left compositions in effect of this acquaiiltance are observable in that language which might have incited other his later productions; but the character arid men of genius to have followed his exstyle of his poetry were fornled very early, amlple (121), and given duration to the lanand the model which lie followed, in as far guage itself. The union of the two crowns as he call be said to have had one, is to be in the person of James, overthrew all reasought for in the works of the poets who sonable expectation of this kind. That have written in the Scottish dialect-in the monarch, seated on the English throne, works of such of them more especially, as would no longer suffer himself to be adare faniliar to the peasantry of Scotland. dressed in tile rude dialect ill which the Some observations on these may form a Scottish clergy had so often insulted hlis proper introduction to a more particular dignity. He encouraged Latin or English examination of the poetry of Burns. The only, both of which he prided himself on studies of the editor in this direction are writing with purity, though he himself never indeed very recent and very imperfect. It could acquire the English pronunciation, would have been imprudent for him to have but spoke with a Scottish idiom and intoniaentered on this subject at all, but for the tion to the last. Scotsmen of talents dekincdness of Mr. Ramsay of Ochtertyre, dined writing in their native language, which whose assistance he is proud to acknowledge, they knew was not acceptable to their and to whom the reader must ascribe learned aind pedantic monarch; and at a whatever is of any value in the following time when national prejudice and enmriity imperfect sketch of literary compositions in prevailed to a great degree, they disdained the Scottish idiom. to study the niceties of the Englhish tongue, It is a circumstance not a little curious, though of so much easier acquisition than and which does lnot seem to be satisfactorily a dead language. Lord Stirling, and Drumexplained, that in the thirteenth century, mond of Hawthornden, the only Scotsrmen the language of the two British nations, if who wrote poetry in those times, were ex. at all different, differed only in dialect, the ceptions. They studied the languag'e of Gaelic inl the one, like the Welsh and Ar- England, and composed in it with precision LITERATURE OF SCOTLAND. 73 and elegance. They were, however, the last Scottish idioms, Thomson, Mallett, and of their countrymen who deserved to be Hamilton of Bangour, had made their apconsidered as poets in that century. The pearance before the public, and been enrolled muses of Scotland sank into silence, and did on the list of English poets. The writers not again raise their voices for a period of in prose followed-a numerous and powerful eighty years. band-and poured their ample stores into To what causes are we to attribute this the general stream of British literature. extreme depression among a people compara- Scotland possessed her four universities betively learned, enterprising, and ingenious? fore the accession of James to the English Shall we impute it to the fanaticism of the throne. Immediately before the Union, she Covenanters, or to the tyranny of the house acquired her parochial schools. These esta. of Stuart after their restoration to the blishments combining happily together, made throne? Doubtless these causes operated, the elements of knowledge of easy acquisibut they seem unequal to account for the tion, and presented a direct path by which effect. In England, similar distractions and the ardent student might be carried along oppression took place, yet poetry flourished into the recesses of science or learning. As there in a remarkable degree. During this civil broils ceased, and faction and prejudice period, Cowley, and Waller, and Dryden, gradually (lied away, a wider field was opened sang, and Milton raised his strain of unpa- to literary ambition, and the influence of the ralleled grandeur. To the causes already Scottish institutions for instruction, on the mentioned, another must be added, in productions of the press, became more and accounting for the torpor of Scottish litera- more apparent. ture-the want of a proper vehicle for men It seems, indeed, probable, that the estaof genius to emnploy. The civil wars had blishlent of the parochial schools produced frightened away the Latin Muses, and no effects on the rural muse of Scotland also, standard had been established of the Scottish which have not hitherto been suspected, and tongue, which was deviating still farther which, though less splendid in their nature, from the pure English idiom. are not, however, to be regarded as trivial, The revival of literature in Scotland may whether we consider the happiness or the be dated from the establishment of the morals of the people. Union, or rather from the extinction of the There is some reason to believe, that the rebellion in 1715. The nations being finally original inhabitants of the British isles posincorporated, it was clearly seen that their sessed a peculiar and an interesting species tongues must be in the end incorporate also; of music, which being banished from the or rather, indeed, that the Scottish langage plains by the successive invasions of the must degenerate into a provincial idiom, to Saxons, Danes, and Normans, was preserved be avoided by those who would aim at dis- with the native race, in the wilds of Ireland tinction in letters, or rise to eminence in the and in the mountains of Scotland and Wales. united legislature. The Irish, the Scottish, and the Welsh Soon after this, a band of men of genius music, differ indeed from each other, but the appeared, who studied the English classics, differenlce may be considered as in dialect and imitated their -beauties, in the same only, and probably produced by the influence manner as they studied the classics of Greece of time, and like the different dialects of and Rome. They had admirable models of their common language. If this conjecture composition lately presented to them by the be true, the Scottish music must be more writers of the reign of Queen Anne; par- immediately of a Highland origin, and the ticularly in the periodical papers published Lowland tunes, though now of a character by Steele, Addison, and their associated somewhat distinct, must have descended friends, which circulated widely through from the mountains in remote ages. WhatScotland, and diffused everywhere a taste ever credit may be given to conjectures, for purity of style and sentiment, and for evidently involved in great uncertainty, there critical disquisition. At length, the Scottish can be no doubt that the Scottish peasantry writers succeeded in English composition, have been long in possession of a number of and an union was formed of the literary songs and ballads composed in their native talents, as well as of the legislatures of the dialect, and sung to their native music. two nations. On this occasion the poets The subjects of these compositions were took the lead. While. Henry Home (122), such as most interested the simple inhabiDr. Wallace, and their learned associates, tants, and in the succession of time varied were only laying in their intellectual stores, probably as the condition of society varied. and studying to clear themselves of their During the separation and the hostility of 74 LIFE OF BURNS. the two nations, these songs and ballads, as rustic be sometimes assumed, the truth of far as our imperfect documents enable us to character, and the language of nature, are judge, were chiefly warlike; such as the preserved. With unaffected simplicity and Huntis of Cheviot, and the Battle of Harlaw. tenderness, topics are urged most likely to After the union of the two crowns, when a soften the heart of a cruel and coy mistress, certain degree of peace and of tranquillity or to regain a fickle lover. Even in such as took place, the rural muse of Scotland are of a melancholy cast, a ray of hope breathed in softer accents. "In the want breaks through, and dispels the deep and of real evidence respecting the history of settled gloom which characterises the sweetour songs," says Mr. Ramsay of Ochtertyre, est of the Highland luenigs, or vocal airs. "recourse may be had to conjecture. One Nor are these songs all plaintive; many of would be disposed to think, that the most them are lively and humorous, and some beautiful of the Scottish tunes were clothed appear to us coarse and indelicate. They with new words after the union of the seem, however, genuine descriptions of the crowns. The inhabitants of the borders, manners of an energetic and sequestered who had formerly been warriors from'choice, people in their hours of mirth and festivity, and husbandmen from necessity, either though in their portraits some objects are quitted the country, or were transformed brought into open view, which more fastiinto real shepherds, easy in their circum- dious painters would have thrown into stances, and satisfied with their lot. Some shade. sparks of that spirit of chivalry for which As those rural poets sang for amusement, they are celebrated by Froissart, remained, not for gain, their effusions seldom exceeded sufficient to inspire elevation of sentiment a love-song, or a ballad of satire or humour, and gallantry towards the fair sex. The which, like the works of the elder minstrels, familiarity and kindness which had long were seldom committed to writing, but subsisted between the gentry and the pea- treasured up in the memory of their friends santry, could not all at once be obliterated, arid nleighbours. Neither known to the and this connexion tended to sweeten rural learned nor patronised by the great, these life. In this state of innocence, ease, and rustic bards lived and died in obscurity; and tranquillity of mind, the love of poetry and by a strange fatality, their story, and even music would still maintain its ground, though their very names, have been forgotten. (123) it would naturally assume a form congenial When proper models for pastoral songs were to the more peaceful state of society. The produced, there would be no want of imitaminstrels, whose metrical tales used once to tors. To succeed in this species of comporouse the borderers like the trumpet's sound, sition, soundness of understanding, and had been, by an order of the legislatulre (in sensibility of heart, were more requisite than 1579), classed with rogues and vagabonds, flights of imagination or pomp of numbers. and attempted to be suppressed. Knox and Great changes have certainly taken place in his disciples influenced the Scottish parlia- Scottish song-writing, though we cannot ment, but contended in vain with her rural trace the steps of this change; and few of muse. Amidst our Arcadian vales, probably the pieces admired in Queen Mary's time on the banks of the Tweed, or some of its are now to be discovered in modern collectributary streams, one or more original tions. It is possible, though not probable, geniuses may have arisen, who were destined that the music may have remained nearly to give a new turn to the taste of their the same, though the words to the tunes countrymen. They would see that the were entirely new-modelled." (124) events and pursuits which chequer private These conjectures are highly ingenious. life were the proper subjects for popular It cannot, however, be presumed, that the poetry. Love, which had formerly held a state of ease and tranquillity described by divided sway with glory and ambition, be- Mr. Ramsay, took place among the Scottish came now the master passion of the soul. peasantry immediately on the union of the To portray in lively and delicate colours, crowns, or indeed during the greater part of though with a hasty hand, the hopes and the seventeenth century. The Scottish fears that agitate the breast of the love-sick nation, through all its ranks, was deeply swain, or forlorn maiden, affords ample scope agitated by the civil wars, and the religious to the rural poet. Love-songs of which persecutions which succeeded each other in Tibullus himself would not have been that disastrous period; it was not till after ashamed, might be composed by an unedu- the revolution in 1688, and the subsequent cated rustic with a slight tincture of letters; establishment of their beloved form of or if in these songs the character of the church government, that the peasantry of COMPARISON OF SCOTTISH POETS. 75 the Lowlands enjoyed comparative repose; golden age. These verses were perfectly inand it is since that period that a great telligible to every rustic, yet justly admired number of the most admired Scottish songs by persons of taste, who regarded them as have been produced, though the tunes to the genuine offspring of the pastoral muse. which they are sung are in general of much In some respects, Ramsay had advantages greater antiquity. It i! not unreasonable to not possessed by poets writing in the Scotsuppose that the peace and security derived tish dialect in our days. Songs in the dialect from the Revolution and the Union, pro- of Cumberland or Lancashire could never be duced a favourable change on the rustic popular, because these dialects have never poetry of Scotland; and it can scarcely be been spoken by persons of fashion. But doubted, that the institution of parish till the middle of the present century, every schools in 1696, by which a certain degree Scotsman, from the peer to the peasant, of instruction was diffused universally among spoke a truly Doric language. It is true, the peasantry, contributed to this happy the English moralists and poets were by effect. this time read by every person of condition, Soon after this appeared Allan Ramsay, and considered as the standards for polite the Scottish Theocritus. He was born on composition. But as national prejudices the high mountains that divide Clydesdale were still strong, the busy, the learned, the and Annandale, in a small hamlet by the gay, and the fair, continued to speak their banks of Glengonar, a stream which descends native dialect, and that with an elegance into the Clyde. The ruins of this hamlet and poignancy, of which Scotsmen of the are still shown to the inquiring traveller. present day can have no just notion. I am He was the son of a peasant, and probably old enough to have conversed with Mr. received such instruction as his parish-school Spittal, of Leuchat, a scholar and a man of bestowed, and the poverty of his parents ad- fashion, who survived all the members of mitted. (125) Ramsay made his appearance the Union Parliament, in which he had a in Edinburgh in the beginning of the present seat. His pronunciation and phraseology century, in the humble character of an ap- differed as much from the common dialect, prentice to a barber, or peruke-maker; he as the language of St. James's from that of was then fourteen or fifteen years of age. Thames Street. Had we retained a court By degrees he acquired notice for his social and parliament of our own, the tongues of disposition, and his talent for the composi- the two sister-kingdoms would indeed have tion of verses in the Scottish idiom; and, differed like the Castilian and Portuguese; changing his profession for that of a book- but each would have had its own classics, seller, he became intimate with many of the not in a single branch, but in the whole literary, as well as the gay and fashionable circle of literature. characters of his time. (126) Having pub- "Ramsay associated with the men of wit lished a volume of poems of his own in and fashion of his day, and several of them 1721, which was favourably received, he attempted to write poetry in his manner. undertook to make a collection (if ancient Persons too idle or too dissipated to think of Scottish poems, under the title of The Ever- compositions that required much exertion, green, and was afterwards encouraged to sncceeded very happily in making tender present to the world a collection of Scottish sonnets to favourite tunes in compliment to songs. "From what sources he procured their mistresses, and, transforming themthem," says Mr. Ramsay of Ochtertyre, selves into impassioned shepherds, caught "whether from tradition or manuscript, is the language of the characters they assumed. uncertain. As in the Evergreen, he made Thus, about the year 1731, Robert Crawford some rash attempts to improve on the origi- of Auchinames wrote the modern song of nals of his ancient poems, he probably used Tweed Side (127), which has been so much still greater freedom with the songs and admired. In 1743, Sir Gilbert Elliot, the ballads. The truth cannot, however, be first of our lawyers who both spoke and known on this point, till manuscripts of the wrote English elegantly, composed, in the songs printed by him more ancient than the character of a love-sick swain, a beautiful present century, shall be produced, or access song, beginning,'My sheep I neglected, I be obtained to his own papers, if they are lost my sheep-hook,' on the marriage of still in existence. To several tunes which his mistress, Miss Forbes, with Ronald either wanted words, or had words that Crawford. And about twelve years afterwere improper or imperfect, he, or his wards, the sister of Sir Gilbert wrote the friends, adapted verses worthy of the melo- ancient words to the tune of the Flowers of dies they accompanied, worthy indeed of the the Forest (128), and supposed to allude to 76 ~LIFE OF BURNS. the battle of Flowden. In spite of the "From this general view, it is apparent double rhyme, it is a sweet, and, though that Allan Ramsay may be considered as in in some parts allegorical, a natural expres- a great measure the reviver of the rural sion of national sorrow. The more modern poetry of his country. His collection of words to the same tune, beginning,'I have ancient Scottish poems, under the name of seen the smiling of fortune beguiling,' were The Evergreen, his collection of Scottish written long before by Mrs. Cockburn, a songs, and his own poems, the principal of woman of great wit, who outlived all the which is the Gentle Shepherd, have been first group of literati of the present century, universally read among the peasantry of his all of whom were very fond of her. (129) I country, and have in some degree superseded was delighted with her company, though, the adventures of Bruce and Wallace, as when I saw her, she was very old. Much recorded by Barbour and Blind Harry. did she know that is now lost." Burns was well acquainted with all these. In addition to these instances of Scottish He had also before him the poems of songs produced in the earlier part of the Fergusson in the Scottish dialect, which present century, may be mentioned the have been produced in our own times, and ballad of Hardiknute, by Lady Wardlaw; of which it will be necessary to give a short the ballad of William and Margaret; and account. the song entitled the Birks of Endermay, "Fercusson was born of parents who had by Mallett; the love-song, beginning. "For it in their power to procure him a liberal ever fortune, wilt thou prove," produced by education —a circumstance, however, which the youthful muse of Thomson; and the in Scotland implies no very high rank in exquisite pathetic ballad, the Braes of society. From a well-written and appaYarrowv, by Hamilton of Bangour. On the rently authentic account of his life (130), revival of letters in Scotland, subsequent to we learn that he spent six years at the the Union, a very general taste seems to schools of Edinburgh and Dundee, and have prevailed for the national songs and several years at the universities of Edin. music. "For many years," says Mr. Ram- burgh and St. Alldrews. It appears tlht say, "the singing of songs was the great he was at one time destined for the Scottish delight of the higher and middle order of church; but, as lie advanced towards manthe people, as well as of the peasantry; hood, he renounced that intention, and and though a taste for Italian music has at Edinburgh entered the offlice of a writer interfered with this amusement, it is still to the signet-a title which designlates a very prevalent. Between forty and fifty separate and higher order of Scottish atyears ago, the common people were not only tornies. Fergusson had sensibility of mind, exceedingly fond of songs and ballads, but a warm and generous heart, and talents of metrical history. Often have I, in my for society of the most attractive kind. cheerful morn of youth, listened to them To such a man no situation could be with delight, when reading or reciting the more dangerous than that in which he was exploits of Wallace and Bruce against the placed. The excesses into which he was led southrons. Lord Hailes was wont to call impaired his feeble constitution, and lie sank Blind Harry their bible, he being their great under them in the month of October, 1774 favourite next to the Scriptures. When, in his twenty-third or twenty-fourth year. therefore, one in the vale of life felt the first Burns was not acquainted with the poems emotions of genius, he wanted not models of this youthful genius when he himself sui generis. But though the seeds of begar to write poetry; and when he first poetry were scattered with a plentiful hand saw them, he had renounced the muses. among the Scottish peasantry, the product But while he resided in the town of Irvine, was probably like that of pears and apples- meeting with Fergusson's Scottish Poems, he of a thousand that spring up, nine hundred informs us that he "strung his lyre anew with and fifty are so bad as to set the teeth on emulating vigour." Touched by the sympaedge; forty-five or more are passable and thy originating in kindred genius, and in the useful; and the rest of an exquisite flavour. forebodings of similar fortune, Burns reAllan Ramsay and Burns are wildings of garded Fergusson with a partial and an this last description. They had the ex- afectionate admiration. Over his grave he ample of the elder Scottish poets; they were erected a monument, as has already been not without the aid of the best English mentioned; and his poems he has, in sever:tl writers; and, what was still of more im- instances, made the subjects of his imitation. portance, they were no strangers to the rrom this account of the Scottisl, 1!)cnls book of nature, and to the book of God." known to Burns, those who are ac;uatieLCd SCOTTISH LITERATURE. 77 with them will see that they are chiefly The two additional cantos to Christis Kirk humorous or pathetic, and under one or of the Grene, written by Ramsay, though other of these descriptions most of his own objectionable in point of delicacy, are among poems will class. Let us compare him with the happiest of his productions. His chief his predecessors under each of these points excellence, indeed, lay in the description of of view, and close our examination with-a rural characters, incidents, and scenery; for few general observations. he did not possess any very high powers It has frequently been observed, that either of imagination or of understanding. Scotland has produced, comparatively speak- HI-e was well acquainted with the peasantry ing, few writers who have excelled in humour. of Scotland, their lives and opinions. The But this observation is true only when ap- subject was in a great measure new; his plied to those who have continued to reside talents were equal to the subject; and he in their own country, and have confined has shown that it may be happily adapted to themselves to composition in pure English; pastoral poetry. In his Gentle Shepherd, and, in these circumstances, it admits (if an the characters are delineations from nature, easy explanatiol. The Scottish poets who the descriptive parts are in the genuine style have written in the dialect of Scotland, have of beautiful simplicity, the passions and been at all times remarkable for dwnellinll on affections of rural life are finely pourtrayed, subjects of humour, in which, indeed, mIany and the heart is pleasingly interested in the of them have excelled. It would be easy to happiness that is bestowed on innocence and show, that the dialect of Scotlandc having virtue. Throughout the whole there is an become provincial, is now scarcely suid;ed to air of reality which the most careless reader the more elevated kinds of poetry. If we cannot but perceive; and, in fact, no poem may believe that the poem of Christis Kirk ever perhaps acquired so high a reputation, of the Grene was written by James I. of in which truth received so little embellishScotland (131), this accomplished monarch, ment from the imlagillation. In his pastoral who had received an Einglish education songs, and in his rural tales, Ramsay appears under the direction of Henry IV., and who to less advantage indeed, but still with conbore arms under hlis gallant successor, cave siderable attraction. The story of the Monk the model on which the greater part of the and the Mliller's ~Wife, though somewhat humorous productions of the rustic muse of licentious, may rank with the happiest proScotland has been formed. Christis Kirk ductions of Prior, or La Fontaine. But when of the Grene was reprinted by Ramsay he attempts subjects from higher life, and somewhat mlodernised in the orthography, aims at pure English composition, he is and two cantos were added by hil, in which feeble and uninlterestinlg, and seldom ever he attempts to carry on the desi-gn. Hence reaches mediocrity. Neither are his familiar the poem of Kinlg James is usually printed epistles and elegies in the Scottish dialect in Ramsay's works. The royal bard describes, entitled to much approbation. Though in the first canto, a rustic dance, and after- Fergusson had higher powers of imagination wards a contention in archery, esndinis in an than Ramsay, his genius was not of the affray. Ramsay relates the restoration of highest order; nor did his learning, which concord, and the renewal of the rural sports, was considerable, improve his genius. His with the humours of a country wedding. poems written in pure English, in which he Though each of the poets describes the often follows classical models, though supemanners of his respective age, yet in the rior to the English poems of Ramsay, seldom whole piece there is a very sufficient unifor- ryise above mediocrity; but in those commity-a striking proof of the identity of posed in the Scottish dialect he is often very character in the Scottish peasantry at the successful. He was in general, however, two periods, distant from each other three less happy than Ramsay in the subjects of hundred years. It is an honourable dis- his muse. As he spent the greater part of tinction to this body of men, that their his life in Edinburgh, and wrote for his character and manners, very little embel- amusement in the intervals of business or lished, have been found to be susceptible of dissipation, his Scottish poems are chiefly en amusing and interesting species of poetry; founded on the incidents of a town life, and it must appear not a little curious, that which, though they are susceptibleof humour, the single nation of modern Europe which do not admit of those delineations of scenery possesses an original rural poetry, should and manners, which vivify the rural poetry have received the model, followed by their of Ramsay, and which so agreeably amuse rustic bards, from the monarch on the the fancy and interest the heart. The throne. town-eclogues of Fergusson, if we may so 78 LIFE OF BURNS. denominate them, are, however, faithful to " At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, nature, and often distinguished by a very Nae tawted tyke, tho' e'er so duddie, happy vein of humour. 1-Iis poems entitled But he wad stan't, as glad to see him, And stroans't on stanes and hillocks wi' him." The Daft Days, The King's Birth-day in Edinburgh, Leith Races, and the Hallow The other, Luath, is a "ploughman's collie," Fair, will justify this character. In these, but a cur of a good heart and a sound unparticularly in the last, he imitated Christis derstanding. Kirk of the Grene, as Ramsay had done "His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face, before him. His Address to the Tron Kirk Aye gat him friends in ilka place. Bell is an exquisite piece of humour, which His breast was white, his towsie back Burns has scarcely excelled. In appreciating reel clad wi' coat o' glossy black; the genimus of Fergusson, it ought to be his gancie tail, sri' upwplard carl, it ug ag o'er his hurdies wi' a siwirl." recollected, that his poems are the careless effusions of an irregular though amiahle Never were twa dogs so exquisitely deliyoung man, who wrote for the periodical neated. Their gambols before they sit down papers of the day, and who died in early to moralise are described with an equal deyouth. Had his life been prolonged under gree of happiness; and through the whole happier circumstances of fortune, he would dialogue, the character, as well as the difprobahly have risen to mulch higher reputa- ferent condition of the two speakers, is kept tion. He might have excelled in rural poetry; in view. The speech of Luath, in which he for though his professed pastorals, on the enumerates the comforts of the poor, gives established Sicilian model, are stale and the following account of their merriment on uniinteresting, The Farmer's Ingle (132), the first day of the year:which may be considered as a Scottish pas- "That merry day the year begins, toral, is the happiest of all his productions, They bar the door on frosty win's; and certainly was the prototype of the Cot- The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream, tear's Saturday Nidmore And sheds a heart-inspiring steam; ter's Satlrlay Night. Fergusson, and more The luntin pipe, and snleeshinniill, especially Burns, have shown that the cha- Are handed round wi' right guid will; racter and manners of the peasantry of The canty auld folks crackin crouse, Scotland of the present times, are as well The young anes rantin thro' the houseadapted to poetry as in the days of Ramsay, My heart has been sac fain to see them, or of the author of Christis Kirk of the That Iforjoy hae barkit wi' then." Grene. Of all the animals who have moralised on T'he humour of Burns is of a richer vein human affairs since the days of Esop, the than that of Ramsay or Fergusson, both of dog seems best entitled to this privilete, as whom, as he himself informs us, he had well from his superior sagacity as from his "frequently in his eye, but rather with a beinlg, more than any other, the fiielnd and view to kindle at their flame, than to'servile associate of man. The dogs of Burns, exirnitation." His descriptive powers, whether cepting in their talent for moralising, are the objects on which they are employed be downright dogs; and not like the horses of comic or serious, animate or inanimate, are Swift, or the Hind and Panther of Dryden, of the highest order. A superiority of men in the shape of brutes. It is this cirthis kind is essential to every species of cumstance that heightens the liumour of the poetical excellence. Ini one of his earlier dialogue. The "twa dogs" are constantly poems, his plan seems to be to inculcate kept before our eyes, and the contrast bea lesson of contentment onl the lower tween their form and character as dogs, and classes of society, by showinlg that their the sagacity of their conversation, heightens superiors are neither much better nor the humlour, and deepens the inmpression of happier than themselves; and this he the poet's satire. Though in this poem the chooses to execute in the form of a dialogue chief excellence may be considered as hubetween two dogs. He introduces this mour, yet great talents are displayed in its dialogue by an account of the persons and composition; the happiest powers of decharacters of the speakers. The first, whom scription, and the deepest insight into the he has named Caesar, is a dog of con- human heart. (133) It is seldom, however, dition:- that the humour of Burns appears in so "His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar, simple a form. The liveliness of his sensiShow'd him the gentleman and scholar." bility frequently impels him to introduce into subjects of humour emotions of tenHigh-bred though he is, he is, however, full derlness or of pity; and, where occasion of condescension:- admits, he is sometimes carried on to exert SCOTTISH LITERATURE. 79 the higher powers of imagination. In such the Address to the Deil, one of the happiest instances, he leaves the society of Ramsay of his productions. After reproaching this and of Fergusson, and associates himself terrible being with all his "doings" and with the masters of English poetry, whose misdeeds, in the course of which he passes language he frequently assumes. through a series of Scottish superstitions, Of the union of tenderness and humour, and rises at times into a high strain of examples may be found in The Death and poetry, he concludes this address, delivered Dying Words of poor Mailie, in The Auld in a tone of great familiarity, not altogether Farmer's New-Year's Morning Salutation unmixed with apprehension, in the following to his Mare Maggie, and in many of his words:other poems. The praise of whisky is a "But, fare-ye-well, auld Nickie-ben I favourite subject with Burns. To this he Oh wad you tak a thought and men'l dedicates his poem of Scotch Drink. After Ye aiblins might-I dinna kenmentioning its cheering influence in a va- I'm wa to ha a stakeI'm wae to think upon yon den riety of situations, he describes, with singular E'en for your sak! " liveliness and power of fancy, its stimulating effects on the blacksmith working at his Humour and tenderness are here so happily forge:- intermixed, that it is impossible to say which "Nae mercy, then, for aim and steel; preponderates. The brawnie, bainie, plougman chiel, Fergusson wrote a dialogue between the Brings hard owre-hip, wi' sturdy wheel, Causeway and the Plainstones (136) of The strong fore-hammer, Edinburgh. This probably suggested to Till block and studdie ring and reel Burns his dialogue between the Old and Wi' dinsome clamour." the New Bridge over the river Ayr. (137) On another occasion (134), choosing to The nature of such subjects requires that exalt whisky above wine, he introduces a they shall be treated humorously, and Fercomparison between the natives of msore gusson has attempted nothing beyond this. genial climes, to whom the vine furnishes Though the Causeway and the Plainstones their beverage, and his own countrymen who talk together, no attempt is made to perdrink the spirit of malt. The description of sonify the speakers. A "cadie" (138) heard the Scotsman is humorous:- the conversation, and reported it to the "But bring a Scotsman frae his hill, poet. Clap in his cheek a Highland vill (135), In the dialogues between the Brigs of Say such is royal George's will, Ayr, Burns himself is the auditor, and the And there's the foe, time and occasion on which it occurred is e has n a thoht but how to kill related with great circumstantiality. The poet, "pressed by care," or "inspired by Here the notion of danger rouses the whim," had left his bed in the town of Ayr, imagination of the poet. He goes on and wandered out alone in the darkness and thus:- solitude of a winter-night, to the mouth of "Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings teaze the river, where the stillness was interrupted him; only by the rushing sound of the influx of Death comes-wi' fearless eye he sees him, the tide. It was after midnight. The dullWi' bluidy hand a welcome gies him; geon-clock (139) had struck two, and the His latest d ht o' breathing a'es him sound had been repeated by Wallace Tower. His latest draught o' breathing lea'es him In faint huzzas." (140) All else was hushed. The moon Again, however, he sinks into humour, shone brightly, and and concludes the poem with the following "The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam,,most leufa'U le but most irreverent apos —b Crept gently crusting, o'er the glittering most laughable but most irreverent apostrephe:- st t"hScotland, my auld, respected mither! In this situation the listening bard hears the Th Scotlnd, my auld, respected mither' "clanging sugh" of wings moving through Till whare ye sit, on craps o' heather, the air, and speedily he perceives two beings Ye tine your daln: reared, the one on the Old, the other on the Freedom and whiskey gang thegither- New Bridge, whose form and attire he deTak aft your dram! " scribes, and whose conversation with each Of this union of humour with the higher other he rehearses. These genii enter into powers of imagination, instances may be a comparison of the respective edifices over found in the poem entitled Death and Dr. which they preside, and afterwards, as is Hornbook, and in almost every stanza of usual between the old and young, compare o0 LIFE OF BURNS. modern characters and manners with those pleases; and we have only to regret that the of past timles. They differ, as may be ex- poet did not bestow a little pains in making pected, and taunt and scold each other in the figures more correct, and in smoothing broad Scotch. This conversation, which is the versification. certainly humorous, may be considered as The epistles of Burns, in which may be the proper business of the poem. As the included his Dedication to G. H., Esq., disdebate runs high, and threatens serious con- cover, like his other writings, the powers of sequences, all at once it is interrupted by a a superior understanding. They display new scene of wonders: — deep illsight into human nature, a gay and "all before their sight happy strain of reflection, great independA fairy train appear'd in order bright; ence of sentiment and generosity of heart. Adown the glittering stream they featly It is to be regretted, that, in his Holy Fair, danc'd; [glanc'd; and in some of his other poems, his humour Bright to the moon their various dresses degenerates into personal satire, and that it They footed o'er the wat'ry glass so neat, The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet; is not sufficiently guarded in other respects. W~hile arts of Minstrelsy among them rung, The IHalloween of Burns is free from every And soul-enobling Bards heroic ditties sung." objection of this sort. It is interesting, not is~ *' * merely from its humorous description of "The Genius of the Stream in front appears- manners, but as it records the spells and A venerable chief, advanc'd in years; charms used on the celebration of a festival, His hoary head with water-lilies crown'd, Htis manly leg with garter-tangle bound." now even in Scotland, falling into neglect, but which was once observed over the greater Nesxt follow a number of other allegorical part of Britain and Ireland. (141) These beings, among whom are the four seasons, charms are supposed to afford an insight Rural Joy, Plenty, Hospitality, and Cou- into futurity, especially on the subject of rage. marriage, the most interesting event of rural " Benevolence, with mild benignant air, life. In the Halloween, a female, in perA female form, came from the tow'rs of Stair; forming one of the spells, has occasion to go Learnin and wealth in equal measuires trode, From snimple Catrine, their longr-lv'd abode; out by moonlight to dip her shift-sleeve into Last, white-rob'd Peace, crown'd with a hazel- a stream running towards the south. It was wreath, not necessary for Burns to give a description To rustic Agriculture did bequeath of this stream. But it was the character of The broken iron instruments of Death; his ardent mind to pour forth not merely At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their what the occasion required, but what is adkind'lin> wrath." mitted; and the temptation to describe so This poem, irregular and imperfect as it beautiful a natural object by moonlight, was is, displays various and powerful talents, and not to be resistedmay serve to illustrate the genius of Burns. In particular, it affords a striking instance of " Wlvles owre a linn the burlie plays, his being carried beyond his original purpose As through the glen it wimpl't; Whyles round a rocky scaur it strays; by the powers of imagination. Whyles in a wiel it dimpl't; In Fergusson's poem, the Plainstones and Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays, Causeway contrast the characters of the Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle; different persons who walked upon them. Whyles cookit undernleath the braes, Burns probably conceived, that by a dialogue Below the spreading hazel, Unseen that night." between the Old and New Bridge, he might form a humorous contrast between ancient Those who understand the Scottish diaand modern manners in the town of Ayr. lect will allow this to be one of the finest Such a dialogue could only be supposed to instances of description which the records of pass in the stillness of night; and this led poetry afford. (142) Thoughof a very differclnt our poet into a description of a midnight nature, it may be compa ed, in point of exscene, which excited in a high degree the celleice, with Thomson's description of a powers of his imagination. During the river swoollen by the rains of winter, burstwhole dialogue the scenery is present to his ing through the streights that confine its fancy, and at length it suggests to him a torrent, "boiling, wheeling, foaming, and fairy dance of aerial beings, under the beams thundering along." of the moon, by which the wrath of the In pastoral, or, to speak more correctly, Genii of the Brigs of Ayr is appeased. in rural poetry of a serious nature, Burins Incongruous as the different parts of this excelled equally as in that of a humorous poem are, it is not an incongruity that dis- kind; and, using less of the Scottish dialect SENSIBILITY OF BURNS. 81 in his scrious poems, he becomes more ge- which he was attached by sentiments of nerally intelligible. It is difficult to decide f affection, gratitude, or patriotism. The whether the Address to a Mouse, whose nest second duan, or canto, of this poem, in was turned up with the plough, should be which Coila describes her own nature and considered as serious or comic. Be this as occupations, particularly her superintenit may, the poem is one of the happiest and dence of his infant genius, and in which she most finished of his productions. If we reconciles him to the character of a bard, is smile at the "bickering brattle" of this little an elevated and solemn strain of poetry, flying animal, it is a smile of tenderness ranking in all respects, excepting the harand pity. The descriptive part is admirable; mony of numbers, with the higher producthe moral reflections beautiful, and arising tions of the English muse. The concluding directly out of the occasion; and in the con- stanza, compared with that already quoted, clusion there is a deep melancholy, a sen- will show to what a height Burns rises in timent of doubt and dread, that rises to this poem, from the point at which he set the sublime. The address to a Mountain out:Daisy, turned down with the plough, is a ".And wear thou this —she solemn said, poem of the same nature, though somewhat And bound the holly round my head; inferior in point of originality, as well as in The polished leaves, and berries red, the interest produced. To extract out of Did rustling play: incidents so common, and seemingly so tri- And, like a passing thought, she fled vial as these, so fine a train of sentiment In light away." and imagery, is the surest proof, as well as In various poems, Burns has exhibited the most brilliant triumph, of original ge- the picture of a nind under the deep imnius. The vision, in two cantos, from which pressions of real sorrow. The Lament, the a beautiful extract is taken by Mlr. Mackenzie, Id to Ruin, Despondency, and Winter, a Ode to Ruin, Despondency, and Winter, a in the 97th number of The Lounger, is a IDirge, are of this character. In the first of poem of great and various excellence. l'he i these poems, the 8th stanza, which describes. opening, in which the poet describes his own a sleepless night from anlgsish of mind, is, state of mind, retiring in the evening, wea- r striking Burns often indlged ried from the labours of the day, to moralise in those melancholy views of the nature and on his conduct and prospects, is truly condition of man, which are so congenial interesting. The chamber, if we may so to the temperament of sensibility. The term it, in which he sits down to muse, is poem entitled Man was Made to Mourn, an exquisite painting: affords an instance of this kind, and the "There, lanely, by the ingle cheek Winter Night is of the same description. I sat iand eyd thie spewving r seek, The last is highly characteristic, both of the That filled i' bstrooking smee temper of mind, and of the condition of The auld clay biggin; And heard the restless rattons squeak Burns. It begins with a description of a About the riggin." dreadful storm on a night in winter. The To reconcile to our imagination the en- poet represents himself as lying in bed, and trance of an aerial being into a mansion of this listening to its howling. In this situation kind, required the powers of Burns-he he naturally turns his thoughts to the owrie however succeeds. Coils enters, and her (143) cattle, and silly (144) sheep, exposed countevnance, attitude, and dress unlike to all the violence of the tempest. Having those of other spiritual beings, are distinctly lamented their fate, he proceeds in the fol pourtrayed. To the painting on her mantle, howing manner on which is depicted the most striking " Ilk happing bird-wee, helpless thing I scenery, as well as the most distinguished That, in the merry months o' spring, characters, of his native countrry, some ex- Delighted me to hear thee sing, ceptions may be made. The mantle of Coila, What comes o' thee? like the cup of Thyrsis, and the shield of Whare wilt thou cow'r thy chittering wing, Achilles, is too much crowded with figures, And close thy eel " and some of the objects represented upon Other reflections of the same nature it are scarcely admissible, according to the occur to his mind; and as the midnight principles of design. The generous tem- moon "muffled with clouds" casts her perament of Burns led him into these dreary light on his window, thoughts of a exuberances. In his second edition he en- darker and more melancholy nature crowd targed the number of figures originally upon him. In this state of mind, he hears introduced, that he might include objects to a voice pouring through the gloom a solemn G 82 LIFE OF BURNSS. and plaintive strain of reflection. The Antd dim our dolefu' days wi' bairnly fear; mourner compares the fury of the elements The mind's aye cradled when the grave is with that of man to his brother man, and near." finds the former light in the balance. In the meantime, the farmer, wearied with "See stern Oppression's iron grip, the fatigues of the day, stretches himself at Or mad Ambition's gory hand, length on the settle, a sort of rustic couch Sending, like bloodhounds from the slip, which extends on one side of the fire, and Woe, want, and murder, o'er the land." the cat and house-dog leap upon it to reHe pursues this train of reflection ceive his caresses. Here resting at his ease, through a variety of particulars, in the he gives his directions to his men-servants course of which he introduces the following for the succeeding day. The housewife animated apostrophe:- follows his example, and gives her orders to "Oh, ye! who, sunk in beds of down, the maidens. By degrees the oil in the Feel not a want but what yourselves create, cruise begins to fail, the fire runs low, sleep Think, for a moment, on his wretched fate, steals on this rustic group, and they move Whom friends and fortune quite disown! off to enjoy their peaceful slumbers. The I11-satisfied keen nature's clam'rous call,t potccuei his blessings Stretch'd on his straw he lays him down toludes by bestong blessings sleep, on the " husbandman and all his tribe." While thro' the ragged roof and chinky wall, This is an original and truly interesting Chillo'erhisslumbers piles the drifty heap." pastoral. It possesses every thing required The strain of sentiment which runs in this species of composition. We might through this poem is noble, though the exe- have perhaps said every thing that it admits, cution is unequal, and the versification is had not Burns written his Cotter's Saturday defective. Night. Among the serious poems of Burns; The'The cottager returning from his labours, Cotter's Saturday Night is perhaps entitled has so servants to accompany him, to to the first rank. The Farmer's Ingle of partake of his fare, or to receive his instrucFergusson evidently suggested the plan of tions. The circle which he joins, is comthis poem, as has been already mentilned; posed of his wife and children only; and if but after the plan was formed, Burns trusted it admits of less variety, it affords an opporentirely to his own powers for the execution. tunity for representing scenes that more Fergusson's poem is certainly very beautiful. strongly interest the affections. The It has all the charms which depend on rural younler children rlnnilg to meet him, and characters and manners happily pourtrayed, clamlering round his knee-the elder, reand exhibited under circumstances highly labours with the grateful to the imagination. The Farmer's neigibourisg farmers, dutifully depositing Ingle begins with describing the return of their little gains with their parents, and reevening.'The toils of the day are over, and ceiving their father's blessing and instructhe farmer retires to his comfortable fireside. tions-the incidents of the courtship of The reception which he and his men-servants Jenny, their eldest daughter, "woman receive from the careful housewife, is pleas- grown"-are circumstances of the most iningly described. After their supper is over, teresting kiad, which are most happily de. they begin to talk on the rural events of the lineated; and after their frugal supper, the day. representation of these humble cottagers forming a wider circle round their hearth,'Boutkirk and market eke their tales'gaeon, t How Joek woo'd Jensg here to be his bride; and uniting in the worship of God, is a And there;how MIrison for a bastard son, picture the most deeply affecting of any Upo' the cutty-stool was forced to ride, which the rural muse has ever presented to The waefu' scauld o' our CMess John to bide." the view. Burns was admirably adapted to The "guidame" is next introduced as this delineation. Like all men of genius, forming a circle round the fire, in the midst he was of the temperament of devotion, of her grandchildren, and while she spins and the powers of memory co-operated in from the rock, and the spindle plays on her this instance with the sensibility of his "russet lap," she is relating to the young heart, and the fervour of hs imagi ones talesof witches and ghosts. Thepoet I tion. (145) The Cotter's Saturday Night is exclaims, tender and moral, it is solemn and devo", Oh, mock na this, my friends! but rather tional, and rises at length into a strain of mourn, gradeur and sublimity, which modern Ye in life's brawest spring wi' reason clear, poetry has not surpassed. The noble sentiWi' eild our idle fancies a' return, ments of patriotism with which it con BURNS'S ORIGINALITY. 83 eludes, correspond with the rest of the tenderness and affection, which do not poem. In no age or country have the entirely absorb the lover, but permit him to pastoral muses breathed such elevated associate his emotions with the charms of accents, if the Messiah of Pope be excepted, external nature, and breathe the accents of which is indeed a pastoral in form only. It purity and innocence, as well as of love. In is to be regretted that Burns did not employ these respects, the love-songs of Scotland his genius on other subjects of the same are honorably distinguished from the most nature, which the manners and customs of admired classical compositions of the same the Scottish peasantry would have amply kind; and by such associations, a variety, as supplied. Such poetry is not to be esti- well as liveliness, is given to the representamated by the degree of pleasure which it tion of this passion, which are not to be bestows; it sinks deeply into the heart, and found in the poetry of Greece or Rome, or is calculated, far beyond any other human perhaps of any other nation. Many of the means, for giving permanence to the scenes love-songs of Scotland describe scenes of and characters it so exquisitely describes. rural courtship; many may be cdnsidered Before we conclude, it will be proper to as invocations from lovers to their misoffer a few observations on the lyric produc- tresses. On such occasions a degree of in. tions of Burns. His compositions of this terest and reality is given to the sentiments, kind are chiefly songs, generally in the by the spot destined to these happy inter. Scottish dialect, and always after the model views being particularized. The lovers of the Scottish songs, on the general cha- perhaps meet at the Bush aboon Traquair, racter and moral influence of which some or on the banks of Ettrick; the nymphs observations have already been offered. We are invoked to wander among the wilds of may hazard a few more particular remarks. Roslin, or the woods of Invermay. Nor is Of the historic or heroic ballads of Scot- the spot merely pointed out; the scenery is land, it is unnecessary to speak. Burns has often described as well as the characters, so nowhere imitated them, a circumstance to be as to present a complete picture to the regretted, since il this species of composi- fancy. (147) Thus the mnaxim of Horace ut tion, from its admitting the more terrible as pictLra poesis, is faithfully observed by these well as the softer graces of poetry, he was rustic bards, who are guided by the same? eminently qualified to have excelled The impulse of nature and sensibility which inScottish songs which served as a model to fluenced the father of epic poetry, on whose Burns, are, almost without exception, pas- example the precept of the Roman poet was toral, or rather rural. Such of them as are perhaps founded. By this means the imagi. comic, frequently treat of a rustic courtship nation is employed to interest the feelings. or a country wedding; or they describe the When we do not conceive distinctly, we do differences of opinion which arise in mar- not symnpathise deeply in any human affect ried life. Burns has imitated this species, tion; and we conceive nothillg in the ab, and surpassed his models. The song, be- stract. Abstraction, so useful in morals, ginning, "Husband, husband, cease your and so essential in science, must be abani strife," may be cited in support of this ohb- doned when the heart is to be subdued by servation. (146) His other comic songs the powers of poetry or of eloquence. The are of equal merit. In the rural songs of bards of a ruder condition of society paint Scotland, whether humorous or tender, the individual objects; and hence, among other sentiments are given to particular characters, causes, the easy access they obtain to the and very generally, the incidents are re- heart. Generalization is the vice of poets ferred to particular scenery. This last whose learning overpowers their genius; of circumstance may be considered as the dis- poets of a refined and scientific age. tinguishing feature of the Scottish songs, The dramatic style which prevails so and on it a considerable part of their attrac- much in the Scottish songs, while it con. tion depends. On all occasions the senti- tributes greatly to the interest they excite, ments, of whatever nature, are delivered in also shows that they have originated among the character of the person principally in- Ia people in the earlier stages of society. terested. If love be described, it is not as Where this form of composition appears in it is observed, but as it is felt; and the songs of a modern date, it indicates that passion is delineated under a particular they have been written after the ancient aspect. Neither is it the fiercer impulses of model. (148) desire that are expressed, as in the celebrated The Scottish songs are of very unequal ode of Sappho, the model of so many poetical merit, and this inequality often modern songs. but those gentler emotions of extends to the different parts of the same 84 LIFE OF BURNS. song. Those that are humorous, or cha- of others, he has not, like some poets of racteristic of manners, have in general the great name, admitted into his descriptions merit of copying nature; those that are exotic imagery.'The landscapes he has serious, are tender, and often sweetly painted, and the objects with which they are interesting, but seldom exhibit high powers embellished, are, in every single instance, of imagination, which indeed do not easily such as are to be found in his own country. find a place in this species of composition. In a mountainous region, especially when it The alliance of the words of the Scottish is comparatively rude and naked, the most songs with the music, has in some instance beautiful scenery will always be found in the given to the former a popularity, which vallies, and on the banks of the wooded otherwise they would not have obtained. streams. Such scenery is peculiarly interThe association of the words and the esting at the close of a summer-day. As we music of these songs, with the more beau- advance northwards, the number of the days tiful parts of the scenery of Scotland, of summer, indeed diminishes; but from contributes to the same effect. It has given this cause, as well as from the mildness of them not merely popularity, but perma- the temperature, the attraction of the nence; it has imparted to the works of man season increases, and the summer night some portion of the durability of the works becomes still more beautiful. The greater of nature. If, from our imperfect ex- obliquity of the sun's path on the ecliptic, perience of the past, we may judge with prolongs the grateful season of twilight to any confidence respecting the future, songs the midnight hours; and the shades of the of this description are of all others least evening seem to mingle with the morning's likely to die. In the changes of language dawn. The rural poets of Scotland, as may they may no doubt suffer change; but the be expected, associate in their songs the associated strain of sentiment and of music expressions of passion with the most will perhaps survive, while the clear stream beautiful of their scenery, in the fairest sweeps down the vale of Yarrow, or the season of the year, and generally in those yellow broom waves on Cowden-Knowes. hours of the evening when the beauties of The first attempts of Burns in song- nature are most interesting. (149.) writing were not very successful. His To all these adventitious circumstances, habitual inattention to the exactness of on which so much of the effect of poetry rhymes, and to the harmony of numbers, depends, great attention is paid by Burns. arising probably from the models on which There is scarcely a single song of his, in his versification was formed, were faults which particular scenery is not described, or likely to appear to more disadvantage in allusions made to natural objects, remarkable this species of composition than in any for beauty or interest; and though his other; and we may also remark, that the descriptions are not so full as are sometimes strength of his imagination, and the met with in the older Scottish songs. they exuberance of his sensibility, were with are in the highest degree appropriate and difficulty restrained within the limits of interesting. Instances in proof of this gentleness, delicacy, and tenderness, which might be quoted from the Lea Rig, Highseemed to be assigned to the love-songs of land Mary, the Soldier's Return, Logan his nation. Burns was better adapted by Water; from that beautiful pastoral, nature for following, in such compositions, Bonnie Jean, and a great number of others. the model of the Grecian than of the Occasionally the force of his genius carries Scottish muse. By study and practice, he him beyond the usual boundaries of Scottish however surmounted all these obstacles. song, and the natural objects introduced In his earlier songs, there is some rugged- have more of the character of sublimity. An ness, but this gradually disappears in his instance of this kind is noticed by Mr. successive efforts; and some of his later Syme, and many others might be adduced: compositions of this kind may be compared, Had I a cave on some wild distant shore, in polished delicacy, with the finest songs i here the inds howl to the wave's dashing our language, while in the eloquence of roar; sensibility they surpass them all. There would I weep my woes, The songs of Burns, like the models he There seek my lost repose, followed and excelled, are often dramatic, Till grief my eyes should close, and for the greater part amatory; and the Ne'er to wake more." beauties of rural nature are everywhere In one song, the scene of which is laid in associated with the passions and emotions a winter night, the "wan moon" is desof the mind. Disdaining to copy the works cribed as " setting behind the white waves;" REMARKS ON THE DIALECT. 85 in another, the "storms" are apostrophised, fancy; and to cherish those sensibilities and commanded to "rest in the cave of which, under due restriction, form the purest their slumbers." On several occasions, the happiness of our nature. If in his unguarded genius of Burns lost sight entirely of his moments he composed some songs on which archetypes, and rises into a strain of uniform this praise cannot be bestowed, let us hope sublimity. Instances of this kind appear in that they will speedily be forgotten. In Libertie, a Vision; and in his two war- several instances where Scottish airs were songs, Bruce to his Troops, and the Sonl of allied to words objectionable in point of Death. These last are of a description of delicacy, Burns has substituted others of a which we have no other in our language. purer character. On such occasions, without The martial songs of our nation are not changing the subject, he has changed the military, but naval. If we were to seek a sentiments. A proof of this may be seen in comparison of these songs of Burns with the air of John Anderson my Joe, which is others of a similar nature, we must have now united to words that breathe a strain of recourse to the poetry of ancient Greece, or conjugal tenderness, that is as highly moral of modern Gaul. as it is exquisitely affecting, Burns has made an important addition to Few circumstances could afford a more the songs of Scotland. In his compositions, striking proof of the strength of Burns's the poetry equals and sometimes surpasses genius, than the general circulation of his the music. He has enlarged the poetical poems in England, notwithstanding the scenery of his country, MAany of her rivers dialect in which the greater part are written, and mountains, formerly unknown to the and which might be supposed to render them muse, are now consecrated by his immortal here uncouth or obscure. In some instances verse. The Doon, the Lugar, the Ayr, the he has used this dialect on subjects of a Nith, and the Cluden, will in future, like sublime nature; but in general he confines the Yarrow, the Tweed, and the Tay, be it to sentiments or description of a tender considered as classical streams, and their or humorous kind; and, where he rises into borders will be trodden with new and elevation of thought, he assumes a purer superior emotions. English style. The singular faculty he posThe greater part of the songs of Burns sessed of mingling in the same poem humowere written after he removed into the rous sentiments and descriptions with imagery county of Dumfries. Influenced, perhaps, of a sublime and terrific nature, enabled him by habits formed in early life, he usually to use this variety of dialect on some occacomposed while walking in the open air. sions with striking effect. His poem of Tam When engaged in writing these songs, his o' Shanter affords an instance of this. There favourite walks were on the banks of the he passes from a sceine of the lowest humour Nith, or of the Cluden, particularly near the to situations of the most awful and terrible ruins of Lincluden Abbey; and this beauti- kind. He is a musician that runs from the ful scenery he has very happily described lowest to the highest of his keys; and the under various aspects, as it appears during use of the Scottish dialect enables him to the softness and serenity of evening, and add two additional notes to the bottom of during the stillness and solemnity of the his scale. moonlight night. Great efforts have been made by the inThere is no species of poetry, the produc- habitants of Scotland, of the superior ranks, tions of the drama not excepted, so much to approximate in their speech to the pure calculated to influence the morals, as well as English standard. Yet an Englishman who the happiness of a people, as those popular understands the meanling of the Scottish verses which are associated with national words,is not offended, nay, on certain subjects, airs: and which being learnt in the years of he is, perhaps, pleased with the rustic dialect. infancy, make a deep impression on the But a Scotchlman inhabiting his own heart before the evolution of the powers of country, if a man of education, and more the understanding. The compositions of especially if a literary character, has banished Burns of this kind, now presented in a col- such words from his writings, and has atlected form to the world, make a most im- tempted to banish them from his speech. portant addition to the popular songs of his A dislike of this kind is, however, acnation. Like all his other writings, they cidental, not natural. It is of the species exhibit independence of sentiment; they are of disgust which we feel at seeing a female peculiarly calculated to increase those ties of high birth in the dress of a rustic; which bilnd generous hearts to their native which, if she be really young and beautiful, soil, and to the domestic circle of their in- a little habit will enable us to overcome. A 86 LIFE OF BURNS. lady who assumes such a dress puts her in many a polite and learned author; let beauty, indeed, to a severer trial. She re- them not seek for gratification in the rough jects-she, indeed, opposes the influence of and vigorous lines, in the unbridled humour, fashion; she, possibly, abandons the grace or in the overpowering sensibility of this of elegant and flowing drapery; but her bard of nature. native charms remain, the more striking, To determine the comparative merit of perhaps, because the less adorned, and to Burns would be no easy task. Many perthese she trusts for fixing her empire on sons, afterwards distinguished in literature, those affections over which fashion has no have been born in as humble a situation of sway. If she succeeds, a new association life; but it would be difficult to find any arises. The dress of the beautiful rustic be- other, who, while earning his subsistence by comes itself beautiful, and establishes a daily labour, has written verses which have new fashion for the young and the gay. attracted and retained universal attention, And when, in after ages, the contemplative and which are likely to give the author a observer shall view her picture in the gallery permanent and distinguished place among that contains the portraits of the beauties of the followers of the muses. If he is deficient successive centuries, each in the dress of her ill grace, he is distinguished for ease as well respective day, her drapery will not deviate, as energy; and these are indications of the more than that of her rivals, from the higher order of genius. The father of epic standard of his taste, and he will give the poetry exhibits one of his heroes as excelling palm to her who excels in the lineaments of in strength, another in swiftness-to form nature. his perfect warrior, these attributes are comBurns wrote professedly for the peasantry bined. Every species of intellectual supeof his country, and by them their native riority admits, perhaps, of a similar arrangedialect is universally relished. To a nume- ment. One writer excels in force-another rous class of the natives of Scotland of another in ease; lie is superior to them both, in description, it may also be considered as whom both these qualities are united. Of attractive in a different point of view. Homer himself it may be said, that, like his Estranged from their native soil, and spread own Achilles, he surpasses his competitors over foreign lands, the idiom of their country in mobility as well as strength. unites with the sentiments and the descrip-'the force of Burns lay in the powers of tions on which it is employed, to recal to his understanding and in the sensibility of their minds the interesting scenes of infancy his heart; and these will be found to infuse and youth-to awaken many pleasing, many the living principle into all the works of tender recollections. Literary men, residing genius which seem destined to immortality. at Edinburgh or Aberdeen, cannot judge on His sensibility had anl uncommon range. this point for one hundred and fifty thousand He was alive to every species of emotion. of their expatriated countrymen. (150) He is one of the few poets that can be menTo the use of the Scottish dialect in one I tioned, who have at once excelled in hunmour, species of poetry, the composition of songs, in tenderness, and in sublimity; a praise the taste of the public has been for some unknown to the aincients, and which in time reconciled. The dialect in question modern times is only due to Ariosto, to excels, as has already been observed, in the I Shakspeare, and perhaps to Voltaire. To copiousness and exactness of its terms for i compare the writings of the Scottish peasants natural objects; and in pastoral or rural with the works of these giants in literature, songs, it gives a Doric simplicity which is ilight appear presumptuous; yet it may be very generally approved. Neither does the asserted that lie has displayed the foot of regret seem well founded which some persons Hercules. How near he miight have apof taste have expressed, that Burns used this proached them by proper culture, with dialect in so many other of his compositions. lengthened years, and under happier auspices, His declared purpose was to paint the man- it is not for us to calculate. But while we ners of rustic life among his "humble com- run over the melancholy story of his life, it peers," and it is not easy to conceive, that is impossible not to heave a sigh at the this could have been done with equal humour asperity of his fortune; and as we survey and effect, if he had not adopted their idiom. the records of his mind, it is easy to see, There are some, indeed, who will think the that out of such materials have been reared subject too low for poetry. Persons of this the fairest and the most durable of the sickly taste will find their delicacies consulted monuments of genius. LETTER FROM GILBERT BURNS TO DR. CURRIE. 87 fXtralts frlujpJt lr* coal to the family fire (and I could yet point out the particular spot), that the author first repeated to me the Address to the PROM GILBERT BURNS TO DR. CURRIE, Deil. The curious idea of such an address IRESPECTING' THE COMPOSITION OF HIS was suggested to him by running over in BROTHER'S POEMS. his mind the many ludicrous accounts and "M lossgiel, 2nd April, 1798. representations we have from various quar"I CANNOT pretend to be very accurate in ters of this august personage. Death and respect to the dates of the poems, but none Doctor Hornbook, though not published in of them, excepting Winter, a Dirge (which the Kilmarnock edition, was produced early was a juvenile production), The Death and in the year 1785. The schoolmaster of Dying Words of poor Mailie, and some of Tarbolton parish, to eke out the scanty subthe songs, were composed before the year sistence allowed to that useful class of men, 1784. The circumstances of the poor sheep had set up a shop of grocery goods. Having were pretty much as he has described them. accidentally fallen in with some medical "Among the earliest of his poems was books, and become most hobby-horsically the Epistle to Davie. Robert often com- attached to the study of medicine, he had posed without any regular plan. When added the sale of a few medicines to his anything made a strong impression on his little trade. He had got a shop-bill printed, mind, so as to rouse it to poetic exertion, he at the bottom of which, overlooking his own would give way to the impulse, and embody incapacity, he had advertised that' Advice the thought in rhyme. If he hit on two or would be given in common disorders at the three stanzas to please him, he would then shop gratis.' Robert was at a mason meetthink of proper introductory, connecting; ing in Tarbolton, when the dominie unforand concluding stanzas; hence the middle of tunately made too ostentatious a display of a poem was often first produced. It was, I his medical skill. As he parted in the think, in summer 1784, when, in the interval evening from this mixture of pedantry and of harder labour, he and I were weeding in physic, at the place where he describes his the garden (kail-yard), that he repeated to meeting with Death, one of those floating me the principal part of this epistle. I ideas of apparitions he mentions in his believe the first idea of Robert's becoming letter to Dr. Moore, crossed his mind; this an author was started on this occasion. I set him to work for the rest of the wav was much pleased with the epistle, and said hoine. These circumstances he related when to him I was of opinion it would bear being he repeated the verses to me next afternoon, printed, and that it would be well received as I was holding the plough, and he was by people of taste; that I thought it at letting the water off the field beside me. least equal, if not superior, to many of The Epistle to John Lapraik was produced Allan Ramsay's epistles; and that the merit exactly on the occasion described by the of these, and much other Scotch poetry, author. He says in that poem,'On Fasten seemed to consist principally in the knack e'en we had a rockin.' I believe he has of the expression, but here there was a train omitted the word rocking in the glossary. of interesting sentiment, and the Scotticism It is a term derived from those primitive of the language scarcely seemed affected, times, when the countrywomen employed but appeared to be the natural language of their spare hours in spinning on the rock, or the poet: that, besides, there was certainly distaff. The simple implement is a very some novelty in a poet pointing out the portable one, and well fitted to the social consolations that were in store for him when inclination of meeting in a neighbour's he should go a-begging. Robert seemed house; hence the phrase of going a-rocking, very well pleased with my criticism, and we or with the rock. As the connection the talked of sending it to some magazine; but phrase had with the implement was forgotas this plan afforded no opportunity of ten, when the rock gave place to the spinknowing how it would take, the idea was ning-wheel, the phrase came to be used by dropped. both sexes on social occasions, and men talk "It was, I think, in the winter following, of going with their rocks as well as women. as we were going together with carts for "It was at one of these rockings at our 88 LIFE OF BURNS. house, when we had twelve or fifteen young had a dog, which he called Luath, that was people with their rocks, that Lapraik's song, a great favourite. The dog had been killed beginning —' When I upon thy bosom lean,' by the wanton cruelty of some person the was sung, and we were informed who was night before my father's death. Robert said the author. Upon this, Robert wrote his to me, that he should like to confer such first epistle to Laipraik, and his second in immortality as he could bestow upon his old reply to his answer. The verses to the friend Luath, and that he had a great mind Mouse and Mountain Daisy were composed to introduce something into the book, under on the occasions mentioned, and while the the title of Stanzas to the Memory of a author was holding the plough; I could Quadruped Friend; but this plan was given point out the particular spot where each was up for the tale as it now stands. Ciesar was composed. Holding the plough was a merely the creature of the poet's irnaginafavourite situation with Robert for poetic tion, created for the purpose of holding chat composition, and some of his best verses with his favourite Luath. The first time were produced while he was at that exercise. Robert heard the spinnet played upon, was Several of the poems were produced for the at the house of Dr. Lawrie, then minister of purpose of bringing forward some favourite the parish of Loudon, now in Glasgow, sentiment of the author. Robert had fre- having given up the parish in favour of his quently remarked to me that he thought son. Dr. Lawrie has several daughters; there was something peculiarly venerable in one of them played; the father and mother the phrase,' Let us worship God,' used by a led down the dance; the rest of the sisters, decent, sober head of a family, introducing the brother, the poet, and the other guests, family worship. To this sentiment of the mixed in it. It was a delightfuil family author the world is indebted for the Cotter's scene for our poet, then lately introduced to Saturday Night. When my brother had the world. His mind was roused to a poetic some pleasure in view, in which I was enthusiasm, and the stanzas [which he thought fit to participate, we used frequently wrote on the occasion] were left in the room to walk together, when the weather was where he slept. It was to Dr. Lawrie that favourable, on the Sunday afternoons (those Dr. Blacklock's letter was addressed, which precious breathing times to the labourins part my brother, in his letter to Dr. Moore, of the community), and enjoyed such Sundays mentions as the reason of his going to as would make one regret to see their number Edinburgh. * * *" abridged. It was in one of these walks that I first had the pleasure of hearing the LETTER OF GILBERT BURNS. author repeat the Cotter's Saturday Night. I do not recollect to have read or heard any- (First inserted in the S'colrl Edition.) thing by which I was more highly electrified. The editor [Dr. Currie] has particular The fifth and sixth stanzas, and the eight- pleasure in presenting to the public the eenth, thrilled with peculiar ecstacy through following letter, to the due understanding of my soul. I mention this to you, that you which a few previous observations are may see what hit the taste of unlettered necessary. criticism. I should be glad to know, if the The biographer of Burns was naturally enlightened mind and refined taste of Mr. desirous of hearing the opinion of the fiiend Roscoe, who has borne such honourable and brother of the poet, on the manner in testimony to this poem, agrees with me in which he had executed his task, before a the selection. Fergusson, in his Hallow second edition should be committed to the Fair of Edinburgh, I believe, likewise filr- press. He had the satisfaction of receiving nished a hint of the title and plan of the this opinion, in a letter dated the 24th of Holy Fair. The farcical scene the poet August, approving of the Life in very there describes was often a favourite field of obliging terms, and offering one or two his observation, and the most of the incidents trivial corrections as to names and dates he mentions had actually passed before his chiefly, which are made in this edition. One eyes. It is scarcely necessary to mention, or two observations were offered of a differ. that The Lament was composed on that ent kind. In the 319th page [correspondunfortunate passage in his matrimonial his- ing to the 66th page of tile present reprint tory which I have mentioned in my letter to of Dr. Currie's memoir], a quotation is made Mrs. Dunlop, after the first distraction of from the pastoral song, Ettrick Banks, and his feelings had a little subsided. The Twa an explanation given of the phrase "mony Dogs was composed after the resolution of feck," which occurs in this quotation. Suppublishing was nearly taken. Robert had, posing the sense to be complete after ADDENDA. 89 "mony," the editor had considered "feck" a by foreign intercourse,' whose soul-proud rustic oath which confirmed the assertion. science never taught to stray,' ever disThe words were, therefore, separated by a covered barbarism in the song of Ettrick comma. Mr. Burns considered this an Banks. error. "Feck," he presumes, is the Scot- "The story you have heard of the gable tish word for quantity, and "mony feck" of my father's house falling down, is simply to mean simply, very many. The editor, in as follows (151):-When my father built his yielding to this authority, expressed some'clay biggin,' he put in two stone-jambs, as hesitation, and hinted that the phrase they are called, and a lintel, carrying up a "mony feck" was, in Mr. Burns's sense, chimney in his clay-gable. The consequence a pleonasm, or barbarism, which deformed was, that as the gable subsided, the jambs, this beautiful song. His reply to this obser- remaining firm, threw it off its centre; and vation makes the first clause of the following one very stormy morning, when my brother letter. was nine or ten days old, a little before dayIn the same communication he informed light, a part of the gable fell out, and the me, that the Mirror and the Lounger were rest appeared so shattered, that my mother, proposed by him to the Conversation Club with the young poet, had to be carried of Mauchline, and that he had thoughts of through the storm to a neighbour's house, giving me his sentiments on the remarks I where they remained a week till their own had made respecting the fitness of such dwelling was adjusted. That you may not works for such societies. The observations think too meanly of this house, or of my of such a man on such a subject, the editor father's taste in building, by supposing the conceived, would be received with particular poet's description in the Vision (which is interest by the public, and, having pressed entirely a fancy picture) applicable to it, earnestly for them, they will be found in the allow me to take notice to you, that the following letter. Of the value of this com- house consisted of a kitchen in one end, and munication, delicacy towards his very re- a room in the other, with a fire-place and spectable correspondent prevents him from chimney; that my father had constructed a expressing his opinion. The original letter concealed bed iln the kitchen, with a small is in the hands of MIessrs. Cadell and closet at the end, of the same materials with Davies. the house; and when altogether cast over, Dinning, Dumfrie ire, 2th Oct., 1800. outside and in, with lime, it had a neat, comfortable appearance, such as no family of "DEAR SIR.-Yours of the 17th instant the same rank, in the present improved style came to my hand yesterday, and I sit down of living, would think themselves ill-lodged this afternoon to write you in return; but in. I wish likewise to take notice in passing, when I shall be able to finish all I wish to that although the' Cotter' in the Saturday say to you, I cannot tell. I am sorry your Night, is as exact copy of my father in his conviction is not complete respectingfeck. manners, his family-devotion, and exhortaThere is no doubt, that if you take two tions, yet the other parts of the descripEnglish words which appear synonymous to tion do not apply to our family. None of nmony feck, and judge by the rules of English us were ever' at service ot service out amran the neiconstruction, it will appear a barbarism. I i bors roun'.' Instead of our depositing our believe, if you take this mode of translating' sair-won penny fee' with our parents, my from any language, the effect will frequentiy father laboured hard, and lived with the be the same. But if you take the expression most rigid economy, that he might be able mony feck to have, as I have stated it, the i to keep his children at home, thereby having same meaning with the English expression | an opportunity of watching the progress of very many (and such licence every translator our young minds, and forming in them must be allowed, especially when he trans- iearly habits of piety and virtue; and from lates from a simple dialect which has never this motive alone did he engage in farmingbeen subjected to rule, and where the precise the source of all his difficulties and dis. meaning of words is, of consequence, not tresses. minutely attended to), it will be well enough. "When I threatened you in my last with One thinll, I am certain of, that ours is the a long letter on the subject of the books I sense universally understood in this country; recommended to the Mauchline Club, and and I believe no Scotsman who has lived the effects of refinement of taste on the contented at home, pleased with the simple labouring classes of men, I meant merely manners, the simple melodies, and the sim- to write you on that subject, with the view pie dialect of his native country, unvitiated that, in some future communication to the 90 LIFE OF BURNS. public, you might take up the subject more valuable riches may be as the means of cornat large; that by means of your happy fort, independence, and the pleasure of doing manner of writing, the attention of people good to others, yet I am of opinion that they of power and influence might be fixed on it. may be, and frequently are, purchased at too I had little expectation, however, that I great a cost, and that sacrifices are made in should overcome my indolence, and the diffi- the pursuit, which the acquisition cannot culty of arranging my thoughts so far as to compensate. I remember hearing my worthy put my threat in execution; till some time teacher, Mr. lMurdoch, relate an anecdote to ago, before I had finished my harvest, my father, which I think sets this matter in having a call from Mr. Ewart (152), with a a strong light, and perhaps was the origin, message from you, pressing me to the per- or at least tended to promote this way of formance of this task, I thought myself no thinking iu me. When Mr. Murdoch left longer at liberty to decline it, and resolved Alloway, he went to teach and reside in the to set about it with my first leisure. I will fallily of an opulent farmer who had a numnow, therefore, endeavour to lay before you her of sons. A neighbour coming on a what has occurred to my mind, on a subject visit, in the course of conversation, asked where people capable of observation, and of the father how he meant to dispose of his placing their remarks in a proper point of sons. The father replied that he had not view, have seldom an opportunity of making determined. The visitor said that, were he their remarks on real life. In doing this, I in his place, he would give them all good may perhaps be led sometimes to write more education and send them abroad, without, in the manner of a person communicating perhaps, having a precise idea where. The information to you which you did not know father objected, that many young men lost before, and at other times more in the style their health in foreign countries, and many of egotism, thanl I would choose to do to their lives. True, replied the visitor, but as any person, in whose candour, and even per- you have a number of sons, it will be strange sonal good will, I had less confidence. if some one of them does not live and make "There are two several lines of study that a fortune. open to every man as he enters life: the one, " Let any person who has the feelings of the general science of life, of duty, and of a father, comment on this story; but though happiness; the other, the particular arts of few will avow, even to themselves, that such his employment or situation in society, and views govern their conduct, yet do we not the several branches of knowledge therewith I daily see people shipping off their sons (and connected. This last is certainly indispen- who would do so by their daughters also, if sable, as nothing can be more disgraceful there were any demand for them), that they than ignorance in the way of one's own pro- may be rich or perish? fession; and whatever a man's speculative "The education of the lower classes is knowledge may be, if he is ill-informed there, seldom considered in any other point of lie can neither be a useful nor a respectable view than as the means of raising them from member of society. It is, nevertheless, true, that station to which they were born, and of that'the proper study of mankind is man;' making a fortune. I am ignorant of the to consider what duties are incumbent on mysteries of the art of acquiring a fortune him as a rational creature, and a member of without any thing to begin with, and cannot society; how he may increase or secure his calculate, with any degree of exactness, the happiness; and how he may prevent or soften difficulties to he surmounted, the mortificathe many miseries incident to human life. tions to be suffered, and the degradation of I think the pursuit of happiness is too fre- character to be submitted to, in lending quently confined to the endeavour after the one's self to be the minister of other people's acquisition of wealth. I do not wish to be vices, or in the practice of rapine, fraud, opconsidered as an idle declaimer against riches, pression, or dissimulation, in the progress; which, after all that can be said against them, but even when the wished-for end is attained, will still be considered by men of common it may be questioned whether happiness be sense as objects of importance, and poverty much increased by the change. When I have will be felt as a sore evil, after all the fine seen a fortunate adventurer of the lower things that can be said of its advantages; ranks of life returned from the East or West on the contrary, I am of opinion, that a Indies, with all the hauteur of a vulgar great proportion of the miseries of life arise mind accustomed to be served by slaves, asfrom the want of economy, and a prudent suming a character, which, from early habits attention to money, or the ill-directed or of life, he is ill fitted to support-displaying intemperate pursuit of it. But however magnificence which raises the envy of some, ADDENDA. 91 and the contempt of others-claiming an it to be the perception and relish of beauty, equality with the great, which they are un- order, or any other thing, the contemplation willing to allow-inly pining at the prece- of which gives pleasure and delight to the dence of the hereditary gentry-maddened mind. I suppose it is in this sense you wish by the polished insolence of some of the it to be understood. If I am right, the unworthy part of them-seeking pleasure in taste which these books are calculated to the society of men who can condescend to cultivate (besides the taste for fine writing, flatter him, and listen to his absurdity for which many of the papers tend to improve the sake of a good dinner and good wine- and to gratify), is what is proper, consistent, I cannot avoid concluding, that his brother, and becoming in human character and conor companion, who, by a diligent application duct, as almost every paper relates to these to the labours of agriculture, or some useful subjects. mechanic employment, and the careful hus- "I am sorry I have not these books by banding of his gains, has acquired a com- me, that I might point out some instances. petence in his station, is a much happier, I remember two; one, the beautiful story of and, in the eye of a person who can take an La Roche, where, besides the pleasure one enlarged view of mankind, a much more derives from a beautiful simple story, told in respectable man. | i'Kenzie's happiest manner, the mind is led " But the votaries of wealth may be con- to taste, with heartfelt rapture, the consolasidered as a great number of candidates tion to be derived in deep affliction, from striving for a few prizes: and whatever ad- habitual devotion and trust in Almighty dition the successful may make to their plea- God. The other, the story of General sure orhappiness,the disappointedwll always W-, where the reader is led to have a have more to suffer, I am afraid, than those high relish for that firmness of mind which who abide contented in the station to which disregards appearances, the common forms they were born. I wish, therefore, the edu- and vanities of life, for the sake of doing cation of the lower classes to be promoted justice in a case which was out of the reach and directed to their improvement as men, of human laws. as the means of increasing their virtue, and "Allow me then to remark, that if the opening to them new and dignified sources morality of these books is subordinate to of pleasure and happiness. I have heard the cultivation of taste; that taste, that resome people object to the education of the filement of mind and delicacy of sentiment lower classes of men, as rendering them less which they are intended to give, are the useful, by abstracting them from their pro- strongest guard and surest foundation of per business; others, as tenlding to make morality and virtue. Other moralists guard, them saucy to their superiors, impatient of as it were, the overt act; these papers, by their condition, and turbulent subjects; exalting duty into sentiment, are calculated while you, with more humanity, have your to make every deviation from rectitude and fears alarmed, lest the delicacy of mind, propriety of conduct, painful to the mind induced by that sort of education and read- Whose temper ing I recommended, should render the evils R efine at length, and ever passion wears of their situation insupportable to them. I Achaster, milder, more attractive mien.' wish to examine the validity of each of these objections, beginning with the one you have "I readily grant you, that the refinement mentioned. of mind which I contend for increases our "I do not mean to controvert your criti- sensibility to the evils of life; but what stacism of my favourite books, the Mirror and tion of life is without its evils? There Lounger, although I understand there are seems to be no such thing as perfect happeople who think themselves judges, who do piness in this world, and we must balance not agree with you.'The acquisition of the pleasure and the pain which we derive knowledge, except what is connected with from taste, before we can properly apprehuman life and conduct, or the particular ciate it in the case before us. I apprehend, business of his employment, does not ap- that on a minute examination it will appear, pear to me to be the fittest pursuit for a that the evils peculiar to the lower ranks of peasant. I would say with the poet, life derive their power to wound us, more' How empty learning, and how vain is art, from the suggestions of false pride, and Save where it guides the life, or mends the the'contagion of luxury, weak and vile,' heart!' than the refinement of our taste. It was a " There seems to be a considerable latitude favourite remark of my brother's, that there in the use of the word taste. I understand was no part of the constitution of our na. 92 LIFE OF BURNS. ture to which we were more indebted, than approve of; and for none more than the that by which'custom makes things familiar pains he took to impress my mind with the and easy' (a copy Mr. Murdoch used to set sentiment, that nothing was more unworthy us to write); and there is little labour the character of a man, that that his happiwhich custom will not make easy to a man ness should in the least depend on what he in health, if he is not ashamed of his em- should eat or drink. So early did he imployment, or does not begin to compare his press my mind with this, that although I situation with those he may see going about was as fond of sweetmeats as children gene. at their ease. rally are, yet I seldom laid out any of the "But the man of enlarged mind feels the half-pence which relations or neighbours respect due to him as a man; he has learned gave me at fairs, in the purchase of them; that no employment is dishonourable in and if I did, every mouthful I swallowed itself; that while he performs aright the was accompanied with shame and remorse; duties of that station in which God has and to this hour I never indulge in the use placed him, he is as great as a king in the of any delicacy, but I feel a considerable eyes of Him whom he is principally desirous degree of self-reproach and alarm for the to please; for the man of taste, who is con- degradation of the human character. Such stantly obliged to labour, must of necessity a habit of thinking I consider as of great be religious. If you teach him only to consequence, both to the virtue and happireason, you may make him an atheist, a de- ness of men in the lower ranks of life. And magogue, or any vile thing; but if you thus, Sir, I am of opinion, that if their teach him to feel, his feelings carl only find minds are early and deeply impressed with their proper and natural relief in devotion a sense of the dignity of man, as such; with and religious resignation. He knows that the love of independence and of industry, those people who are to appearance at ease, economy and temperance, as the most obare not without their share of evils, and vious means of making themselves indethat even toil itself is not destitute of ad- pendent, and the virtues most becoming vantages. He listens to the words of his their situation, and necessary to their happifavourite poet: ness; men in the lower ranks of life may' Oh, mortal man, that livest here by toil, partake of the pleasures to be derived from Cease to repine and grudge thy hard estate I the perusal of books calculated to improve That like an emmet thou must ever moil, the mind and refine the taste, without any Is a sad sentence of an ancient date; danger of becoming more unhappy in their And, certes, there is for it reason great; situationor discontented withit. Nordo Although sometimes it makes thee weep and wail, [late; I think there is any danger of their beAnd curse thy star, and early drudge, and coming less useful. There are some hours Withouten that would come an heavier bale, every day that the most constant labourer is Loose life, unruly passions, and diseases pale!' neither at work nor asleep. These hours " And while he repeats the words, the are either appropriated to amusement or to grateful recollection comes across his mind, sloth. If a taste for employing these how often he has derived ineffable pleasure hours in reading were cultivated, I do not from the sweet song of'nature's darling suppose that the return to labour would be child.' I can say, from my own experience, more difficult. Every one will allow, that that there is no sort of farm-labour incon- the attachment to idle amusements, or even sistent with the most refined and pleasurable to sloth. has as powerful a tendency to abstate of the mind that I am acquainted with, stract men from their proper business, as the thrashing alone excepted. That, indeed, I attachment to books; while the one dissihave always considered as insupportable pates the mind, and the other tends to indrudgery, and think the ingenious mechanic crease its powers of self-government. To who invented the thrashing-machine, ought those who are afraid that the improvement to have a statue among the benefactors of of the minds of the common people might his country, and should be placed in the be dangerous to the state, or the established niche next to the person who introduced the order of society, I would remark, that turculture of potatoes into this island. bulence and commotion are certainly very "Perhaps the thing of most importance in inimical to the feelings of a refined mind. the education of the common people is, to Let the matter be brought to the test of exprevent the intrusion of artificial wants. I perience and observation. Of what descripbless the memory of my worthy father for tion of people are mobs and insurrections almost every thing in the dispositions of my composed? Are they not universally owing mind, and my habits of life, which I can to the wanlt of enlargement and improve ADDENDA. 93 ment of mind among the common people? sentiment. I would have established in Nay, let any one recollect the characters of every parish a small circulating library, conthose who formed the calmer and more de- sisting of the books which the young liberate associations, which lately gave so people had read extracts from in the collecmuch alarm to the government of this tions they had read at school, and any other country. I suppose few of the common books well calculated to refine the mind, impeople who were to be found in such socie- prove the moral feelings, recommend the ties, had the education and turn of mind I practice of virtue, and communicate such have been endeavouring to recommend. knowledge as might he useful and suitable to Allow me to suggest one reason for en- the labouring classes of men. I would have deavouring to enlighten the minds of the the schoolmaster act as librarian; and in common people. Their morals have hitherto recommending books to his young friends, been guarded by a sort of dim religious awe, formerly his pupils, and letting in the light which, from a variety of causes, seems wear- of them upon their young minds, he should ing off. I think the alteration in this re- have the assistance of the minister. If once spect considerable, in the short period of my such education were become general, the observation. I have already given my low delights of the public-house, and other opinion of the effects of refinement of mind scenes of riot and depravity, would be conon morals and virtue. Whenever vulgar tenmned and neglected; while industry, minds begin to shake off the dogmas of the order, cleanliness, and every virtue which religion in which they have been educated, taste and independence of mind could rethe progress is quick and immediate to commend, would prevail and flourish. Thus downright infidelity; and nothing but possessed of a virtuous and enlightened refinement of mind can enable them to dis- populace, with high delight I should continguish between the pure essence of reli- sider my native country as at the head of all gion, and the gross systems which men have the nations of the earth, ancient or modern. been perpetually connecting it with. In "Thus, Sir, have I executed my threat to addition to what has already been done for the fullest extent, in regard to the length of the education of the common people of this my letter. If I had not presumed on doing country, in the establishment of parish it more to my liking, I should not have unseh!Iools, I wish to see the salaries augmented dertaken it; but I have not time to attempt ins some proportion to the present expense it anew; nor, if I would, am I certain that I ot living, and the earnings of people of should succeed any better. I have learned sllilar rank, enl.lowments, and usefulness, in to have less confidence in my capacity of society; and I hope that the liberality of writing on such subjects. the present age will be no longer disgraced "I am much obliged by your kind inby refusing, to so useful a class of men, quiries about my situation and prospects. I such encouragement as may make pa, ish am much pleased with the soil of this farm, schools worth the attention of men fitted for and with the terms on which I possess it. I the important duties of that office. In fill- receive great encouragement likewise in ing up the vacancies, I would have more building, enclosing, and other conveniences, attention paid to the candidate's capacity of from my landlord, Mr. G. S. Monteith, whose reading the English language with grace general character and conduct, as a landlord and propriety-to his understanding tho- and country-gentleman, I am highly pleased roughly, and having a high relish for, the with. But the land is in such a state as to beauties of English authors, both in poetry require a considerable immediate outlay of and prose-to that good sense and know- money in the purchase of manure, the ledge of human nature which would enable grubbing of brush-wood, removing of stones, him to acquire some influence on the minds &c., which twelve years' struggle with a and affections of his scholars-to the general farm of a cold ungrateful soil has but illworth of his character, and the love of his I prepared me for. If I can get these things king and his country-than to his proficiency done, however, to my mind, I think there is in the knowledge of Latin and Greek. I next to a certainty that in five or six years would then have a sort of high English I shall be in a hopeful way of attaining a class established, not only for the purpose of situation which I think as eligible for happiteaching the pupils to read in that graceful ness as any one I know; for I have always and agreeable manner that might make them been of opinion, that if a man bred to the fond of reading, but to make them under- habits of a farming life, who possesses a stand what they read, and discover the farm of good soil, on such terms as enables beauties of the author, in composition and him easily to pay all demands, is not happy, 94 LIFE OF BURNS. he ought to look somewhere else than to his The only dependence of Mrs. Burns, after situation for the causes of his uneasiness. her husband's death, was on an annuity of "I beg you will present my most respect- ten pounds, arising from a benefit society ful compliments to Mrs. Currie, and remem- connected with the Excise, the books and ber me to Mr. and Mrs. Roscoe, and Mr other moveable property left to her, and the Roscoc, Junior, the worth of whose kind generosity of the public. The subscription, attentions to me, when in Liverpool, I shall 1 as we are informed by Dr. Currie, produced never forget. I am, dear sir, your most seven hundred pounds; and the works of obedient, and much obliged humble servant, the poet, as edited with singular taste and "GILBERT BURNS. judgrnent by that gentleman, brought nearly To James Currie, MI.D., F.R.S. two thousand more. One half of the latter Liverpool." sum was lent on a bond to a Galloway gentleman, who continued to pay five per 4ro w ibm, ~jilhrr, gnII irutlnrr nf cent. for it till a late period. Mrs. Burns was thus enabled to support and educate Dullrlln. her family in a manner creditable to the AT the time of Burrs's decease, his family memory of her husband. She continued to consisted of his wife and four sons —Robert, reside in the house which had been occu. born at -Mauchline, in 1786; Francis Wal- pied by her husband and herself, and lace, bornr at Ellisland, April 9, 1791; "4 never changed, nor wished to change William Nicol, born at Dumfries, November her place." 21, 1792; and James Glencairn. O.', the For many years after her sons had left her day of the poet's funeral, MIrs. Brirns pro- to pursue their fortunes in the world, she duced a fifth son, who received the name of lived in a decent and respectable manner, on Maxwell, bult didi not long survive. Francis an incomle which never amounted to more Wallace, a child of unconmmon vivacity, died than ~622 per annum. At length, in 1817, at the age of fourteen. The three other at a festival held in Edinburgh to celebrate sons yet (1838) survive. Robert received a the birth-day of the bard, Mr. Henry, (now good education at the academy of Dumfries, Lord) Cockburn acting as president, it was was two sessions at the university of Edin- proposed by iMr. Maule of Parlnmure (now burgh, and one at the university of Glas- Lord arlnuinre), that some permanent addi. gow; and in 1804 obtained a situation in tion should be made to the income of the the Stamp Office, London, where he con- poet's widow. The idea appeared to be tinued for tnenty-nine years, improving a favourably received, but the subscription did narrow income by teaching the classics and not fill rapidly. Mr. MIaule then said that mathematics. It is remarkable, that durllrr the burden of the provision should fall upon that long time he and his mother, though on himself, and immediately executed a bond, the best terrnms, never once met. In 1833, entitling Mrs. Burns to an annuity of ~50 having obtained a superannuation allowance, as long as she lived. This act, together he retired to I)umfries, where he now lives. Mwith the generosity of tile same gentleman He has thie dark eyes, largre head, and to Nathaniel Gow, in his latter and evil swarthy complexion of his father, and days, must ever endear the name of Lord possesses much more than the average of Panmure to all who feel warmly on the submental capacity. He has written nlaly jects of Scottish poetry and Scottish music. verses far above mediocrity; but the bent Mr. Maule's pension had not been enof his mind is towards geometry-a study joyed by the widow more than a year and in which his father was much more ac- a half, when her youngest son James atcomplished than his biographers seem to tained the rank of Captain with a situation have been aware of. William and James ill the commissariat, and was thus enabled went out to India on cadetships, and have to relieve her from the necessity of being each risen to the rank of major in the beholden to a stranger's hand for any share Company's service. "Wherever these men of her support. She accordingly resigned wander, at home or abroad, they are re- the pension. MIr. M'Diarmid, who records garded as the scions of a noble stock, and these circumstances, adds in another place, receive the cordial greetings of hundreds that, during her subsequent years, Mrs. who never saw their faces before, but who Burns enjoyed an income of about two account it a happiness to grasp, in friendly hundred a-year, great part of which, as not pressure, the hand in which circulates the needed by her, she dispensed in charities. blood of Burrns."-M'Diarmid's Picture of Htier whole conduct in widowhood was such Dunrnfries. as to secure universal esteem in the town ADDENDA. 95 where she resided. She died, March 26, 1 In personal aspect, Robert Burns resembled 1834, in the 68th year of her age, and was his mother; Gilbert had the more aquiline buried beside her illustrious husband, in the features of his father. The portrait of mausoleum at Dumfries. (153) Robert Burns, painted by a Mr. Taylor, Mr. Gilbert Burns, the early companion and published in an engraved form by and at all times the steadfast friend of Messrs. Constable and Company a few the poet, continued to struggle with the years ago, bore a striking resemblance to miserable glebe of lMossgiel till about the j Gilbert. This excellent man died at year 1797, when lie removed to the farm of Grant's Braes, November 8, 1827, aged Dinning, on the estate of Mir. Monteith of about sixty-seven years. His sons, having Closeburn, in Nithsdale. The poet had lent received an excellent education. occupy him ~200 out of the profits of the Edin- respectable stations in society. One is burgh edition of his works, in order that he factor to Lord Blantyre, and another is might overcome some of his difficulties; minister of the parish of Monkton, near and he, some years after, united himself to Ayr. a nMiss Breckonridge, by whom he had a Two sisters of Burns, one. of whom is by family of six sons and five daughters. In marriage ]Mrs. Begg, yet survive. They consideration of the support he extended to reside in the village of Tranent, Easthis widowed mother, the poet seems never Lothian. to have thought of a reckoning with him for the above sum. He was a man of 4[irlrnlniira Jrnrkrnnt nf 1n1. sterling sense and sagacity, pious without asceticism or bigotry, and entertaining AT the opening of the Mausoleum, March liberal and enlightened views, without being 1834, for the interment of Mrs. Burns, it the least of an enthusiast. His letter to was resolved by some citizens of Dumfries, Dr. Currie, dated from Dinning, October 24, with the concurrence of the nearest relative 1800, shows no mean powers of composi- of the widow, to raise the cranium of the tion, and embodies nearly all the philan- poet from the grave, and have a cast thropic views of human improvement which moulded from it, with a view to gratifying have been so broadly realised in our own the interest likely to be felt by the students day. We ale scarcely more affected by the of phrenology respecting its peculiar deconsideration of the penury under which velopment. This purpose was carried into some of his brother's noblest compositions effect during the night between the 31st were penned, than by the reflection that this March and the 1st April, and the following beautiful letter was the effusion of a man is the description of the cranium, drawn up who, with his family, daily wrought long at the time by Mir. A. Blacklock, surgeon, and laboriously under all those circum- one of the individuals present:stances of parsimony which characterise "The craniel bones were perfect in every Scottish rural life. Some years after, Mir. respect, if we e:.cept a little erosion of their Gilbert Burns was appointed by Lady external table, and firmly held together by Blantyre to be land-steward or factor upon their sutures; even the delicate bones of her estate of Lethington in East-Lothian, the orbits, with the trifling exception of the to which place he accordingly removed. os usyusis in the left, were sound, and unHis conduct in this capacity, during near injured by death and the grave. The twenty-five years, was marked by great superior maxillary bones still retained the fidelity and prudence, and gave the most four most posterior teeth oni each side, inperfect satisfaction to his titled employer. eluding the dentes sapientioe, and all It was not till 1820, that he was enabled to without spot or blemish; the incisores, repay the money borrowed from his brother cuspidati, &c., had, in all probability, recently in 1788 Being then invited by Messrs. dropped from the jaw, for the alveoli were Cadell and Davies to superintend, and but little decayed. The bones of the face improve as much as possible, a new edition and palate were also sound. Some small of the poet's works, he received as much portions of black hair, with a very few grey in remuneration of his labour, as enabled hairs intermixed, were observed while dehim to perform this act of duty. taching some extraneous matter from the The mother of Robert and Gilbert Burns occiput. Indeed, nothing could exceed the lived in the household of the latter at high state of preservation in which we found Grant's Braes, near Lethington, till 1820, the bones of the cranium, or offer a fairer when she died at the age of eighty-eight, opportunity of supplying what has so long and was buried in the churchyard of Bolton. been desiderated by phrenologists - a 96 LIFE 0P BURNS. correct model of our immortal' poet's head: Sc1lo. and in order to accomplish this in the most 13. Benevolence, very large.... 20 accurate and satisfactory manner, every 14. Veneration, large....., 18 particle of sand, or other foreign body, was 15. Firmness, full.. 5. carefully washed off, and the plaster of Paris 16. Conscientiousness, full.... 15 applied with all the tact and accuracy of an 17. Hope, full.. 14 experienced artist. The cast is admirably 18. Wonder, large...... 18 taken, and cannot fail to prove highly in- 19. Ideality, large....... 18 teresting to phrenologists and others. 20. Wit, or Mirthfulness, full... 15 "Having completed our intention, theskull, 21. Imitation, large....... 19 securely enclosed in a leaden case, was again 22. Individuality, large.. 19 committed to the earth, precisely where we 23. Form, rather lare... 16 found it. 24. Size, rather large..... 17 ARCHD. BLACKLOCK." 25. Weight, rather large... 16 26. Colouring, rather large.... 16 A cast from the skull having been trans- 27. Locality, large....... 18 mitted to the Phrenological Society of 28. Number, rather full..... 12 Edinburgh, the following view of the cere- 29. Order, full -...... 14 bral development of Burns was drawn up 30. Eventuality, large..... 18 by Mr. George Combe, and published in 31. Time, rather large...... 16 connection with four views of the craiulm. 3. Tune, fill 15 (YW. and A. K. Johnston, Edinzburgh):- 33. Language, uncertain 34 Comparison, rather large... 17 "I. DIMENSIONS OF THE SKULL. 35. Causality, large...... 18 Inches. Greatest circumference.. 221 "The scale of the organs indicates their From Occipital SpiIe to Individuality, 4 relative proportions to each other; 2 is over the top of the head.. 14 idiotcy-10 moderate-14 full-18 large;, Ear to Ear vertically over the top and 20 very large. of the head....... 13 "The cast of a skull does not show the, Philoprogenitiveness to Individu- temperament of the individual, but the porality, (greatest length)... 8 traits of Burns indicate the bilious and., oncentrativeness to Comparison 7~ nervous temperaments, the sources of,, Ear to Plhiloprogenitiveness.. 47 strength, activity, and susceptibility; and n,,, Individuality. 4: the descriptions given by his contemporaries,,,, r Benevoleilce. 5 of his beaming and energetic eye, and the,,,, Firmness... 62 rapidity and impetuosity of his manifesta-,, Destructiveness to Destructive- tions, establish the inference that his brain hiess...... 5- was active and susceptible.,, Secretiveness to Secretiveness 5 " Size in the brain, other conditions being,, Cautiousness to Cautiousness 5- equal, is the measure of iental power. The, Ideality to Ideality. 45 skull of Burns indicates a large braiii. The, Constructiveness to Constructive- length is eight, and the greatest breadth ness......... 41 nearly six incles. The circumference is 22;, Mastoid process to Mastoid Pro- inches. These measurements exceed the cess......... 43 average of Scotch living heads, including the "II. DEVELOPEMENT OF THE ORGANS. integjlments, for which four-eighths of an Scale inch may be allowed. 1. Amativeness, rather large.. 16 "The brain of Burns, therefore, possessed 2. Philoprogenitiveness, very large 20 the two elements of power and activity. 3. Conceitrativeness, large... 18 " The portions of the brain which manifest 4. Adhesiveness, very large. 20 the animal propensities, are uncommonly 5. Combativeness, very large. 20 large, indicating strong passions, and great 6. Destructiveness, large... 18 energy in action under their influence. The 7. Secretiveness, large.19 group of organs manifesting the domestic 8. Acquisitiveness, rather large. 16 affections (Arnativeness, Philoprogenitive9. Constructiveness, full.... 15 ness, and Adhesiveness), is large; Philopro10. Self-Esteem, large... 18 genitiveness uncommonly so for a male 11. Love of Approbation, very large 2. head. The organs of Combativeness and 12. Cautiousness, large.... 19 Destructiveness are large, bespeaking great ADDENDA. 97 heat of temper, impatience, and liability to Wit and Humour. The metaphysicians, irritation. however, have distinguished them, and in "Secretiveness and Cautiousness are both the phrenological works their different elelarge, and would confer considerable power ments are pointed out. Burns possessed of restraint, where he felt restraint to be the talent for satire; Destructiveness, added necessary. to the combination which gives Humour, "Acquisitiveness, Self-Esteem, and Love produces it. of Approbation, are also in ample endowment, "An unskilful observer looking at the forealthough the first is less than the other head, might suppose it to be moderate in two; these feelings give the love of pro- size; but when the dimensions of the anteperty, a high consideration of self, and desire rior lobe, in both length and breadth, are of the esteem of others. The first quality attended to, the Intellectual organs will be will not be so readily conceded to Burns as recognised to have been large. The anterior the second and third, which, indeed, were lobe projects so much, that it gives an apmuch stronger; but the phrenologist records pearance of narrowness to the forehead what is presented by nature, in full confi- which is not real. This is the cause, also, dence that the manifestations, when the why Benevolence appears to lie farther back character is correctly understood, will be than usual. An anterior lobe of this magnifound to correspond with the derelopement, tude indicates great Intellectual power. The and he states that the brain indicates con- combination of large Perceptive and Residerable love of property. flecting organs (Causality predominant), with "The organs of the moral sentiments are large Concentrativeness and large organs of also largely developed. Ideality, Wonder, the feelings, gives that sagacity and vigorous Imitation, and Benevolence, are the largest colnmon sense, for which Burns was distinin size. Verleration also is large. Con- guislled. scieutiousness, Firmness, and Hope, are full. "Tlle skull rises hIigh above Causality, and "The Kinowing orans, or tlose of percep- spreads wide in the region of Ideality; the tive intellect, are large; and the organs of strength of his moral feelings lay in that Reflection are also considlerable, but less region. than the former. Causality is largcr than "The combination of large organs of the Comparison, arid Wit is less than either. Animal Propensities, with large Cautious"The skull indicates the combination of ness, and only full Hope, together with the strong anllinal passions with equally powerful unfavourable circumstances in which he was nmoral emotions. If tile natural morality placed, accounts for the melancholy and had been less, the endowmnent of the pro- internal unhappiness with which Burns was pensities is sufficient to have constituted a so frequently afflicted. This melancholy was character of the most desperate description. rendered still deeper by bad health. The combination as it exists, bespeaks a "Tlhe combrination of Acquisitiveness, Canu mind extrelnely subject to contelndirlg emo- tiousness, Love of Approbation, and Contions-capable of great good, or great evil- scierltiousness, is the source of his keen and encompassed with vast difficulties in feelings in regard to pecuniary independenlce. preserving a steady, even, onward course of The great power of his Animal Propensities practical morality. would give hin strong temptations to waste; " In the combination of very large Philo- but the comnbinationl just mentioned would progeniitiveness arid Adhesiveness, with very impose a powerfill restraint. Tihe head inlarge Benevolence and large Ideality, we find dicates the elements of an economical chathe elements of that exquisite tenderness racter, and it is known that he died free and refinement, which Burns so frequently fromn debt, notwithstanding the smallness of manifested, e\-cl when at the worst stage of his salary. his career. In the combination of great "iNo phrenologist can look upon this head, Combativeness, Destructiveness, and Self- and consider the circumstances in which Esteem, we find the funldamental qualities Burns was placed, without vivid feelings of which inspired'Scots wha hae wi' Wallace regret. Burns must have walked the earth bled,' and similar productions. with a consciousness of great superiority "The combination of large Secretiveness, over his associates in the station in which Imitation, arnd the perceptive organs, gives he was placed-of powers calculated for a the elements of his dramatic talent and far higher sphere than that which he was humour. The skull indicates a decided able to reach, and of passions which he talent for Humlour, but less for Wit. The could with difficulty restrain, and which it public are apt to coniforurd the talents for i was fatal to indulge. If he had been placed 93 LIFE OF BURNS. from infancy in the higher ranks of life, is only rather large. During hls residence liberally edlrcated, and employed in pursuits at Mossgiel, where his revenue was not, correspondlinlg to his powers, the inferior more than ~7, his expenses, as Gilbert menportion of his nature would have lost part tions,'never in any one year exceeded his of its energy, while his better qualities slender income.' It is also well known that would have assinmed a decided and per- he did not leave behind him a shilling of manelut superiority." debt; and I have learned from good authoA more elaborate paper on the skull of rity that his household was -much more Bllrns appeared in the Phrenological Journal, frugally managed at Dumfries than at EllisNo. XLI., firom the pen of Mfar. Robert Cox. land-as in the former place, but not in the'hllis geultleman endeavours to show that the latter, he had it in his power to exercise a character of Burns was in conformity with personal control over the expenditure. I the filll development of Acquisitiveness. have been told also, that, after his death, the "According to his own description," says domestic expenses were greater than when MIr. Cox, "hlie was a man who'had little lihe was alive. These facts are all consistent art in making money, and still less in keep- with a considerable development of Acquisiing it.' That his art in making money was tiveless, for, when that organ is small, there sufficiently moderate, there can be no doubt, is habitual inattention to pecuniary con. for he was eng.aged in occupations which his cerns, even although the love of indepen. soul loathed, and thought it below his dence and dislike to ask a favour be strong. dignity to accept of pecuniary remuneration The indifference with respect to money, for some of his most laborious literary per- which Burns occasionally ascribes to himformances. lie was, however, by no means self, appears therefore to savour of affectainsensible to the value of money, and never tion-a failing into which he was not threw it away. On the contrary, he was unfrequently led by Love of Approbation and remarkably fiiigal, except when feelings Secretiveness. Indeed, in one of his letters stronger than Acquisitiveness came into play to Miss Chalmers, he expressly intimates a — such as Benevolence, Adhesiveness, and wish to be rich." The whole of this essay Love of Approbation; the organs of all is highly worthy of perusal by all who take an which are very large, while Acquisitiveness interest in the character of the Ayrshire bard. lo #t: I %9.,, A'~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~;7~ a -r, (1, Lo,, d, gu~ti 4Ut~irU Thurktil MT!4 IDbitd tIa itmghT YVang DI "Oh bid him save their harmless lives Frae dogs, and tods, and butchers' knives! Va IIl ai p. But gie them guid cow-milk their fll, THE AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOWE. Till they be fit to fend themsel; AN: UNCO MOURNFU' TALE. (1) And tent them duly, e'en and morn, As Mailie, and her lambs thegither, Wi' teats o' hay, and ripps o' corn. Were ae day nibbling on the tether,."And may they never learn the gaets Upon her cloot she coost a hitch, Of other vile wanrestfu' pets' And owre she warsled in the ditch: To slink through slaps, and reave and steal There, groaning, dying, she did lie, At stacks o' peas, or stocks o' kail. When Hughoc he cam doytin by.: So may they, like their great forbears, W7i' glowering een and lifted han's, For many a year come through the shears: Poor Hughoc like a statue stands;.So wives will gie them bits o' bread, He saw her days were near-halnd ended, And bairns greet for them when they're dead. But, waes my-heart!:he, could na mend it. "My poor toop-lamb, my son and heir, He gaped wide but naething spak — Oh, bid him breed him up wi' care; At length poor Mailie silence.brak. And if he live to be a beast " Oh thou, whose lamentable face To pit some havins in his breast! Appears to mourn my woefu' case! CC Appears to mourn my woefu' case "And warn him, what I winna name, y dying words t attentive hear, To stay content wi' yowes at hame; And bear them to my master dear. And no to rin and wear his cloots, "Tell him, if e'er again he keep Like ither menseless, graceless brutes. As muckle gear as buy a sheep, Oh bid him never tie them mair "And neist my yowie, silly thing, Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair Gude keep thee frae a tether string; But ca' them out to park or hill, Oh, may thou ne'er forgather up And let them wander at their will;i' ony blastit, moorland toop, So may his flock increase, and grow But aye keep mind to moop and mell To scores o' lambs, and packs o' woo'! Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel. "Tell him he was a master kin', "And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath. And aye was guid to me and mine; I lea'e my blessin' wi' you baith.: And now my dying charge I gie him — And when you think upo' your mither, My helpless lambs I trust them wi' him. Mind to be kin' to ane anither. 102 BURNS'S POETICAL WORKS. "Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fail To tell my master a' my tale; C fle {E Vafut. And bid him burn this cursed tether, And, for thy pains, thou's get my blether."A BROTHER POET. (2) This said, poor Mailie turn'd her head, January, 1784. Anld clos'd her een amaug the dead. WHILE winds frae aff Ben Lomond blaw, And bar the doors with driving snaw, And hing us owre the ingle,?nnr xanli'is lTegl. I set me down to pass the time, Anrid spinl a verse or twa o' rhyme, LAMENT in rhyme, lament in prose, Ill hamely westlin jingle. Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose; While frosty winds blaw in the drift, Our bardie's fate is at a close, Ben to the chimla lug, Past a' remead; I grudge a wee the great folk's gift, The last sad cape-stane of his woes- That live sa biell and snug: Poor MIailie's dead I I tent less, and want less It's no the loss o' warl's gear, Their roomy fire-side; That could sae bitter draw the tear, But hanker and canker Or mak our bardie, dowie, wear To see their cursed pride. The mourning weed: He's lost a friend and neibor dear, It's hardly in a body's power In Mailie dead. To keep, at times, frae being sour, Thro' a' the toun she trotted by him; To see how things are shard; A lang half-mile she could descry him; How best o' chiels are whiles in want, Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him, While coofs on countless thousands rant, She ran wi' speed: And aken na how' to wair't; A friend mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigh him But l)avie, lad, ne'er fash your head,'Than Mailie dead. TTho' we hae little gear, MWe're fit to win our daily bread, I wat she was a sheep o' sense, As lan's we're hale ald fier: And could behave hersel' wi' menses "air spier na, no fear:a" (3), I'll say't she never brak a fence, Auld age ne'er mind a feg Thro' thievish greed. The last o't, the warst o't. Our bardie, lanely, keeps the spence Is only but to beg. (4) Is only but to beg. (4) Sin' MIailie's dead. { Or, if he wanders up the howe, To lie in kilns and barns at e'en Her living image in her yowe, WVhen banes are craz'd, and bluid is thin, Comes bleatirng to him, owre the knowe, Is, doubtless, great distress! For bits o' bread; Yet then content could make us blest; And down the briny pearls rowe Ev'n then, sometimes we'd snatch a taste For lMailie dead. Of truest happiness. She was nae get o' moorland tips, The honest heart that's free frae a' WM' tawted ket, and hairy hips, Intended fraud or guile, For her forbears were brought in ships owever fortune kick te ha', Frae yoiit the ITweed:Has aye some cause to smile: A bonnier leesh ne'er cross'd the clips And mind still, you'll find still, Than Mailie dead. A comfort this nae smaa'; Na mair then, we'll care then, Wae worth the man wha first did shape Nae farther we can fa'. That vile, Nwanchiallcie thing-a rape! It maks guid fellows girn and gape, What though, like commoners of air, Wi' chokin' dread; We wanlder out we know not where, And Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape But either house or hal'? For Mlailie dead. Yet nature's charms, the hills and woods, Oh, a' ye bards on bonnie Doon! The sweeping vales, and foaming floods, And wha on Ayr your chanters tune! Are free alike to all. Come, join, the melancholious croon In days when daisies deck the ground, O' Robin's reed! And blackbirds whistle clear,.His heart will never get aboon- With honest joy our hearts will bound His Mailie's deadl 1 To see the coming year: ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. 103 On braes when we please, then, Oh, all ye pow'rs who rule above I We'll sit and sowth a tune; Oh, Thou, whose very self art love I Syne rhyme till't, we'll time till't, Thou know'st my words sincere! And sing't when we hae dune. The life-blood streaming thro' my heart, It's no in titles nor in rank; Or my more dear immortal part, It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank, Is not more fondly dear! To purchase peace and rest; When heart-corroding care and grief It's no in ruakisn' mucltle mair; Deprive my sonl of rest, It's no in books; it's no in lear, Her dear idea brings relief To mak us truly blest; And solace to my breast, If happiness hae not her seat Thou Being, all-seeing, And centre iin the breast, Oh hear my fervent pray'r! We may be wise, or rich, or great, Still take her, and make her But never can be bleat: Thy most peculiar care! Nae treasures nor pleasures All hail, ye tender feelings dear! Could make us happy lang; The smile of love, the friendly tear, The heart ave's tile part aye'I he sympathetic glow! That makes us right or wrang. Lon- since, this world's thorny ways Think ye, that sic as you and 1, hlal nuiLber'd out iy veary days, Wha drudge and drive through wet and dry, l-ad it not been for you l Wi' never-ceasing toil,; Fate still has blest me with a friend, Think ye, are we less hlest than they, in esery care and ill; Wha scarcely tent us in their wvay, All oft a nole endeari,, band, As hardly worth their lhile? A tie more tei(ler still. Alas! how aft, in haughty mood, t li iiters it brih-tens I'lihe tenitbrific scene, God's creatures they oppress! he tihebriic sceee, Or else neirecl;illn a' tulat's guird, To meet sith, and greet with Thev riot in esxcess! Ml1y D)aie or my Jean! Baith careless and fearless Oh, how that namie inspires iuy style Of either hea-en or hell I The s ordls come skelpin', rank and file, Esteeming and deeming Amaist before I kenl! It's a' an idle tatle! The ready measure rins as fine Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce; A -c Plhebus and the famous Nine Nor make our scatnty pleasures less Iee glowmin' owre my len. RBy pililln ast iour stale; C5 My sparviet I'egasus will limp, And, evel should misfuirtniies come, Till ance he's fairly het I, here w-ha sit, lile lnctv i i'i SOmle, And then he'll hilch, alnd stilt, and jimp, An's thankfu' for them yet, And rin an i1rco fit: They gie the wit of are to -outh; But lest then, the beast then They get of ge Should rue this hasty ride, They let us ken oursel; I They make us see te naked truth, light ad di ow, The real gsiid and ill. l-lis sweaty, wizen'd hide. ThoucLh losses and crosses Be lessons right severe, There's wit there, e'll get there, hblrrss tna Efr.t'il. (6) Ye'll find nae other where. Oh Prince! Oh chief of nlany throned pow'rs, But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts! That leL th' embattled seraphim to war.(To say aught less wad wrang the cartes, IILTON. And flatt'ry I detest) On thou! whatever title suit thee, This life has joys for you and I; Auld Horilie, Satlan, Nick, or Clootie, And joys that riches lie'er could buy: WVha in yon cavern grim and sootie, And joys tile very best. Closed under hatches. There's a' the pleasures o' the heart, Spairges about the brunstane cootie,'lThe lover and the frien'; To scaud poor wretches I Ye hae your hMeg (5), your dearest part, Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, And I my darliln' Jean! Anct let poor damnled bodies be; It warnis me. it chlarms me, I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie, To medtion hut her name: E'en to a deil, It heats me, it beets me, To skelp and scaud poor dogs like me, And sets me a' on flame I And hear us squeel Il 104 BURNS'S POETICAL WORKS. Great is thy pow'r, and great thy fame; The bleezin', curst, mischievous monkie9 Far ken'd and noted is thy name; Delude his eyes, And the' yon lowin' heugh's thy hame, Till in some miry slough he sunk is, Thou travels far; Ne'er mair to rise. And, faith! thou's neither lag nor lame, 1Nor blate nor scaur. When masons' mystic word and grip Wsyles, rang-inO g like a roaring lion, In stormsl and tempests raise you up, For prey a' holes and corners tryin'; For prey a' holes and corners tryinl'; Some cock or cat your rage maun stop Whyles on the strong-wiln'd tempest flyin' Or, strange to tell! Tl'-irlin' thT~ e kirks;-~ *- l I The youngest brother ye wad whip Whyles, in the human bosom pryin', A straught to hel! Unrseen thoun lurks. Lang syne, in Eden's bonny yard, I've heard my reverend granny say, When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd, In lanely glens ye like to stray; And all the soul of love they shar'd, Or where auld ruin'd castles, gray, The raptur'd hour, Nod to tile moon, Sweet on the fragrant flow'ry sward, Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way In shady bow'r (7): TWi' eldritch croon. WT1hen twilight did my granny summon, Then you, ye auld snec-drawing dogl To say her prayers, douce honest woman! Ye came to Paradise incog, Aft yont the dyke she's heard you bumrlin', And played on man a cursed brogue, Wi' eerie drone; (Black be your fa!) Or, rustlin', thro' the boortries comin', Ad gied the infant warld a shog, Wi' heavy groan.'Maist ruin'd a'. Ae dreary, windy, winter night, The starsho down vi sinenti'ligh, D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz, The stars shot down wi' sklentin' light, i' reeit duds, and reestit gizz Wi' you, mysel, I gat a fright Wi' reekit duds, and reestit gizz, ou, ysel, I the aIglouzh; Ye did present your smoutie phiz Ye, like a Ayont'Mang better folk, Ye, like a rash-bush, stood in sight And sklented on the man of Uzz Wi' waving sough. Your spitefu' joke? The cudiel in my nieve did shake, Each bristl'd hair stood like a stake, And how ne gat him i' your thrall, When wi' an eldritch, stoor quaick-quaick — And brak him out o' house and hall, Amang the springs, 1While scabs arnd botches did him gall Awa ye squatter'd, like a drake, Wi' bitter claw, On whistling wings. And lows'd his ill-tongued, wicked scawl, WV as warst ava? Let warlocks grim, and wither'd hags, Tell how wi' you, on ragweed nags, But a' your doings to rehearse, They skim the muirs anld dizzy crags, Your wily snares and fetchin' fierce, Wi wicked speed; Sin' that day Michael did you pierce, And in kirk-yards renew their leagues Down to this time, Owre howkit dead. Wad ding a Lallan tongue, or Earse, InL prose or rhyme. Thence colntra wives, wi' toil and pain, MIay plunge and plunge the kirn in vain; And now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin, For, oh! the yellow treasllre's taen A certain bardie's rantin', drinkin', By witching skill; Some luckless hour will send him linkin' And dawtit, twal-pint hawkie's gaen T'o your black pit; As yell's the bill. But, faith! he'll turn a corner jinkin', And cheat you yet. When thowes dissolve the snawy hooord, And float the jinglin' icy boord, ut, fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben I Then water kelpies haunt the foord, Oh wadl ye tak a thought and men'l By your direction; Ye aiblins might-I dinna kenAnd'nighted trav'llers are allur'd Still hae a stakeTo their destruction. I'm wae to think upo' yon den, Ev'n for your aake I And aft your moss-traversing spunkies Decoy the wight that late and drunk is: NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION. 105 At brooses thou had ne'er a fellow For pith and speed; gil 5lll tfarrws lirIII-Far Yttring But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow, atlltatinull IIis t lult 3are 3laggiD, Whare'er thou gaed. The sma' droop-rumpl't, hunter, cattle, ON GIVING lHER THE ACCUSTOMIED RIPP OF Mllight aiblins waur't thee for a brattle; CORN TO IHANSEL IN THE,NEW YEAR. But sax Scotch miles thou try't their mettle, A GUID New-year I wish thee, Maggie! And gar't them whaizle: Hae, there's a ripp to thy auld baggie; Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle Tho' thou's howe-backit, now, and knaggie, O' saugh or hazle. I've seen the day Thou was a noble fittie-lan', Thou could hae gaen like onie staggie As e'er in tug or tow was drawn! Out-owre the lay. Aft thee and I, in aucht hours' gaun, Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, and crazy, In guid March weather, And thy auld hide's as white's a daisy, Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han' I've seen thee dappl't, sleek, and glaizie, For days thegither. A bonny gray. Thou never braindg't, and fech't, and fliskit, IIe should been tighlt that daur't to raise thee But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit, Ance in a day. And spread abreed thy well-fill'd brisket, Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, Wi' pith and pow'r, A filly, buirdly, steeve, and swank, Till spritty knowes wad rair't and risket, And set weel down a shapely shank And slypet owre. As e'er tread yird; When frosts lay lang, and snaws were deep, And could hae flown out.owre a stank, And thllrqten'd labour back to keep, Like only bird. I gied lly c a wee-bit heap It's now some nine-and-twenty year, Aboon the timnier; Sin' thou was my guid-father's mere; I ken'd my Maggie Awiad na sleep He gied me thee, o' tocher clear For that, or simmer. And fifty mark; In cart or car thou never reestit; Tho' it was sma','twas weel-won gear,''lhe steyest brae thou wad hae fac't it; And thou was stark.'Ihou never lap, and steuit, and breastit,.When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, Thllen stood to blaw; Ye then was trottill' wi' your minnie: But just thy step a wee thing liastit, Tho' ye was trickie, slee, and funie, Thou snoov't awa. Ye ne'er was donsie; 1My pleugh is now thay bairn-time a'; But hamely, tawie, quiet, and cannie, Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw; And unco sonsie. Forbye sax mae I've sell't awa, That day ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride, That thou hast nurst: When ye bure liame my bonny blide: They drew me thretteen pund and twna, And sweet and gracefot' she did ride, The vera warst. Wi' maiden air! Mi onie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought, Kyle Stewart I could bragged wide, And wi' the weary warl' fought! For sic a pair. And monie an anxious day I thought Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hoble, We wad be beat! And wintle like a saumnont-coble, Yet here to crazy age we're brought, Tlhat day ye was a jinlker noble, Wi' something yet. 1;o heels and win'! And think na, my auld trusty servan', And ran them till they a' did wauble, That now perhaps thou's less deservin' Far, far behin'! And thy auld days may end in starvin', WVhen thou and I were young and skeigh, For my last fou, And stable-meals at fairs were dreigh, A heapit stimpart, I'll reserve ane How thou wad prance, and sn ore, and skreigh Laid by for you. And tak the road! We've worn to crazy years thegither; Town's bodies ran, and stood abeigh, We'll toyte about wi' ane anither; And ca't thee mad. WTi' tentie care I'll flit thy tether, When thou was corn't, and I was mellow, To some hain'd rig, W/e took the road aye like a swallow: Whare ye may nobly rax your leather, Wi' ama' fatigue. 103 BITUN S'S POETICAL WORKS. The auld guidwife's weel-hoordet nits (15) gtllIEP~It. (8) Are round and round divided, And mony lads' and lasses' fates UPON that night, when fairies light, Are there that night decided: On Cassilis Downaiss (9) dance, Some kindle, couthie, side by side, Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, And burn thegither trimly; On sprightly coursiers prance; Some start awa wi' saucy pride, Or for Coleon the route is ta'en, And jump out-owre the chimlie Beneath the moon's pale beams; Fu' high that night. There, up the cove (10), to stray and rove Jean slips in twa wi' tentie e'e; Amang the rocks and streams Wha'twas, she wadna tell; To sport that night. But this is Jock, and this is me, Amang the bonny, winding banks, She says in to hersel': Where Doon rins, wimplin', clear, He bleez'd owre her, and she owre him, Where Bruce (11) ance rul'd the martial As tiey vaud iever mair part; ranks, Till, fuff! he started up the lum, And shook his Carrickl spear, And Jean had e'en a sair heart Some merry, friendly, countra folks,'o seet that night. Together did collnvene, Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt, To burn their nits, and pou their stocks, Was brunt wi' primsie Mallie; And haud their Halloween And iIary, nae doubt, took the drunt, Fu' blythe that night. To be compared to TAi!lie. The lasses feat, and cleanly neat, Mall's nit lap out xvi' prsdefu' fling, luair braw than whenl they're fine; And her ainl fit it burnt it; heir faces blythe, fu' sweetly kythe, While illie lap, and swoor, by jing, Hearts leal, and warm, and kin':'Twas just the way he wanted The lads sae trig, wi' xvooer-babs, To be that night. Weel knotted on their garten, Nell had the fause-house in her mill,' Some unto blate, anld some wi' gabs, She pits hersel and IRob in; Gar lasses' hearts gang startin' In loving bleeze they sweetly join, Whiles fast at night. Till white in ase they're sobbin'. Then, first and foremost, thro' the kail, Nell's heart w-as dancin' at the view, Their stocks (12) maun a' be sought ance; She whisper'd Rob to leuk for't: They steek their een, and graip, and wale, Rob, stowlinls, prie'd her bonny moi' For muckl1 anes and straught anres. Fu' cozie in the neux for't, Poor hav'rel Will fell all' the drift, Unseen that night. And wander'd thro' the bow-kail, But Mierran sat behint their backs, And Fou't, for want o' better shift, Her thoughts on Aindrew Bell; A runt was like a sow-tail, She lea'es them gashin' at their cracks, Sae bow't that night. And slips out by liersel': Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane, She through the yard the nearest taks, They roar and cry a' throu'ther; And to the kiln she goes then, The vera wee-thinlgs, todlin', rin And darklins graipit for the bauks, Wi' stocks out-owre their slhouther: Acnd in the blue-clue (16) throws then And gif the custoc's sweet or sour, Right fear't that night. Wi' joctelegs they taste them; And aye she win't, and aye she swat, Syne coziely, aboon the door, I wat she made rlae jaukin'; Wi' cannie care, they've placed them Till something held within tho pat, To lie that night. Guid L-d! but she was quakin'! The lasses straw frae'mang them a' But whether'twas the deil hmnsel, To pou their stalks o' corn (13); Or whether'twas a bauk-en', But Rab slips out, and jinks about, Or whether it was Andrew Bell, Behint the muckle thorn: She did na wait on talkin' He grippet Nelly hard and fast; To spier that night. Loud skirl'd a' the lasses; Wee Jenny to her granny says, But her tap-pickle macst was lost, " Will ye go Wvi' me, granny? When kuittlin' in the fause-house (14) I'll eat the apple (17) at the glasqs, Wi' him that night. I gat frae uncle Johnny;" HALLOWEEN. 107 She fufft her pipe wi' sic a lunt, He roar'd a horrid murder-shout, In wrath she was sae vap'rin', In dreadfu' desperation! She notic't na, aizle brunt And young and auld cam rinnin' out, Her braw new worset apron And hear the sad narration: Out thro' that night. He swoor'twas hilehin Jean MI'Craw, "Ye little skelpie-limmer's face I Or crouchie MIerran IIumphie, I daur you try sic sportin', Till, stop-she trotted through them a'As seek the foul thief onie place, And wha was it but grumnphie For him to spae your fortune: Asteer that night! Nae doubt but ye may get a sighlt! Meg fain wad to the barn hae gaen, Great cause ye hae to fear it; To win three wechts o' naething (19); For monie a ane has gotten a fright, But for to meet tie deil her lane, And lived anld died deleeret. She pat cut little faith in: On sic a night. She gies the herd a pickle nits, Ae hairst afore the Sherra-moor- And twa red-cheekit apples, I mind't as well's yestreen, To watch, while for the barn she sets, was a gilpey, then I'm sure In hopes to see Tam Kipples I was na past fyfteen: That vera night. The simmer had been cauld and wat, She turns the key wi' eannie thraw, And stuff lvas unco' greell; AAnd owre the thresholht venturs; And aye a rantin' kirn we gat, Aut owre the threshold venturs But first on Sawny gies a ca', And just on Halloween It fell that nigit. A Syne bauldly in she enters: It fell that night. A ratton rattled up the wa', Our stibble rig was Rib LI'Graen, And she cried, "' L-d, preserve her!" A clever, sturdty fllow A clever,'s sgat Eppie Si w' wean, And ran thro' midden hole and a', IIe's sin' gat Eppie Sini w' wean, And pray'd with zeal and fervour, That liPed iu Achlnllcalla: Pu' fast that night. He gat helmp-seed (18), I mind it weel, And he made unIco light o't; They hoy't out Will, wi' sair advice; But mony a day was by himsel', They hechlt him some fine braw ane; He was sae sairly frighted It chane'd the stack lie faddlom't thrice (20), That very night." Was timmer-propt for thrawin'; Then up gat feclitin' Janue Fleck, He taks a surly auld mo3s oak Arid he s~woor by his conscience, For some black, grousome carlin; That hre could sou' hemp-seed a peckc; And loot a winze, anld drew a stroke, For it *vas a' but nonsense. Till skin in blypes cam haurlin' The auld guidmula raugiht down the pock, Aff's nieves that night. Anid out a handfu' gied him; A wanton widow Leezie was, Sylne bade him slip frae'mang the folk, As calnty as a kittlin; Sometime when. nae ane see'd him, But, och! that night, amang the shaws, Antd try'd that night. She got a fearft' settlini'! He marches through amailg the stacks, She thro' the whins, and by the cairn, Tho' he was solnlething sturtin: And owre the hill gaed scrievin, The graip he for a harrow taks, Where three lairds' lands met at a burn (21), And hauls at his curpin; To dip her left sark-sleeve in, And every nouw and then Ire says, W\as benlt that night. "Hemp-seed I saw thee, Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, And her that is to be my lass, As throughl the glen it whimpl't; Come after me. and draw thee Whyles round a rocky scaur it strays; As fast this rnight." Whyies in a wiel it dimpl't; H-e whistl'd up Lord Leonox' march, WVhyles glitter'd to the nightly rays, To keep his courage cheery; Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle; Altho' his hair began to arch, Whyles cooyit underneath the braes, -le was sae fley'd and eerie: Below the spreading hazel, Till presently he hears a squeak, Ullseen that night. And then a grane and gruntle; Amang the brackens, on the brae, He by his shouther gae a keek, Betweenl her and the moon, And tumbl'd wi' o wintle The deil, or else an outler quey, Out-owre that night. Gat up and gae a croon: 108 BURNS'S POETICAL WORKS. Poor Leezv's heart maist lap the hool; Whare wilt thou cow'r thy chittering Near lav'rock height she jumpit, wing, But mist a fit, and in the pool And close thy e'e? Out-owre the lugs she plumpit, Ev'n you on murd'ring errands toil'd, Wi' a plunge that night. Lone from your savage homes exil'd, In order, on the clean hearth-stane, The blood-stain'd roost and sheep-cot The luggies three (22) are ranged, spoil'd And every time great care is ta'en, lIy heart forgets, To see them duly changed: While pitiless the tempest wild Auld uncle John, wha' wedlock's joys Sore on you beats. Sin' Mars' vear did desire, Now Phhmbe, in her midnight reign, Because he gat the toom-dish thrice, Dark mllftled, view'd the dreary plain; He heav'd them on the fire Still crowding thoughts, a pensive train, In wrath that night. Rose in my soul, Wi' merry sauns, and friendly cracks, When on my ear this plaintive strain I wat thev did nae weary: Slow, solemn, stole:And unco tales, and finny jokes, "Blow, blow, ve winds, with heavier gust Their sports were cheap and cheery; And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost! Till butter'd so'ns (23), wi' fragrant lunt, Descend ye chilly, smlothering snows! Set a' their gabs a-steerin'; Not all your rage, as now united, shows Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunlt, More hard unkindnless, unrelenting, They parted aff careerin' Vengeful malice unrepenting, Fu' blythe that night. (24) Than heaveis-illunllined man on brother man bestows! See stern oppression's iron grip, Or umad anibition's gory hand, _ ZTintrr t igj. Sendin,, like blood-hounds from the slip Woe, want, and murder o'er a land! Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, E'en in the peaceful rural vale, That bide the pelting of the pitiless storn! Truth, weepilg, tells the mournful tale, How shall your houseless heads and unfed How pamper'd Luxury, Flattery by her side, sides, [defend you How pamperd Luxury, Flattery her side, Tour looped and windowed raggedness, The parasite enpoisoning her ear, From seasons such as these?-SHAKSPEArLE. With all the servile wretches in the rear, WHEN g fell and doure, Looks o'er proud property, extended wide; TWSIIEN ~biting Boreas, Afell and doure And eyes the simple rustic hind, Sharp shivers thro' the leafless bow'r; Whose toil upholds the glittering WVhen Pilcebus gies a short-lived glow'r show Far south the lift, A creature of another kind, Dim-darkening thro' the flaky show'r, Some coarser substance, unrefined, Or whirling drift: Placed for her lordly use thus far, thus Ae night the storm the steeples rocked, vile below. Poor labour sweet in sleep wvas locked, W~here, where is Love's fond, tender throe, While burns, wi' snawy wreaths up- With lordly Iholour's lofty brow, choked, The powers you proudly own? Wild eddying swirl, Is there beneath Love's noble name, Or thro' the mining outlet bocked, Can harbour dark the selfish aim, Down headlong hurl. To bless hims!lelf alone! 5lark maiden innocence a prey Listening, the doors and winnocks To love-preteninnocence a pre To love-pretending snares, I the-zri-lit me on the ouri cattle, This boasted Honour turns away, OrI thillght me onh e the ourie cattle, Shunning soft Pity's rising sway, [ers I Or illy heep, wha bide thi brattle Regardless of the tears and unavailing pray. And' winter wartho, dserepttlea Perhaps this hour in misery's squalid nest, eAnd through the drift, deep She strains your infant to her joyless breast, [rocking blast! Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing, And with a mother's fears shrinks at the That in the merry months o' spring, Oh ye! who, sunk in beds of down, Delighted me to hear thee sing, Feel not a want but what yourselves What comes o' thee! create, EPISTLE TO J. LAPRAIK. 109 Think for a moment on his wretched fate, Then a' that ken't him round declar'd Whom friends and fortune quite disown! He had ingine, Ill satisfied keen nature's clamorous call, That nane excell'd it, few cam near't, Stretched on his straw he lays himself It was sae fine. to sleep, [wall, That, set him to a pint of ale, While through the ragged roof and chinky And either douce or merry tale, Chill o'er his slumbers piles the drifty Or rhymes and sangs he'd made himsel', heap; Or witty catches, Think on the dungeon's grim confine,'Tween Inverness and Teviotdale, Where guilt andpoor misfortune pine! He had a few matches. Guilt, erring man, relenting view Then up I gat, and swoor an aith, But shall thy legal rage pursue Tho' I should pawn my pleugh and graith, The wretch, already crushed low Or die a cadger pownie's death By cruel fortune's undeserved blow P At some dyke back Affliction's sons are brothers in distress; gill I'd gie them ait A pint and gill I'd gie them baith A brother to relieve, how exquisite the To hear your crack. bliss! ".But, first and foremost, I should tell, I hear nae mair, for chanticleer Amaist as soon as I could spell, Shook off the poutheray snaw, I to the crambo-jingle fell; And hailed the morning with a chee- Tho' rude and rough, A cottage-rousiing craw. Yet crooning to a body's sell, But deep this truth impressed my Does weel eneugh. mind- I am nae poet, in a sense, Through all his works abroad, But just a rhymer, like by chance, The heart benevolent and kind And hae to learning nae pretence, The most resembles GoD. Yet, what the matter! Whene'er my muse does on me glance, I jingle at her. CpihtlI i: S. In ap raik, Your critic folk may cock their nose, AN OLD SCOTTISH BARD. (25.) And say, "How can you e'er propose, You, wha ken hardly verse frae prose, April 1, 1785. To mak a sang? " WHILE briers andwoodbines budding green, But, by your leaves, my learned foes, And paitricks scraichin' loud at e'en, Ye're may be wrang. And morning poussie whiddin seen, What's a' your jargon o' your schools, Inspire my muse, Your Latin names for horns and stools; This freedom in an unknown frien' If honest nature made you fools, I pray excuse. What sairs your grammars? On Fasten-e'en we had a rockin', Ye'd better taen up spades and shools, To ca' the crack and weave our stockin'; Or knappin-hammers. And there was muckle fun and jokin' A set o' dull, conceited hashes, Ye need na' doubt; Confuse their brains in college classes! At length we had a hearty yokin' They gang in stirks, and come out asses, At sang about. Plain truth to speak; There was ae sang, amang the rest, And syne they think to climb Parnassus Aboon them a' it pleas'd me best, By dint o' Greek! That some kind husband had addrest Gie me ae spark o' nature's fire! To some sweet wife: That's a' the learning I desire; It thirl'd the heart-strings thro' the breast, Then tho' I drudge thro' dub and mire A' to the life. At pleugh or cart, I've scarce heard ought described sae weel, My muse, tho' hamely in attire, What gen'rous manly bosoms feel; May touch the heart. Thought I, "Can this be Pope, or Steele, Oh for a spunk o' Allan's glee, Or Beattie's wark?" Or Fergusson's the bauld and slee, They tauld me'twas an odd kind chiel Or bright Lapraik's, my friend to be, About Muirkirk. If I can hit it! It pat me fidgin-fain to hear't, That would be lear eneugh for me, And sae about him there I spier't, If I could get it I 110 BURNS'S POETICAL WORKS. Now, sir, if ye hae friends enow, Their ten hours' bite, Tho' real friends I believe are few, My awkwart muse sair pleads and begs Yet, if your catalogue be fou, I would na write. I'se no insist, The tapetless ramfeezl'd hizzie, But gif ye want ae friend that's true, She's saft at best, and something lazy, I'm on your list. Quo' she, "Ye ken, we've been sae busy, I winna blaw about mysel; This month and mair, As ill I like my faults to tell; That trouth, my head is grown right dizzie, But friends and folk that wish me well, And something sair." They sometimes roose me; Her dowff excuses pat me mad: Tho' I maun own, as monie still " Conscience," says I, " ye thowless jad I As far abuse me. I'll write, and that a hearty blaud, But Mauchline race (26), or Mauchline fair, This vera night; I should be proud to meet you there; So dinna ye affront your trade, We'se gic ae night's discharge to care, But rhyme it right. If we forgather, Shall bauld Lapraik, the king o' hearts, And hae a swap o' rhymin'-ware Tho' mankind were a pack o' cartes, Wi' ane anither. Roose you sae weel for your deserts, The four-gill chap, we'se gar him clatter, In terms sae friendly, And kirsen him wi' reekin' water; Yet ye'll neglect to shaw your parts, Syne we'll sit down and tak our whitter, And thank him kindly?" To cheer our heart; Sae I gat paper in a blink, And, faith, we'se be acquainted better And down gaed stumpie in the ink: Before we part. Quoth I, "before I sleep a wink, Awa ye selfish war'ly race, I vow I'll close it; Wha think that havins, sense, and grace, And if ye winna mak it clink, Ev'n love and friendship, should give place By Jove I'll prose it! " To catch the plack! Sae I've begun to scrawl, hut whether I dinna like to see your face, In rhyme, or prose, or baith thegither, Nor hear your crack. Or some hotch-potch that's rightly neither, But ye whom social pleasure charms, Let time mak proof; But I shall scribble down some blether Whose hearts the tide of kindness warms, B ut I shall scribblen some blether Who hold your being on the terms, " Each aid the others." My worthy friend, ne'er grudge and carp, Come to my bowl, come to my arms, Tho' fortune use you hard and sharp; My friends, my brothers I Come, kittle up your moorland-harp But, to conclude my lang epistle, Wi' gleesome touch; As my auld pen's worn to the grissle; She's but a b-tch! Twa lines frae you wad gar me fissle, Who am, most fervent, She's gien me monie a jirt and fleg, While I can either sing or whissle, Sin' I could striddle owre a rig; Your friend and servant. But, by the I —d, tho' I should beg Wi' lyart pow, I'll laugh, and sing, and shake my leg, As lang's I dow! ZU ti] tlltam. Now comes the sax and twentieth simmer, I've seen the bud upo' the timmer, Still persecuted by the limmer WHILE new-ca'd kye rowte at the stake, Frae year to year; And pownies reek in pleugh or braik, But yet, despite the kittle kimmer, This hour on e'enin's edge I take, 1, Rob, am here. To own I'm debtor, Do ye envy the city gent, To honest-hearted, auld Lapraik, Behint a kist to lie and sklent, For his kind letter. Or purse-proud, big wi' cent. per cent. Forjesket sair, wi' weary legs, And muckle wame, Rattlin' the corn out-owre the rigs, In some bit brugh to represent Or dealing thro' amang the naigs A bailie's name? TO WILLIAM SLIMPSOTJ. 111 Or is't the paughty, feudal Thane, On my poor AMusie; Wi' ruffl'd sark and glancing cane, Tho' in sic phraisin' terms ye've penn'd it Wha thinks himsel nae sheep-shank bane, I scarcely excuse ye. But lordly stalks, RMy senses wad be in a creel, While caps and bonnets aff are taen, Should I but dare a hope to speel, As by he walks? Wi' Allan, or wi Gilbertfield, Oh Thou wha gies us each guid gift I The braes o' fame; Gie me o' wit and sense a lift, Or Fergusson, the writer chiel, Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift, A deathless name. Thro' Scotland wide; (Oh Fergusson! thy glorious parts Wi' cits nor lairds I wadna shift, Ill suited law's dry musty arts Ill a' their pri~de! RMy curse upon your whunstaue hearts, Were this the charter of our state, Ye E'nbrugh gentry; "On pain' o' hell be rich and great," The tythe o' what ye waste at cartes Damnation then would be our fate, Wad stow'd his pantry!) Beyond remead; Yet when a tale comes i' my head, But, thanks to HIeav'n, that's no the gate Or lassies gie my heart a screed, We learn our creed. As whiles they're like to be my dead, For thus the royal mandate ran, ()Oh sad disease!) When first the human race began, I kittle up my rustic reed;' The social, friendly, honest man, It gies me ease.'Tis he Whateer he be, Auld Coila, now, may fidge fu' fain,'Tis he fulfils great Nature's plan, She's gotten poets o' her ain And- none but he! ~" Chiels wha their chanters wsinnahain, Oh mandate glorious and divine! But tune their lays, The followers o' the ragged Nine, Till echoes a' resound again Poor thoughtless devils yet may shine Her weel-sung praise In glorious light, AlWhile sordid sons o' Mrmon's line Nae poet thought hler worth his while, Are dark as night. To set her name in measur'd style; She lay like some unken'd-of-isle Tho' here they scrape, and squeeze, and growl, Beside New Holland, Their worthless nievfu' of a soul Or whare wild-meeting oceans boil May in some future carcase howl, Besouth Alagellan. The forest's fright; Ramsay and famous Fergusson Or in some day-detestilng olwl Gied Forth and Tay a lift aboon May shun the light. Yarrow and Tweed, to monie a tune, Then may Lapraik and Burns arise, Owre Scotland rings, To reach their native kindred skies, While Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, and Doon, And sing their pleasures, hopes, and joys, Naebody sings. In some mild sphere, Th' Illissus. Tiber, Thames, and Seine, Still closer knit in friendship's ties Glide sweet in monie a tunefu' line; Each passing year! But, Willie, set your fit to mine, And cock yourcrest, We'll gar our streams and burnies shine Ta William f[impunl, Up wi' the best! We'll sing auld Coila's plains and fells, OCIILTREE. (f27) 1-Her moors red-brown wi' heather bells, May, 1785, Her banks and braes, her dens and dells, I GAT your letter, winsome Willie; Where glorious Wallace Wi' gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie; Aft bure the gree, as story tell, Tho' I maun say't, I wad be silly, Frae southron billies. And unco vain, At Wallace' name what Scottish blood Should I believe, my coaxin' billie, But boils up in spring-tide flood Your flatterin' strain. Oft have our fearless fathers strode But I'se believe ye kindly meant it, By Wallace' side, I sud be laith to think ye hinted Still pressing onward, red-wat shod, Ironic satire. sidelins sklented Or glorious died! 112 BURNS'S POETICAL WORKS. Oh sweet are Coila's haunhs and woods, In thae auld times, they thought the moon, When lintwhites chant amang the buds, Just like a sark, or pair o' shoon, And jinkihs' hares, in amorous whids, Wore by degrees, till her last roon Their loves enjoy, Gaed past their viewing, While thro' the braes tile crushat croods And shortly after she was done, With wailfu' cry! They gat a new one. Ev'n winter bleak has charms to me This past for certain-undisputed; When winds rave thro' the naked tree; It ne'er cam i' their heads to doubt it, Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree Till chiels gat up and wad confute it, Are hoary gray: And ca'd it wrang; Or blinding drifts wild furious flee, And muckle din there was about it, Dark'ning the day! Baith loud and lang. Oh nature! a' thy shows and forms Some herds, well learn'd upo' the beuk, To feeling, pensive hearts hae charms! Wad threap auld folk the think misteuk; Whether the summer kindly warms, For'twas the auld moon turned a neuk, Wi' life and light, And out o sight, Or winter howls, in gusty storms, And backlins-comil', to the leuk The laug, dark nlight I She grew mair bright. The muse, nae poet ever fand her, Till by himsel he learn'd to wander, Ths was and hirsels was alarmed; The herds and hirsels were alarmed: Adown some trotting burn's meander, Adon some trottin burn's meander, The rev'rend grey-beards rav'd and storm'd And no think lan,; And no think lan~; That beardless laddies Oh sweet, to stray and pensive ponder, Should tk they beardless laddiesform'd..leart-felt sag.' Should think they better Xwere inlform'd DA heart-felt saig I Than their auld daddies. The war'ly race may drudge and drive, Hog-shouther, jundie, stretch and strive; Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks; Let me fair llatllre's face descrive, rae words and aiths to clours and nicks, And I, wi' pleasure, And mony a fallow gat his licks, Shall let the busy grullmlinu- hive A-i' hearty crunt; Buln owre their treasure. And some, to learn them for their tricks, Were hlall'd and brunlt. Fareweel, "my rhyme-composing brither!" We've been owre lang unkenn'd to ither: This game was play'd in monie lands, Now let us lay our heads thegither, Arid Auld Light caddies bure sic hands, In love fraternal; That, faith, the youngsters took the sands May envy wallop in a tether, W1i' nimble shanks, Black fiend, infernal! Till lairds forbade, by strict commands, While highlandmen hate tolls and taxes: bluidy pranks. While moorlanl' heads like guid fat braxies; But New Light herds gat sic a cowe, While terra firma on her axis I Folk thought them ruin'd stick-and-stowe, Diurnal turns, Till now amaist on every knowe, Count on a friend, in faith and practice, i Ye'll find ane plac'd; In ROBERT BURNS. And some their New-Light fair avow, Just quite barefac'd. POSTSCRIPT. My memory's Ino worth a preen; Nae doubt the Auld Light flocks are bleatin'; I had amaist forgotten clean, Their zealous herds are vex'd and sweatin'; Ye bade me write you what they mean, Mysel' I've even seen them greetin' By this New Light, Wi' girilin' spite,'Bout which our herds sae aft hae been To hear the moon sae sadly lied on Maist like to fight. By word and write. In days when mankind were but callans But shortly they will cowe the loons! At grammar, logic, and sic talents, Some Auld Light herds in neebor towns They took nae pains their speech to balance, Are mind't in thinns they ca' balloons, Or rules to gie, To tak a flight, But spak their thoughts in plain braid lallans. And stay ae month among the moons Like you or me. And see them right. DEATH AND DR. HORNBOOK. 113 Guid observation they will gie them; And then, its shanks, And when the auld moon's gaun to lea'e They were as thin, as sharp and sma', them. As cheeks o' branks. The hindmost shair'dt;they'll fetch it wi'them, " Guid e'en," quo' I; "Friend, hae ye been Just i' their pouch, When other folk are busy sawin'? " [mawin', And when the New Light billies see them, It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan', I think they'll crouch! But naething spak; Sae, ve observe that a' this clatter At length says I, "IFriend, whare ye gaun, Is naething but a " moonshine matter; Will ye go back?" But tho' dull prose-folk Latin splatter It spake right howe-" SIy name is Death, In lo)gic tulzie, But be na fiey'd." Quoth I, " Guid faith, I hope we bardies ken some better Ye're maybe come to stap my breath; Than mind sic brulzie. But tent me, billieI red ye weel, tak care o' skaith. See, there's a gully!" rat) anh1 JS. nbrnlnalIt. "Guidman," quo' he, "put up your whittle, I'm no designed to try its mettle; A TRUE STORY. (28) But if I did, I wad be kittle SOIE books are lies frae end to end, To be mislear'd; And some great lies were never penn'd; I wad na mind it, no, that spittle E'en ministers they hae been kellm'd, Out-owre my beard." In holy rapture, "W eel, weel " says I, "a bargain be't; A rousing whid at tinmes to vend. Come, gies your hand, and sac we're gree't; And iail't ni' Scripture. We'll ease our shanks and tak a seatBut this that I am gaun to tell, Comle, gies your news; WVhich lately on a night befell, This while ye hae been mony a gate, Is just as true's the (leil's in hell At mony a house." Or D)ublin city: "Ay, ay!" quo' he, and shook his head, That e'er he ne nearer comes oursel "It's e en a lang time indeed's a muckle pity. Sin' I began to nick the thread, The clachan ylll had made me canty- Anl choke the breath: I was lla fou, but just had plenty; Folk maun do something for their bread, I stacher'd whyles, but yet took tent aye And sae maun Death. To free the ditches; " Sax thousand years are near hand fled And hillocks, stares, and bushes kenned aye Sini' I was to the butching bred, Frae ghaists and witches. And mony a scheme in vain's been laid, The rising moonr began to glow'r To stap or scaur me; The distant Cuirlnock hills ott-owre: Till ane Horlbook's taen up the trade, To count her horns, wi' a' my pow'r, And faith he'll waur me. I set snysel; "Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the clachan, But whether sha had three or four, Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleuchan! I could na tell. He's grown sac well acquaint wi' Buchan (30)j I was come round about the hill, And ither chaps, And tocdlin' down. oil Willie's mill (29), The weans haud out their fingers laughin', Setting my statf wi' all my skill, And pouk my hips. To keep me sicker; "See, here's a scythe, and there's a dart, Tho' leeward whyles, against my will, They hae piere'd rony a gallant heart; I took a bicker. But Doctor Hornbook wi' his art I there wi' something did forgather, And cursed skill, That put me in an eerie swither; Has made them both no worth a f —t;. An awfu' scythe, out-owre ae shouther, D)amn'd haet they'll kill. Clear-danglinng, hang; "'Twas but yestreen, nae farther gaen,,. A three-taed leister on the ither I threw a noble throw at ane; Lay, large and lang. Wi' less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slai Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa, But deil-ma-care, The queerest shape that e'er I saw, | It just play'd dirl on the bane, For fient a wame it had ava; But did nae mair. I 114:BURI-S'S POETICAL WORKS. " Hornbrook was by wi' ready art, A countra laird had taen the batts, And had sae fortified the part, Or rome curmurring ill his guts; That when I looked to my dart, His only son for Hornbook sets, It was sae blunt, And pays him wellFient haet o't wad hae pierc'd the heart The lad, for twa guid gimmer-pets, Of a kail-runt. Was laird himsel. "I drew my scythe in sic a fury, "That's just a swatch o' Hornhook's way; I nearhand cowpit wi' my hurry, Thus goes he on from day to day, But yet the bauld apothecary Thus does he poison, hill, and slay, Withstood the shock; An's weel paid for't; I might as weel hae tried a quarry Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey O' hard whin rock. Wi' his curs'd dirt: "And then a' doctor's saws and whittles, "But hark! I'll tell you of a plot, Of a' dimensions, shapes, and metals, Though dinna ye be speaking o't; A' kinds o' boxes, mulllgs, and bottles, I'll nail the self-conceited sot He's sure to hae; As dead's a herrin': Their Latin names as fast lie rattles Neist time we neet, I'll wad a groat, As A B C. He gets his fairin'! " "Calces o' fossils, earths, and trees; But just as he beg'an to tell, True sal-marinum o' the seas; The auld kirk-hanmmer strak the bell The farina of beans and peas, Some wee short hour ayont the twal, He has't in plenty; IWhich rais'd us baith: Aqua-fontis, what you please, I took the way that pleas'd mysel', He can content ye. And sae did Death. "Forbye some new, uncommon weapons, Urinus spiritus of capons; Or mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings, Distill'd per se; T;t ull aiV. Sal-alkali o' midge-tail clippings, And mony mae." A robe of seeming truth and trust Hid crafty observation; " VNaes me for Johnny Ged's Hole (31) now," And secret hunT, with poison'd crust, Quo' I; "if that thae news be true, The dirk of Defamation: His braw calf-Nward whare gowans grew, A rnas that like the gorcet show'd, Dye-varying on the pigeon; And for a mantle large and broad, Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the plew; lie wrapt hin in Religion. They'll ruin Johnny I" IPosY A-L-oE. (11.) lhey 11 ruin Johrmy!' HtYrPOCRISY A-LA-MODE.. (11.) The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh, UPON a simmer Sunday morn And says, " Ye need na yoke the pleugh, When Nature's face is fair, Kirkyards will soon be till'd eneug, walke forth to vi te corn, Tal ye nae fear: And snuff the canler air, They'll a' be trenhel'd wi' mony a sheugh The rising Sill eure Galston muirs In twa-three year. In ta-three year. Wi' glorious light was glintin'; "Whare I kill'd ane a fair strae death, The hares-were hirplin' down the furs, By loss o' blood or want o' breath, The lav'rocks they wrere chantin' This night I'm free to tak my aith, Fu' sweet that day. That Hornbook's skill Has clad a score i' their last claith, As liglltsomey I glowr'd abroad, By drap and pill. To see a scene sae gay, Three hizzies, early at the road, "An honest wabster to his trade, Cam skelpin' up the way; WVhasewife'stwa nievesuwere scarce well-bred, Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black, Gat tippence worth to mend her head, But ane wi' lyart lining; When it was sair; The third, that gaed a-wee a-back, The wife slade cannie to her bed, Was in the fashion shining, But ne'er spak mair. Fu' gay that day. -Poo I eez7ie' let- ii. a - a};i t]'_'od,. Nec Iar'ock-he] L Near- lana~i — h~ig iha she J'l!lp it, THE HOLY FAIR. 115 The twa appear'd like sisters twin, There, racer, Jess (33), and twa-three wh-res, Ill feature, form, and claes; Are blilikin' at the entry. Their visage wither'd, lang, and thin, Here sits a raw of tittlin' jauds, And sour as ony slaes: Wi' heaving breast and bare neck, The third cam up, hap-step-an'-lowp, And there a batch o' wabster lads, As light as ony lamlbie, Blaclkguarding frae Kilmarnock And wi' a curchie low did stoop, For fan this day. As soon as e'er she saw me, Fu' kind that day. Here sum are thinkin' on their sins, And some upo' their claes; Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, "Sweet lass, Ane curses feet that fyi'd his shins, I think ye seem to ken me; Anither sighs and prays: I'm sure I've seen that bonny face, On this hand sits a chosen swatch, But yet.I canrna name ye." Wi' screw'd-up grace-proud faces; Quo' she, and laughin' as she spak, On that a set ochaps at watch Anld taks me by thle hands, Thrang winkin' on the lasses "Ye, for my sake, hae g'ien the feek, To chairs that day. Of a' the teni commanl(ls A screcd some day. Oh happy is that man and blest! "Aiy name is Fuin-your cronie dear (Nae ( wonder that it pride him!) The iearest fneiid ye hat; Wha' s ain dear lass that lie likes best, The niearest frliend ye hiae; Comes clinkiu' down beside him! And this is Superstition here, W' arm repo'd ol the chair back, t' iW' arm repos'd oln the chair back, And that's Hypocrisy. I'm gaun to Mlauchlline holy fair, e sreetly does compose hil;'m sanend a c hoiiier ill dayin': fWhich, by degrees, slips round her neck, To spend ass hour in dattin': A f e Gin ye'll go there, yon rulnkl'd pair, Al's loof upon her bosom, We will get famous lauglhin' nlielll'd tlat day. At theml this day." Now a' the coiniregation o'er Is silenlt expectation: Qucth I "With a' my heart, I'll do't; For Moodie speels the holy door, I'll get my Sunday's sark onl, W1' tidings o' d-nnl-tion. (34) And meet you oil the holy spot- Should iorinie, as in ancient days, Faith, we'se hae fine reimarkin'! "'lang sons o' God present him, Then I gaed hamle at crowdie-time, The vera sight o' Mloodie's face, Anlld soo0 I made lne ready;'To's anil het hlame had sent him For roads were clad, from side to side, Wi' fright that day. Wi' monie a wearie body, In droves that day. Hear how le clears the points o' faith W~i rattlin' anld swi' tliumnpin'! Here farmers gash, in ridin' graith Now meekly calm, now wild ill wrath, Gaed hoddin by their cottars; He's stampin' and lie's jumpin'! There, swankies young, in braw braid-claith, His lenigthleiled chill, his turn'd-up snout, Are springin' o'er the gutters. His eldritch squeal andl gestures, The lasses, skelpin' barefit, thrang, Oh, how they fire the heart devout, In silks and scarlets glitter; Like caustharidian plasters, Wi sweet-milk cllheese, in mony a whang, Oi sic a day! And farls bak'd wi' butter, Fu'And farl bad l' butter, dBut hark! the tent has cltang'd its voice: Fu' crunip that day. There's peace and rest nae langer; When by the plate we set olur nose, For a' the real judes rise, Weel heaped up Ni' ha'pellce, They canna sit for anger. A greedy glows' black bhonnset throws, Smith opens out his caild harangues (35), And we maunn draw our tipperice, On practice and oil morals; Then in we go to see the show; And aff the godly pour in thrangs, On ev'ry side they're gath'rin', To gie tie jars and barrels Some carrying dails, some chairs, and stools, A lift that day. And some are busy blethriss' What signifies his barren shine, Right loud that day. Of moral powr's and reason? Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs, His English style and gesture fine And screen our country gentry, Are a' clean out o' season. 116 BURNS'S POETICAL WORKS. Like Socrates or Antonine, His talk o' hell, whare devils dwell, Or some auld pagan heathen, Our vera sauls does harrow (41) The moral man he does define, Wi' fright that day. But ne'er a word o' faith ill That's rigdht that day. A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit, TFill'd fou o' lowin' brunstane, In guid time comes an antidote Wha's ragin' flame, and scorchin' heat, Against sic poison'd nostrum;et the Wad melt the hardest whun-stanel For Peebles, frae the water-fit (36), The half asleep start up wi' fear, A3cenlds the holy rostrum: And think they lear it roarill', See, up he's got the word o' God, When preseitly it does appear And meek and mim has view'd it,'Twas but some neebor snorin' While Common Sense (37) has ta'en the Asleep that day. road, And aff, and up the Cowgate (38),'Twad be owre long a tale, to tell Fast, fast, that day. HIow monie stories past, And how they crowded to the yill Wee MTiller (39) neist the guard relieves, When they were a' dismist: Aid orthodoxy raihles, bHow drinrk gaed round, in cogs and caups, Tho' in his heart he weel believes, Amarso the firms ard beiches: and thinks it auld wives' fables; z Ad thks it auld ives fables; Andl cheese anrd bread, frae women's laps, But, faith! the birkie wants a manse, WA as dealt ahout in lunches, So, cannily he hums them; Aid dauds that day. Altho' his carllal wit anld sense Like hafflins-ways o'ercomes him In comes a gaucie, gash guidwife, At times that day. Alnd sits down. by the fire, Now butt and ben the change-house fills, Syne draws her kebuck and her knife; i' yill-caup cormmentators; The lasses they are shyer. Hlere's crying out for bakes and gills, The auld guidmen, ahout tie grace, And there thle pint-storp clatters; Frae side to side they bother, While thick arid thralg, arid loud anid Till some ane by his bonnet lays, lan,,, Anid gi'es thenl't like a tether, WVi' logic and wi' Scripture, They raise a diiin, that, ill the end, Waesllck! for him that gets nae lass, Is like to brted a rupture Or lasses that hae ilathing I O' wrath that day. Stia' need has he to say a grace, Leeze me on drink! it gies us mair Or mrelvie his braw claithing! Than either school or college: Oh wives be minldfu' ance yoursel It kindles wit, it watrkens lair, How boiny lads ye wanted, It pangs us fou o' knowledge. Anld linla, for a kebbuck-heel, Be't whisky gill, or penny wheep, Let lasses be alfrorted Or only stronger potion, On sic a day! It never fails, on drinking deep, Nou' Clinkrmb)ell, ni' rattlin' tow, To pittle up our notion lBegills to jowr arld croon; By night or day. Some swag,,er hame the best they dow, The lads and lasses, blythely bent Some wait the afternoon. To mind baith saul and body, At slaps the billies halt a blink, Sit round the table weel content, Till lassess trip their shoon: And steer about the toddy. W'i' faith and hope, arid love and drink, On this ane's dress, and that ane's leuk,'hey're a' il famols tune They're making observations; For crack that day. While some are cozie i' the neuk, How monie hearts this day converts And formin' assignations O' sinners arid o' lasses! To meet some day. Their hearts o' stane, gill nlght, are gano, But now the L-d's ain trumpet touts, As saft as ony flesh is. Till a' the hills are rairin', There's some are fanu o' love divine; And echoes back return the shouts- There's some are fou' o' brandy; Black Russell (40) is na sparin': And many jobs that day begin His piercing words, like Highlan' swords, May end in houghmagandy, Divide the joints and marrow; Some ither day. THE ORDINATION. 117 g2t rhr iranat inn. Nae mair by Babel's streams we'll weep, To think upon our Zion; "For sense they little owe to frugal Heav'n — And hingr our nddles up to sleep, To please the mob they hide the little giv'n." Like baby-clouts a-dryin'; Come, screw the pegs, wi' tunefu' cheap KILMARNOCK wabsters fidge and claw, And o'er the thairms be tryin' And pour your creeshie nations; Oh, rare! to see our elbucks wheep, And ye wha leather rax and draw, And a' like lamb-tails flyin' Of a' denominations, (43) Fu' fast this day; Swith to the Laigh Kirk, ane and a', And there tak up your stations; Lang Patronage, wi' rod o' aim, Then aff to Begbie's (44) in a raw, Has shor'd the Kirk's undoin', And pour divine libations. As lately Fenwick, sair forfairn, For joy this day. Has proven to its ruin: Our patron, honest man! Glencairn, Curst Common Sense, that imp o' hell, Our patron, honest man Glenairn He saw mischief was brewin'; Carn in wi' Maggie Lauder (45); And like a godly elect bairn But Oliphant aft made her yell, He's wal'd us out a true ane, And Russell sair misca'd her; And sound this day. This day M - taks the flail, And he's the boy will bland her I Now, Robertson (49), harangue nae mair He'll clap a shangan on her fail, Bult steek your gab for ever: And set the bairns to daud her. Or try the wicked town of Ayr, Wi' dirt this day. For there they'll think you clever; Mak haste and turn king David owre, Or, nae reflection on your lear, And lilt wi' holy clangor; Ye may commence a shaver; a' double verse coimns ie us four, Or to the Netherton (50) repair, O' double verse come gie us four, And skirl up the Bangor: And turn a carpet-weaver This day the Kirk kicks up a stoure, Aff-hand this day. Nae mair the knaves shall wrang her, {Mutrie (51) and you were just a match, For Heresy is in her pow'r, WAVe never had sic twa drones: And gloriously she'll whang her Auld Hornie did the Laigh Kirk watch, Wi' pith this day. Just like a winkin' baudrons: Come, let a proper text be read. And aye he catched the tither wretch, And touch it aff wi' vioour, To frv them in his caudrons: How graceless Ham (46) leugh at his dad, But now his honour matn detach, Which made Canaan a nigger; Wi' a' his brimstone squadrons, Or iPhineas (47) drove the murdering blade, Fast, fast this day. Wi' wh-re-abhorring rigour; See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes Or Zipporah (48), the scauldil' jad, She's swingein through the city; Was like a bluidy tiger Hark, how the nine-tail'd cat she plays I I' th' inn that day. I vow it's unco pretty: There, try his mettle on the creed, There, Learning, with his Greekish face, And bind him down wi' caution, Grunts out some Latin ditty, That stipend is a carnal weed And Common Sense is gaun, she says, He taks but for the fashion; To mak to Jamie Beattie (52) And gie him o'er the flock, to feed, Her plant this day. Alld punish each transgrression; But there's Morality himsel', Especial, rams that cross the breed, Embracing all opinions; Gie them sufficient threshin', Hear, how he gies the tither yell, Spare them nae day. Between his twa companrions; Now, auld Kilmarnock, cock thy tail. See, how she peels the skin and fell, And toss thy horns fu' canty; As ane were peelin' onions! Nae mair thou'lt rowte out-owre the dale, Now there-tley're packed aff to hell, Because thy pasture's scanty; And banish'd our dominions, For lapfu's large o' gospel kail Henceforth this day. Shall fill thy crib in plenty, Oh, happy day! rejoice, rejoice I And runts o' grace the pick and wale, Come bouse about the porter! No gi'en by way o' dainty, 1Morality's demure decoys But ilka day. Shall here nae mair find quarter: 11S BURNS'S POETICAL WORKS. M —, Russell, are the boys, This while my notion's ta'en a sklent, That Heresy can torture: To try my fate in guid black prent; They'll gie her on a rape a hoyse, But still the mair I'm that way bent, And cowe her measure shorter Something cries " Hoolie! By th' head some day. I red you, honest man, tak tent! Come, bring the tither mutchkin in, Ye'll shaw your folly. And here's, for a conclusion, There's ither poets much your betters, To every New Light (53) mother's son, Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, From this time forth, Confusion: Hae thought they had ensur'd their If mair they deave us wi' their din, debtors Or Patronage intrusion, A' future ages; We'll light a spunk, and every skin Now moths deform in shapeless tatters, We'll rin them aff in fusion, Their unknown pages." Like oil some day. Then farewell hopes o' laurel-boughs, To garland my poetic brows! Henceforth I'll rove where busy ploughs Q1I laml ItIiJ. (54) Are whistling thrang, " Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul! And teach the lanely heights and howes Sweet'ner of life, and solder of society I My rustic sang. I owe thee much! "-BLAIR. I'll wander on, with tentless heed DEAR Smith, the slee'est, paukie thief, How never-halting moments speed, That e'er attempted stealth or rief, Till fate shall snap the brittle thread; Ye surely hae some warlock-breef Then, all unknown, Owre human hearts; I'll lay me with th' inglorious dead, For ne'er a bosom yet was prief Forgot and gone! Against your arts. But why o' death begin a tale? For me, I swear by sun and moon, Just now we're living sound and hale, And ev'ry star that blinks aboon, Then top and maintop crowd the sail, Ye've cost me twenty pair o' shoon Heave care o'er side! Just gaun to see you; And large before enjoyment's gale, And ev'ry ither pair that's done, Let's tak the tide. Mair ta'en I'm wi' you. This life, sae far's I understand, That auld capricious carlin, Nature, Is a' enchanted fairy land, To mak amends for scrimpit stature, UWhere pleasure is the magic wand, She's turn'd you aff, a human Creature That, wielded right, On her-first plan; iMaks hours like minutes, hand in hand, And in her freaks, on every feature Dance by fi' light. She's wrote, the MIan.'e's wthe, fith Ma The magic wand then let us wield; Just now I've taoen the fit o' ryhme, For, ance that five-and-forty's speel'd, My barmie noddle's working prime, See, crazy, weary, joyless elid, My fancy yerkit up sublime Wi' wrinkl'd face. Wy i' hasty summon: Comes hostin', hirplin' owre the field, Rae ye a leisure-moment's time, i' creepi pace. To hear what's comin'! WVhen ance life's day draws near the Some rhyme a neighbour's name to lash; en ance life's day draws near the Some rhyme (vain thought) for needfu' loamin', Then fareweel vacant careless roamin'; cash; AAnd fareweel cheerfu' tankards foamin' Some rhyme to court the country clash, nd fareeel cseerfo' tnkard foin And raise a din; And social noise; For me, an aim I never fash-; And fareweel dear, deluding woman I I rhyme for fun. The joy of joys! The star that rules my luckless lot, Oh life! how pleasant in thy morning, Has fated me the russet coat, Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning i And damn'd my fortune to the groat; Cold-pausing caution's lesson scorning, But in requit, We frisk away, Has blest me wi' a random shot Like school-boys, at th' expected warning, O' countra wit. To joy and play. THE JOLLY BEGGARS. 119 We wander there, we wander here, I jouk beneath misfortune's blows We eve the rose upon the brier, As weel's I may: Unmindful that the thorn is near, Sworn foe to sorrow, care, and prose Among the leaves! I rhyme away. And tho' the puny wound appear, Oh ye douce folk, that live by rlle, Short while it grieves. Grave, tideless-blooded, calm and cool, Some, lucky, find a flow'ry spot, Compar'd wi' you-oh fool! fool! fool! For which they never toil'd or swat; How much unlike; They drink the sweet and eat the fat, Your heart's are just a standing pool, But care or pain; Your lives a dyke! And, haply, eye the lbarren hut Nae hair-brain'd, sentimental traces, With high disdain. In your unletter'd nameless faces 1 With steady aim some Fortune chase; In arioso trills and graces Keen hope does ev'ry sinew brace; Ye never stray, Thro' fair, thro' foul, they urge the race, But gravissimo, solemn basses And seize the prey: Ye hum away. Then cannie, in some cozie place, Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye're wiseo; They close the day. Nae ferly tho' ye do despise And others', like your humble servan', The hairum-scairum, ram-stam boys, Poor wights! nae rules nor roads observin'; The rattling squad: To right or left, eternal swervin', I see you upward cast your eyesThey zig-za,, on; -Ye ken the road. Till curst with age, obscure and starvin,' Whilst I —but I shall hand me thereThey aften groan. Wi' you I'll scarce gang ony whereAlas! what bitter toil and straining- Then, Jamie, I shall say nae mair, But truce with peevish, poor complaining! But quat my sangr, Is fortune's fickle Luna waning? Content wi' you to mak a pair, E'en let her gang! Whareer I galg. Beneath what lifht she has remaining, Let's sing our sang. DMy pen I here fling to the door, i {f; 3lll rgt.-% llntatZ (55) And kneel, "Ye Pow'rs," and warm implore, "Tho' I should wander terra o'er, RECITATIVO. In all her climes, WHEN lyvart leaves bestrew the yird, Grant me but this, I ask no more, Or wavering like the bauckie-bird, Aye rowth o' rhymes. Bedim cauld Boreas' blast; Gie dreeping roasts to countra lairds, When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte Till icicles hing frae their beards; And infant frosts begin to bite, Gie' fine braw claes to fine life guards, In hoary cranreuch drest; And maids of honour! Ae night at e'en a merry core And yill and whisky gie to cairds, O' randie, gan-rel bodies, Until they scollller. In Poosie Nancy's held the splore, A title, Dempster merits it; *To drink their orra duddies: A garter gie to Willie Pitt; Wi' quatting and laughing, They ranted and they sang; Gie wealth to some be-ledger'd cit, In cent. per cent. Wi' jumping and thumping, But give me real, sterling wit, The vera girdle rang. And I'm content. First, neist the fire, in auld red rags, Ane salt weel brac'd wi' mealy bags, While ye are pleased to keep me hale, Ane sait weel rac'd wi' mealy bags I'll sit down o'er my scanty meal, And knapsack a' in order; _*His doxy lay within his arm, Be't water-brose, or muslin-kail, Wi' cheerfu' face, Wi' usquebae and blankets'warm — Wi.heerfu'. * eShe blinket on her sodger: As lang's the muses dinina fail And ae he ie3 the tozie To say the grace." And aye he gies the tozie drab The tither skelp in' kiss, An anxious e'e I never throws While she held up her greedy gab Behint my lug or by my nose; Just like an aumos dish. (56) 120 BURNS'S POETICAL WORKS. Ilk smack still, did crack still, Some one of a troop of dragoons was my Just like a cadger's whip, daddie, Then staggering and ss -a'gering No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie. He roared this ditty up. Sing, Lal de lal, &c. The first of my loves was a swaggering blade, AIR. In To rattle the thundering drum was his trade; TUNE-Soldiers' Joy. His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so I am a son of Mars, who have been in many ruddy, wars, [come; Transported I was with my sodger laddie. And show my cuts and scars wherever I Sing, Lal de lal, &c. This here was for a wench, and that other in But the godly old chaplain left him in the a trench, [the drum. lurch, [church; When welcoming the French at the sound of The sword I forsook for the sake of the Lal de daundle, &c. He ventur'd the soul, and I risk'd the bodyMy'prenticeship I past where my leader'Twas then I prov'd false to my sodger laddie. breath'd his last, [of Abram (57); Sing, Lal, de lal, &c. When the bloody die was cast on the heights Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot, I served out my trade when the gallant game The regiment at large for a husband I got; was play'd, [sound of the drum. From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was And the Mlorro (58) low was laid at the ready, Lal, de daudle, &c. I asked no more but a sodger laddie I lastly was with Curtis, among the floating Sing, Lal, de lal, &c. batt'ries (59), [limb; But the peace it reduc'd me to be, in despair, And there I left for witness an arm and a Till I met my old boy at Cunningham fair; Yet let nmy country need me, with Elliot (60) His rags regimental they flutter'd so gaudy, to head me, [drum. My heart it rejoic'd at a sodger laddie. I'd clatter on my stumps at the sound of a Sing, Lal de lal, &c. Lal de daudle, &c. And now I have liv'd-I know not how long And now tho' I must beg with a wooden arm And still I can join in a cup and a song; and leg, [bull. But whilst with both hands I can hold the And malny a tatter'd rag hanging over my glass steady, I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle and Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie. my callet, Sing, Lal de lal, &c. As when I us'd in scarlet to follow a drum. Lal de daudle, &c. RECITATIVO. What tho' with hoary locks, I must stand the Poor Merry Andrew in the neuk, Sat guzzling wi' a tinkler hizzie; Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for They mind't sa wha the chorus teuk, When the tother bag I sell, and the tother Between themselves they were sae busy: bottle tell, [a drum. At lellgth wi' drink and courting dizzy, bottle tell, [a drum. I could meet a troop of hell at the sound of lie stoiter'd up and made a face; Lal de daudle, &c. Then turn'd, and laid a smack on Grizzie, Syne tuned his pipes wi' grave grimace. RECITATIVO. AIR. He ended; and the kebars sheuk, TUNE-AUl/d Sir Symon. Aboon the chorus roar; Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou, While frighted rattons backward leuk,Sir Knave is a fool in a session: And seek the benmost bore; lIe's there but a'prrentice I trow, 1A fairy fiddler frae the neuk, But I am a fool by profession. -le skirt d out " Encore!" My grannie she bought me a beuk, But up arose the martial chuck, eld awa to the school And laid thme loud uproar. I fear I my talent misteuk, AIR. 3But what will ye hsae of a fool? TUNE-S-oldier Lacddie. For drink I would venture my neck, A hizzie's the half o' my craft, I once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when, But what could ye other expect, And still my delight is in proper young men; Of ane that's avowedly daft? THE JOLLY BEGGARS. 121 I ance was tied up like a stirk; My curse upon them every one, For civilly swearing and quaffin'; They'ye hang'd my braw John Highlandman. I ance was abus'd in the kirk, Sing, hey, &c. For touzling a lass i' my daffin. A'cd now a widow, I must mourn, Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport, The pleasure's that will ne'er return. Let n'aebody name wi' a jeer; No comfort but a hearty can, There's ev'n, I'm taught, i' the court When I think on John Highlandman. A tumbler ca'd the premier. Silg, hey, &c. Observ'd ye, yon reverend lad RECITATIVO. Maks faces to tickle the mob; He rails at our mountebank squad- A pigmy scraper, wi' his fiddle, It's rivalship just i' the job. Wha us'd at trysts and fairs to driddle, Her strappin' limb, and gaucy middle And now my conclusion I'll tell, (He reach'd na higher) For faith I'm confoundedly dry; Had hol'd his heartie like a riddle, The chiel that's a fool for himsel', And blawn't on fire. Gude IL-d! he's far dafter than I. Wi' hand on haunch, and upward e'e RECITATIVO. He croon'd his gamut, one, two, three, Then neist outspak a raucle carlin, Then in an arioso key, Wha keut fu' weel to cleek the sterling, The wee Apollo For monie a pursie she had hooked, Set off wi' allegretto glee And had in mony a well been ducked. His giga solo. Her dove had been a Highland laddie, But weary fa' the waefu' woodie! AIR. Wi' sighs and sobs she thus began TUNE-Whistle oe'r the lave o't. To wail her braw John Highlandman. Let me ryke up to dight that tear, AIR. And go Nwi' me and be my dear, And theel you every care anl tfear TUNE —O anr ye were dead Guidmtnn. May whistle oxre the lave o't. A Highland lad my love was born, The Lawland laws he held in scorn CHORUS. But he still was faithfu' to his clan, I am a fiddler to my trade, MIy gallant braw John Highlandman. And a' the tunes that e'er I play'd, The sweetest still to wife or maid, Was whistle owre the lave o't. Sing, hey my braw John Hi(ghlandman! At kirns and weddings we'se be there, Sing, ho, my braw John Highlandman Asd oh isae cicely's we u-ill fare; There's not a lad in a' the lan' There's not a lad in a' the lans' We'll bouse about till Daddie Care Was match for nmy John Highlandman. Sings whistle owre the lave o't. With his philabeg and tartan plaid, I am, &c. And guid claymore down by his side, Sas merrily the hanes we'll pyke, The ladies' hearts he did trepan, And sun oursells about the dyke, My gallant braw John Highlandman. And at our leisure, when ye like, ZSing, hey, &c. iWe'll whistle ow're the lave o't. We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, I am, &c. And liv'd like lords and ladies gay; or a Iv'd like lords faned ladies gay; But bless me wi' your heav'n o' charms, For a Lawland face he feared none, And u-ile I kittle hair on tsairms, My gallant braw John Highlandman. WRr~y gallant braw John Hiffhlandman. And while I kittle hair on thairms, Sine hey &c Hunger, cauld, and a sic harms. ling~, hey, &c. May whistle ow're the lave o't. They banish'd him beyond the sea, I am, &c. But ere the bud was on the tree, Adown my cheeks the pearls ran, RECITATIVO. Embracing my John Highlanedman. Her charms had struck a sturdy cair'd. Sing, hey, &c. As wveel as poor gut-scraper; But, oh! they catch'd him at the last, He taks the fiddler by the beard, And bound him in a dungeon fast: And draws a roosty rapier 122 BURNS'S POETICAL WORKS. He swoor by a' was swearing worth, He had nae wish but-to be glad, To speet him like a pliver, Nor want but-when he thirsted; Unless he wad from that time forth He had nought but-to be sad, Relinquish her for ever. And thus the Muse suggested Wi' ghastly e'e, poor tweedle-dee His sang that night. Upon his hunkers bended, AIR. And pray'd for grace wi' ruefu' face, TUNE-For a' that, and a' that. And sace the quarrel ended. I am a bard of no regard, But tho' his little heart did grieve Wi' gentle folks, and a' that: When round the tinkler prest her, But Iomer-like, the glovrin' byke, He feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve, Frae town to town I draw that. When thus the caird addressae her: CHORUS. AIR. For a' that, and a' that, TUNE-Clout the Caudron. And twice as muckle's a' that; I've lost but but ane, I've twa behin' My bonny lass, I work in brass, I've wife eneugh for a' that. A tinkler is my station: I never drank the Muses' stank, I've travell'd round all Christian ground Castalia's burn and a' that; In this my occupation: But there it streams, and richly reams, I've ta'en the gold, I've been enroll'd My Helicos I ca' that, In many a noble squadron: For a' that &c. But vain they search'd, when off I march'd, To go and clout the caudron, e tae'n the gold, &. Their humble slave, and a' that; But lordly will, I hold it still D'espise that shrimp, that wither'd imp, A mortal sill to thraw that. Wi' a' his noise and caprin,' For a' that, &c. And tak a share wi' those that bear The budget and e apron In raptures sweet, this hour we meet, n he budget and the apron~ W"i' mutual love and a' that: And by that stoup, my faith and houp, i' mutual loe and a' that: And by that dear Kilbagie (61), But for how lang the flee may stang, Andbytht n Kibaie(6),Let inclination law that. If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant, Let inclination law that. May I ne'er weet my craigie. And by that stoup, &c. Their tricks and craft have put me daft, They've ta'en me in, and a' that; RECITATIVO. But clear your decks, and here's the sex I like the jads for a' that. The caird prevail'd-the unblushing fair In his embraces sunk, CHORUS. Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair, For a' that, and a' that, And partly she was drunk. And twice as muckle's a' that; Sir Violino, with an air lIy dearest bluid, to do them guid, That show'd a masl of spunk, They're welcome till't for a' that. rislh'd unison between the pair, RECITATIVO. And made the bottle clunk So sang the bard-and Nansie's wa's To their health that night. Shook with a wonder of applause, But hurchin Cupid shot a shaft, Re-echo'd from each mouth: That play'd a dame a shavie, They toom'd their pocks, and pawn'd their The fiddler raked her fore and aft, duds. Ahint the chicken cavie. They scarcely left to co'er their fuds, Her lord, a wight o' Homer's craft, To quench their lowin' drougth. Tho' limping wi' the spavie, Then owre again, the jovial thrang, He hirpl'd up, and lap like daft, The poet did request, And shor'd them Dainty Davie To loose his pack and wale a sang, O' boot that night A ballad o' the best; He was a care-defying blade He rising, rejoicing, As ever Bacchus listed, Between his twa Deborahs, Tho' Fortune sair upon him laid, Looks round him, and found them His heart she ever miss'd it. Impatient for the chorus. MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. 123 AIR. Or haply, prest with cares and woes, TUNE —Jolly Mortals,fill your Glasses. Too soon thou hast began To wander forth, with me, to mourn'be! the smoking bowl before us, The miseries of man The miseries of man. IMark our jovial ragged ring! Round and round take up the chorus, The sun that overhangs yon moors, And in raptures let us sing. Out-spreading far and wide, Where hundreds labour to support CHORUS. A haughty lordling's pride: A fig for those by law protected! I've seen yon weary winter-sua Liberty's a glorious feast! Twice forty times return, Courts for cowards were erected, And ev'ry time has added proofs Churches built to please the priest. That man was made to mourn. What is title? what is treasure? Oh man, while in thy early years, What is reputation's care? How prodigal of time! If we lead a life of pleasure, Misspending all thy precious hours,'Tis no matter how or where! Thy glorious youthful prime! A 1fg. &c. Alternate follies take the sway; Z"8, ~. Licentious passions burn; With the ready trick and fable, L p With the ready trick and fhich tenfold force gives nature's law, Round we wander all the day; That man was made to mourn. And at night in barn or stable, Hug our doxies on the hay. Look not alone on youthful prime, A fig, &c. Or manhood's active might; Does the train-attended carriage Man then is useful to his kind,'llrougll the country lighter rove? Supported is his right; Does the sober bed of marriage see him on the edge of life, Witness brighter scenes of love I M ith cares and sorrows worn; A fig, &c. Then age and want-oh! ill-match'd pairlLife is all a variorum, Show man was made to morun. XWe regard not how it goes; A few seem favourites of fate, Let them cant about decorum In pleasure's lap carest; Who have characters to lose. Yet, think not all the rich and great A fig, &c. Are likewise truly blest. Here's to budgets, bags, and wallets! But, oh! what crowds in every land, Here's to all the waindering train All wretched and forlorn! Iere's our ragged brats and callets I Thro' weary life this lesson learnOne and all cry out —Amen! A fig for those by law protected! Many and sharp the nnm'rous ills Liberty's a glarious feast! Inwoven with our frame! Courts for cowards were erected, More pointed still we make ourselves Churches built to please the priest. Regret, remorse, and shame; And man, whose heaven-erected face The smiles of love adorn, an uas Rtah?'it Mtara. (62) MIan's inhumanity to man lakes countless thousands mourn I A DIRGE. WTVHEN chill November's surly blast See yonder poor, o'e-labour'd wight, Made fields and forests bare, So abject, mean, and vile, One ev'ning, as I wandered forth Who begs a brother of the earth Along the banks of Ayr, To give him leave to toil; I spied a man whose aged step And see his lordly fellow-worm Seem'd weary, worn with care; The poor petition spurn,'His face was furrow'd o'er with years, Unmindful, though a weeping wife And hoary was his hair. And helpless offspring mourn. "Young stranger, whither wand'rest thou?" If I'm desigsn'd yon lordling's slave — Began the rev'rend sage: By Nature's law designedDI)oes thirst of wealth thy step constrain, Why was an independent wish Or youthful pleasure's rage? E'er planted in my mind? 124 BUJRS'S POETICAL WORKS. If not, why am I subject to That wee bit heap o' leaves and stibble, His cruelty or scorn? Has cost thee mony a weary nibble! Or why has man the will and power Now thou's turn'd out for a' thy trouble,'Io make his fellow mourn? But house or hald, To thole the winter's sleety dribble, Yet, let not this too much, my son, And crareuch caullt Disturb thy youthful breast; This partial view of human-kind But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, Is surely not the last! In proving foresight may be vain: The poor, oppressed, honest man The best laid schemes o' mice and men, Had never, sure, been born, Gang aft a-gley, Had there not been some recompense And lea'e us nought but grief and pain, To comfort those that mourn! For promis'd joy. Oh Death! the poor man's dearest friend- Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me The kindest and the best! The present only toucheth thee: Welcome the hour, my a ced limbs But, och! I backward cast my e'e, Are laid with thee at rest! On prospects drear I The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow, And forward, tho' I canna see, From pomp and pleasure torn! I guess and fear. But, oh! a blest relief to those That weary-laden mourn! " Tx a MU1151, DUAN FIRST. (64) ON TURNING UP H1ER NEST' WITi THE PLOUGH, THE sun had clos'd the winter day, Novemeber 1785. (63.) The curlers quat their roaring play (65), WEE, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rons beastie, And huiger'dT mlkliul ta'ell her way Oh, what a panic's in thy breastic!'o kail-vards green, Thou need iia start awa sae hasty, While faithless snaws ilk step betray Wi' bickering brattle! Al hare she has been. I wad be laith to rin anid chase thee, The thresher's weary fliin-in'-tree ~W~ii' IImuriC) iugl pattle! The lee-lang day had tired me; I'm truly sorrow man's domniilion And when the (lay had clos'd his e'e, Has broken nature's social union, Far i' the west, And justifies that ill opinion, Ben i' the spence (66), right pensivelie, Which makes thee startle I gaed to rest. At me, thy poor earth-borin companion, And fellow-mortal! There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek, I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve; 1 sat aid ey'd the spewing reek, What then? poor beastie, thou maunn live! That ill'd wi' hoast-prookin smeek, The auld clay biggin'; A daimen icker in a thravee auld clay biggin';'s a sma' request: And heard the restless rattons squeak I'll get a blessin' wi' the laive, About the rigCii'. Aiid never missM't! All in this mottie, misty clime, Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! I backward mus'd on wasted time, Its silly wa's the win's are strewin'! How I had spent my youthfu' prime, And naething, now, to big a new ane, And done nae thing, O' foggage green But stringin' blethers up in rhyme, And bleak December's winds ensuin', For fools to sing. Baith snell and keen 1 Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste, Had I to guid advice but harkit, And weary winter comin' fast, I might, by this, hae led a market, And cozie here, beneath the blast, Or strutted in a bank, and clarkit Thou thought to dwell, MIy cash-account:'Till, crash! the cruel coulter past While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit, Out thro' thy cell. Is a' th' amount. THE VISION. 125 I started, mutt'ring, blockhead! coof I Still, as in Scottish story read, And heav'd on high my waukit loof, She boasts a race, To swear by a' yon starry roof, To ev'ry nobler virtue bred, Or some rash aith, And polish'd grace. That I henceforth would be rhyme-proof Till my last breath- By stately tow'r or palace fair, Or ruins pendlent in the air, When, click! the strino the snick didl draw; Bold ste ps of heret ies, here and there, And, jee the door ae to thIe wa'; I could discern; And by my iogle-lowve I saw, Some seem'd to mIlse, some seem'd to dare, Now bleezin' bright, WAith feature stern, A tight, outlandish hizzie, braw, Come full in sight. My heart did glowin- transport feel, To see a race (68) heroic wheel, Ye needna doubt, I held my whisht; * The infanlt aith, half-form'd, was crusht; I glowr'd as eerie's I'd been duslit Sile l sturdy blows; In some wild en; While back-recoiling seem'd to reel 11 some w~ild glen;l When sweet, like modest worth, she blusht, And stepped ben. His Country's Saviour (69), mark him wellI Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-bounhs Bold Richlindton's (70) heroic swell; Were twisted gracefit' round her irows; The chief on Sark (71) who ~lorious fell I took her for soume Scottish \Muse, 1',y that saine token, And he whom ruthless fates expel And come to stop those reckless vows, I-s native laud. W\ou'd soon been broken. There, where a sceptr'd Pictish shade (72) A "hair-brain'd, sentimental trace" Stalk'd rounld his aslies lowly laid, Was stvoingly marked in her face; I iiiark'd a rnartial race, portray'd A wildly-witty, rustic grace In colohrs strong; Shone full upon her; Bold, soldier-featlir'd, undisnimayed Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space, Th'lly strode along. Beam'd keeni with honour. Thlro' many a wild romantic grove (73), Down flow'd her robe a tartan sheen, Near many a hermnit-fincy' d cove Till half a leg w-as scriniply seenl; (Fit haunts for frienllsilip or for love), And such a le,! niy bonrlie Jean II niusing "ood. Could only peer it; An aged judge, I saw hinns rove, Sae thought, sae taper, tight and clean, Dispensing good. Nane else came nlear it. Writh deep-struck reverential awe (74), Her mantle large, of greenish hue, The learle(l sire alid son I saw (75) My gazinfr wonder chiefly drecv; To Nature's God and Nature's law Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw'lley gave their lore A lustre grand; This, all its source and end to draw; And seem'd, to my astonish'd viewv,'ilat to adore. A well-known land. Here, rivers in the sea were lost; Brydone's brave Nward (76) I well could spy There, mounitains to the skies w-ere tost: Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye; Here, tumbling billows mark'd thle coast Who call'd on Famne, low standing by, WAith surging foam'Io hand him on, There, distant shone Art's lofty boast, Where many a patriott-name on high The lordly dome. And hero shone. Here, Doon ponr'd down his far-fetch'd floods; There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds: DUAN SECOND. Auld hermit Avr staw thro' his woods, With musing-deep, astonish'd stre, On to the shore, I view'd the heav'nly-seeming fair; And many a lesser torrent scuds, A whisprimg throb did witness bear WT'ith seeming roar. Of kindred sweet, Low in a salndy valley spread, When with an elder sisters's air An ancient borough rear'd her head (67); She did me greet. 126 BURNS'S POETICAL WORKS. "All hail! my own inspired bard I To mark the embryotic trace In me thy native Mluse regard! Of rustic hard; Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard, And careful note each op'ning grace, Thus poorly low! A guide anld guard. I come to give thee such regard Of these am I-Coila my name (77); As we Lestow. And this district as mine I claim. [fame, Inow, the great genius of this land Where once the Campbells (78), chiefs of Has many a light, aerial band, Held ruling pow'r: MWho, all beneatlh his thigh comrmand, I mark'd thy embryo tuneful flame, Harlnornioutsl, vThy natal hour. As arts or arms they unlderstand, With foiture hope, I oft would gaze, Their labours ply. Fond, on thy little early ways, Thy rudely caroll'd, chiming phrase, They Scotia's race among them share; In llcouth rhymes, Some fire the soldier on to dare; Fir'd at the sirple. artless lays Some raise the platriot on to bare Of other times. Corruption's heart: Some teach the haull, a darling~ care, I saw thee seek the sounding shore,'he tuneful art. Delighted with the dashing roar; Or when the north his fleecy store'Mong swelling floods of reeking gore, Drove through the sky, They, ardent, ki(ndllinlg spirits, pour; I saw grim nature's visage hoar Or,'mid the vessal seJate's roar, Struck thy youn g eye. They, sightless, stand, Or when the deep green-mantled earth To mcnd the honest patriot-lore, Wl1arm cherisll'd ev'ry flow'ret's birth, And grace the hand. And joy and music pouring forth And when the bard, or hoary sage, Its ev'ry grove, Charm or instruct the futunre age, I saw tee eye te geeral irh Witi boussdless love. l'They bilnd the \ill, Ipoetic rage ITe ellerevl, ilWhen ripen'd fields, and azure skies, Or point the irmcllJ ltsive page Called forth the reapler's rustlilng noise, Fuil onl the eye. I saw thee leave their eveniig joys, And lossely stalk, Hence Fullarton. the brave and young; And losel stal, To vent thy bosom's swellilff rise Hence Deniester's zeal-itlspired tongue; Hence sweet lharmonio uis Beattie sung [His' Minstrel lays;' W1hen vyouthful love, wxarsm-blushing, strong, Or tore, with nrobler ardour stunt, Kees-shivering shot thy ileres alollg, The sceptic's bays. Those accenlts, grateful to thy tongue,'Th' adored iNamle, To lower orders are assig''d ase ss I taught thee how to pour iII song, The humbler ranls of h}-riman-kind, T ug t sv tll i aoeg To soothe thy flame. The rustic bar'd, the lab'rinlg hind, la'i'he artizan; *I saw thy pullse's malddlenir o play, All choose, as arious they're inclin'd, ild sel tee pleasure's de us way, aronse various mainclin'. Misled by Fancy's meteor-ray, e ous ma. y passion driven; tWhen yellow wavses the hleavy graims, But yet the light tisat led astray The threat'nillg storll some, stronlgly, rein: Was light froln Heaven. Some teach to meliorate else plaims, I taumght thy manners-painting strains, V\-iths tshaeskilla e-; The lo\ves, the ways of simple swains, And some instruct tile slepllerd-train, Till nows, o'er all my svidle lomains Blythe o'er the hill. Thy fame estesds; Some hint the lov er's harnlless wile; And some, the pride of Coila's plains, Some grace the mlaidetl's artless smile; Become thy friends. Some sootie the lab'rer's wveary toil, Thou canst not learni, nor can I show, For ~hlnssbhle Sglins, To paisnt wvithl Thonson' s l iltdscape glow; And make his cottage-scenes beguile Or wake the bosom-melting throe, His cares amid pains. With Shenstone's art; Some, bounded to a district-space, Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow Explore at large man's infant race, W arm on the heart. THE AUTHOR'S EARNEST CRY. 127 Yet, all beneath the unrivall'd rose, Does ony great man glunch and gloomP The lowly daisy sweetly blows; Speak out, and never fas your thoom! Tho' large the forest's monarch throws Let posts and pensions sink or soom His army shade, W' them w:ha grant'em: Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows, If honestly they canna come, Adown the glade. Far better want'em. Then never mulrmur nor repine; In gathrin' votes you were na slack; Strive in thy humble sphere to shine; Now stand as tightly by your tack; And, trtust me, not Potosi's mine, Ne'er claw your lug, and fidge your back, Nor king's regard, And hum and haw; Can give a bliss o'eratchin thine, But raise your arm, and tell your crack A rustic bard. Before them a'. To give my counsels all in oneThy tuneful flame still careful fan; Paint Scotland greeting ower her thrissle, Preserve the dignity of man, Her mutchkini stoup as toom's a whissle; WVrith soul erect; And d-mn'd excisemen in a bussle, And trust, the universal plan Seizin' a stell, Will all protect. Triumphant crushin't like a mussel And wear thou this "-she solemn said, Or lampit shell. And bound thle holly round my head: Then on the tither hand present her, The polish'd leaves, and berries red, A blackluard smugtler, riflht behint her, D)id rustling play; And cheelk-for-chow, a churlie vintner, And, like a passinlg thought, she fled Colleaulling join, In light away. Picking her pouch as bare as winter Of a' kind coin. Is there, that bears the name o' Scot, IwJ gIntlint'5 i arnest rn an E11ranrr But feels his heart's bluid rising hot, To see his poor auld nmilier's pot TO TEIl SCOTCHI REPRESENTATIVES IN Thus dung in staves, TIHE HOUSE OF COMMIONS. (79) And plundered o' her hindmost groat "Dearest of distillation! last and best! BY gallows knaves? How art thou b10t!"-PARunY ON MILTrON. Alas! I'm but a nameless wight, YE Irisll lords, ye knirhts and squires, Trod i' the mire out o' siht! Wtha relp-resellnt oulr brtulhs ald slhires, LBut could I like IIontgomleries fight (81), And doucely manage our affairs Or ga, Iii plarliament, There's some sark-nlecks I Nwad draw tight, To you a simple Bardie's prayers Aid tie solie hose well. lAre liumbly sent. God bless your honours, can ye see't, Alas! my roopit IMuse is hearse! The kinld, auld, cantie carlin greet, Your honour's heart uwi' grief'twad pierce' And no get warmly to your feet, To see her sittin' on her a- And gar them hear it, Low i' the dust, And tell them, with a patriot heat, And scrieclin' out prosaic verse, Ye winua bear it? And like to brust! Tell them wha hiae the chief direction, Some o' yol nicely kerl the laws, Scotland aird use's ii great afiction, To round the period and pause, Sotlt, And i' rhetoric clause oi clatonse E'er sin' they laid that curst restriction ~On aqua vito~e; To mak harangues; O~n aqua vitae; Then echo thro' Saiiit Stephen's wa's And rouse them up to stronlg conviction, Then echo thro' SaiSthen's wa's And move their pity. Auld Scotland's wrangs. And move their pity. Stand forth, anid tell yon Premier youth (80), Dempster (83), a true blue Scot I'se warran', T'he honest, open, lnaked truth: Thee, aith-detesting, chaste Kilkerran (84); Tell him o' mine and Scotland's drouth, And that glib-gabbet Highland baron, His servants humble: The Laird o' Graham (85); The muckle devil blaw ye south, And ane, a chap that's d-mn'd auldfarran, If ye dissemble! Dul)ndas his name. (86) 128 BURNS'S POETICAL WORKS. Erskine (87), a spunkie Norland billie; And if she promise auld or young True Campbells, Frederick (88) and Ilay (89); To tak their part, And Livingstone, the ballld Sir Willie; Tho' by the neck she should be strung, And monie ithers, She'll no desert. Whcm auld D)emosthenes or Tully Whcm auld )e fosthees or'tully And nlow, ye chosen Five-and-Forty, Mlay'n own for brithers. M1ay still your mither's heart support ye; See' sodger Hugh, my watchmen stented, Then, though a minister grow dorty, If bardies e'er are represented; And kick your place, I ken if that your sword were wanted, Ye'll snap your fingers poor and hearty, Ye'd lend a hand, Before his face. But when there's ought to say anent it, God bless your honours a your days Ye're at a starnd. (9()1 WVi' souwps o' kail and brats o' claise, Arouse, my boys! exert your mettle, Il spite o' a' the thievish kaes, To get auld Scotland back her kettle; That haunt St. Jamies! Or faith! I'll wad my now pleu-gh-pettle, Your humble Poet sings ald prays, Ye'll see't ere lanlg, IWhile Itab his name is. She'll teach you wi' a reekin' whittle, Anither sang. POSTCRIPT. This while she's been in crankus mood, Her lost militia fir'd her bluid; Let half-starv'd slaves in warmer skies (Deil Iia they never mair do guid, See future wines, rich clus3tring, rise; Plagy'd her that pliskie!) l'Their lot auld Scotland nle'er enlvies, And nlow she's like to run red-wud But blythe and frisky, About her whisky. See eyes her freeborn, martial boys And — d! if ance they pit her till't,''al aff their whisky. Her tartan petticoat she'll kilt, What tho' their Phlcebus kitider warms, And durk and pistol at her belt, While franralce blooms anld beauty charms! She'll tak the streets, Whllen wretches rasgec, in fainish'd swarms, And rin her whittle to the hilt, The scented groves, I' th' first she meets! Or hounded forth, dishonour arnms For G-d sake, sirs! then speak her fair, In hungry droves. And straik her cannie wi' the hair, Their gun's a burthen on their shoulther; And to the muuckle house repair, They downa bide the stillk o' powtiher; Wi' instanlt speed, Their bautldest thought's a hank'ring swither And strive, wi' a' your wit and lear, To stall' or rin, To get renlead. Till skelp-a shot-they're aff, a'throwther, Yon ill-tongu'd tinkler, Charlie Fox, To save their skitn. May taunt you wi' his jeers and imocks; But bring a Scotsman frae hlis hill, But gie him't het, my hearty cocks! Clap in his cheek a Iligliland gill, L'en cowe the cadie! Say such is royal George's will, An send him to his dicing box And there's the foe, And sportin' lady. -Ie has nae tholught but how to kill Tell yon guid bluid o' auld Boconnock's (91),'I'Ta at a blow. I'll be his debt twa mnashlulo bonnocks (92), Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him; And drink his health in auld Nallse''in- l)ealth comles-wi' fearless eye lie sees him; nock's (93) NWi' bluidy han' a welcome gies hlim; Nine times a-week, Anld when he fa's, If he some scheme, like tea anld winnocks (94), I-is latest drauglllt o' breathiir' lea's him Wad kindly seek. Ins fainlt hluzzas! Could he some commutation broach, Sages their solemn eenl may steek, I'll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch, And raise a philosophic reek, He'll need nla fear their foul reproach, And physically causes seek, Nor erudition, In clime and season; Yon mixtie-maxtie queer hotch-potch, But tell me whisky's name in Greek, The Coalition. I'll tell the reason. Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue; Scotland, my auld, respected mither! She's just a devil wi' a rung; Tho' whiles ye moistify your leather, THEL JOLLY- E BCGARPS. I Lau t]el t Wes N #-etll Ci 1rtiS, ameons ta h e fl' atiL itt'I ie., IA-cl tihere Ileft (Ii, ti:e s a an crier ant a liai; SCOTCH DRINK. 129 Till whare ye sit, on craps o' heather Thou art the life o' public haunts; Ye tine your dam; But thee, what were our fairs and rantsP Freedom end whisky gang thegither!- Ev'n godly meetings o' the saunts, Take aft your drain i By thee inspir'd, When gaping they besiege the tents (98), Are doubly fir'd. rntfr4i: T3rink. That merry night we get the corn in, Oh sweetly then thou reams the horn in I " Gie him strong drink, until he wik, Or reelii' on a new-year morning That's sinking in despair; In co or bicker, And liquor guid to fire his bluid, That's prest wv' grief and care; And just a wee drap sp'ritual burn in, There let him bouse, and deep carouse, And gusty sucker! Wi' bumpers flowing o'er, Till he forgets his loves or debts. When Vulcan gies his bellows breath, And minds his griefs no more." (95.) And ploughmlen gather wvi' their graith, SoLoMON's Plovmmn, xxxi, 6, 7. Oh rare! to see thee fizz and freath I' th' lugget eaup! LET other poets raise a fracas, I' th' lget caup ~.e p ril a Theln Buruewin comes on like death'Bout vines, and wines, alnd dru'ken Bacchus, At ev'ry chap. And crabbit names and stories wrack us, And grate our lug, Nae mercy, then, for air or steel; I sing the juice Scotch beer can mak us, The braw-lie, bainie, ploughmanl chiel, In glass or jug. Brings hard owrehip, wi' sturdy wheel, Oh thou, mvy use! guid auld Scotch drink; strong forehammer, Whether thro' wimuplin' worms thou jink, Till block alnd studdie ring and reel Or, richly brown, ream o'er the brink, Wi' diisome clamour. In glorious faeln, When slrirlin' weanies see the light, Inspire me, till I lisp and wvink, Thou maks the gossips clatter bright, To sing thy name! How furablin' caifs their dearies slight; Let bh'ky wheat the haugrhs adorn, Wae worth the name! Ard aits sret up their awnie horn, Nae howdie gets a social night, And peas and beans, at e'en or morn, Or plack frae them., Perfume the plain, WIhen neebors anger at a plea, Leeze me on thee, John Barleycorn, Ant just as wudl as wud can be,, Thou 1king o' grain! How easy can the barley-bree On thee aft Scotland chows her cood, Cement the quarreli In souple scones, the wrale o' food! Its aye the cheapest lawyer's fee, Or tumblin' in the boilin' flood To taste the barrel, Wi' kail and beef; Alake! that e'er my Muse-has reason But when thoupours thy strong heart's blood, To wyte her countrymen wi' treason! There thou shiues chief, But monie daily weet their weason Food fills the wame, and keeps us livin'; Wi' liquors nice, Tho' life's a gift no worth receivin', And hardly, in a winter's season, When heavy dragi'd wi' pine and grievin'; E'er spier her price. But, oil'd by thee, W, Bae worth that brandy, burning trash! The wheels o' life ae don-hillscrievin', Mre worth that randy, burning trash T h i' l rattlinhglees Fell source o' monie a pain and brash! Wi'rattims'b glee, Twins nmonie a poor, doylt, drucken hash, Thou clears the head o' doited Lear: O' half his days Thou cheers the heart o' drooping Care; And sends, eside auld Scotland' ash And sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash Thou strings the nerves o' Labour sair, To her warst faes. At's weary toil; Thou even brightens dark Despair Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well, Wi' gloomy snile. Ye chief, to you my tale I tell, Aft clad in massy, siller weed, Poor plackless devils like mysel, Wi' gentles thou erects thy head (96); It sets you ill, Yet humbly kind in time o' need, dearthfu' wines to mell, The poor man's wine, foreign gll. His wee drap paritch, or his bread, May gravels round his blather wrench, Thou kitchens fine. (97) And gouts torment him inch by inch, K 130 BURNS'S POETICAL WORKS. Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch Ye see your state wi' theirs compar'd O' sour disdain, And shudder at the niffer, Out owre a glass o' whisky punch But cast a moment's fair regard, Wi' honest men! What maks the mighty differ? Oh whisky! soul o' plays and pranks! Discount what scant occasion gave Accept a Bardie's gratefu' thanks! That purity ye pride in, When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks And (what's aft mair than a' the lave) Are my poor verses! Your better art o' bliding. Thou comes-they rattle i' their ranks Think, when your castigated pulse At ither's a-! Gies now and then a wallop, Thee, Ferintosh! oh sadly lost! (99) What ragings must his veins convulse, Scotland lament frae coast to coast 1 that still eternal gallop: Now colic grips, and barkin' hoast, Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail, Mlay kill us a'; *Right on ye scud your sea-way; For loyal Forbes' charter'd boast, But in the teeth o' baith to sail, Is ta'en awra! It maks an unco lee-way. Thae curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise, See social life and glee sit down, Wha mak the whisky stells their prize! All joyous and unthinking, Haud up thy han', Deil! ance, twice, thrice! Till, quite transmugriiied, they're grown There, seize the blinkers! Debauchery and drinking: And bake them up in brunstane pies Oh would they stay to calculate For poor d-nd drinkers, Th' eternal consequences; Fortune! if thoull ut gie me still Or your more dreaded hell to state, Fortune! if tllou'll but gie me still Hale breeks, a scone, and whisky gill, And rowth o' rhyme to rave at will, Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames, Tak a' the rest, Tied up in godly laces, And deal't about as thy blind skill Before ye gie poor frailty names, Directs ~thee best. Suppose a change o' cases; A dear lov'd lad, convenience snug, A treacherous inclinationBut, let me whisper i' your lug, Ye're aiblins nae temptation. l rfIe fi tIDe Rit dli[, Then gently scan your brother man, OR THE RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS. Still gentler sister woman; "Though they may gang a kenlnin' wrang, "' My son, these maxims make a rule,. And lump them aye the-rither; To step aside is human: The Rigitd Righteous is a fool, One point must still be greatly dark, The Itigi-d Wise anither; The moving why they do it: The cleanest corn that e'er was dight And just as lamely can ye mark, May hae some py!es o' caff in; how far perhaps they rue it So ne'er a fellow-creature slight For random fits o' daffin." X ho made the heart,'tis Ie alone SOLO.x-10-Eccles. vii, 16. Decidedly can try us, He knows each chord-its various tone, Orn ye wba are sae guid yoursel, Sae pious and sae holy, Each spri-its variou Ye've nought to do but mark and tell Thei at tie balance let's be mute, Your neebour's fauts and folly eC never can adjust it; What's done we partly may compute, Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill, Supplied wi store o water, But know not whlat's resisted. Supplied wi' store o' water, The heaped hap-er's ebbing still, And still the clap plays clatter. Hear me, ye venerable core, Ta t ttnn' C rgq. As counsel for poor mortals, That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door " An honest man's the noblest work of God." For glaiket Folly's portals; I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes, 1As auld Kilmarnock seen the deil? Would here propone dc1fences, Or great AM'Kinlay (100) thrawn his heel? Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes, Or Robertson (101) again grown weel, Their failings and mischances. To preach and read? DESPONDENCY. 131 "Na, waur than a'! " cries ilka chiel- But yet he drew the mortal trigger Tam Samson's dead! Wi' weel-aim'd heed; Kilmarnock lang may grunt and grane, "L-d, five!" he cried, and owre did And sigh, and sob, and greet her lane, staggerAnd deed her bairns, man, wife, and wean, Tam Samson's dead! In mourning weed; Ilk hoary hunter mourn'd a brither; To death, she's dearly paid the kane- Ilk sportsman youth bemnoan'd a father; Tam Samson's dead! You auld grey stane, amnang the heather, The brethren o' the mystic level Marks out his head, Alay hing their head in woefu' hevel, X Whare Burns has wrote, in rhyming blether, While by their nose the tears will revel, Tam Samson's dead! Like ony head; There now he lies, in lasting rest; Death's gi'en the lodge an unco devel- Perhaps upon his mould'rinlg breast Tam Samson's dead! Some spitefu' muirfowl bigs her nest, When winter muffles up his cloak, To hatch and breed; And binds the mire like a rock; Alas! nae mair he'll them molest I-'W"hen to the locllhs the curlers flock Tam Samsos's dead! Wi' gleesome speed, When Augutst winds the heather wave, Wha will they station at tile cock?- And sportsmen wander by yon grave, Tam Samson's dead? Three volleys let his mem'ry crave He was the king o' a' the core, 0' pouther and lead, To guard, or draw, or vick a bore, Till echoe answer frae her cave, Or up the rink like Jehu roar In time o' need; HIeav'n rest his saul, whare'er he be! But now he lags on death's hog-score- Is th' wish o' mony mae than me; Tam Sailson's dead i He had twa fanlts, or mnaybe three, Now safe the stately sawmont sail, Yet what remead? And trouts be-dropp'(1d wi' crimson hail,- Ae social, honest man want we: And eels weel kenn'd for souple tail, Tam Samslloh's dead!l And geds for creed, Since dark in death's fish-creel we wail EPITAPH. Tam Samlson dead! Tam Samson's weel worn clay here lies, ERejoice, ye hbilriig paitricks a'; Ye cantinig zealots spare him i Ye cootie moorcocks, crousely craw; If honest worth ill heaven rise. Ye mraukins, cock your fudl fu' braw, Ye'll mend or ye win ilear himi. Wtiithoutesn dread; Your mortal fae is nlow a'- PER COTR'l'am Samson's deadc! Go, Fame, and canter like a filly That woefu mourn be ever mourn'd Thro' e the streets andi ieuks o' Killie (102l, Saw him in shootin' graith adorn'd, Tell ev'ry social, honest billy While pointers round impatient burn'd, To cease his grievin', Frae couples freed; For yet, unskaitll'd by death's gleg gullie, But, och! he gaed and ne'er return'd! —'am Sainsous's livin' (103)!'Tar Samrsor's dead! In vain auld age his bodlv batters; In vain the gout his allcles fetters; VpIInnullrIg. In vain the burns cam' dow1n like waters, An acre braid! AN ODE. Now ev'ry auld wife, greetin', clatters, OPPRmSS'D ith grief, oppress'd with care, Tam Sain3so'ss (deacdl! A burden more than I can bear, Owre many a weary hag he limpit, I set me down and sigh; And aSe the tither shot he thlinpit, Oh life! thou art a galling load. Till coward death behind him jumpit, Along a rough, a weary road, Wi' deadly feide; To wretches such as I! Now he proclaims, wi' tout o' trumpet, Dirn-backward as I cast my view, Tam Samson's dead! What sick'ning scenes appear! When at his heart he felt the dagger, What sorrows yet may pierce me thro, He reel'd his wonted bottle-swagger, Too justly I may fear I 132 BURNS'S POETICAL WORKS. Still caring, despairing, Ml.ust be my bitter doom; M3i woes here shall close ne'er But with the closing tomb I INSCRIBED TO ROBERT AIKIN, ESQ. (104 Happy, ye sons of busy life, "Let not ambition mock their useful toil, Who, equal to the bustling strife, Their homely joys and destiny obscure; No other view regard! Nor grandeur hear,'with a disdainful smile, Ev'n when the wished end's denied, The short and simple annals of the poor." (105) —GneT. Yet while the busy means are plied, They bring their own rewardM: AIY loved, my honour'd, much respected They bring their own reward: Whilst I, a hope-abandon'd wight, friend, Unfitted with an aim, No mercenary bard his homage pays: Meet ev'ry sad returning night With honest pride I scorn each selfish fle s y s tni ngend: [praise: Andjoyless morn the same; You, orUStlini, a- justling, seMy dearest meed, a friend's esteem and Forget each grief and pain; To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, Forget each grief and pain; I listless, yet restless, The lowly train in life's sequester'd I listless, yet restless, Find every prospect vain. scene; [ways; The native feelings strong, the guileless How blest the solitary's lot, Who, allest the solintar's lot, FWhat Aitken in a cottage would have Who, all-forgetting, all-forgot, been; [there, 1 weco. Within his humble cell, The cavern willd with tam gine roots, Ah! tho' his worth unknown, far happier The cavern wTsild with tall lingr roots, its o'er his nely-aher'd fruits, November chill blaws loud wi' angry Beside his crystal well! sough; [close; Or haply to his ev'rillg thought, The short'ning winter-day is near a By unfreqlueted streal, The iniry beasts retreating frae the The ways of menl are distant brought, pleugh; [repose: A faint collected dream; The black'ning trains o' craws to their hile praising and raising The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes, His thoulgahts to hear'v on high, This night his weekly moil is at an end, As wandriug, meand'rin), Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his He views tile solemn sky. hoes, [spend, Tian 1, no lonely hermit plae'd Thran I, no lonely hermit pise'd Hoping the morn in ease and rest to Where ilever human footstep trac'd, And weary, o'er the moor, his course does Less fit to play the part; hameward bend. The lucky moment to lnprove, At length his lonely cot appears in view, And just to stop, and just to move, Beneath the shelter of an aged tree; With self-respecting art: Th' expectant wee tllinigs toddlin, stacher But, ah! those pleasures, loves, and joys, thro' [and glee. Which I too keenly taste, To meet their dad, wi' flichterin' noise The solitary can despise, His wee bit ingle, blinkill' boimily, Can want, and yet be blest! His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie He needs not, he heeds not, wifie's smile, Or human love or hate, The lisping infant prattling on his knee, Whilst I here, must cry here Does a' his weary kiaugh and care At perfidy ingrate! beguile, [his toil. Oh! enviable, early days, And makes him quite forget his labour and'When dancing thoughtless pleasure's maze, Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in, To care, to guilt unknown! At service out amang the farmers roun', How ill exchang'd for riper times, Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some To feel the follies, or the crimes, tentie rin Of others or my own! A cannie errand to a neibor town; Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport, Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman Like linnets in the bush, grown, [e'e, Ye little know the ills ye court, In youtllfu' bloom, love sparklin' in her When manhood is your wish I Comes hame, perhaps, to show a bra' new The losses, the crosses, gown, That active man engage I Or deposit her sair-won penny fee, The fears all, the tears all, To help her parents dear, if they in hard. Of dim declining age! ship be. THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 133 With joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters I've paced much this weary, mortal round, meet, [spiers: And sage experience bids me this deAnd each for other's weelfare kindly clare- [spare, The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnotic'd "If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure fleet; [hears; One cordial in this melancholy vale, Each tells the uncos that he sees or 17Ts when a youthful, loving modest pair The parents, partial, eye their hopeful IIl other's arms breathe out the tender years; tale, [the ev'ning gale." Anticipation forward points the view, Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents The mother, wi' her needle and her shears, Is there, in human form, that bears a heart, Gars auld claes look amaist as xveel's A wretch! a villain! lost to love and the new; truth The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art, Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting Their master's and their mistress's cormothyouth? [smooth! mand, Curse on his perjur'd arts! dissembling The younkers a' are warned to obey; Are honour, virtue, conscience,all exil'd? And mind their labour awi' an e}ydent Is there no pity, no relenting ruth, hand, [play; Points to the parents fondling o'er their And ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or child? [traction wild? "And oh! be sure to fear the Lord alway! Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their disAnd mind your duty, duly, morn and night! night w3But now the supper crowns their simple Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray, board, [food; Implore His counsel and assisting The halesome parritch, chief of Scotia's usight:. Lord arirht " g The soupe their only hawkie does afford, They never sought in vain that sought the That'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood: [mood, The dame brings forth, in complimental But, hark! a rap comes gently to the The dame brins forth, in compl tal door, [same, To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebJenny wha kens the meaning o' the luck, fell, Tells how a neibor lad cam o'er the lmoor, And aft he's prest, and aft he ca's it guid; To do some errands, aiid convoy her The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell, hame. How'twas a towmond auld, sin' lint was i' the bell. The wily mother sees the conscious flame Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, cheek, [name, They, round the ingle, form a circle wride; Wi' heart-struck anxious care, inquires his The sire turns o'er, with patriarchal grace, While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak; The big ha'-bible, ance his father's pride; eel pleas'd the mother hears it's nae wild His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, worthless rake. His lyart haffets wearing thin and bare; Those strains that once did sweet in Zion Wi' kindly welcome, Jenny brings him g4ade, ben; [e'e; He wales a portion with judicious care; A strappin youth; he taks the mether's And "Let us worship GoD! " he says, with Blithe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en; solemn air. The father cracks of horses, pleughs, They chant their artless notes in simple and kye. [joy, guise; [aim: The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' They tune their hearts, by far the noblest But blate and lathefu', scarce can weel Perhaps Dundee's wild-warbling measures behave; [spy rise, [name, The mlother, wi' a woman's wiles, canr Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the MWhat makes the youth sae bashfu' an' Or noble Elgin beets the heaven-ward sae grave; flame, Weel pleas'd to think her bairn's respected The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays: like the lave. Compar'd with these, Italian trills are tarae; [raise; Oh happy love!-where love like this is The tickl'd ear no heart-felt raptures found! [compare! Nae unison hae they with our Creator's Oh heart-felt raptures! bliss beyond praise. 134 BURNS'S POETICAL WORKS. The priest-like father reads the sacred For them and for theirlittle ones provide; page- [high; But, chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine How Abram was the friend of GOD on preside. Or, M11oses hade eternal warfare wage From scenes like these old Scotla's grarWith Amalek's ungracious progeny; Or how the royal bard did groaning lie That makes her lovd at home, reverd Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avengin T ie;h te Princes and lords are but the breath of Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry; kings, 0'."~' M~ "An honest man's the noblest work of Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire; And certes, in fair virtue's heav'nly road, Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre.'he cottage leaves the palace far behind; Perhaps the Christian volume is the What is a lordling's pomp?-a cumbrous theme- (shed; load, [kind How guiltless blood for guilty mall was Disguising oft the wretch of human How He, who bore in Heaven the second Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refin'd! name, [head: Oh Scotia! my dear, my native soil! Had not on earth whereon to lay his For whom my warmest wish to Heaven How his first followers and servants sped, is sent! The precepts sage they wrote to mally a Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil, land: Be blest with health, and peace, and How he, who lone in Patmos banished, sweet content! [prevent Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand; And ohs! may Ileaven their simple lives And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounced From luxury's contagion, weak and vile! by heaven's comnland. Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be Then kneeling down to HEAVEN'S ETER- rent, NAL KING, [prays: A virtuous populace may rise the while, The saint, the father, and the husband And stand a wall of fire around their muchHope "springs exulting on triumphant lov'd isle. wing," (106) [days: Oh Thou! who pour'd the patriotic tide That thus they all shall meet in future That stream'd through W allace's unThere ever bask in uncreated rays, daunted heart No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, ho dr'd to nobly stem tyrannic pride, To-ether. ymning their Creator's praise, AV, ho dar'd to nobly stem tyrannic pride, ZToether hymning their Creator's praise, Or nobly die the second glorious part, in such society, yet still more dear; such society, et still more dear (The patriot's God, peculiarly thou art, While circling time moves round in an eter- ar t nal shr.His friend, inspirer, guardian, and renal sphere. ward!) Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's Oh never, never, Scotia's realm desert; Trrde, But still the patriot, and the patriot In all the pomp of method, and of art, bard, [guard! When men display to congregattons wide, In bright succession raise, her ornament and Devoitcmr' ev'ry grace, exc the. heIrl The pow'r, incens'd, the pageant wll de. sert, The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole; Ad It lltifilt Jaist. But, haply, in some cottage far apart, IN TURNING ONE DOWN TWITH THE May hear, well pleas'd, the language of PLOUGI IN APRIL, 1786. (107) the soul; [enrol. Wr'E, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, And in his book of life the inmates poor Thou's met me in an evil hour; Then homeward all take off their sev'ral For I maun crush amang the stoure way;'l'hy slender stem: The youn7gling cottagers retire to rest: To spare thee now is past my pow'r. The parent-pair their secret homage pay, And proffer up to Heaven the warm re- Alas! it's no thy neibor sweet, quest, [nest, The bonnie lark, companion meet, That HE, who stills the raven's clam'rous Bending thee'mang the dewy weet I And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, Wi' speckl'd breast, Would, in the way his wisdom sees the When up-ward-springing, blythe, to greet best, The purpling east. EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 135 Cauld blew f'.e bitter-biting north Ye'll try the world fit' soon, my lad, Upon thy early, humble birth; And, Andrew dear, believe me, Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth Ye'll find mankind an unco squad, Amid the storm, And muckle they may grieve ye: Scarce rear'd above the parent earth For care and trouble set your thought, Thy tender form. Ev'n when your end's attained; And a' your views may come to nought, The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, And a' your views may come to nought, High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield: Where ev'ry nerve is strained. But thou, beneath the random bield I'll no say men are villains a': O' clod or stane, The real, harden'd wicked, Adorn the histie stibble-field, Wha hae nae check but human law, Unseen, alane. I Are to a few restricked ~ T But, och! mankind are unco weak, There, in thy scanty mantle clad, And little to be trustedThy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, And little to he trusted; Thyou lifts thy ssun-sard spread, If self the wavering balance shake, Thou lifts thy unassuming head, It's rarely right adjusted! It's rarely right adjusted! In humble guise; But now the share uptears thy bed Yet they wha fa' in fortune's strife, A-nd low thou lies! Their fate we should na censure, Such is the fate of artless maid, For still th' important end of life, Such is the fate of artless maid, Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade! They equally may answer; love's simplicity betrayd, A man may hae an honest heart, By love's simplicity betray'd, Tho' poortith hourly stare him; And guileless trust, A man may tak a neibor's part. Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid Yet hae no cash to spare him Low i' the dust. Aye free, aff han, your story tell, Such is the fate of simple bard, Whell \-vi' a bosom cronyOn life's rough ocean luckless starr'd But sti keep something to yourse But still keep something to yoursel Unskilful he to Ilote the card Ye scarcely tell to ony. Ye scarcely tell to ony. Of prudent lore, Conceal yoursel as weel's ye can Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, Frae critical dissection And whoclm him o'er Frae critical dissection; But keek through ev'ry other man, Such fate to suffering worth is giv'n, Wi' sharpen'd, sly inspection. Who long with vwants and woes has striv'n, The sacred lowe o' weel-plac'd love, By human pride or cunning driv'n Luxuriantly indulge it; Till wrenc'd To mis'ry's brink, But never tempt th' illicit rove, Tillwrench'd of ev'ry stay but eav'n, Tho' naething should divulge it: H~e,) rlin'd, sink. I waive the quantum o' the sin, Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, The hazard of concealing; That fate is thine-no distant date; But, och! it hardens a' within, Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate, And petrifies the feeling! Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight, Assiduous wait pon her; Shall be thy doom. Assiduous wait upon her; And gather gear by ev'ry wile That's justified by honour; Not for to hide it in a hedge, eip tis tn a wannng Xi d Nor for a train-attendant, But for the glorious privilege MAY, 1796. (108) Of being independent. I LANG hae thought, my youthfu' friend, The fear o' hell's a hangman's whip A something to have sent you, To hand the wretch in order; Though it should serve nae other end But where ye feel your honour grip, Than just a kind momento; Let that aye be your border: But how the subject-theme may gang, Its slightest touches, instant pause — Let time and chance determine; Debar a' side pretences; Perhaps it may turn out a sang, And resolutely keeps its laws, Perhaps turn out a sermon. Uncaring consequences. 136 BURNS'S POETICAL WORKS. The great Creator to revere I readily and freely grant, Must sure become the creature, He downa see a poor man wan'; But still the preaching can forbear, What's no his aim he winna tak it, And e'en the rigid feature: What ance he says he winna break;t; Yet ne'er with wits profane to range, Ought he can lend he'll no refus't Be complaisance extended; Till aft his goodness is abus'd; An Atheist laugh's a poor exchange And rascals whyles that do him wrang, For Deity offended! Ev'n that, he does na mind it lang: As master, landlord, husband, father, When ranting round in pleasure's ring, He does na fail his part in either. Religion may be blinded; Or if she gie a random sting, But then, nae thanks to him for a' that; It may be little minded; Nae godly symptom ye can ca' that; But when on life we're tempest driv'n, It's naething but a milder feature, A conscience but a canker, Of our poor sinfu', corrupt nature: A correspondence fix'd wi' Heav'n Ye'll get the best o' moral works, Is sure a noble anchor!'2Mang black Gentoos and pagan Turks, Adieu! dear, aimiable youth Or hunter's wild on Ponotaxi, Your heart can ne'er be wanting! Wha sever heard of orthodoxy. 1May prudence, fortitud.e, and truth That he's the poor man's friend in need, May prudence, fortitude, and truth gentleman il word and deed i Erect your brow unldaunting! The gentlemanl in word and deed, ~ n pl oughman phrase, "God send you It's no thro' terror of d-mn-tion; mn ploughman phrase, "God send you speed," It's just a carnal inclination. Still daily to grow wiser: Morality, thou deadly bane, And may you better reck the rede Thy tells o' thousands thou hast slain! Than ever did th' adviser! Vain is his hope, whose stay and trust is In moral mercy, truth, and justice! No-stretch a point to catch a plack; Abuse a brother to his back; i ~irtitirantin t ha ai~tn ia tiltnn, 5iq. Seal thro' a winnock frae a wh-re, But point the rake that taks the door; (109) Be to the poor like ony whunstane, EXPECT na, sir, in this narration, And haud their noses to the grunstane, A fleeching, fleth'rin dedication, Ply ev'ry art o' legal thieving! To roose you up, anld ca' you guid, No matter-stick to sound believing! And sprung o' great and noble bluid, Learn three-mile pray'rs, and half-mile Because ye're surnam'd like his grace; graces, Perhaps related to the race; Wi' weel-spread looves, and lang wry faces; Then when I'm tir'd, and sae are ye, Grunt up a solemil, leingthen'd groan, Wi' mony a fulsome, sinfu' lie, And damn a' parties but your own; Set up a face, how I stop short, I'll warrant then, ye're nae deceiver, For fear your modesty be hurt. A steady, sturdy, staunch believer. This may do-maun do, sir, wi' them wha Oh ye wha leaves the springs o' Calvin, Maun please the great folk for a wamefou; For gumlie dubs of your ain delvin' 1 For me!-sae laigh I needna bow, Ye sons of heresy and error, For, lord be thankit, 1 can plough; Ye'll some day squeel in quaking terror And when I downa yoke a naig, When Vengeance draws the sword in wrath, Then, Lord be thankit, I can beg; And in the fire throws the sheath; Sae I shall say, and that's nae flatt'rin' When Ruin, with his swveeping besom, It's just sic poet, and sic patron. Just frets, till heav'n commission gies The Poet, some guid angel help him, him: Or else, I fear some ill ane skelp him, While o'er the harp pale Mis'ry moans, He may do weel for a' he's done yet, And strikes the ever-deep'ning tones, But only he's no just begun yet. Still louder shrieks, and heavier groans I The Patron (sir, ye maun forgive me, Your pardon, Sir, for this digression, I winna lie, come what will o' me), I maist forgat my dedication; On ev'ry hand it will allowed be, But when divinity comes cross mne, He's just-nae better than he should be. My readers still are sure to loss me. A DREAM. 137 So, Sir, ye see'twas nae daft vapour, a Baffm. But I maturely thought it proper,' Thoughts, words, and deeds, the statute When a' my woaks I did review, blames with reason: [treason." (110) To dedicate them, Sir, to you: But surely dreams were ne'er indicted Because (ye need na tak it ill) GUIDn-MORNIN' to your Majesty! I thought them something lik yoursel. May Heaven augment your blisses, Then patronise them wi' your favour, On ev'ry new birth-day ye see, And your petitioner shall ever- A humble poet wishes! I had amaist said, ever pray, My bardship here, at your levee, But that's a word I need na say: On sic a day as this is, For prayin' I hae little skill o't; Is sure an luncouth sight to see, I'm baith dead sweer, and wretched ill o't; Amang thae birth-day dresses But I'se repeat each poor man's pray'r, Sae file this day. That kens or hears about you, Sir- I see ye're complimented thrang, Bv many a lord and lady; "May ne'er misfortune's growling bark, " Go s the ki " s a ckoo Howl thro' the dwelling o' the clerk "God save te king! a cuckoo sang Mlay ne'er his gen'rous, honest heart, That's unco easy said aye; For that same gen'rous spirit smart! The poets, too, a vwenal gand, ay I(enedy's far-honou'cl name Wi' rhymes weel-turns'd and ready, May Kennedy's far-honour'd name Lanlg beet his hymeneal flame, Wad gar you trow ye ne'er do wrang, Till Hamiltons, at least a dizen,But aye u nerring ste a day. Are by their canty fireside risen: Five bounie lasses round their table, For me! before a monarch's face, And seven braw fellows, stout and able Ev'n there I winna flatter; To serve their king and country weel, For neither pension, post, nor p)lace, By word, or pen, or pointed steel! Anm I your humble debtor: May health and peace, with mutual rays, So, sae reflection on your grace, Shine on the ev'lilng o' his days, Your kingship to bespatter; Till his wee curlie Jiohn's ier-oe, There's mollv waur been o' the race, When ebbinlg life nae mair shall flow, And aibilns ane been better The last, sad, mournful rites bestow." Than you this day.'Tis very true, my sov'reign kinl, I will not wind a lang conclusion, iIy skill may eel be doubted: WV:ith complllllimentary effusion: But uects are chiels that wilma ding But whilst your wishes and endearours And downa be disputed: Are blest with fortune's smiles and favours, osmr royal nest, beneath your wing I am, dear Sir, with zeal most fervent, Is e'en right reft and clouted, Your much indebted, humble servant. And now te third part of the string But if (which pow'rs above prevent) And less, will gall about it That iron-hearted carl, Wanat, Tan did ae dav. Attended in his grim advances, Far be't frae me that I aspire By sad mistakes and black mischances, To blame your legislation, While hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire, him, To rule this mighty nation! Make you as poor a dog as I am, But faith! I muckle doubt, my sire, Your lhumble servant then no more; Ye've trusted ministration For who would humbly serve the poor! To chaps, wha, in a barn or byre, But, by a poor man's hopes in Heav'n I Wad better fill'd their station While recollection's power is giv'n, Than courts yon day. If, in the vale of humble life, And now ye've gien auld Britain peace; The victim sad of fortune's strife, Her broken shins to plaister; I, thro' the tender gushing tear, Your sair taxation does her fleece, Should recognise my master dear, Till she has scarce a tester; If friendless, low, we meet together, For me, thank God, my life's a lease, Then, Sir, your hand-my friend and bro- Nae bargain wearing faster, ter. Or, faith! I fear, that, wi' the geese, I shortly boost to pasture I' the craft some day, 138 BURNS'S POETICAL WORKS. I'm no mistrusting Willie Pitt, But first hang out, that she'll discern When taxes he enlarges, Your hymeneal charter, (And Will's a true guid fallow's get (111) Then heave aboard your grapple aim, A name not envy spairges), And, large upon her quarter, That he intends to pay your debt, Come full that day. And lessen a' your charges; And lessen a' your charges; Ye, lastly, bonnie blossoms a', But, G-d-sake! let nae saving-fit Ye al, e Abridge your bonnie barges (11 Ye royal lasses dainty, And boats this day. Heav'n mak ye guid as well as braw, And gie you lads a-plenty: Adieu, my liege! may freedom geck But sneer na British boys awa', Beneath your high protection; For kings are unco scant eye; And may ye rax corruption's neck, And German gentles are but sma', And gie her for dissection! They're better just than want aye But since I'm here, I'll no neglect, On onlie day. In loyal, true affection, To pay your Queen, with due respect, God bless you a' consider now, My fealty and subjection Ye're unco muckle dautet; This great birth-day. But ere the course o' life be thro', Hail, Majesty Most Excellent! It may be bitter sautet And I hae seen their coggie fou, While nobles strive to please ye,'Ihat yet hae tarrow't at it Will ye accept a compliment That yet hae tarrow't at it; A sWill ye accepoet a compliment you But or the day was done, I trow, simple poet gies you. The luggen they hae clautet Thae bonnie bairnltime, Heav'n has lent, Tu' clean that day. Still higher may they heeze ye In bliss, till fate some day is sent, For ever to release ye Frae care that day. g 3arh'5 6jitait. For you, young potentate o' Wales, I tell your Highness fairly, Is there a whim-inspired fool, Down pleasure's stream, wi' swelling sails, Owre fast for thought, ore hot for rule, I'm tauld ye're driving rarely;'Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool, But some day ye may gnaw your nails, Let him draw near; And curse your folly sairly, And owre this grassy heap sing dool, That e'er ye brak Diana's pales, Or rattl'd dice wi' Charlie (113), Is there a bard of rustic song, By night or day. Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, Yet aft a ragged cowte's been known That weekly this area throng, To mak a noble aiver; Oh, pass not by! So, ye may doucely fill a throne, But, with a frater-feeling strong, For a' their clish-ma-claver: Here, heave a sigh. There, him at Agincourt wha shone, Is there a man, whose judgment clear, Few better were or braver; Can others teach the course to steer, And yet, wi' funny, queer Sir John, Yet runs, himself, life's mad career, He was an unco shaver Wild as the wave; For monie a day (114.) Here pause-and, through the starting tear, For you, right rev'rend Osnaburg (115), Survey this grave. Nane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter, The poor inhabitant below, Altho' a ribbon at your lug, Was quick to learn, and wise to know, Wad been a dress completer: And keenly felt the friendly glowv, As ye disown yon paughty dog And softer flame; That bears the keys of Peter, But thoughtless follies laid him low, Then, swith! and get awife to hug, And stain'd his name! Or, trouth! ye'll stain the mitre, Reader, attend-whether thy soul Some luckless day. Soar's fancy's flights beyond the pole, Young, royal Tarry Breeks (116), I learn, Or darkling grubs this earthly hole, Ye've lately come athrawt her; In low pursuit; A glorious galley (117), stem and stem, Know, prudent, cautious self- control Weel rigg'd for Venus' barter; Is wisdom's root. TEE TWA DOGS. 139 1t'Ira BFlgms, He rises when he likes himsel; His flunkies answer at the bell; A TALE. (118) He ca's his coach, he ca's his horse;'TwAs in that place o' Scotland's isle He draws a bonnie silken purse That hears the name o' Auld King Coil (119), As lang's my tail, whare, through the steeks, Upon a bonnie day in June, The yellow letter'd Geordie keeks. When wearing through the afternoon, Frae morn to e'en its nought but toiling, Twa dogs that were na thrang at hame, At baking, roasting, frying, boiling; Forgather'd ance upon a time. And though the gentry first are stechin, Yet e'en the ha' folk fill their pechan The first I'll name, they ca'd him Caesar, XWi' sauce, ragouts, and sic like trashtrie: Was keepit for his honour's pleasure; That's little short o' downright wastrie. His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, Our whipper-in, vee blastit wonner, Show'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs; Poor worthless elf, it eats a dinner, But whalpit some place far abroad, Better than ony tenant man Whare sailor's gang to fish for cod. His hanour has in a' the lan'; His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar And what poor cot-folk pit their painch in, Show'd him the gentleman and scholar; I own its past my comprehension. But though he was o' high degree, LUATtI. The fient a pride-nae pride had he; Trowth, Caesar, whyles they're fash't enough; But wad hae spent an hour caressin', in a sheugh E'en wi' a tinkler-gisy's messin'. Wi' dirty stanes biggin' a dyke, At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, Baring a quarry, alnd sic like; Nae tawted tyke, though ere sae duddie, Himself, a wife, he thus sustains But he wad stan't, as glad to see him, A smytrie o' wee duddie weans, And stroan't on stalles and hillocks wi' him. And nought but his han' dark, to keep The tither was a ploughman's collie, Them right and tight il thack and rape. A rhyming, ranting, raving billie, Wha for his friend and comrade had him, And when they meet wi' sair disasters And in his freaks had Iuath ca'd him, Like loss o' health, or want o' masters, After some dog in Highland sang (120), Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer, Was made laiig sync-Lord kiiows how lan And they nimaun starve o' cauld or hunger; He was a gash and faithful toyke, But, how it comes, I never kenn'd yet, As ever lap or sheu or dyke.Theyre' maistly wonderfu' contented: As ever lap or sheughl or dyke. His honest, sonsie, baws'llt ftace, And buirdly chiels, and clever hizzies, Aye gat him friends in ilka place, Are bred in sic a way as this is. His breast was white, his touzie back C.ESAR. Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black; But then to see how ye're neglecit, His gaucie tale, wi' upward curl, How huff'd, and cuff'd, and disrespeckit! Hung o'er his hurdles wvi' a swirl. L-d, man, our gentry care as little Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither, For delvers, ditchers, and sic cattle; And unco pack and thick liegitherit They gang as saucy by poor folk, Wi' social nose whyles snuff'd and snowkit. As I wad by a stinkin' brock. Vhyles mice and moudieworts they howkit; I've notic'd, on our Laird's court-day, Whyles scour'd awa in lazng excursion, And mony a time my heart's been wae, And worried ither in diversion; Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash, Until wi' daftin' weary gdrown, How they maun thole a factor's snash; Upon a knowe they sat them down He'll stamp and threaten, curse and swear, And there began a lang digression He'll apprehend them, poind their gear; About the lords o' the creation. While they maun stan', wi' aspect humble, And hear it a', and fear and tremble! CXESAR. I see how folk live that hae riches; I've aften wonder'd, honest Luath, But surely poor folk maun be wretches I What sort o' life poor dogs like you have; LUATH. And when the gentry's life I saw, What way poor bodies liv'd ava. They're no sae wretched's ane wad think; Tho' constantly on poortith's brink: Our laird gets in his racked rents, They're sae accustom'd wi' the sight, His coals, his kain, and a' his stents; The view o't gies them little fright. 140 BURNS'S POETICAL WORKS. Then chance and fortune are sae guided, Or down Italian vista startles,'They're aye in less or mair provided; W-re hunting amang groves o' myrtles; And tho' fatigu'd wi' close employment, Then houses drumly German water, A blink o' rest's sweet enjoyment. To mak himsel' look fair and fatter, The dearest; comfort o' their lives, And clear the consequential sorrows, Love-gifts of Carnival signoras. Their grushie weans and faithfu' wives;, For Britain's guid!-for her destruction I The prattling things are just their fire-side; Wi' dissipation, feud, and faction. That sweetens a' their fire-side; And whyles twalpennie worth o' nappy LUATH. Can make the bodies unco happy; man! dear sirs! is that the gate They lay aside their private cares, Hech man dear sirs! is that the gate To mind the Kirk and State affairs: They waste sae mony a braw estate They'll talk o' patronage and priests, Are we sae foughten and harass d Wi' kindling fury in their breasts. For gear to gaig that gate at last! Or tell what new taxation's comin', Oh would they stay aback frae courts, And ferlie at the folk in Lon'on. And please themselves wsi' countra sports, As bleak-fac'd Hallowmas returns, It wad for ev'ry ane be better, They get the jovial, ranting kirns, The Laird, the Tenant, and the Cotter! When rural life, o' ev'ry station, For thae frank, rantin', ramblin' billies, Unite in common recreation; Fient haet o' them's ill-hearted fellows; Love blinks, Wit slaps, and social Mirth Except for breakin' o' their timmer, Forgets there's Care upo' the earth. Or speakin' lightly o' their limmer, That merry day the year begins, Or shootin' o' a hare or moor-cock, They barr y the ydoo r on frosty wi's; The ne'er a bit they're ill to poor folk. They bar the door on frosty will's; The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream, Bust will ye tell me, lMaster Cesar, And sheds a heart-inspiring steam; Sure great folk's life's a life o' pleasure? The luntin pipe, and sneeshin mill, Nae cauld or hunger e'er can steer them, Are handed round wi' right guid will; The vera thought o't need na fear theml, The cantie auld folks crackin' crouse, The young anes rantin' thro' the house- CAESAR. My heart has been sae fain to see them, L —d, man, were ye but whyles whare I am, That I for joy hae barkit wit' them. The gentles ye wad ne'er envy'em. Still it's owre true that ye hae said, It's true, they needna starve or sweat, Sic game is now owre aften play'd. Thro' winter's cauld, or simmer's heat; There's monie a creditable stock They've nae sair wark to craze their banes, O' decent, honest, fawsont fo'k, And fill auld age wi' grips and granes; Are riven out baith root and branch, But human bodies are sic fools, Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench, For a' their colleges and schools, Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster That when nae real ills perplex them, In favosr wi' some gentle master, They mak enow themselves to vex them; Wha' aiblins thrang a parliamentin', And aye the less they hae to sturt them, For Britain's guid his saul indentin'- In like proportion less will hurt them. CASAR. A country fellow at the pleugh, His acre's till'd, he's right eneugh; Haith, lad, ye little ken about it; A country girl at her lght eneu For Britain's guid! guid faith, I doubt it. Her dizzen's dole, she's unco weel: Say rather, gaun as Premiers lead him, But Gentlemen, and Ladies warst, And saying ay or no's they bid hinm: Wi' ev'n down want o' wark are curst, At operas and plays paradinig, They loiter, lounging, lank, and lazy; ZMortgaging, gambling, masquerading: Tho' deil haet ails them, yet uneasy; Or may be, in a frolic daft, Their days insipid, dull, and tasteless; To Hague or Calais takes a waft, Their nights unquiet, lang, and restless; To mak a tour and tak a whirl, And e'en their sports, their balls and races, To learn bols ton, and see the worl'. Their gallopping thro' public places, There' at Vienna or Versailles, There's sic parade, sic pomp, and art, He rives his father's auld entails; The joy can scarcely reach the heart. Or by Madrid he takes the route, The men cast out in party matches, To thrum guitars, and fecht wi' nowte; Then sawther a' in deep debauches; TIE COTT TER S SATUIJR1DAY I(TIHT. The SL c C CCti'TM? X ii'; 1:.'- i C _hie l a-i ]iL~-!B)1ia, ~WL e -rit, Hi- 1i -i LAMENT. 141 Ae night they're mad wi' drink and wh-ring, How have I wish'd for fortune's charms, Niest day their life is past enduring. For her dear sake, and her's alone! The Ladies arm-in-arm in clusters, And must I think it-is she gone, As great and gracious a' as sisters; YMy secret heart's exulting boast But hear their absent thoughts o' ither, And does she heedless hear my groan? They're a' run deils and jads thegither. And is she ever, ever lost? Whyles, o'er the wee bit cup and platie,ear so base a heart, They sip the scandal potion pretty; So lost to honoerr lot to truth Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbit leuks, As from the fondest lover part, Pore owre the devil's pictur'd betiks;The plighted husband of her youth! Stake on a chance a farmer's stackyard, Al lieth And cheat like onie unhang'd blackguard. Als life's path may he unsmooth i There's some exception, mn sd oman; Her way may lie thro' rough distress! There's some exception, man and woman; r But this is Gentry's life in common. Then, who her pangs and pains will soothe, Her sorrowvs share, and make them less? By this, the sun Mas oult o' sight By this, the sun was out o' si ht Ye winfed hours that o'er us past, And darker gloanming brought the night: Enraptur'd more, the more enjoy'd, The bum-clock huissn'd awi'T lazy drone; Your dear remembranlce in my breast, The kye stood rowrtin' i' the loan; The kye stoo rowtin'V lan;Iy fondly treasur'd thoughts employ'd. When up they gat, and shook their lugs,urd toughts emloy'd. Rejoiedp they gwere ala messo, hut dogs;l That breast, how dreary now, and void, Rejoic'd they were na men, but dad; her too scanty o;ice of room! And each took off his several way, For her too scanty oo ce destroy'd Resolv'd to meet some ither day. Ev'n ev'ry ray of sope destroy'd, And not a wish to guild the gloom! The morn that w'arns th' approaching day, Awakes me up to toil and woe: alInltIIt, I see the hours in lolng array, OCCASIONED'BY THIE UNFORTUNATE That I must suffer, lingering, slow. Rnll many a pang an d man y a thr oe, ISSUE OF A FRIEND'S AMOUR. (121) Full many a pang and sasy a throe, Keen recollection's direfu.sl train, "Alas! how oft does goodness wound itself! Must wring my soul, ere Phcbus, low, And sweet affection prove the spring of woe! Shall kiss the distant western main. HIoME I! And when my nightly couch I try, OIr thou pale orb, that silent shines, And when my ightly coch I try, WHile care-ntrhoubled morbtalst sleep Sore-lsarass'd out with care and grief, T hile cauare-utroubled mortals sleep h w eMy toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye, Thou seest a wretch uhIso islllyu ples, Keep watchings with the nightly thief: And wanders here to wail and weep! Or if I slusher, fancy, chief With w'oe I i~ghlstly vigils keep, H Reilgns haggard-wild, in sore affright: Beneath tmhy wars, tulwearuaisg beam; Ev'n day, all-bitter, brings relief, Al d mourn, ill lameltation deep, From such a horror-breathing night. How life and love are all a dream. I joyless view thy rays adorn Oh! thou bright queen, who, o'er th' exThe faintly marked distant hill: pause, [sway! I joyless view tihy trelmblilng horn, Now highest reign'st, with boundless Reflected in the gurgling rill Oft has thy silent-marking glance Mvy fondly-fluttering heart, be still! Observ'd us, fondly-wand'ring, stray! Thou busy pou'r, remembralce, cease! The time, ulseeded, sped away, Ah u musyt the agorizig thrill'a While love's luxurious pulse beat high, For ever bar returning peace I Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray, No ilfendpotcpisTo mark the mutual kindling eye. No idly-feign'd poetic pains, My sad, love-lorn lamentings claim; Oh i scenes in strong remembrance set! No shepherd's pipe —Arcadian strains; Scenes never, never to return! No fabled tortures, quaint and tame: Scenes, if in stupor I forget, The plighted faith; the mutual lame; Again I feel, again I burn! The oft-attested Pow'rs above; From ev'ry joy and pleasure torn, The promis'd father's tender name; Life's weary vale I'll wander thro'; These were the pledges of my love! And hopeless, comfortless, I'll mourn A faithless woman's broken vow. Encircled in her clasping arms, How have the raptur'd moments flown 142 BURNS'S POETICAL WORKS. Edina! Scottia's darling seat! flirs 1n dh~iuhllnrnfg. All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, Where once beneath a monarch's feet EDINA! Scotia's darlring seat! Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs! All hail thy palaces and towr'rs. s e ow'r Where once beeahFrom marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs, Where once beneath a monlarch's feet As o the bak Ayr I stray'd Sa L~sltonsso'rin o'r!As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, Sat Le,.islation's sov'reirn pow'rs! And sin-in-, lone, the ling'ring hours, From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs, And iiing, l t I shelter in thy honour'd shade~ As on the hanks of Ayr I stray'd, I shelter in thy honourd shade. And sin-in, lone, thle ling'ring hours, I shelter in thy honour'd shade. Here wealth still swells the golden tide, 4l Vi3rigp nf d lgr. As busy Trade his labour plies; There Architecture's noble pride INSCRIBED TO JOIIN BALLANTYNE, ESQ., Bids elegance and splendour rise; AYR. Here Justice, from her native skies, THE simple Barcl, rough at the rustic plough, Hir h wields her balance and her rod; Learling his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough; There learning, with his eagle eyes, The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush, Seeks Science in her coy abode. Ilailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green Thy sons, Edina! social, kind, thorn bush; [shrill, With open arms the strauner hail; The soaring lark, the perching red-breast Their views enhltrg'd, their liu'ral mind, Or deep-tou'd plovers, grey, wild-whistling Above the narrow, rural vale; o'er the hill; Attentive still to sorrow's vwail, Shall he, nlrst in the peasant's lowly shed, Or modest merit's silent claim; To hardy independence bravely bred, And never may their sources fail! By early poverty to hardship steel'd, And never envy blot their name! And train'd to arms in stern misfortune's Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn, fieldGay as tlhe griltded sunl imer skry, PShall lie be guilty of their hireling crimes, Sweet as the idesy rmlilk-white thorn, The servile, smercenary Swiss of rhymnies? Dear as tse rapturd thrill of joy! Or labour hard the panegyric close, Fair Burne strikes th' adoringO eye,! L O Fair Burnet strikes th' adoriiigf eye, With all the venal soul of dedicating prose? Heav'ii's beauties on nmy faiscy shine,; No! though his artless strains lie ru:dely I see the Sire of Love on high, sillg, [trings, And owis his work indeed dcivisse (122)! And throws his hand uncouthly o'er the lIe "lows with all the spirit of the Bard, There, watching high the least alarms. a Fame, honest fame, his great, his dear reThy rough, rude fortress gleams afar: ward i Like some bold v*et'ran, grey in arms, Still, if some patron's gen'rous care he trace, And niark'd with nanly a seaming scar: Skill'd in the secret to bestow with grace; The poiid'roiis wall ansd massy bar, WWhen Baliantyle befriends his humble Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock; name Have oft withstood assailinllg sar, i And hands thle rustic stranger up to fame, And oft repell'd th' invader's shock, \itl heartfelt throes his grateful bosom With awe-struck thouglit, and pitying tears, swRells, I view that noble, stately doume, The god-like b1i3s, to give, alone excels. Where Scotia's kinsss of other years, Fam'd heroes! had their royal home: Ala, howv cllslas d the tirnes to come!'Twas whenl the stacks get on their Their royal lanme low in the dust! n-ter-lip, [crap Their hapless race wild-wand'ring roam, And tllack ald rape seclre the toil-won Tho' rigid law cries out,'twas just! Potato-hiilgs are snlluged up frae skaith Wild beats my heart to trace your steps, Of comling \illter's biting, frosty breath; Whose anlcestors, in days of yore, The bees, rejoicilli o'er their summer toils, Thro' hostile ranlks and ruin'd gaps Unnumber'd buds and flow'rs' delicious Old Scotia's bloody lion bore: spoils, [piles, Ev'n I who sing in rustic lore, Seal'd up with frugal care in massive waxen Haply, my sires have left their shed, Are doom'd by man, that tyrant o'er the And fac'd grim danger's loudest roar,! weak, [reek: Bold-following where your fathers led! I The death o' devils smoor'd wi' brimstone THE BRIGS OF AYR. 143 The thundering guns are heard on ev'ry He seem'd as he wi' Time had warstl'd lang, side, Yet, teughly doulre, he bade an unco bang. The wounded conveys, reeling, scatter wide; New Brig was buskit in a braw new coat, The feather'd field-mates, bound by Nature's That he at Lon'on, frae ane Adams, got; tie, In's hand five taper staves as smooth's a Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage lie: bead, (What warm, poetic heart, but inly bleeds, Wi' virls and whirlygigums at the head. And execrates man's savage, ruthless deeds!) The Goth was stalking round with anxious Nae mair the flow'r in field or meadow search, springs; Spying the time-worn flaws in ev'ry arch;Nae mair the grove with airy concert rings, It chanc'd his new-come neebor took his e'e, Except, perhaps, the robin's whistling glee, And e'en a vex'd and angry heart had he! Proud o' the height o' some bit half-lang Wi' thieveless sneer to see his modish mien, tree: He, down the water, gies him this guidThe hoary morns precede the sunny days, e'eil:Mild, calm, serene, wide-spreads the noon- AULD BRIG. tide blaze, [the rays. While thick the gossamour waves wanton in doubt na, frien ye'l think ye're nae sheepshalk,'Twas in that season, when a simple bard, Ance ye were streelit o'er frae bank to bank I Unknown and poor, simplicity's reward, But gin ye be a brig as auld as me, Ae night, within the ancient brugh of Ayr, Tho', faith, that day I doubt ye'll never see; By whim inspired, or haply prest wi' care, There'll be, if that date come, I ll wad a He left his bed, and took his wayward route, boddle, And down by Simpsol's (123) wheel'd the Some fewer whigmaleeries in your noddle. left about: (Whether impell'd by all-directing- Fate To witness what I after shall narrate; Auld Vandal, ye but show your little Or whether, rapt ill meditation higll, mense, He wander'd oult he knew not where or why) Just much about it wi' your scanty sense; The drowsy Dungeon-clock (124) had num- Will your poor, narrow foot-path of a street, ber'd two, [was true: Whare twa wheel-barrows tresmble when they'And Wallace Tower (125) had sworn thie fact meet- [lime, The tide-swoln Firth, with sullen soundinlg Your ruin'd, formless bulk o' stane and roar, [the shore. Compare wi' bonnie Brigs o' modern time? Throuhrl the still nizht dash'd hoarse along There's men o' taste wou'd tak the DucatAll else was hush'd as Nature's closed e'e: stream (127), [swim, The silent moon shone high o'er tow'r and Tho' they should cast the vera sark and tree: Ere they would grate their feelings wi' the The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam, view Crept, gently-crusting, o'er the glitterinr, Of sic an ugly, Gothic hulk as you. stream. [Bard, AULD BRIG. When, lo! on either hand the list'ninB The clagin sughIi of whistling~ wirlgs is iConceited gowk! puff'd up wi' windy heard; wgs pride- [tide; Two dulskv forms dart thro' the midnight air, This sony a year I've stood the flood and Swift as the gos (126) drives on the wheel- And thu' wi' crazy eild I'm sair forfairn, hareI'll be a Brig, when ye'se a shapeless cairn! ing hare; As yet ye little ken about the matter, Ane on the Atuld Brig his airy shape uprears, But twa-three winters will inform ye better. The ither flutters o'er the rising piers: W Then heavy, dark, continued a'-day rains, Our warlock Rhymer instantly descry'd Wi' deepening deluges o'erflow the plains; The Sprites that owre the Brigs of Ayr pre- When from the hills where springs the side. brawling Coil, (That Bards are second-sighted is nae joke, I Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil, And ken thehlingo of the sp'ritual folk; Or where the Greenock winds his moorland Fays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a', they can explain course, [source, them, [them.) Or haunted Garpal (128) draws his feeble And ev'n the vera deils they brawly ken Arous'd by blust'ring winds and spotting Auld Brig appear'd of ancient Pictish race, thowes, [rowes; The very wrinlkles Gothic in his face; In mony a torrent down his snaw-broo 144 BURNS'S POETICAL WORKS. While crashing ice, borne on the roaring And agonising, curse the time and place speat, [gate; When ye begat the base, degen'rate race! Sweeps dams and mills, and brigs, a' to the Nae langer rev'rend men, their country's And from Glenlbuck (129), down to the Rat- glory. [braid story! ton-key (130), [sea- In plain braid Scots hold forth a plain Auld Ayr is just one lengthen'd tumbling Nae longer thrifty citizens and douce, Then down ye'll hurl, deil nor ye never rise! Meet owre a pint, or in the council-house; And dash the gumlie jaups up to the pour- But staumrel, corky-headed, graceless gening skies. try, A lesson sadly teachinr, to your cost, The herryment and ruin of the country; That Archietcture's noble art is lost! Men, three parts made by tailors and by barbers, [new Brigs and Harbours! NEW BRIG. TWhla waste your weel-hain'd gear on d-d Fine Architecture, trowth, I needs must say't o't! [gate o't! NEW BRIG. The L —d be thankit that we've tint the Now hand you there! for faith you've Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices, said enough, [through Hanigiug with tlireat'ning jut like precipices; And mlckle iair than ye can mak to O'er-arching, mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves, As for your Priesthood, I shall say but little, Supportinig roofs fantastic, stony- groves: Corbies and Clergy are a shot right kittle: Windows, and doors in nameless sculpturer o' your a But, under fayour o' your lang'er beard, rdrest, Abuse o' Magistrates might xweel be spar'd: With order, symmetry, or taste unblest; To liken them to your auld-wRrld squad Forms like some bedlam Statuary's dream, I needs must say, comparisons are odd. The craz'd creatioiis of rnidsuided whim; In Ayr, wag-wits nae mnair can have a handle Forms might be worshipp'd on the beided To mouth " a citizen," a term o' scandal; knee, Nae mnair the Council waddles down the And still the second dread command be free, street Their likeness is not found on earth, in air, In all the pomp of ignorant conceit; or sea. [tast Ien wha grew wise priggin' owre hops and lMansions that would disgrace the building raisins Of any mason reptile, bird or beast; Or gather'd lib'ral views in bonds and seisins, Fit only for a doited monkish race, If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp, Or frosty ilaids forsworn tile dear embrace; iHad shor'd them with a glimmer of his lamp, Or cuifs of latter times wha held the notion And would to Colmon-sense for once That sullen gloom was sterling true devotionr; betrayd them, [them. Fancies that our good 1rugh denies protec- Plain, dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid tionl [resurrection! And soon may they expire, unlblest with AULD BRIG. What further clish-ma-claver might been Oh ye, my dear-remember'd ancient yeal- said, [shed, ings, [inigs! What bloody wars, if Spirites had blood to Were ye but here to share my wounded feel- No Ilan call tell; but all before their sight, Ye worthy Proveses, and mony a Bailie, A fairy train appear'd in order bright: Wha in the paths o'righteousless did toil Adown the glitt'ring stream they featly aye; dace'd: [glanc'd: Ye dainty Deacons and ye douce Conveneers, Bright to the moon their various dresses To whom our moderns are but causey- They footed o'er the wat'ry glass so neat, cleaners; The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet: Ye godly Councils wha hae blest this town; While arts of minstrelsy among them rung, Ye godly brethren o' the sacred gown, And soul-ennobling bards heroic ditties sung. Wha meekly ga'e your hurdies to the smi- Oh, had M'Lauchlan (131), thairm-inspirilg, ters; [writers; Sage, And (what would now be strange) ye godly ]Been there to hearthis heavenlyband engage, A' ye douce folk I've borne aboon the broo,, Vhen thro' his dear strathspeys they bore Were ye but here, what would ye say or do! with highland rage; How would your spirits groan in deep vexa- Or when they struck old Scotia's meltilg tion, air, To see each melancholy alteration; The lover's raptur'd joy: or bleeding cares; ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON. 145 How would his highland lug been noblerfir'd, Thee Matthew, Nature's sel' shall mourn And ev'n his matchless hand with finer touch By wood and wild, inspir'd! Where, haply, Pity stray's forlorn, No guess could tell what instrument appear'd, Frae man exil'd! lBut all the soul of Music's self was heard; Ye hills! near neighbours o' the stans, Harmonious concert rung in every part, That cock r cresting cairns! VWhile simple melody pour'd moving on the proudly you heart. Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns (136), Where echo slumbers! The Genius of the stream in front appears, Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns, A venerable Chief advanc'd in years; My wailing numbers! His hoary head with water-lilies crown'd, Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens His manly leg with garter tangle bound: Ye haz'ly shaws and briary dens! Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring,lin' down your glen Sweet Female Beauty hand in hand with Wi' toddlin' din, Spring; [Joy, Or foaming strang, wi' hasty stens, Then, crown'd with flow'ry hay, came Rural F rac in to liii! And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye: All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn, Mourn, little harebells o'er the lea; Led yellow Autumn, wreath'd with nodding Ye stately foxgloves fair to see; corn; [show, Ye woodbines, hanging bonnilie, Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary In scented bow'rs; By Hospitality with cloudless brow. Ye roses on your thorny tree, Next follow'd Courage, with his martial The first o' flow'rs. stride; [hide (132); From where the Feal wild woody coverts At dawn, when ev'ry grassy blade Benevolence, with mild, benignant air. Droops with a diamond at its head, A female form, came from the tow'rs of At ev', when beans their fragrance shed, Stair (133); I' th' rustling gale, Learning and Worth in equal measures trode, Ye maukins whiddin thro' the glade, From simple Catrine, their long-lov'd abode Came join my wail. (134); [wreath,'Mourn ye wee songsters o' the wood; last, white-rob'd Peace, crown'd with a hazel To rustic Agriculture did bequeath Ye ouse that calling the heather bud; The broken iron instruments of death; Ye curlews calling th At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their Ye whistling plover; kindling wrath. And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood Ikind e's gane for ever! Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals Ye fisher herons, watching eels; oIIn.aain J.attR0II Vrllr uIi Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels Circling the lake; A GENTLEMAN WHO HELD THE PATENT Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, FOR HIS HONOURS IMMEDIATELY FROMI air for his sake. ALMIGHTY GOD. (135) Moulrn, clam'ring craiks at close o' day,, "Shouldthepoorbeflattered?" —SIAKSPEARrE.'Mang fields o' flow'ring clover gay; But now his radiant course is run, And when ye wing your annual way For Matthew's course was bright; Frae our cauld shore. His soul was like the glorious sun, Tell the far warlds, wha lies in clay. A matchless heavenly light! Wham we deplore. OH Death! thou tyrant fell and bloody! Ye owlets, frae your ivy bow'r, The meikle devil wi' a woodie In some auld tree, or eldritch towl, Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie, What time the moon, wi' silent glowrO'er hurcheon hides, Sets up her horn, And like stock-fish come o'er his studdie Wail thro' the dreary midnight hour Wi' thy auld sides! Till waukrife morn! He's gane! he's gane i he's frae us torn, Oh, rivers, forests, hills, and plains The ae best fellow e'er was born! Oft have ye heard my canty, strains:: L 146 BURNS'S POETICAL WORKS. BuIt, now, what else for me remains If thou art staunch without a stain, But tales of woe? Like the unchanlling blue, man, And frae my een the drapping rains This was a kinsman o' thine ainMaun ever flow. For Matthew was a true man. Mourn, spring, thou darling of the year I If thou hast wit, and fiun, and fire, Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear: And neer guid vine did fear, man, Thou, simmer, while each corny spear This was thy billie, dam, and sireShoots up its head, For Matthew was a quleer man. Thy gay, green, flow'ry tresses shear If ony whiggish whingin' sot, For him that's dead. To blame poor latthlew dare, man, May dool and sorro- be hiis lot l Thou, autumn. wi' thy yellow hair, For Mlatthew was a rare man. In grief thy sallow mantle tear! Thou, winter, hurling thro' the air The roaring blast, Wide o'er the naked world declare ftlI i' f.[4allttr, The -worth we've lost! A TALE. (137) Mourn him, thou sun, great source of light; " Of brownysis and of bogilis full is this bulke." 5Mourn, empress of the silent night! GAWIN DOUGLAS. And you, ye twinkling starries bright, WHEN chlapman billies leave the street, My MIatthew mourn! And drouthv neighbours, neighbours meet, For through your orbs he's ta'en his flight, As uarket-days are wearing late, Ne'er to return. And folk begin to tak the gate; Oh, Henderson! the man-the brother! While we sit bousing at the nappy, And art thou gone, and gone for ever? And gettin' fou andl unco happy, And hast thou cross'd that unknown river, WVe think na on the lang Scots miles, Life's dreary bound? The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles, like thee, where shall I find another, That lie between us and our hame, The world around? AWhere sits our sulky sullen dame, Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye great, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. In a' the tinsel trash o' state! But by thy honses turfs s wtait, This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, But by thy honest turf I'll wait, Tthonu san of worth! As he frae Ayr ae Ilight did canter, And weep the ac best fellow's fate (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses, And weep the ae best fellow's fate F h m E'e lay.inarti For honest men alnd bonnie lasses). E'er lay in earth. Oh Tam! had'st thou but been sae wise, THE EPITAPH. As ta'en tlhy ain wife Kate's advice! Stop, passen-er!-my story's brief She tauld thle w-eal thou was a skellum. And truth I sihall relate, man*; jA blethering, blusteriugi, drunken blellam; I tell nae common tale o' grief- That frae November till October: For Matthew was a great man. Ae market-day thou iwas nae sober; If thou uncommon merit hast, That ilka meider, wi' the miller, Yet spur~i'dc art fortune's door, man,'lThou sat as lang' as thou had siller; A look of pity hiithser cast- That ev'ry haigS was ca'd a shoe on,