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Full text of "The works of Robert Burns [microform] : with a series of authentic pictorial illustrations, marginal glossary, numerous notes, and appendixes : also the life of Burns by J.G. Lockhart, and essays on the genius, character, and writings of Burns by Thomas Carlyle and Professor Wilson"

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6 

THE    WOEKS 


OF 


KOr.  EET    BURNS. 


■^f^- 


.1 


i 


f 


MAI 


1 


THE  WORKS 


or 


ROBERT    BURNS. 


WITH 


A   SKKIKS  (tl"   Al'TIIKNTIC 


PICTORIAL   ILLUSTRATIONS, 

MAIUaNAI.,  (JLOSSAKV,    NIMKUOUS   NOTES,   ANIJ  A1'PKN1)IXE.S: 

A  LSI) 

TIIK   l.IKK  UK   HI  KNS,    liV   .1.   (!.    I.Of'KHAKT; 

AMI   ESSAYS  ON   THE  (lENHS,  CHAKAt  TEK,   AMJ  WKITINOs  uF   lUKNS, 

HY   THOMAS  CAKLVI.E  AM)   I'ROKESSOK   WILSON. 

EDITED   BY 

CHARLES    ANNANDALE,  M.A.,  ll.d., 

EDITOR  or  Till:   "iMI'tlllAI.  IIICTIONAUY,"  HC. 


VOL.   V. 


TOllONTO: 

J.    E.   BRYANT  &  CO. 

T.ONDON,   GLASGOW,   EDINBURGH,   AND    DUBl-TN: 

BLACKIE    &   SON. 

1889. 


•  4 


^ 


f  'A 


CONTENTS 


AND   LIST  OP  THE  ENGRAVINGS. 


§ 


ENGRAVINGS. 

Diimfriew— thu  Market  I'lftco, 

New  lirif;  "f  I)»"ii  with  Hiirnn'(4  Monuineiit, 

Turnl«rry  (Jivstle,  AyrKliiro  Coi.st, 

FieM  of  Itiiiiiiockliurn  from  the  (jiilliuM'  Hill,     . 

I'lirtnit  iif  (Jfi.rLje  ThoniHon,  the  (.'orrespKiideiit  of  IJuriiH, 

The  Uiver  Nith— Aul<l;,'irth  Uridgo  iiiul  Blackwood  IIduni', 

lirow,  a  Hiiiidi't  near  the  Holway  Firtl 

The  I'oet'H  Dream  at  rjiiicludeii  Altl)ey,     .... 
The  Mauai  ileum  of  Burns  at  Dunifriex,      .... 


Pago 
Front  is. 
0 
.  19 
.  76 
.  116 
.  141 
.  176 
.  208 
.  258 


ON    THK    CKXIUS,  CHAIIACTKH,  AND    WHITINGS   OF    THE    POET, 

uv  ru(.»Fi:sHou  wilson 


P-115 


COKKKSI'ONDKN'CE    WITH    GEORGE    THOMSON    hkoardino  the  SoNoa 

CONTUIlltTEl)  TO   HI8   CoLLKCTION  OK    SCOTTISH    MKI.ODIfM 116-178 


Ndtit'L-  iif  (iKoiiMK  Thomson,  and  liis  conncctluii 
with  liiirii!) 110 

ViU,-  17'.)2. 

Mr.  Thomson  to  IUuns,  dcslrliiK  tlie  Toet  to 
HUiiiily  soii^'g  Huiteil  to  Hcdtch  iiiulodles,    .        .  121 

Hums  to  Mr.  Thuinsoii,  complying  with  the  re- 
(|iiist, 121 

TlioniHon  to  itiirnB,  with  eleven  aonKS,  reiiucstlng 
liiiii  to  Huliatitutu  for  them  otiiera  of  liis  own 
eoinpoHition, 122 

Hums  to  Tlionison,  contiiiiiing  "  My  nin  kind 
Dearie,  o, "  and  "  Will  ye  Ko  to  the  Indies,  my 
Mary?  • 123 

Hums  to  Tlionison,  with  "  My  Wife's  a  winsome 
wee  thInK,"  "  O  saw  ye  lioniiie  Lesley,"  .124 

Hums  to  'I'homson,  with  "  Highland  Mary,"        .  124 

Tlionison  to  Hums,  siigKcsting  alterations  in  the 
worils  of  "  Honniu  Lesley,"  &c.,         .        .        .  125 

Hums  to  Tlionison,  not  approving  of  any  altera- 
tion, also  supplying  another  stanza  to  "  My 
ain  kind  Dearie,  O," 126 

\  .IIS  to  Thomson,  with  "Auld  Rob  Morris" 
and  "  Duncan  Gray," 126 

Bump  to  Thomson,  with  "  0  poortlth  Cauld  "  and 

"Gala  Water," 126 

vol,.   V. 


Page 
Year  1793. 

Thomson  to  Burns,  intimating  his  resolve  to  in- 
elude  every  Heoteh  air  and  song  worth  singing 
in  tlie  Collection 127 

Burns  to  Tlionison,  approving  the  plan,  sends 
his  own  "  Lord  Gregory," 128 

Burns  to  Thomson,  with  the  song  "Mary 
Morison, ' 120 

Burns  to  Thomson,  with  the  songs  "  Wandering 
Willie,    "Open  the  door  to  me,  Oh!"       .        .120 

Thomson  to  Bums,  with  list  of  songs,  with  al- 
terations on  "Here  awa',  Willie,"     .       .       .120 

Burns  to  Thomson,  "  Voice  of  t'oila ;"  opinion  on 
various  songs,  "The  Lass  o'  I'atie's  Mill,"  Ac,  130 

Thomson  to  Burns,  Ballad-making,       .       .       .131 

Burns  to  niomson,  simplicity  requisite  in  a  song 
—sacrilege  in  one  bard  to  mangle  the  works  of 
another;  with  songs  "Young  Jessie,"  "The 
Soldier's  Return,"  "  Bonnie  Jean,"  "  Meg  o' 
the  Mill," 131 

Burns  to  'ITiomson,  with  song  "Tlie  Last  Time  I 
came  o'er  the  Moor;"  and  a  hint  that  Pleyel 
should  not  alter  the  original  "  Scottish  airs,"  .  133 

Thomson  to  Burns,   "Pleyel  does  not  olter  a 

single  note  of  the  songs, ' 133 

67 


i 


II 


vi 


CONTENTS. 


i'l' 


Pago 


134 

134 
13r> 
130 

130 


Bums  to  Th-  .nsoi:,  with  the  song  "BIythe  hae  I 

been 

Bums  to  Thomson,  with  "Logan  Braes"  and 

"  0,  gin  my  love  were  yon  red  rose," 
Thomson  to  Burns,  with  Mist  book  of  Songs, 
Burns  to  Thomson,  with  "Bonnie  Jean,"     . 
Burns  to  Thomson,  indignantly  spurns  the  i '  =a 

of  any  pecuniary  transactions,  .... 
Thojnson  to  Burns,  with  notice  of  "Bonnie  brueket 

Lassie,"  &c 137 

Burns  to  Thomson,  for  llr.  Clarke,  .  .  .138 
Burns  to  Thomson,  with  thesong"Phillis  the  Fair,"138 
Thomson  to  Burna,  Allan's  painting  of  "John 

Anderson,  my  jo," 

Burns  to  Tliomson,  "  Had  I  a  cave,"     . 
Burns  to  Thomson,  "  By  Allan  Stream,"      . 
Thomson  to  Burns,  remarks  on  thesop'^s  and  airs, 
Burns  to  Thomson,  "0,  whistle,  and  I'll  come  to 

you,"  "Adown  winding  Nith,"  . 
Burns  to  Thomson,  "  Come,  let  me  take  th 
Burns  to  Thomson,  "  Dainty  Davie,"  . 
Burns  to  Thomson,  "Behold  the  hour," 
Thomson  to  Burns, asking  "twenty-thrtc  favours,"  142 
Burns  to  Thomson,  "  Bruce  8  Address,"  .  .  143 
Thomson  to  Burns,  suggests  alterations  on  "Scots 

wha  b'^e," 143 

Burn.;  to  Thomson,  "Thou  hast  left  me  ever," 

•'Auld  Lang  Syne,"  &c., 144 

Burns  to  Thomson,  with  alteration  on  "Scots 

wha  ha'e," 148 

Thomson  to  Burns,  thanks  for  observations  on 

list  of  songs 

'.urns  to  Thomson,  "Fail  \'nny," 
iiurns  to  Thomson,  "Deluded  swain,  thcpieaam 
Burns  to  Thcni::on,  "Lovely  Nancy,"   . 
Thomiion    t'.    lUn  ■,    with    thanks 

"  L^ii-w'ui  clKo, 
hmm  to  T'v;iw 


138 
139 
139 
140 

141 
141 
141 
14-2 


148 
149 
149 
151 


for 


song 


!y  f-pouse,  Nancy,"   . 

Year  1794. 

r,''Pi-,  begins  a  sketch  from 


1.52 
152 


152 
163 

153 

.  154 


154 


Tli.^trsr,-,  t.    ':.•] 

■'ii:-u  I's ::;.' a„'»v  j.,/giu  "       .... 
Bu-ns  to  J  ;ii  .iison,  "Here  is  the  glen," 
Burns  to  Thomson,  "Here   vhere  the  Scottish 

muse  immortal  lives,"  &c 

Thomson  to  Burns,  No  more  songs  from  Pleyel — 

desirous  of  being  supplied  with  poetry. 
Burns  to  Thomson,  "  On  the  seas  and  far  away,"  154 
Thomson  to  Burns,  opinion  of  "  On  the  seas  and 

far  away,"     . 
Burns  to  Thomson,  with  "Ca'  the  ewes  to  the 

knowes," 
Burns  to  Thomson,  with  "  She  says  she  loe's  me 

best  of  a',"  &c 

Thomson  to  Burns,  Observations  on  "She  says 

she  loe's  me,"  &r. 150 

Thomson  to  Burns,  promises  a  copy  of  Ritson's 

"  Collection  of  Scottish  Airs, "  Ac 157 

Burns  to  Thomson,  with  "Saw  ye  my  Philly," 

"  How  lang  and  dreary  is  the  night,"  &c., 
Thomson  to  Burns,  "The  songs  in  your  last  will 

do  you  lasting  credit," 
Burns  to  Thomson,  "Cliloris,"  "Chloe,"  "Lassie 

wi'  the  lint-white  Locks,"  &c.,   .       .       .       .  lei 


155 


155 


108 


100 


Paga 
Thomson  to  Bums,  Scottish  airs  are  adapted  for 

two  voices 163 

Bums  to  Thomson,  "0  Philly,  happy  be  that 
day,"  "Contented  wi' little,"  and  "Canst  thou 
leave  me  thus,  my  Katie?"         .       .        .        .104 
Thomson  to  Burns,  "  Your  last  budget  demands 

iiuqualitled  p.-aise," 10(i 

.  107 


Bums  to  Thomson, 


'My  Nannie's  awa'," 

Ynir  1795. 

that,  and  a'  that," 


Burns  to  Thomson,  "  For  a' 

and  "Craigiebuni  Wood,"  ....  167 

Thomson  to  Burns,  thanks  for  "  Nannie's  awa','' 

Ac, 108 

Burns  to  Thomson,  "  0  Lassie,  art  thou  sleeping 

yet," 108 

Burns  to  Thomson,  from  Ecdefechan,— detained 

l)y  snow 108 

Thomson  to  Burns,  thanks  for  "  Let  nie  in  this 

ae'  night,  " 109 

isurns  to  Thomson,  "O  wat  ye  wiia's  in  yon 
town?"  "Address  to  the  Wood-l.irk  "  "On 
Chloris  being   ill,"  "Caledonia,"   "  iv.as  na 

her  bonnie  blue  e'e," 109 

Thomson  to  Burns,  acknowledges  the  songs  in 

preceding  letter 170 

Burns  to  Thomson,  "How  cruel  are  the  parents," 

"  Mark  yonder  I'omp," 
Burns  to  Thomson,  thanks  for  Allan's  drawing 

of  "Tlie  Cotter," 
Thomson  to  Uurns,  can  never  repay  the  Poet  for 
the  kind  manner  in  which  he  has  entered  into 
the  spirit  of  the  undertaking,     . 
Burns  to  Tliomson,  with  "Forlorn,  my  Love,  no 

comfort  near," 
Burns  to  Thomson,  with   "Last   Jlay  a  braw 

Wooer,"  "Cliloris,"     .... 
Thomson  to  Burns,  thanking  the  Poet, 
Burns  to  Thoinsdii,  with  alterations  on  "For- 
lorn, my  Love;"   also  "This    is  no  my  aiii 
lassie,"  "  Now  sjiring  has  clad,"  A'c., 
Thomson  to  Burns,  introducing  "  Dr.  Briunton," 


170 


170 


171 

171 

171 
172 


Year  1796. 

Thomson  to  Burns,  "The  pause  you  make  is 
awful!" 173 

Burns  to  Thomson,  "Hey  for  a  Lass  wi'  a  Tocher,"  174 

Thomson  to  Burns,  "  It  is  the  llrst  time  I  have 
seen  you  debasing  the  god  of  soft  desin,  into 
an  amateur  of  acres  and  guineas,  "     .        .        .  174 

Burns  to  Thomson,  "Alas,  I  fear  it  will  be  gome 
time  ere  I  tune  my  lyre  again  !  "        .        .        .  175 

Thomson  to  Burns,  "Do  not  give  yourself  up  to 
despondency," 176 

Bums  to  Thomson,  with  certificate  of  copyright,  175 

Burns  to  Thonisim,  "Jessy,"         .        .        .        .175 

Burns  to  Thomson,  from  Brow,  on  the  Solway 
Firth 176 

Burns  to  Thoms<m,  "  After  my  boasted  indepen- 
dence, curst  necessity  compels  mo  to  Implore 
you  for  five  pounds," 177 

Thomson  to  Hums,  "Again  and  again  I  thought 
of  a  pecuniary  offer," 177 

From  Mr.  Thomson  to  Messrs.  Blackle  &  Son,    .  177 


t 


4 


■'1 


CONTENTS. 


vil 


idapted  for 

py  lie  that 
Canst  tliuu 

et  (leiuands 

■a'," 


Pagu 
1G3 


1G4 

107 


ul  a'  that," 

.  167 
lilies  awa'," 

.  108 
1011  sleeping 

.  108 
1,— detained 

.  108 
me  ill  tliis 

.  100 

iia's  in  yon 

■hxrls  "  "On 

"  Jv.as  na 

.  109 
he  songs  in 

.  170 
he  parents," 

.  170 
Ill's  drawing 

.  170 
the  Poet  for 
entered  into 

.  171 
iiiv  Love,  no 

.  171 
May  a  liraw 

.  171 
et,  .        .  172 

lis  on  "For- 
i  no  my  aiii 

.        .  172 
r.  ISriaiiton,"  173 


you  make  is 

.  173 
.vi'aTiitlier,"  174 

time  I  have 
't  desire,  into 

.174 
will  be  some 

.  17S 
ourself  up  to 

.  175 
of  copyright,  175 

.  175 
11  the  Solway 

.  176 
ited  indepen- 
lu  to  Implore 

.  177 
lin  I  thought 

.  177 

l<ie&  Son,    .  177 


REMARKS  ON  SCOTTISH  SONGS  AND  BALLADS,     . 
THE  COMMON-PLACE  BOOKS  OF  BURNS,    . 


APPENDIX. 

MANUAL  OF  RELIGIOUS  BRLIEF,  in  form  of  a  Dialogue  between  Father  and  Son, 
compiled  by  William  Burnes  the  Poet's  Father, 


A  PAINTER'S   TRIBUTE  TO  BURNS.— Descriptive  Notice  of  the  Engraving  of  the 
Poet's  Dream  at  Lincludcn, 


POEMS  WRITTEN  IN   MEMORY  OF  BURNS, 


By  William  Roscoe,  Esq., 

II  Tliomas  Campbell,  . 

II  William  Wordsworth, 

II  James  Montgomery, 

II  llobert  Tannahill,  . 

11  Rev.  Hamilton  Paul, 

II  Hugh  Ainslie, 

II  Kitzgreen  Hulleck, 

II  David  Vedder, 

II  Mrs.  Grant  of  Laggan, 

II  Captain  Cliarles  Gray,  Royal  Marines 

11  Robert  Giltlllan 


I'ftKe 
21U 
211 
212 
212 
213 
213 
215 
215 
217 
217 
218 
219 


By  Robert  Nicoll, 

II  David  SI.  Moir  (Delta), 

II  Ebenezer  Elliot,     . 

II  Eliza  Cook,    . 

II  Isa  Craig, 

11  Hon.  Mrs.  Norton, 

II  James  Macfarlan, . 

II  Janet  Hamilton,    . 

II  Henry  W.  Longfellow, 

II  John  G.  Whittier, . 

II  Alexander  Anderson, 


BURNS  FESTIVAL  ON  THE  BANKS  OF  THE  DOON,  1844, 

CENTENARY  CELEBRATIONS,  1859, 

MONUMENTS  TO  BURNS 

PORTRAITS  OF   BURNS, . 

BIOGRAPHIES  OF  BURNS 

LIST  OF  PRINCIPAL  EDITIONS  OF   BURNS'S  WORKS,   . 

Index  of  First  Lines  of  Poems  and  Songs 

Gexeual  Indi-.x, 


Pnge 
179 

190 


205 

208 

210-232 

Page 
220 

220 

221 

222 

222 


223 
220 
227 
228 
229 
230 


232 
235 

257 
263 
2f)6 
268 
273 
279 


i 


II' 


!     ) 


THE 


WORKS   OF   EOBEBT   BURNS. 


ON   THE   GENIUS,  CHARACTER,  AND  WRITINGS 

OF   THE    POET. 

BY  PROFESSOR  WILSON. 


SYNOPSIS. 

lii'RN8  a  born  poet;— derived  his  might  from  the  peasant  life  ■  l  Scotland  •,—gpealts  out  straight  from  his 
own  experience  and  feeling'.-liis  name  a  household  word  among  his  countrymen;— lives  in  the  hearts  of  the 
people;— immortality  of  Burns's  poetry;— his  early  home;— education;— reading;— supernotural  lore;— at 
fifteen  the  principal  lal)ourer  on  tlie  farm;— hoolt-knowledge;- Murdoch's  opinion  of  the  brothers;— dawn 
of  love  and  poesy;- life  at  Lochlua;—"  passion's  guilty  cup;"— Highland  Mary;— "Thou  lingering  star;"— 
diatli  <i(  the  poet's  father;— Mossgiel;—" The  Vision;"— "Epistle  to  Davie;"— first  suggestion  of  becoming 
an  author;— his  love  of  nature  intensified  by  being  restricted  by  his  sympathy  for  living  creatures;— 
"  rialloween;"- "The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night;"— Jean  Armour;— West  Indian  project;— publication  of 
poems;--Edinbiu'gh;— conversational  power;— in  high  society;- publication  of  Edinliurgh  edition;— tours; 
—return  to  Mossgiel;— marriage;— "Of  a' the  airts  the  wind  can  blaw;"—Ellisland;— journeys  to  Ayrshire; 
—Dr.  Hlacklock;—neron;— becomes  a  ganger;— life  at  Ellislund;— "Friars'  Carae;"— friendships  with  local 
gentry;— "Tam  o'  Shantcr;"—"  Address  to  the  Deil;"— Burns's  Imniorous  strains;-"  Whistle"  contest- 
Burns  not  present;— " Death  and  Dr.  Hornbook;"— Epistles  to  his  friends,— "The  Auld  Farmer's  New- 
year  Morning  Salutation;"— "Twa  Dogs;"— "The  Earnest  Cry  and  Prayer;"— Scotsmen's  humour— Burns 
and  drinking;— Macneil's  "Will  and  Jean ;"— Satirffl;— Prof.  Walker  on  Burns's  marriage;— removal  to  Dum- 
flics;- songs,  andsong-writers;- Johnson's  "  Museum  "and  Thomson's  "Collection;"— Burns's  songs;— spirit 
of  independence;— fnend8hips;—"Lanient  for  Olcncairn;"— Elegy  on  Captain  Matthew  Henderson;- Milton, 
Wordsworth,  and  Burns;— Cfraham  of  Fintry;— love,  friendship,  Independence,  patriotism,  the  perpetual 
inspirers  of  his  genius;— "  Does  haughty  Oaul  invasion  threat?"— scene  in  Dumfries  theatre;— " Farewell, 
thou  fair  day;"— Synie's  account  of  the  composition  of  "Scots  wha  hae;"— Thomson's  emendations;— "the 
grandest  ode  out  of  the  Bible;"— Burns  and  his  professional  duties;— Josiah  Walker  and  Supervisor  Find- 
later;— Gray's  letter;— Walker's  visit  to  Burns  at  Dumfries;— tavern  parties;— Globe  Inn;— Burns  as  a 
demagogue;— "  Tree  of  Lil)erty;"— Excise -board  reproof;— self-reproach  and  rueful  remoree;— Bard's  epi- 
til ph;— Burns  and  Byron;— Burns  and  Samuel  Johnson;— garns's  religion;— Was  Burns  neglected?— a  ganger 
by  his  own  choice;— Burns's  later  Idea  that  it  was  degrading  to  write  for  money  the  cause  of  his  unhappiness 
during  the  closing  years  of  his  life;— no  mercenary  bard;— Bums  and  George  Thomson;— dying  days;— how 
was  Burns  served  in  his  straits?- at  Brow;— interview  with  Maria  Riddell;— return  to  Dumfries;— last  letter; 
—death;— grief  of  the  people;— pity  for  the  sorrows  that  clouded  the  close  of  his  life. 


Burns  is  by  far  the  greatest  poet  that  ever 
sprung  from  the  bosom  of  the  people,  and 
lived  and  died  in  an  humble  condition.  In- 
deed, no  country  in  the  world  but  Scotland 
could  have  produced  such  a  man;  and  he  will 
be  for  ever  regarded  as  the  glorious  represen- 


tative of  the  genius  of  his  country.  He  was 
bom  a  poet,  if  ever  man  was,  and  to  his  native 
genius  alone  is  owing  the  perpetuity  of  his 
fame.  For  he  manifestly  never  studied  poetry 
an  an  art,  nor  reasoned  much  about  its  prin- 
ciples, nor  looked  abroad  with  the  wide  ken  of 


""t 


ir 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


I 
I 


10 

intellect  for  objects  and  subjects  on  which  to 
pour  out  his  inspiration.     The  condition  of 
tlie  peasantry  of  Scotland,  tlie  happiest,  per- 
haps, that  providence  ever  allowed  to  the  chil- 
dren of  labour,  was  not  surveyed  and  specu- 
lated on  by  him  as  the  field  of  poetry,  but  as 
the  field  of  his  own  existence;  and  he  ciiron- 
icled  the  events  that  passed  there,  not  merely 
as  food  for  his  imagination  as  a  poet,  but  as 
food  for  his  heart  as  a  man.     Hence,  when 
inspired  to  compose  poetry,  poetry  came  gush- 
ing up  from  the  well  of  his  human  aflcctions, 
and  he  had  nothing  ir'>rc  to  do  than  to  pour 
it,  like  streams  irrigating  a  meadow,  in  many 
a  cheerful  tide  over  tlie  drooping  flowers  and 
fading  verdure  of  life.    Imbued  with  vivid  per- 
ceptions, warm  feelings,  and  strong  passions, 
he  sent  his  own  existence  into  that  of  all 
things,  animate  and  inanimate,  around  him; 
and  not  an  occurrence  in  hamlet,  village,  or 
town,  aflTecting  in  any  way  the  happiness  of 
the  human  heart,  but  roused  a.s  keen  an  inter- 
est in  the  soul  of  Burns,  and  as  genial  a  sym- 
pathy, as  if  it  had  immediately  concerned 
himself  and  his  own  individual  welfare.    Jlost 
other  poets  of  rural  life  Iiave  looked  on  it 
through  the  aerial  veil  of  imagination — often 
beautified,  no  doubt,  by  such  partial  conceal- 
ment, and  beaming  with  a  misty  softness  more 
delicate  than  the  truth.  But  Burns  would  not 
thus  indulge  his  fancy,  where  he  had  felt — 
felt  80  poignantly — all  the  agonies  and  all  the 
transports  of  life.    He  looked  around  him,  and 
Avhen  he  saw  the  smoke  of  the  cottage  rising 
up  quietly  and  unbroken  to  heaven,  he  knew, 
for  he  had  seen  and  bles.sed  it,  the  quiet  joy 
and  unbroken  contentment  that  slept  below; 
and  when  he  saw  it  driven  and  dispersed  by 
the  winds,  he  knew  also  but  too  well,  for  too 
sorely  had  he  felt  them,  those  agitations  and 
disturbances  which  had  shook  him  till  he  w  ept 
on  his  chaflfbed.  In  reading  his  poetry,  there- 
fore, we  know  what  unsubstantial  dreams  are 
all  those  of  the  golden  age.     But  bliss  beams 
upon  us  with  a  more  subduing  brightness 
through  the  dim  melancholy  that   shrouds 
lowly  life;  and  when  the  pea.sant  Burns  rises 
up  in  his  might  as  Burns  the  poet,  and  is  seen 
to  derive  all  that  might  from  the  life  which  at 
this  hour  the  peasantry  of  Scotland  are  leading, 
our  hearts  leap  within  us,  because  that  such  is 
our  country,  and  such  the  nobility  of  her  chil- 


dren.  There  is  no  delusion,  no  affectation,  no 
exaggeration,  no  falsehood  in  the  spirit  of 
IJurns's  poetry.  He  rejoices  like  an  unturned 
entliusiast,  and  he  weeps  like  a  prostrate  peni- 
tent. In  joy  and  in  grief  the  whole  man  ap- 
pears: some  of  his  finest  effusions  were  poured 
out  before  he  left  the  fields  of  iiis  childhood, 
and  when  he  scarcely  hoped  for  other  auditors 
than  his  own  heart,  and  the  simple  dwellers 
of  tiie  hamlet.  He  wrote  not  to  please  or  sur- 
prise others — we  sp^ak  of  those  first  effusions 
— but  in  his  own  creative  delight;  and  even 
after  he  had  discovere  '  his  power  to  kindle 
the  sparks  of  nature  wherever  they  slumbered, 
the  effect  to  be  produced  seldom  seems  to  have 
been  considered  by  him,  assured  that  his  poetry 
could  not  fail  to  produce  the  same  passion  in 
the  hearts  of  other  men  from  which  it  boiled 
over  in  his  own.  Out  of  himself,  and  beyond 
his  own  nearest  and  dearest  concerns,  he  well 
could,  but  he  did  not  much  love  often  or  long 
to  go.  His  imagination  wanted  not  wings 
broad  and  strong  for  highest  flights.  But  he 
was  most  at  home  when  walking  on  this  earth, 
through  this  world,  even  along  the  banks  and 
braes  of  the  streams  of  C'oila.  It  .seems  as  if 
his  muse  were  loth  toadmit  almost  any  thought, 
feeling,  image,  drawn  from  any  otlier  region 
than  his  native  district — the  hcurth-stone  of 
his  father's  hut — the  still  or  troubled  chamber 
of  his  own  generous  and  passionate  bosom. 
Dear  to  him  the  jocund  laughter  of  the  reapers 
on  the  corn-field,  the  tears  and  sighs  which 
his  own  strains  had  won  from  the  children  of 
nature  enjoying  the  mid-day  hour  of  rest 
beneath  the  shadow  of  the  hedgerow  tree. 
With  what  pathetic  personal  power,  from  all 
the  circumstances  of  his  character  and  condi- 
tion, do  many  of  his  humblest  lines  affect  us! 
Often,  too  often,  as  we  hear  him  singing,  we 
think  that  we  sec  him  suffering!  "Most  mu- 
sical, most  melancholy"  he  often  is,  even  in 
his  merriment !  In  him,  alas!  the  tran.sports 
of  inspiration  are  but  too  closely  allied  with 
reality's  kindred  agonies !  The  strings  of  his 
lyre  sometimes  yield  their  finest  music  to  the 
sighs  of  remorse  or  repentance.  Whatever, 
therefore,  he  the  faults  or  defects  of  the  poetry 
of  Burns — and  no  doubt  it  has  many — it  has, 
beyond  all  that  ever  was  written,  this  greatest 
of  all  merits,  intense,  life-pervading,  and  life- 
breathing  truth. 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OP  BURNS. 


It 


no  ntt'cctation,  no 
in   tliu   spirit  of 
like  un  unturned 
B  a  prostrate  peni- 
hc  wiiole  man  ap- 
sions  were  poured 
of  his  cliildiiood, 
forotiier  auditors 
e  simple  dwellers 
t  to  please  or  sur- 
lose  first  efl'usions 
[lelight;  and  even 
power  to  kindle 
r  they  slumbered, 
lom  seems  to  have 
red  that  his  poetry 
ic  same  passion  in 
m  whieh  it  boiled 
mself,  and  beyond 
concerns,  he  well 
love  often  or  long 
anted  not  wings 
t  flights.     IJut  he 
ting  on  this  earth, 
)ng  the  banks  and 
It  seems  as  if 
Imost  any  thought, 
any  other  region 
le  hearth-stone  of 
troubled  chamber 
passionate  bosom, 
hter  of  the  reapers 
and  sighs  which 
5m  the  children  of 
day  hour  of  rest 
e   hedgerow  tree, 
il  power,  from  all 
iractcr  and  condi- 
cst  lines  aflect  u.s! 
■  him  singing,  we 
ing!    "Mostmu- 
often  is,  even  in 
lis !  the  tran.sports 
ilosely  allied  >vith 
The  strings  of  his 
inest  music  to  the 
ancc.     Wliatever, 
'ects  of  the  poetry 
las  many — it  has, 
ttcn,  this  greatest 
rvading,  and  life- 


There  is  probably  not  a  human  being  come 
to  the  years  of  understanding  in  all  Scotland 
who  has  not  heard  of  the  name  of  Robert 
Hums.  It  is,  indeed,  a  household  word.  His 
I)oems  arc  found  lying  in  almost  every  cottage 
in  the  country,  on  the  "window  sole"  of  the 
kitchen,  spence,  or  parlour;  and  in  the  town- 
dwellings  of  the  industrious  poor,  if  books 
belong  to  the  family  at  all,  you  are  pretty  sure 
to  see  there  the  dear  Ayrshire  Ploughman. 
The  father  or  mother,  born  and  long  bred, 
perhaps,  among  banks  ami  braes,  posse.sses,  in 
that  small  volume,  a  talisman  that  awakens  in 
a  moment  all  the  sweet  visions  of  the  past, 
and  that  can  crowd  the  dim  abode  of  hard- 
working poverty  with  a  world  of  dear  rural 
remembrances  that  awaken  not  repining  but 
contentment. 

No  poet  ever  lived  more  constantly  and 
more  intimately  in  the  hearts  of  a  people. 
With  their  mirth,  or  with  their  melancholy, 
how  often  do  his  "native  wood-notes  wild" 
affect  the  sitters  by  the  ingles  of  low-roofed 
homes,  till  their  hearts  overflow  with  feelings 
that  place  them  on  a  level,  as  moral  creatures, 
with  the  most  enlightened  in  the  land,  and 
more  than  reconcile  them  with,  make  them 
proud  of,  the  condition  assigned  them  by  Pro- 
vidence !  There  they  see  with  pride  the  re- 
flection of  the  character  and  condition  of  their 
own  order.  That  pride  is  one  of  the  best 
natural  props  of  poverty;  for,  supported  by  it, 
the  poor  envy  not  the  rich.  They  exult  to 
know  and  to  feel  that  they  have  had  treasures 
bequeathed  to  them  by  one  of  themselves — 
treasures  of  the  heart,  the  intellect,  the  fancy, 
and  the  imagination,  of  which  the  possession 
and  the  enjoyment  are  one  and  the  same,  Jis 
long  as  they  preserve  their  integrity  and  their 
independence.  The  poor  man,  as  he  speaks  of 
Robert  Burns,  always  hold.s  up  his  head  and 
regards  you  with  an  elated  look.  A  tender 
thouglit  of  the  "  Cotter's  Saturday  Night,"  or 
a  l)old  thought  of  "Scots  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace 
bled,"  may  come  across  him;  and  he  who  in 
such  a  spirit  loves  home  and  country,  by  whose 
side  may  he  not  walk  an  equal  in  the  broad 
eye  of  day  as  it  shines  over  our  Scottish  hills? 
This  is  true  popularity.  Thus  interpreted,  the 
word  sounds  well,  and  recovers  its  ancient 
meaning.  The  land  "  made  blithe  with  plough 
and  harrow," — the  broomy  or  the  heathery 


braes — the  holms  by  the  river's  side — the  forest 
where  the  woodman's  ringing  axe  no  more<lis- 
turbs  the  cushat — the  deep  dell  where  all  day 
long  sits  solitary  plaided  boy  or  girl  watching 
the  kine  or  the  sheep — the  moorland  hut  with- 
out any  garden — the  lowland  cottage,  whose 
garden  glows  like  a  very  orchard  when  crim- 
soned with  fruit-blossoms  most  beautiful  to 
behold — the  .sylvan  homestead  sending  its  reek 
aloft  over  the  huge  sycamore  that  blackens  on 
the  hill-side — the  straw-roofed  village  gather- 
ing with  small  bright  crofts  its  many  white 
gable-ends  round  and  about  the  modest  manse, 
and  the  kirk-.spire  covered  with  the  pine-tree 
that  shadows  its  horologe — the  small,  quiet, 
half-slated,  half- thatched  rural  town, — there 
resides,  and  will  for  ever  reside,  the  immortal 
genius  of  Burn.s.  Oh,  that  he,  the  prevailing 
Poet,  could  have  seen  this  light  breaking  in 
upon  the  darkness  that  did  too  long  and  too 
deeply  overshadow  his  lot!  Some  glorious 
glimpses  of  it  his  prophetic  soul  did  see;  wit- 
ness "The  Vision,"  or  that  somewhat  humlder 
but  yet  high  strain,  in  which,  bethinking  him 
of  the  undefined  aspirations  of  his  boyhood,  he 
said  to  himself — 

E'en  then  a  wish— I  iiiiiul  its  i)owfr—    rememljer 
A  wish,  that  to  my  latest  lioiir 

Shall  strongly  heave  my  breast, 
That  I  for  poor  aulil  Scotland's  sake, 
Some  usefu'  plan,  or  boolt  could  make, 

Ur  sing  a  sang  at  least. 

The  rough  burr-thistle  spreading  wide 
Anmng  the  bearded  bear,  barley 

I  turn'd  tlie  weeder-clips  aside,         wcediag-shcars 
An'  spar'd  tlie  symbol  dear.i 

Such  hopes  were  with  him  in  his  "bright  and 
shining  youth,"  surrounded  as  it  was  with  toil 
and  trouble  that  could  not  bend  his  brow  from 
its  natural  upward  inclination  to  the  sky;  and 
such  hopes,  let  us  doubt  it  not,  were  also  with 
him  in  his  dark  and  faded  prime,  when  life's 
lamp  burned  low  indeed,  and  he  wa.s  willing 
at  last,  early  as  it  was,  to  shut  his  eyes  on  this 
dearly  beloved  but  sorely  distracting  world. 

With  what  strong  and  steady  enthusiasm  is 
the  anniversary  of  Burns's  birth-day  celebrated, 
not  only  all  over  his  own  native  land,  but  in 
every  country  to  which  an  adventurous  spirit 
has  carried  her  sons!  On  such  occasions, 
nationality  is  a  virtue.     For  what  else  is  the 

I  "To  Mrs.  Scott  of  Wauchope,"  vol.  ii.  p.  203. 


:"^' 


Itil 


I    { 


If  If  I 


IS 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WHITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


"Memory  of  HuniH,"  l)ut  the  memory  of  all 
tlmt  tlignificH  and  adoniH  the  region  that  j?ave 
liim  birth?  Not  till  that  region  is  nhorn  of  all 
ilM  l)camn— itH  honesty,  itn  indepcndenee,  itH 
moral  worth,  itn  gcniun,  and  iti*  piety,  will  the 
name  of  Burns 

Die  on  litT  cor,  a  faint  unheeded  sound. 

Hut  it  has  an  immort<al  life  in  the  hearts  of 
young  and  old,  whether  sitting  at  gloaming  by 
the  ingle-side,  or  on  the  stone  Foat  in  the  open 
air,  as  the  siin  is  going  down,  or  walking 
among  the  summer  mists  on  the  mountain,  or 
the  blinding  winter  snows.  In  the  life  of  the 
]ioor  there  is  an  unchanging  and  a  preserv- 
ing spirit.  The  great  elementary  feelings  of 
human  nature  there  disdain  fluetuating  fa.sh- 
ions;  there  pain  and  plea.sure  are  alike  perma- 
nent in  their  outward  shows  as  in  their  inward 
cmofion.s;  there  the  language  of  pa.ssion  never 
grows  obsolete;  and  at  the  same  passage  you 
hear  the  child  sobbing  at  the  knee  of  her  gran- 
dame  whose  old  ej'cs  are  somewhat  dimmer 
than  u.sual  with  a  haze  that  seems  almost  to  be 
of  tears.  Therefore,  the  poetry  of  Burns  will 
continue  to  charm,  as  long  as  Nith  flown, 
Crittel  is  green,  and  the  bonny  blue  of  the  sky 
of  Scotland  meets  with  that  in  the  eyes  of  her 
maidens,  as  they  walk  up  and  down  her  hills 
silent  or  singing  to  kirk  or  market. 

Let  us  picture  to  ourselves  the  Household 
in  which  Burns  grew  up  to  manhood,  shifting 
its  place  without  much  changing  its  condition, 
from  first,  to  la.st  always  fighting  against  for- 
tune, experiencing  the  evil  and  the  good  of 
poverty,  and  in  the  sight  of  men  ob.scure.  Hi.s 
father  may  be  said  to  have  been  an  elderly 
man  when  Kobert  was  born,  for  he  wa.s  within 
a  few  years  of  forty,  and  hau  always  led  a  life 
of  labour;  and  labour  it  is  that  wastes  away 
the  stubbornest  strength — among  the  tillers  of 
the  earth  a  stern  ally  of  time.  "His  lyart 
haffets  wearing  thin  an'  bare"  at  an  age  when 
many  a  forehead  hardly  shows  a  wrinkle,  and 
when  thick  locks  cluster  darkly  round  the 
temples  of  easy -living  men.  The  sire  who 
"turns  o'er,  wi'  patriarchal  grace  the  big  ha'- 
Bible,"  is  indeed  well-stricken  in  years,  but 
he  is  not  an  old  man,  for 

Th'  expectant  wee-things,  toddlin',  stacher  thro' 

Istngger 
To  meet  theU"  dad,  wi'  flichterin'  noise  an'  glee. 

[fluttering 


nis  wco  ))lt  lUKle,  Idlnkin'  hnnnlly,  flratldo 

IIIm  c'lunn  licartli-stiuiu,  M*  tlM'Ktix  wiHu's  snille, 
Tlic  lispinK  infant  priittlinx  on  liis  kni't- , 
Does  a'  his  weary,  curkiuK  ciiri'ii  ln'^uilu, 
An'  makes  lilni  (|Uitu  furitt't  Ills  luliuur  an'  his  toll.) 

That  picture.  Burns,  as  all  the  world  knows, 
drew  from  his  father.     He  was   himself,  in 
imagination,  again  one  of  the  "wee  things" 
that  ran  to  meet  him;  and  "the  priest-like 
fiither"  had  long  worn  that  aspect  before  the 
poet's  eyes,  though  hctlicd  before  he  was  three- 
score.   "  1  myself  have  always  considered  Wil- 
liam Burnes,"says  the  simple-minded  tender- 
hearted Murdoch,  "as  by  far  the  best  of  the 
human  race  that  ever  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
being  acquainted  with — and  nniny  a  worthy 
character  1  have  known.  ...  He  was  a  tender 
and  affectionate  father;  he  took  pleasure  in 
leading  his  children  in  the  path  of  virtue,  not 
in  driving  them,  as  some  parents  do,  to  the 
performance  of  duties  to  which  fhoy  them- 
selves are  averse.     He  took  care  to  find  fault 
but  very  seldom;  and  therefore  when  he  did 
rebuke,  he  was  listened  to  with  a  kiiid  of  rever- 
ential awe.  ...   I  miist  not  pretend  to  give 
yo)iailescription  of  all  the  manly  qualities,  the 
rational  and  Christian  virtues  of  the  venerable 
William  Burncs.  ...   I  shall  only  add  that 
he  carefully  practised  every  known  duty  and 
avoided  everything  that  was  criminal,  or,  in 
the  apostle's  words,   'herein  did   he  exercise 
him.self  in  living  a  life  void  of  offence  towards 
God  and  towards  men. '  .  .  .  Although  I  can- 
not do  justice  tfl  the  character  of  this  worthy 
man,  yet  you  will  perceive  from  these  few  par- 
ticulars what  kind  of  person  had  the  principal 
hand  in  the  education  of  our  poet."     iJurns 
was  as  happy  in  a  mother,  whom,  in  counten- 
ance, it  is  said  he  resembled  ;  and  as  sons  and 
daughters  v/crc  born,  we  think  of  the  "auld 
clay  biggin'"  more  and  more  alive  with  cheer- 
fulness and  peace. 

His  childhood,  then,  was  a  happy  one, 
secured  from  all  evil  influences,  and  open  to 
all  good,  in  the  guardianship  of  religious 
parental  love.  Not  a  boy  in  Scotland  had  a 
better  education.  For  a  few  months,  when  in 
his  sixth  year,  he  was  at  a  small  school  at 
Allowivy  Mill,  about  a  mile  from  the  hou.se  in 
which  he  was  born;  and  for  two  years  after 
under  the  tuition  of  good  John  JIurdoch,  a 

»  "Cotter's  Saturday  Night, "  vol.  ii.  p.  74. 


THK  (JKNIUS  AND  WHITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


lU 


oiiily,  flraildu 

irlflio  willi''B  Rniilu, 
III  IiIh  kiit't', 
run  lii'Kiiilt!, 
labour  an'  IiIh  toil.) 

1  flic  worltl  known, 
le  wiiH   liimHcIf,  in 
the  "wcc  thiiif^s" 
111  "the  priest-like 
t  asiieet  before  the 
icfore  he  was  three- 
H.vs  eonsiileiL'il  Wil- 
ple-inliiiled  tender- 
far  the  best  of  the 
ad  the  pleasi'.rc  of 
nd  many  a  wortliy 
.  .  lie  was  a  tender 
e  took  pleasure  in 
path  of  virtue,  not 
parents  do,  to  tiie 
wliieh  they  theni- 
k  eare  to  find  fault 
cfore  when  he  did 
vitha  kind  of  rever- 
lot  pretend  to  pive 
manly  qualities,  the 
lies  of  the  venerable 
diall  only  add  that 
ry  known  duty  and 
vas  criminal,  or,  in 
;in  did  he  exercise 
1  of  odeiH'c  towards 
.   Although  I  can- 
ictcr  of  this  worthy 
from  these  few  par- 
n  had  the  principal 
our  poet."     Hums 
whom,  in  counten- 
h1  ;  and  as  sons  and 
think  of  the  "auld 
re  alive  with  cheer- 

ivas  a  happy  one, 
icnces,  and  open  to 
nship  of   religious 

in  Scotland  had  a 
w  months,  when  in 

a  small  school  at 

from  the  house  in 
for  two  years  after 

John  Murdoch,  a 

it,"  vol.  ii.  p.  74. 


young  scholar  whom  William  Huriics  and  four 
or  five  neighbours  engaged,  to  suppy  the 
jilacc  of  the  schoolmaster,  who  had  been  re- 
moved to  another  situation,  lodging  him,  us 
Js  still  the  custom  in  some  country  places,  by 
turns  in  their  own  houses.  "The  earliest 
thing  of  composition  that  1  recollect  taking 
pleasure  in  was  tiie  'Vision  of  Mirza,' and  a 
hymn  of  .\ddison's,  beginning  '  How  are  thy 
servants  blest,  »)  Lord!'  1  particularly  re- 
member one  half-  stanza,  whieli  was  music  to 
my  boyish  ears, — 

Kor  tliDiiKli  OK  tli't'adful  wliirU  we  hung 
lligh  on  tlio  liriikiMi  wave. 

I  met  with  these  jiieces  in  Mason's  Eii<il'(nh 
Collirtion,  one  of  my  school  -  books.  The 
two  first  books  1  over  read  in  ;)rivatc,  and 
which  gave  me  more  jileasure  th.m  any  two 
books  1  ever  read  again,  were  T/ic  Liff  of 
J/itnnilial,  and  'J'/ie  JUxtorji  of  Sir  Willitivi 
Wolltirp.  Hannibal  gave  my  young  ideas 
such  a  turn  that  I  used  to  strut  in  raptures  up 
and  down  after  the  recruiting  drum  and  bag- 
pipe, and  wish  myself  tall  enough  that  I  might 
be  a  soldier;  while  the  story  of  Wallace  poured 
a  Scottisli  prejudice  in  my  veins,  which  will 
boil  along  there  till  the  flood-gates  of  life  shut 
in  eternal  rest."  And  speaking  of  the  same 
jieriod  and  books  to  Mrs.  Dunlop,  he  savs, 
"  For  several  of  my  earlier  years  I  had  few 
other  authors;  and  many  a  solitary  hour  have 
I  stoic  out,  after  the  laborious  vocations  of  the 
<lay,  to  shed  a  tear  over  their  glorious,  but 
unfortunate  stories.  In  those  boyish  days  I 
remember,  in  particular,  being  struck  with 
that  part  of  Wallace's  story  where  these  lines 
occur — 

Sjiie  to  the  LcBleii  wond,  when  it  was  late, 
Tu  make  a  silent  niul  a  safe  retreat. 

I  chose  a  fine  summer  Sunday,  the  only  day 
my  line  of  life  allowed,  and  walked  half  a 
dozen  of  miles  to  pay  my  re.>»pects  to  the  Lcglcn 
wood,  with  as  much  devout  enthusiasm  as  ever 
pilgrim  did  to  Lorcttc;  and  explored  every 
den  and  dell  where  I  could  suppose  my  heroic 
countryii  r  to  have  lodged."  JIurdoch  con- 
tinued his  instructions  until  the  family  had 
been  about  two  years  at  Mount  Oliphant,  "and, 
there  being  no  school  near  us,"  says  Gilbert 
Hums,  "and  our  little  services  being  useful 
on  the  farm,  my  father  undertook  to  teach  us 


arithmetic  in  the  winter  cvcningn,  by  candle* 
light;  and  in  this  way  my  two  elder  sisters 
got  all  the  education  they  received."  llobert 
was  then  in  his  ninth  year,  and  had  owed 
much,  ho  tells  us,  to  an  old  woman  who  re- 
sided in  the  family,  "remarkable  for  her  ig- 
noranec,  credulity,  and  superstition.  She  had, 
I  Hupjiose,  the  largest  collection  in  the  coun- 
try of  tales  and  songs  concerning  devils,  ghosts, 
fairies,  brownies,  witches,  warlocks,  spunkics, 
kelpies,  elf- candles,  dead -lights,  wraiths,  ap- 
paritions, cantraips,  giants,  enchanted  towers, 
dragons,  and  other  trumpery.  This  cultivated 
the  latent  seeds  of  poesy;  but  had  so  strong 
an  cH'ect  on  my  imagination,  that  to  this  hour, 
in  my  nocturnal  rambles,  I  sometimes  keep  a 
sharp  look-out  in  suspicious  places;  and  though 
noliody  can  be  more  sceptical  in  these  matters 
than  I,  yet  it  often  takes  an  eflbrt  of  philoso- 
phy to  shake  olF  these  idle  terrors." 

We  said,  that  not  a  boy  in  Scotland  had  a 
better  education  than  Hobcrt  Hums,  and  we 
do  not  doubt  that  you  will  agree  ^  '*h  us;  for 
in  addition  to  all  that  may  be  contained  in 
those  sources  of  useful  and  entertaining  know- 
ledge, he  had  been  taught  to  read,  not  only  in 
the  S/K'llliKj  lionk,  and  Fisher's  Ennlish  Clravi- 
mitr,  and  The  VUion  of  Mit-za,  and  Addkon'a 
Ifymns,  and  Titiit  Amlroukm  (though  on 
Lavinia's  entrance  with  her  hands  cut  off,  and 
her  tongue  cutout,  he  threatened  to  burn  the 
book;)  but  in  tiik  Nkw  Testament  and  the 
HiULK,  and  all  this  in  his  father's  house,  or  in 
the  houses  of  the  neighbours;  happy  as  the 
day  Wits  long,  or  the  night,  and  in  the  midst  of 
happiness;  yet  even  then,  sometimes  saddened, 
no  doubt,  to  see  something  more  than  solem- 
nity or  awfulnc.ss  on  his  father's  face,  that  was 
always  turned  kindly  towards  the  children, 
but  seldom  wore  a  smile. 

Wordsworth  Iiad  these  memorials  in  his 
mind  when  he  was  conceiving  the  boyhood  of 
the  Pedlar  in  his  great  poem,  the  "Excursion." 

But  eagerly  he  read  and  read  again, 
VVliate'er  the  minister's  old  slielf  supplied ; 
The  life  and  death  of  martyrs,  who  sustained 
With  will  infiexiljle,  those  fearful  pangs 
Triumphantly  displayed  in  records  left 
Of  persecution,  and  the  covenant,  times 
Whose  echo  rings  through  Scotland  to  this  hour; 
And  there,  by  lucky  hap,  had  been  preserved 
A  straggling  volume,  torn  and  incomplete, 
Tliat  left  half-told  the  preternatural  tale, 
Romance  of  giants,  chronicle  of  fiends, 


14 


'J'HE  GKNlUa  AND  WltlTINOa  OF  DUUN8. 


I 


I 


Profiwo  In  Bftrnlturo  "f  ivdotlon  infi 
HtraiiKU  uiitl  iiiii  cMitli ;  tlln'  fm^f",  llK>ife»  •"""i'. 
Hliiirp-kiice  il,  nhiirprlliowtil,  ami  li'iiiiaiikletl  too, 
With  loiiK  anil  KluiHtly  »li«iik»    forrim  wlikli  onto 

leon 
Could  novor  he  forKotton.    In  lil«  'lonrt 
Wliure  fear  lato  tlm«,  a  ilifiiiila'il  vlHltant, 
Wan  wantUiK  ytt  tin;  |)uru  ilfliKlit  ul  lovo 
Hy  aoutiil  <llirii«»'l,  or  by  the  Im  iithiiiK  .ilr, 
Or  hy  thu  ullfnt  lookM  of  happy  thliiKii, 
Or  HowlnK  from  thi'  iiiilviTBal  face 
Of  earth  and  sky.    lUit  he  had  felt  the  power 
Of  nature,  and  already  was  preiiand, 
Hy  Ida  Intense  cnnriptloiiH,  to  rei ilvu 
Deejdy  the  lesson  lUep  of  love,  whieh  ho 
Whom  nature,  hy  whatever  miann,  has  taught 
To  feel  Intensely,  (Hiinot  hnt  receive. 
Such  was  thk  imv. 

Such  waH  tlic  l>oy;  lint  Ihm  studioM  had  now 
to  be  pursued  hy  fits  and  snati'he.t,  and  tlicre- 
forc  the  more  cauerly  and  earnestly,  during 
the  intervals  or  at  the  elose  of  hihour  that 
before  his  thirteenth  year  !iad  become  constant 
and  severe.  ' '  Tiie  ciieerless  gloom  of  a  hermit, 
with  tlie  unceasing  toil  of  a  galley-slave!" 
These  arc  liis  own  memorable  words,  and  they 
spoke  the  truth.  For  "nothing  could  be  more 
retired,"  says  Oilbert,  "than  our  general  man- 
ner of  living  at  Mount  Olipliant;  we  rarely  saw 
anybody  but  the  meml'  ts  of  our  own  family. 
There  were  no  boys  of  <  i^  •  own  age,  or  near  it, 
in  the  neighbourhood.  Tiiey  all  worked  hard 
from  morning  to  ni'.;ht,  and  IJobert  hardest  of 
them  all.  At  fifteen  he  was  the  principal 
labourer  on  the  farm,  and  relieved  his  father 
from  holding  the  plougJi.  Two  years  before 
he  had  assisted  in  thrashing  the  crop  of  corn. 
The  two  noble  brotliers  saw  with  anguish  tlic 
old  man  breaking  down  before  their  eyes; 
nevertheless  assuredly,  though  they  knew  it 
not,  they  were  the  happiest  boys  "the  evening 
sun  went  down  upon."  True,  as  Gilbert  tells 
us,  "I  doubt  not  but  the  hard  labour  and 
sorrow  of  this  period  of  his  life  was  in  a  great 
measure  the  cause  of  that  depression  of  spirits 
with  which  IJobert  was  so  often  afflicted 
through  his  Avhole  life  afterwards.  At  this 
time  he  was  almost  constantly  afflicted  in  the 
evenings  with  a  dull  headache,  which,  at  a 
future  period  of  his  life,  was  exchanged  for  a 
palpitation  of  the  heart  and  a  threatening  of 
fainting  and  suftbcation  in  his  bed  in  the 
night-time."  Nevertheless  assuredly  both  boys 
were  happy,  and  IJobert  the  happier  of  the 
two;  for  if  he  hud  not  been  so,  why  did  he  not 


go  to  sea?  Hccauso  ho  lovc<l  his  parents  too 
well  to  bo  able  to  leave  tlieni,  and  because,  tuo, 
it  wa.s  his  duty  to  stay  by  them,  were  iio  to 
drop  down  at  midnight  In  the  barn  and  die 
with  the  tiall  in  his  hand,  hut  if  lovu  und 
duty  cannot  make  a  boy  haiipy,  what  can? 
I'assion,  genius,  a  teeming  brain,  a  palpitating 
heart,  ami  a  soul  of  tire.  These  too  were  liis, 
and  idle  would  have  been  her  tear»,  had  I'ity 
wept  for  young  Hobert  Hums. 

Was  he  not  hungry  for  knowledge  from  a 
child?  During  these  very  years  he  was  devour- 
ing it;  and  soon  the  dawn  grew  day.  "My 
father,"  says  (.Jilbcrt  "was  for  some  time 
almost  the  only  companion  we  luul.  He  con- 
versed familiarly  on  all  Bubjocts  with  us,  as  if 
we  had  been  men;  and  was  at  great  pains, 
while  wc  accompanied  him  in  the  labours  of 
the  farm,  to  lead  the  conversation  to  such  sub- 
jects as  might  tend  to  increase  our  knowledge, 
or  confirm  our  virtuous  habits,  lie  borrowed 
Safmon's  Ovoijraphiail  Orommnr  for  us,  and 
endeavoured  to  make  us  acquainted  with  Ww 
situation  and  history  of  the  diflerent  countric 
in  the  world;  while,  from  a  book-society  in 
Ayr,  he  procured  for  us  the  reading  of  ])er- 
ham's  P/ij/sico-  and  Astro-  'f/icolo;/!/  '"'d  Hay's 
]\'!silom  of  God  in  the.  Creation,  to  give  us 
some  idea  of  astronomy  and  natural  history. 
Robert  read  all  these  books  with  an  avidity 
an<l  an  iiulustry  .scarcely  to  be  equalled.  My 
father  had  been  a  subscriber  to  Stackhouse's 
Jlidory  of  the  Bilile.  .  .  .  From  this  Robert 
collected  a  pretty  competent  knowledge  of 
ancient  history  ;ybr  no  hook  wan  so  volmninon.i 
as  to  slacken  his  industr;/,  or  so  <inti</naled  us 
to  damp  his  researches."  He  kept  readini:, 
too,  at  the  Spectator,  "Poi)e"  and  I'ope's 
Jfomer,  some  plays  of  Shakespeare,  IJo^'lc's 
Lectures,  Locke  on  the  Jfnnuin  Understand- 
ing,  llervey's  Meditations,  Taylor's  Scripture 
Doctrine  of  Ori<jin<d  Sin,  the  works  of  Allan 
Ramsay  aiul  Smollett,  and  A  Collection  of 
Sonus.  "That  volume  was  my  rade  mecurn. 
I  pored  over  them  driving  my  cart  or  walking 
to  labour,  song  by  song,  verse  by  verse;  care- 
fully noting  the  tender  or  sublime  from  affec- 
tation and  fustian.  I  am  convinced  I  owe 
much  to  this  for  my  critic  craft,  such  as  it  is." 

So  much  for  book-knowledge ;  but  what  of 
the  kind  that  is  born  within  every  boy's  own 
bosom,  and  grows  there  till  often  that  bosom 


feels  as  if  it  > 

i  (iilbcrt  alwa; 

i  lively  imagin 

I  than  Robert. 

A  none.     His  1 

,  mean  to  live; 

'  Robert  hinisi 

hy  no  means 

he  must  havi 

born,  sturdy 

hindered  bin 

loved.     The 

music,  anil  c( 

.  Nobody  coulf 

to  be  a  poet 

aliout   him— 

himself;  till 

to  reveal,  her 

"You  kno 

,    a  man  and  w 

:   labour  of  ha 

t  my  partner 

just  counted 

Knglish  deni 

>|  tice  in  that  In 

h   idiom— siiev 

•    short,  she,  a 

,    initiated  mc 

which,  in  sf 

;   !    rsc  prudci 

*i  h(dd  to  be  th 

I  pleasure  her 

5  contagion  I  * 

::  much  of  infc 

I  the  touch,  &( 

I   that  I  loved 

I    myself  why 

.§.   with  her  win 

I   our  labours; 

I   my  hcart-str 

and  particul 

furious  ranti 

over  her  han( 

thistles.    An 

I   lifications  si 

3   favourite  Sec 

I  an  embodied 

I  so  presumpt 

'^   make  verses 

f   men  who  ho 

'i   sung  a  song  ' 

J   a  small  coun 


f 


THK  OENIU8  AND  WRITINCJS  OF  HUUNS. 


ir> 


IiIh  pnrcntrt  too 
ml  hcciiiiHO,  too, 
0111,  wore  ho  Jo 

0  Imrii  uiitl  (liu 
U\i  if  lovu  unil 
'Iiy,  wimt  can? 
II,  II  |)ul|iiliitiiiu; 
1*0  too  were  lii-<, 
fciirM,  liud  I'itv 

owlcdifo  from  ;i 

lie  was  devour- 

row  day.     "  My 

for  Homo   time 

Imd.     He  eon- 

U  witll  Url,  UH  if 

lit  >,'rciit  piiin.-*, 

1  tiic  lui)ourn  of 

ion  to  HIK'll  HUl). 

our  knowledge, 
Jlc  liorrowed 
nnr  for  un,  and 
Hinted  witll  the 
lerent  eoiintrie  • 
book -HOC  icty  in 
rending  of  ])er- 
olof/!/  and  liiiy'.-t 
'ion,  to  give  us 
natural  history, 
ttitli  an  avidity 
I  equalled.  My 
to  Stack  houHe's 
•om  this  Hobert 
.  knowledge  of 
tn  ,H0  vol  mil!  no  II  .< 
'0  nntlijitali'il  (»s 
kept  reading, 
e"  and  I'ope'H 
jspearc,  Uo/le's 
ni  UuilvrMdiiil- 
ylor's  Scripturi' 
works  of  Allan 

COLLKCTION   OK 

ly  radi'  mrciirii. 
cart  or  walking 
by  verse;  carc- 
imc  from  affct - 
nvinced  I  owe 
,  such  a.s  it  i.s. " 
;e ;  but  what  of 
ivery  boy's  own 
ten  that  bosom 


focis  aH  if  it  wouhl  burst?  To  Mr.  Murdoch, 
Oilbcrt  always  appeared  to  possess  a  more 
lively  imagination,  and  to  bo  more  of  a  wit 
than  Robert.  Yut  imagination  or  wit  he  had 
none.  Illi*  face  said,  "Mirth,  with  thco  I 
mean  to  live;"  yet  he  was  through  life  Hediite. 
ICobert  himself  says  that  in  childho<i<l  he  was 
by  no  means  a  favourite  with  anybody — but 
lie  must  have  been  mistaken;  anil  "the  stub- 
born, sturdy  something  in  his  disposition" 
hindered  him  from  seeing  liow  much  he  was 
loved.  The  tutor  tells  us  he  had  no  car  for 
music,  and  could  not  be  taught  a  psalm  tune! 
Nobody  could  have  supposed  that  he  was  ever 
to  be  a  poet !  Hut  nobody  knew  anything 
ai)out  him— nor  diil  ho  know  much  about 
himself;  till  Naturi,  who  had  long  kept,  chose 
to  reveal,  her  own  secret. 

"You  know  our  country  custom  of  coupling 
a  man  and  woman  together  as  partners  in  the 
labour  of  harvest.  In  my  fifteenth  autunin 
my  partner  was  a  bewitching  creature  who 
just  counted  an  autumn  less.  My  scarcity  of 
Knglisli  denies  me  the  power  of  doing  her  jus- 
tice in  that  language,  but  you  know  the  Scotch 
idiom — slie  was  a  liouiilr,  nwirt,  son^lc  lunn,  [n 
short,  she,  altogether  unwittingly  to  herself, 
initiated  me  into  a  certain  delicious  passion, 
which,  in  spite  of  acid  disappointment,  giii- 
!  rse  prudence,  and  bookworm  philosophy,  I 
hold  to  be  the  fir.<t  of  human  joys,  our  ehicfest 
pleasure  here  below!  How  she  caught  the 
contagion  I  can't  say:  you  medical  folks  talk 
much  of  infection  by  breathing  the  same  air, 
the  touch,  &c. ;  but  I  never  expres.sly  told  her 
that  I  loved  hor.  Indeed,  I  did  not  well  know 
myself  why  I  liked  so  much  to  loiter  behind 
with  her  when  rctuniing  in  the  evening  from 
our  labours;  why  the  tones  of  her  voice  made 
my  hcart-strinu's  thrill  like  an  yEolian  harp, 
an<l  particularly  why  my  pnisc  beat  such  a 
furious  rantann  when  I  looked  and  fingered 
over  her  hand  to  pick  out  the  nettle-stings  and 
thistles.  Among  her  other  love-inspiring  qua- 
lifications she  sung  sweetly;  and  'twas  her 
favourite  Scotch  reel  that  I  attempted  to  give 
an  embodied  vehicle  to  in  rhyme.  I  wa.s  not 
so  presumptuous  as  to  imagine  that  I  eould 
make  verses  like  printed  ones,  compo.scd  by 
men  who  had  Greek  and  I^atin:  but  my  girl 
sung  a  song  which  was  said  to  be  composed  by 
u  small  countrj-  laird's  son  on  one  of  hia  father's 


maids,  with  whom  he  was  in  love;  and  I  saw 
no  reason  why  I  might  not  rhyme  as  well  as 
he;  for,  excepting  smearing  sheep  and  casting 
peats  (his  father  living  in  the  moors),  he  had 
no  more  scholar-craft  than  myself.   Thus  with 

MK  IIKdA.N   l.()VK  AND  I'oKSV." 

And  during  those  seven  years,  when  his  life 
was  "the  ehocrless  gloom  of  a  hermit,  with 
the  unceasing  toil  of  a  galley-slave,"  think  ye 
not  that  the  boy  poet  was  happy,  merely  be- 
cause he  had  the  blue  sky  over  his  head,  and 
the  green  earth  beneath  his  feet?  —  ho  who 
ere  long  invested  the  most  common  of  all  the 
wild-Howersof  the  earth  with  immortjil  beauty 
to  all  eyes,  far  beyond  that  of  the  rarest,  till  a 
tear  as  of  pity  might  fall  down  manly  cheeks 
on  the  dew-drop  nature  gathers  on  its  "snawic 
bosom,  sun-wanl  spread!" 

Woo,  niodi'iit,  crIniitoii-tlppLMi  tlow'r, 

Tliiiu's  met  ine  in  an  evil  liDiir; 

For  I  maun  cruHli  iuiiiuik  tlie  Htmu'e  must  duat 

'I'liy  Hli'iiiler  stem; 
Tu  spare  tlico  now  U  past  my  pow'r. 

Thou  iMiiiuiu  gum! 

Alan!  it'll  no  tliy  lU'ilMir  HWi'c't,  neiglilxmr 

Tlie  lioiiiiie  larl<,  I'limpaiiiori  meet, 

liumliiig  tlit'u  iimiiK  tlio  iluwy  weet,  moiituiu 

\Vi'  sprt'cliltMl  lireast, 
When  upwanl-sprliiuiiiK,  lilytlie  to  greet 

The  piirpliiiK  east.' 

Thus  far  the  life  of  this  wonderful  being  is 
blameless — thus  far  it  is  ;>  life  of  virtue.  l,et 
each  season,  with  him  and  with  all  men,  liave 
its<lue  meed  of  love  and  of  praise — and,  there- 
fore, let  us  all  delight  to  declare  how  beautiful 
was  the  Spring !  And  was  there  in  all  those 
bright  and  bold  blossoms  a  fallacious  promise? 
Certainly  not  of  the  fruits  of  genius;  for  these 
far  surpassed  what  the  most  hopeful  eould 
have  predicted  of  the  full-grown  tree.  IJut 
did  the  character  of  the  man  belie  that  of  the 
boy?  Was  it  manifested  at  last,  either  that 
the  moral  being  had  undergone  some  fatal 
change  reaching  to  the  core,  or  that  it  had 
been  from  the  first  liollov,  and  that  these 
noble-seeming  virtues  had  been  delusions  all  ? 

The  age  of  puberty  has  passed  with  its  burn- 
ing but  blameless  loves,  and  Robert  Burns  is 
now  a  man.  Other  seven  years  of  the  same 
kind  of  life  as  at  Mount  Olipliant,  he  enjoys 
and  Hufferi  at  Loehlea.    It  is  sad  to  think  that 

1  "To  a  Mountain-Daisy,'  vol.  li.  p.  134. 


16 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


his  boyhood  should  have  been  so  heavily  bur- 
thened;  but  w"  look  with  no  such  thoughts  on 
!ii»  manhood,  i  :  his  strength  is  knit,  and  the 
iiinews  of  soul  and  body  arc  equal  to  their 
work.    He  still  lives  in  his  father's  house,  and 
he  still  upholds  it;  he  still  reverences  his 
father's  eyes  that  are  upon  him;  and   he  is 
still  a  dutiful  son— certainly  not  a  prodigal. 
"During  the  whole  of  the  time  we  lived  in 
the  farm  of  Lochlea  with  my  fatli.r,  he  al- 
lowed my  brother  and  me  such  wages  for  our 
labour  as  he  gave  to  oth.r  labourers,  as  a  part 
of  which,  every  article  of  cur  clothing,  manu- 
factured in  the  family,  was  regularly  accounted 
for.     When  my  father's  affairs  grew  near  a 
crisis,  ]{ober+,  and  I  took  the  farm  of  JIoss- 
giel,  consisting  of  118  acres,  at  the  rent  of 
£90  per  annum,  ...  as  an  asylum  for  the 
family  in  case  of  the  worst.     It  was  stocked 
liy  t.ie  property  and  individual  savings  of  the 
whole  family,  and  was  a  joint  concern  among 
us.     Every  member  of  tiie  family  wa.s  allowed 
ordinary  wages  for  the  labour  he  performed  on 
the  farm.     ^My  broth.jr's  allowance  and  mine 
was  ±7  per  annum  each.  And  during  the  whole 
time  this  family-concern  lasted,  which  was  for 
four  years,  1  as  well  as  during  the  preceding 
period  at  Lochlea,  his  expenses  never  in  any 
one  year  exceeded  his  slender  income.     As  I 
was  intrusted  with  the  keeping  of  the  family 
accounts,  it  is  not  possible  that  there  can  be 
any  fallacy  in  this  statement  in  my  brother's 
favour.     Ifix  temjvrance  and  fnii/nlifi/  u-ere 
everjithlnij  that  could  be  wished."    During  his 
residence  for  six  months  in  Irvine,  indeed, 
where  he  wrought  at  the  business  of  a  flax- 
dresser,  with  the  view  of  adopting  that  tnvde, 
that  he  might  get  settled  in  life,  paid  a  shilling 
a-week  for  his  lodging,  and  fed  on  meal  and 
water,  with  some  wild  boon-companions  he 
occasionally  lived  rather  free.     No  doubt  he 
sometimes  lasted  the  "Scotch  drink, "  of  which 
he  ere  long  sung  the  praises;  but  even  then 
his  inspiration  was  from  "well-head  undefiled." 
He  was  as  sober  a  man  as  his  brother  Gilbert 
himself,  who  says,  "I  do  not  recollect,  during 
these  seven  years,  ...  to  have  ever  seen  him 
intoxicated;  nor  was  he  at  all  given  to  drink- 

>  [The  family  entered  Mossgiel  in  March,  1784,  and 
Burns  liiinself  left  it  at  the  close  of  the  third  Iinrvest, 
in  1786,  so  that  his  connection  with  the  farm  ex- 
tended to  a  period  of  little  more  than  two  years.] 


ing. "  We  have  seen  what  were  his  virtues — for  ] 
his  vices  where  must  we  look  ? 

During  all  these  seven  years,  the  most  dan- 
gerous in  the  life  of  every  one,  that  of  IJobert 
Burns  wa.s  singularly  free  from  the  sin  to 
which  nature  is  prone;  nor  had  he  drunk  of 
that  guilty  cup  of  the  intoxication  of  the  pas- 
sions that  bewilders  the  virtue,  and  changes 
their  wisdom  into  foolishness,  of  ihe  discreetest 
of  the  children  of  men.  Hut  drink  of  it  at 
last  he  did;  and  like  other  sinners  seemed 
sometimes  even  to  glory  in  his  shame.  But 
remorse  puts  on  looks  and  utters  words  that, 
being  interpreted,  have  far  other  meanings; 
there  may  be  recklessness  without  obduracy; 
and  though  the  keenest  anguish  of  self- reproacii 
be  no  proof  of  penitence,  it  is  a  preparation 
for  it  in  nature — a  change  of  heart  can  be 
effected  only  by  religion.  How  wLsely  head- 
dresses his  friend ! 


The  sacred  lowe  o'  weel-placed  love,  flame 

Luxuriantly  indulKc  it; 
But  never  tempt  tli'  illicit  rove, 

Tliough  naethiUK  should  divulge  it: 
I  waive  the  quantum  o'  tlie  sin, 

Tlie  hnziird  of  conccallnK; 
But,  vch!  it  kaiilens  a'  iritliin, 

And  petrifies  the  feclimj !  '■' 

It  was  before  any  such  petrifaction  of  feeling 
had  to  be  deplored  by  Kobert  Burns  that  he 
loved  Mary  Campbell,  his  "Highland  Mary," 
with  as  pure  a  passion  as  ever  possessed  young 
poet's  heart;  nor  is  there  so  sweet  and  sad  a 
passage  recorded  in  the  lite  of  any  other  one 
of  all  the  sons  of  song.  :Many  such  pai  lings 
there  have  been  between  us  poor  beings — 
blind  at  all  times,  and  often  blindest  in  our 
bliss — but  all  gone  to  oblivion.  But  that  hour 
can  never  die — that  scene  will  live  for  over. 
Immortal  the  two  shadows  standing  there, 
ho'ding  together  the  Bible— a  little  rivulet 
flowing  between— in  which,  as  in  consecrated 
water  they  have  dipt  their  hands,  water  not 
purer  than,  at  that  moment,  their  united 
hearts ! 

There  are  few  of  nis  songs  more  beautiful, 
and  none  more  impassioned  than 

Ye  banks,  and  braes,  and  streams  around 

The  ciistle  o'  Sroiitpomery, 
Green  lie  your  woods,  and  fair  your  flowers, 

Your  waters  never  drumlie ! 

2  "  Epistle  to  a  Young  Friend, "  vol.  ii.  p.  146. 


■I'liero  sin 
And  tlu 

For  tlicre 
0'  my  3 

But  what  are 

•  I  to  Mary  in  H 

I  of  the  day  on 

/|  that  to  him 

i  He  did  not  k( 

I  he  was  happ; 

■f  had,  and  ciiec 

I  farm.     But  t 

1  peared  to  gro 

;■  wandered   ou 

3  where  his  .Tea 

A  with  his  eye 

I  another  moon 

"I  Thou  linvi 

-;!  That  1"V 

1  Again  thou 

'[  My  Mary 

1  0  Mary  !  di 

2  Where  is 
:^  See'st  thou 
■^  Hearst  t 

'  He  wrote  the 
ij   in  their  imn 


Ji 


^   his  wife. 
I   (lead.     But  r 
I   dcared  her  h 


faithful — an( 
practise  that 
— forgiving; 
sympathy — i 
tears.' 

AVilliam  B 
to  one  of  hi 
(and,  indcetl 
(lying  condit 
as  it  was  call 
of  old  age  at 
many  things 
been  great, 
children  had 
to  their  care 
knew  of  Hoi 
he  likewi"'' 
many;  nor  f 


[  1  Tlie  true 
wns  not  kn(>» 
his  essay.  S 
Life.] 

[  -  Ho  wa',  s 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


17 


his  virtues — for  | 

the  most  dan- 
that  of  Kobert 
om  the  sin  to 
11(1  he  drunk  of 
tion  of  the  pas. 
le,  and  changes 
)f  ihediscrcctest 
I  drink  of  it  at 

liners  seemeil 
is  sliame.  But 
ters  words  that, 
ther  meanings; 
liout  obduracy; 
of  self-reproach 
s  a  preparation 
f  heart  can  be 
»«■  wisely  he  ad- 


flame 


;(l  love, 

ve, 

nilge  it: 
II, 


ictlon  of  feeling 

Burns  that  lie 

igliland  JIary," 

)ossessed  young 

rteet  and  sad  a 

'  any  other  one 

.'  such  pai  lings 

poor  beings — 

ilindest  in  our 

But  that  hour 

live  for  over. 

landing  there, 

I  little  rivulet 

in  consecrated 

lids,  water  not 

their  united 

lore  beautiful, 
n 

mis  nrouiid 
your  flowers, 

ol.  ii.  p.  146. 


There  simmer  first  unfaiild  her  robes. 

Ami  there  the  Inngest  tarry; 
t'or  theio  I  took  the  Inst  farewell 

0'  my  sweet  Highland  Mary. 

Hut  what  are  lines  like  these  to  his  "Address 
to  Mary  in  Heaven  !"  It  was  the  anniversary 
of  the  day  on  which  he  heard  of  her  death — 
that  to  him  was  the  day  on  which  she  died. 
He  did  not  keep  it  as  a  day  of  mourning — for 
he  was  happy  in  as  good  a  wife  as  ever  man 
had,  and  cheerfully  went  about  the  work  of  his 
farm.  But  towards  the  darkening  "he  ap- 
peared to  grow  very  sad  about  something,"  and 
wandered  out  of  doors  into  the  barn-yard, 
where  his  Jean  found  him  lying  on  some  straw 
with  his  eyes  fixed  on  a  shining  star  "like 
another  moon." 

Thou  lin<,' ring  star,  witli  less'iiiiig  ray, 

Tliat  lov  st  to  greet  tlie  eafly  morn, 
Again  tliou  iisher'st  in  tlie  ilay 

My  Mary  from  my  soul  was  torn. 
0  Slaiy  !  dear  dipaited  sliade  ! 

Wlieie  is  tliy  ])la(i'  of  lilissful  rest? 
See'st  thou  thy  lover  lowly  laid? 

Ucar'st  thou  tlie  groans  that  rend  his  breast? 

He  wrote  them  all  down  just  as  they  now  arc, 
in  their  immortal  beauty,  and  gave  them  to 
his  wife.  Jealousy  may  be  felt  even  of  the 
dead.  But  such  sorrow  as  thi ,  the  more  en- 
dcare(l  her  husband  to  her  heart — a  heart  ever 
t'ailliful — and  at  times  when  she  needed  to 
jiractise  that  hardest  of  all  virtues  in  a  wife 
—forgiving;  but  here  all  he  desired  was  her 
s}-mpatliy — and  he  found  it  in  some  natural 
t  cars. ' 

William  Burnes  was  now — so  writes  Robert 
to  one  of  his  cousins — "in  I'N  own  opinion 
(and,  indeed,  in  almost  everybody  .*  else),  in  a 
dying  eonditimr' — far  gone  in  a  consumption, 
as  it  was  called;  but  dying,  though  not  sixty, - 
of  old  age  at  last.  His  lot  in  this  life  was  in 
many  things  a  hard  one,  but  his  blessings  had 
been  great,  and  his  end  was  peace.  All  his 
children  had  beendutif".!  to  their  parents,  and 
to  their  care  he  confided  their  mother.  If  he 
knew  of  Robert's  transgressions  in  one  year, 
he  likewi«<^  knew  of  his  obedience  through 
many;  nor  feared  that  he  would  strive  to  the 

[ '  The  true  history  of  the  Ilighland  Miry  episode 
was  not  known  at  the  time  Professor  Wilson  wrote 
his  essay.  See  "Highland  Mary"  in  Aiipeiidix  to 
I.ife.I 

( '-  He  wa',  sixty-three  years  of  age  at  his  death.] 


utmost  to  shelter  his  mother  in  the  storm.  ^ 
Robert  writes,  "On  the  13th  current  (Feb. 
1784)  I  lo.st  the  best  of  fathers.  Though,  to 
be  sure,  we  have  had  long  warning  of  the  im- 
pending stroke,  still  the  feelings  of  n.ature 
claim  their  part,  and  I  cannot  recollect  the 
tender  endearments  and  parental  lessons  of 
the  best  of  friends  and  ablest  of  instructors, 
without  feeling  what  perhaps  the  calmer  dic- 
tates of  rea.son  would  partly  condemn.  I  hope 
my  father's  friends  in  your  country  will  not 
let  their  connection  in  this  place  die  with 
him.  For  my  part  I  shall  ever  with  pleasui'e — 
with  pride,  acknowledge  my  connection  with 
those  who  were  allied  by  the  ties  of  blood  and 
friendship  to  a  man  whose  memory  I  shall  ever 
honour  and  revere."  And  now  the  family  re- 
move to  Mossgiel, 

A  virtuous  household  hut  exceeding  poor. 

How  fared  Burns  during  the  ne.xt  two  years 
as  a  peasant?  How  fared  he  as  a  poet?  As  a 
pea.sant,  poorly  and  hardly — as  a  poet,  greatly 
and  gloriously.  How  fared  he  as  a  man? 
Kcdd  his  coii/i'Ksio)i!i.  Alossgiel  was  the  coldest 
of  all  tiie  .soils  on  which  the  ftimily  had  slaved 
and  starved — starved  is  too  strong  a  word — 
and,  in  spite  of  its  ingratitude,  its  fields  are 
halloved  ground.  Thou.sands  and  tens  of  thou- 
sands have  come  from  afar  to  look  on  them ; 
and  Wordsworth's  .self  has  "gazed  himself 
away"  on  the  pathetic  prospect. 

"There,"  said  a  stripling,  pointing  with  much  pride. 
Towards  a  low  roof,  with  green  trees  half-concealed, 
"  Is  Mossgiel  farm;  and  that's  the  very  tie! " 
Wliere  limns  plough'd  up  the  daisy."   Far  and  wide 
A  plain  lielow  stretched  seaward,  wliile,  descried 
Above  sea-clouds,  the  i)eaks  of  Arran  rose; 
And,  l)y  that  simple  iii>tice,  the  lejiose 
Of  earth,  sky,  sea,  and  air,  was  vivified. 

3  [It  is  recorded  that  when  his  last  hour  drew  on, 
the  fatlier  said  that  there  was  one  of  his  children  of 
wliose  future  he  could  not  think  witiiout  fear.  Ro- 
bert, who  was  in  tlie  room,  came  up  to  his  ijedslde 
and  asked,  "  0  father,  is  it  me  you  mean?"  The  old 
man  said  it  was.  Rol)ert  turned  to  the  window,  with 
tears  streaming  down  his  cheeks  and  his  bosom  swell- 
ing, from  the  restraint  he  put  un  huuself,  almost  to 
bi!  >■'  Ing.  Tlie  father  had  early  perceived  the  genius 
tliat  was  in  the  l)oy,  and  even  in  Mount  Oliphant 
days  Inul  said  to  his  wife,  "Whoever  lives  to  see  it, 
Sf;niething  extraordinary  will  come  from  that  boy." 
He  had  lived  to  see  and  admire  his  son's  earliest 
poetic  efforts.  But  he  had  also  noted  the  strong 
passions  with  the  weak  will,  which  might  drive  him 
on  the  shoals  of  life.— S/iaii'p.J 


. 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


18 

Beneath  the  random  bieUl  of  clod  or  stone 
Myriads  of  daisies  have  slione  forth  in  flower 
Near  tlie  larlc's  nest,  and  in  their  natural  hour 
Have  passed  away;  less  liappy  than  the  one 
That,  by  the  unwilling  ploughshare,  died  to  prove 
The  tender  charm  of  poetry  and  love. 

Peasant— roet— Man— is,  indeed,  an  idle 
distinction.  Burns  is  sitting  alone  in  the 
Auld  Clay  Biggin',  for  it  lias  its  one  retired 
room;  and,  as  he  says,  "half-mad,  half-fed, 
half-sarkit"— all  he  had  made  by  rhyme !  He 
is  the  picture  of  a  desponding  man,  steeped  to 
the  lips  in  poverty  of  his  own  bringing  on, 
and  with  a  spirit  vainly  divided  between  hard 
realities  and  high  hopes  beyond  his  reach,  re- 
solving at  last  to  forswear  all  delusive  dreams, 
and  submit  to  an  ignoble  lot.  "When  at  once, 
out  of  the  gloom,  arises  a  glory,  effused  into 
form  by  his  own  genius,  creative  according  to 
his  soul's  desire,  and  conscious  of  its  greatness 
despite  of  despair.  A  thousand  times  before 
now  had  he  been  so  di.'<quieted  and  found  no 
comfort.  But  the  hour  had  come  of  self- 
revelation,  and  he  knew  that  on  earth  his  name 
was  to  live  for  ever. 

"  All  hail !  my  own  inspired  bard ! 
In  nie  thy  native  ninse  regard ! 
Nor  longer  mourn  tliy  fate  is  hard. 

Thus  poorly  low ! 
I  come  to  give  thee  such  reward 

As  we  bestow. 

"  Know,  the  great  genius  of  this  land 
Has  many  a  liglit,  aerial  band. 
Who,  all  beneath  his  high  command, 

Harmoniously, 
As  arts  or  aims  they  understand, 
Their  labours  ply. 

"  Of  these  am  I— Coila  my  name; 
And  this  district  as  mine  I  claim, 
Where  onco  tlie  Campbells,  cliiefs  of  fame. 

Held  ruling  pow'r: 
I  niarlc'd  thy  embryo  tuneful  flame. 

Thy  natal  hour. 

"  With  future  hope,  I  oft  would  gaze. 
Fond,  on  thy  little  early  ways, 
Thy  rudely  caroU'd  chiming  phrase, 

In  uncouth  rhymes, 
Fir'd  at  the  simple,  artless  lays 

Of  otlier  times. 

"  I  saw  thee  seek  the  sounding  shore, 
Delighted  with  tlie  dashing  roar; 
Or  when  the  nortli  his  fleecy  store 

Drove  thro'  the  sky, 
I  saw  grim  nature's  visage  hoar 

Struck  thy  young  eye. 


"  Or,  when  the  deep  green-inantl'd  earth 
Warm  cherish'd  ev'ry  flowret's  birth. 
And  joy  ami  nuisic  pouring  forth 

In  ev'ry  grove, 
I  saw  thee  eye  the  gen'ral  mirth 

With  boundless  love. 

"  When  ripen'd  fields,  and  azure  skies, 
C.iU'd  forth  the  reaper's  rustling  noise, 
I  saw  thee  leave  their  evening  joys, 

And  lonely  stalk 
To  vent  thy  bosom's  swelling  rise 

In  pensive  walk. 

"  When  youthful  love,  warm-blushiug,  strong. 
Keen-shivering  sliot  thy  nerves  ahmg. 
Those  accents,  grateful  to  thy  tongue, 

Th'  adortd  A'awie, 
I  taught  tliee  how  to  pour  in  song. 

To  soothe  thy  flame. 

"  I  saw  thy  pulse's  nrnddenint;  I'biy, 
Wild  send  thee  pleasuic's  iltvious  way, 
-Misled  by  fancy's  meteor  ray, 

15j  passion  ilrivcn; 
But  yet  the  light  that  led  astray 

Was  light  from  heaven. 

"  To  give  my  counsels  all  in  one, 
Thy  tuneful  flame  still  careful  fan; 
Preserve  the  dignity  of  man, 

Witli  soul  erect; 
And  trust  the  Vniversal  Plan 

Will  all  protect. 

"And  ivear  thnu  rt(*'"— she  solemn  said. 
And  bound  tlie  Holly  iduiuI  my  head; 
The  polish'd  leaves,  and  l)erries  red, 

Did  rustling  jday; 
And,  like  a  passing  tliouglit,  she  fled 

In  liglit  away.i 

"To  reconcile  to  our  imagination  the  en- 
trance of  an  acTJal  being  into  a  mansion  of  this 
kind,"  says  the  excellent  Curric,  "required 
the  powers  of  Burns;  he,  however,  succeeds." 
Burns  cared  not  at  that  time  for  our  imagina- 
tion— not  he,  indeed — not  a  straw;  nor  did 
he  HO  much  as  know  of  our  existence.  He 
knew  that  there  was  a  human  race ;  and  he 
believed  that  he  was  born  to  be  a  great  power 
among  them,  especially  all  over  his  beloved 
and  bcloving  .Scotland.  "All  hail!  my  own 
inspired  bard!"  That  "all  hail !"  he  dared  to 
hear  from  supernatural  lip.s,  but  not  till  bis 
spirit  had  long  been  gazing,  and  long  been 
listening  to  one  commissioned  by  the  "genius 
of  the  land,"  to  stand  a  Vision  before  her 
cho.scn  poet  in  his  hut.  Reconcile  her  entrance 
to  our  imagination!     Into  no  other  mansion 

1  The  "Vision,"  vol.  ii.  p.  111. 


aiitl  (1  earth 
rut's  birth, 
forth 
ove, 
nirth 
(llfss  love. 

lire  skies, 
itiiiiK  noise, 
"IK  joys, 
stnlk 
itr  rise 
«alk. 

blushing,  strong, 
•ves  alonjf, 
liy  tongue, 
Xatiie, 
n  song, 
h.v  flame. 

K  I 'lay, 

evious  way, 

y, 

ilrivtn; 

itrny 

rom  licaven. 

)ne, 
fnl  fan; 

I, 

rttt; 

n 

tect. 

ili'uni  said, 
my  liead; 
•ries  red, 
f  I'lay; 
,  slie  fled 
»y.« 

nation  the  cn- 
iiiinsioii  of  this 
rie,  "required 
kcr,  sufcceils." 
r  our  imaffina- 
truw;  nor  did 
xi.stciicc.  lie 
race ;  and  lie 
a  ffreat  ])ower 
r  his  lieloved 
hail !  my  own 
!"  he  dared  fo 
it  not  till  his 
nd  long  been 
y  the  "genius 
in  licforc  her 
e  her  entrance 
ther  nian.sion 


111. 


^:  J 


"«;.'' 


w*? .  :" 


but  that  "Au 
have  (Icscendei 

The  critic 
her  mantle,  o 
striking  scene 
guished  charac 
exception  may 
like  the  cup  oi 
of  Tlieocriuts, 
too  much  cro' 
the  objects  re 
udniissililc  ac 
desiirn." 

We  advise  j 
of  Theocritus. 
Jlr.  Chapman 
translation  cai 
have  a  copy  ol 
cup  it  is,  with 
— embossed  t 
with  flowing 
^^  to  whom  two 
PHI  H     Hard  by,  a  st 

the  act  of  thr 
far  from  him 
sitting  below 

;]  i  UK  ^M     with  stalks  i 

grapes  from  i 
we  are  told  1 
Calvdonian  S 
a  goat.  We  : 
of  Achilles. 

Turn  we  t 
our  Scottish  ' 
classically  ca 
sense  in  tellii 

Down  tlow'd 
Till  halt  a  le 
And  such  a  1 

Hue  Btraught 

You  observe 
before  him- 
the  Vision  r 
loved. 

Orecu,  i 
Were  t' 
I  took  I 

Some  Scott 
^^     had  not  leis 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


19 


but  that  "Auld  Clay  Biggin,"  would  Coila 
liavc  descended  from  the  Hky. 

The  critic  continues,  "To  the  painting  on 
her  mantle,  on  which  in  depicted  the  most 
striking  scenery,  as  well  as  the  most  distin- 
guished characters  of  his  native  country,  some 
exception  may  be  made.  Tiie  mantle  of  Coila, 
like  the  cup  of  Thyrsis,  (see  the  first  Idyllium 
of  Thcocriuis, )  and  the  shield  of  Achilles,  is 
too  much  crowded  with  figures,  and  some  of 
the  objects  represented  upon  it  are  scarcely 
admissible  according  to  the  principles  of 
design. " 

We  advise  you  not  to  see  the  first  Idyllium 
of  Theocritus.  Perhaps  you  have  no  Greek. 
5Ir.  Chapman's  translation  is  as  good  as  a 
translation  can  well  be,  but  then  you  may  not 
have  a  copy  of  it  at  hand.  A  pretty  wooden 
cup  it  is,  with  curled  ears  and  ivy-twined  lips 
— embossed  thereon  the  figure  of  a  woman 
with  flowing  robes  and  a  Lydian  head-dress, 
to  whom  two  angry  men  are  making  love. 
Hard  by,  a  stout  old  fisherman  on  a  rock  is  in 
the  act  of  throwing  his  net  into  the  sea :  not 
far  from  him  is  a  vineyard,  where  a  boy  is 
sitting  below  a  iiedgc  framing  a  locust  trap 
with  stalks  of  asphodel,  and  guarding  the 
grapes  from  a  couple  of  sly  foxes.  Thyrsi.s, 
we  are  told  by  Theocritus,  bought  it  from  a 
Calydonian  Skipper  for  a  big  cheese-cake  and 
a  goat.  We  must  not  meddle  with  the  shield 
of  .\chilles. 

Turn  we  then  to  the  "Vision"  of  Burns, 
our  Scottish  Theocritus,  a>'  we  have  heard  him 
classically  called,  and  judge  of  Dr.  Currie's 
sen.se  in  telling  us  to  see  the  cup  of  Thyrsis. 

Diiwii  How'd  lier  robe,  a  tnrtaii  sliecii, 

Till  half  u  li'g  was  Beiiniply  seen  ;  barely 

And  such  a  leg !  my  bonniu  .lean 

Could  only  peer  it ; 
Sae  straught,  sae  taper,  tight,  ard  jlenn,     so  straight 

Nnne  else  came  near  it. 

You  observe  Burns  knew  not  yet  who  stood 
before  him — woman,  or  angel,  or  fairy — but 
the  Vision  reminded  him  of  her  whom  best  he 
loved. 

Green,  slender,  leaf-clad  holhi-hmight 
Were  twisted,  gracefu',  round  her  brows 
I  took  her  for  some  Scoltinh  Muse, 

By  that  same  token. 

Some  Scottish  Muse — but  which  of  them  he 
had  not  leisure  to  conjecture,  so  lo.st  was  he  in 


admiration  of  that  mystic  robe — that  "mantle 
large,  of  greeni.sh  hue."  As  he  continued  to 
gaze  on  her,  his  imagination  beheld  whatever 
it  cho.sc  to  behold.  The  region  dearest  to  the 
Poet's  heart  is  all  emblazoned  there — and 
there  too  its  sages  and  its  heroes. 

Uere,  rivers  in  the  sea  were  lost; 
There,  mountains  to  the  skies  were  tost; 
Here,  tumbling  billows  niark'd  the  coast, 

With  surging  foam ; 
There,  distant  shone  art's  lofty  boast. 

The  lordly  dcwie. 

Here,  Boon  pour'd  down  his  far-fetch'd  floods ; 
There,  well-fed  Irwiiie  stately  thuds : 
Auld  hermit  Ayr  staw  thro'  his  woods. 

On  to  the  shore ; 
And  many  a  lesser  torrent  sends, 

With  seeming  roar. 

Low,  in  a  sandy  valley  £^''ead. 

An  ancient  borough  rear'd  her  head; 

Still,  as  in  Scottish  story  read. 

She  boasts  a  race, 
To  ev'ry  nobler  virtue  bred. 

And  polish'd  grace. 

By  stately  tow'r  or  palace  fair, 

Or  ruiiui  pendent  in  the  air, 

Bold  stems  of  heroes,  here  nnd  there, 

I  could  discern; 
Some  seem'd  to  muse,  some  seem'd  to  dare, 

With  feature  stern. 

My  heai't  did  glowing  transport  feel. 

To  see  a  race  heroic  wheel. 

And  brandish  round  the  deep-dy'd  steel 

In  sturdy  blows; 
While  back-recoiling  seem'd  to  reel 

Their  Suthron  foes. 

His  Country's  Saviour,  mark  him  well ! 
Bold  Richardton's  heroic  swell; 
The  chief  on  Sark  who  glorious  fell, 

In  high  conunand ; 
And  he  whom  ruthless  fates  expel 

His  native  land. 

There,  where  a  sccptr'd  Pictish  shade, 
Stalk'd  round  his  ashes  lowly  laid, 
1  nuirk'd  a  martial  race,  portray'd 

In  colours  strong; 
Bold,  soldier-featur'd,  undismay'd 

They  strode  along. 

What  have  become  of  "the  laws  of  design?" 
But  would  good  Dr.  Currie  have  dried  up  the 
sea !  How  many  yards,  will  any  body  tell  us, 
were  in  that  green  mantle?  And  what  a 
pattern  !  Thomas  Campbell  knew  better  what 
liberty  is  allowed  by  nature  to  Imagination  in 
her  inspired  dreams.     In  his  noble  Stanzas  to 


20 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BUKNS. 


the  memory  of  Burns,  he  says,  in  allusion  to 
the  "Vision,"— 

nim,  in  his  clftj-built  cot  the  Xluse 
Entranct'd,  mid  slioweil  liiiii  nil  the  forms 

Of  fairy  Unlit  iind  wiznrd  gloom, 
That  only  gifted  poet  views,— 

The  genii  of  tlie  Hoods  and  storms. 
And  martial  sliades  from  glory's  tomb. 

The  Fata  Morgana  are  obedient  to  the  laws 
of  perspective,  and  of  optics  in  general ;  but 
they  belong  to  the  material  elements  of  nature; 
this  is  a  spiritual  t umtion,  and  Hums  is  its 
maker.  It  is  far  from  perfect,  either  in  design 
or  execution;  but  perfection  is  found  nowhere 
here  below,  except  in  Shak.-<peare ;  and,  if  the 
"  Vision"  offend  you,  we  fear  your  happiness 
will  not  be  all  you  could  desire  it  even  in  the 
"Tempest"  or  the  "Midsummer's  Night's 
Dream. " 

How  full  of  fine  poetry  are  one  and  all  of 
his  Epistles  to  his  friends  Sillar,  Lapraik, 
Simson,  Smith, — worthy  men  one  and  all, 
and  among  them  much  mother-wit,  almost  as 
good  as  genius,  and  thought  to  be  genius  by 
Burns,  who  in  the  generous  enthusiasm  of  his 
nature  exaggerated  the  mental  gifts  of  cverj'- 
body  he  loved,  and  conceived  their  characters 
to  be  "accordant  to  his  soul's  desire."  His 
"  Epistle  to  Davie"  was  among  the  very  earli- 
est of  his  productions,  and  Gilbert's  favourable 
opinion  of  it  suggested  to  him  the  first  idea  of 
becoming  an  author.  "It  was,  I  think,  in 
summer  1784,  when  in  the  interval  of  hard 
labour,  he  and  I  were  reading  in  the  garden 
(kail-yard),  that  he  repeated  to  me  the  princi- 
pal parts  of  this  Epistle."  It  breathes  a  noble 
spirit  of  independence,  and  of  proud  content- 
ment dallying  with  the  hardships  of  its  lot, 
and  in  the  power  of  manhood  regarding  the 
riches  that  are  out  of  its  reach,  without  a 
particle  of  envy,  and  with  a  haughty  scorn. 
True  he  says,  "  I  hanker  and  canker  to  see 
their  cursed  pride ;"  but  he  immediately  bursts 
out  into  a  strain  that  gives  the  lie  to  his  own 
words : — 

What  the',  like  commonei-s  of  air, 
We  wander  out,  we  know  not  where, 

But  either  house  or  ha'  ?  without  holding 

Yet  nature's  charms,  the  hills  and  woods, 
The  sweeping  vales  and  foaming  floods, 

Are  free  alike  to  Ul. 
In  days  when  daisies  deck  the  ground, 

And  blackbirds  whistle  clear, 


With  honest  Joy  our  hearts  will  bound, 
To  see  tlie  coming  year : 
On  braes  when  we  jjlease,  then, 

We'll  sit  an'  sowtli  n  tune ;  whistle  softly 

Sync  rliyme  till't,  we'll  time  till't,  then 

And  sing't  wlien  wo  liao  done.  havo 

It's  no  in  titles  nor  in  rank, 

It's  no  in  wealth  like  Lon'on  bank, 

To  purchase  peace  and  rest ; 
It's  no  In  makin'  niuckle  niair :  much  more 

It's  no  in  book-;  it's  no  in  lear,  loamiug 

To  make  »is  ;ruly  blest : 
If  happiness  hae  not  licr  seat 

And  centre  in  the  breast, 
We  may  be  wise,  or  rich,  or  great. 
Hut  never  can  )je  blest ; 
Nae  treasures,  nor  i)leatinrea, 
Could  make  us  happy  lang ; 
The  heart  aye's  the  part  aye 
That  makes  us  right  or  wran;,."  > 

Through  all  Mie-se  Epistles  we  hear  him  ex- 
ulting in  the  consciousness  of  his  own  genius, 
and  pouring  out  his  anticipations  in  verses  so 
full  of  force  and  fire,  that  of  tlicmselve.s  they 
privilege  him  to  declare  himself  a  I'oet  after 
Scotland's  own  heart.  Not  even  in  "The 
Vision"docs  he  kindle  into  brighter  transports, 
when  foreseeing  his  fame,  and  describing  the 
fields  of  its  glory,  than  in  his  Epistle  to  the 
schoolmaster  of  Ochiltree;-  for  all  his  life  he 
associated  with  schoolmasters — finding  along 
with  knowledge,  talent,  and  integrity,  origin- 
ality and  strength  of  character  prevalent  in 
that  meritorious  and  ill-rewarded  class  of  men. 
What  can  be  finer  than  this? 

We'll  sing  anld  Coila's  plains  an'  fells, 
Her  moors  rcd-lirown  wi'  heather  bells, 
Her  banks  an'  braes,  her  dens  and  dells, 

Where  glorious  Wallace 
Aft  bure  the  gree,  as  story  tells,         l)oro  off  the  prize 


Frau  Southron  billies. 


fellowii 


At  Wallace'  name  what  Scottish  blood 
Hut  boils  up  in  a  spring-tide  flood  ! 
Oft  have  our  fearless  fathers  strode 

liy  Wallace'  side, 
Still  pressing  onward,  red-wat-shod,     with  shoes  wet 

and  red  with  blood 

Or  glorious  died. 

0,  sweet  are  Coila's  haughs  an'  woods,  holms 

When  lintwhites  cliaunt  anuuig  the  buds,       linnets 
And  jinkin'  hares,  in  amorous  wliids,  dodging  bounds 

Tlieir  loves  enjoy, 
While  thro'  the  braes  the  cushat  croods  coos 

With  wailfu'  cry ! 

>  "  Epistle  to  Davie,"  vol.  i.  p.  239. 
2  William  Simson,  parish  schoolmaster  of  Ochiltree, 
afterwards  of  Cumnock.    See  vol.  i.  p.  256. 


Or  blinding  dr 


(ir  winter  how 


Oxwcetl  to  »t 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WHITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


81 


Kv'ii  winter  blenk  Jina  uhaniiH  for  mo 
Whiii  wiiiilH  lavi;  tlirci'  the  iiukuil  tivo; 
Or  frosts  oil  lilllH  of  Ocliiltruu 

Aro  hoiiry  urny- 
(tr  liliiidliiK  tlriftH  wilil-fiirioiis  llco, 

Diirk'iiiiig  tliu  (liiy! 

(1  Niitnrr!  a'  thy  hIiowh  an'  (orniH 

'I'o  frolhiK,  puimivi!  licartK  luu^  cliarniH! 

Wliutliur  tliu  HUiniiiur  kindly  warms, 

\Vi'  llf.Min'  liKlit, 
Or  winter  liiiwla,  in  Ki'^t.v  Hlorms, 

'I'Ik!  lan^',  dark  ni^lit ! 

'I'lii'  Mnsi',  iia<^  |HM't  iviT  fand  licr,  fuuml 

'lill  by  liiniHil'  lu:  learn  il  to  wand<T, 
Ailownsomo  trotting  Imriis  miamUr, 

An'  no  think  lan^'-, 
(iNweotl  to  stray,  an'  iiinsivf  pondfr 

A  heart-felt  HaiiK'! 

It,  Iiiw  1)0011  tlimiKlitlossly  said  that  IJuriis 
had  in>  vory  (loop  lovo  ol"  natiiro,  ami  that  ho 
has  shown  no  very  tfroat  i>o\vor  as  a  dosoniitivo 
jioot.  The  low  linos  (jiiotod  sutVico  to  sot  asido 
that  assertion;  Init  it  is  true  that  his  love  of 
nature  was  always  liiikod  witii  sonic  volionient 
jiassioii  or  some  sweet  ad'oetion  for  liviiit; 
creauires,  ami  that  it  was  for  the  sake  of  the 
liuinaiiity  she  cherishes  in  licr  bosom,  that  she 
was  dear  to  him  as  his  own  life-blood.  His 
love  of  nature  by  beiiiu;  thus  rcstrioted  was  the 
more  intense.  Yet  there  are  not  wantinj^ 
passaues  that  show  how  ox(|uisito  was  his  j)er- 
ccption  of  her  boanlios  oven  when  unassoeiatod 
with  any  dolinite  emotion,  and  inspirinfj  only 
that  pleasure  whieh  wc  imbibe  through  the 
sen   's  into  our  unthinking  souls. 

Whyles  owro  a  liini  the  bnrniu  Iilay.s,  fomctimes 

As  thio'  the  Kleii  it  wimpl't ; 
Wiiytes  niuntl  a  roeky  scaur  it  sliays;  |iri.Ti|iitiius  linnk 

Wliyles  in  a  wiel  it  diiniil't ;  uilily 

Wliylis  ulitter'd  to  thi^  niffhtly  rays, 

\Vi'  liiekeriiiK.  danein);  dazzle;  leirrjinK 

Wliylfs  eoiikit  underneath  tliu  liraes,        ilisiipiiNirrd 

Jiulow  tliu  hjireadint,'  hazel, 

rnseeii  that  ni^lit.' 

Siieh  pretty  passages  of  pure  doseription  arc 
rare,  and  the  charm  of  this  one  dcjiends  on  its 
Hiiddoii  sweet  intrusion  into  the  vory  midst  of 
a  .seone  of  noi.sy  inorriment.  Hut  there  are 
many  passages  in  which  the  doseriptivc  power 
is  put  forth  under  the  influence  of  emotion  so 
gentle  that  they  come  within  that  kind  of 
coniiiosition  in  which  it  hiw  been  tliought 
Ihirns  does  not  excel.     As  for  example, 

1  "Ilallnwoen,"  vol.  ii.  p.  .i;). 
VOL.  V. 


Nao  mair  tlio  (lower  in  lleU'i  or  incnilov  siiriiiKB ; 

Nau  mair  the  |{rovu  with  airy  euneert  rtiiKs, 

Kxceiit  perhupH  the  roliin'H  whistliliK  k'lee, 

i'roiid  <>'  tiiu  heixht  o'  tioinu  hit  Imlf-lanx  tree : 

'I'i  I!  hoary  morns  preeedu  tliu  sunny  days. 

Mild,  calm,  surenu,  widu  spreads  thu  noon-tide  lilaze, 

Wliilu  thiek  the  Kossainour  waves  wanton  in  tliu  rays.''' 

Seldom  setting  himself  to  describe  visual  ob- 
jects, but  when  ho  is  under  strong  emotion,  he 
seems  to  have  taken  considerable  jiains  when 
ho  did,  to  produce  .something  striking;  and 
though  ho  never  fails  on  such  occasions  to  ilo 
HO,  yet  he  is  sometimes  ambitious  overmuch, 
and,  though  never  feeble,  liecome.s  bombastic, 
as  in  his  lines  on  the  Fall  of  Foyers: 

And  viewless  echo's  ear,  astoiiisli'd  rends. 

Fn  the  "  Hrigs  of  Ayr"  there  is  one  beautiful, 
and  one  magnilicent  passage  of  this  kind. 

All  heforu  their  sidht, 
A  fairy  train  appear'd  in  order  liriKht: 
Adciwn  the  ulitteriiiH  stream  they  featly  dane'd; 
Itrinlit  to  thu  moon  their  various  drussus  Klanu'd: 
They  footuil  o'er  thu  wat'ry  (ilassso  nuat. 
The  infant  ieu  scarce  bent  lieiieath  their  feet; 
Wliilu  arts  of  Minstrelsy  anions  tliem  riiiiK, 
And  sonl-eiiiiohlinK  hards  heroic  ditties  unntf. 

He  then  breaks  off  in  celebration  of  "il'Iiauch- 
lan,  thairm-inspiring  Sago,"  that  is,  "a  well- 
known  porforinor  of  Scottish  music  on  the 
violin,"  and  turns  at  his  leisure  to  the  fairies! 
The  other  passage  which  wc  have  called 
inagnificont  is  a  description  of  a  spate.  I5ut 
in  it,  it  is  true,  he  personates  the  Auld  Hrig, 
and  is  inspired  by  wrath  and  contempt  of  the 
New. 

Conceited  Rowk !  piiff'd  np  wi'  windy  pride !       foul 

This  monie  a  year  I've  stood  thu  flood  an'  tidu; 

And  tlio'  wi'  crazy  eild  Tm  sair  forfairn,  ukis  uiifiH:lili:il 

I'll  he  a  hriK  when  ye're  a  shapeless  cairn  ! 

As  yet  ye  little  kun  ahont  thu  mattur,  kimw 

Itnt  twa-thruu  winters  will  inf<irin  you  hettur. 

When  heavy,  dark,  continued,  u'-day  rains, 

Wi'  deeiieniuK  deluK'es  o'erllow  the  jilains; 

When  from  tliu  hills  whuru  sprint;s  tliu  hrawliiifj 

Coil, 
Or  stately  Lu^ar's  mossy  fountains  hoil. 
Or  where  thu  (ireenock  winds  his  moorland  course. 
Or  lianntud  Carpal  draws  his  feehlu  .source, 

Arous'd  by  blust'riiig  winds  an'  spotting  thowes, 

Itlmws 
In  niony  a  torrunt  down  his  snaw-liroo  rowos ; 

[inelteil  bikiw  rollB 
Wliilu  crashing  ice,  home  on  the  roaring  spuat, 

Iflowl 

Swueps  dams,  an'  mills,  an'  brigs,  a'  to  the  gato; 

lout  of  the  way 

2  "The  llriga  of  Ayr, "  vol.  ii.  p.  170. 

68 


THE  OEXira  ANP  WllITINOS  OF  BUltNS. 


m 


22 

And  fioin  fil.iilnick,  .1<>wn  i<>  tli.'  Ilntt.m-koy, 

AiiM  A>r  IH  jimt  MiH>  liUKth.'ir.l,  tu lii'K  Hrii; 

Tliin  ih.wii  yr  II  linil,  clt.ll  imryo  iievir  Hho! 
Ai„l  .hish  tho  gimiUo  jiiups  up  t.i  tlie    pourlMK 
„l^l^,„^  (muilily  (plailicii 

I'.'rliui's  wo  liavo  ihvolt  too  Inn.!;:  on  \]m  l«)iiit ; 
liiil  llii'tnitli  is  that  lliiriin  would  liavo  ultorly 
(Iwpised  most,  (.r  wliat,  is  m.w  diiinificd  with 
tho  name  (if  rootry,  wlicro  liannlcssly  enough 
I'liro  (Icsi'iiiitlon  taltes  tho  plnue  of  sciiso; 

hut.  far  worse,  wlierc  the  a.iroiiiziiic;  artist  in- 
tensifies iiimself  into  ^'eniiine  convulsions  at 
tho  shrine  of  nature,  or  aets  the  eiiilejilie  to 
extort  alms.  The  world  is  Ipe.L'inninu:  to  h)se 
patience  with  such  iilolators,  and  insists  on 
beins  allowed  to  sec  the  sun  set  with  her  own 
eyes,  and  with  her  own  ears  to  hear  tlic  sea. 
Why,  tliere  is  often  more  poetry  in  five  lines 
of  Hums  than  any  fifty  volumes  of  the  versi- 
hers  who  have  had  the  audacity  to  criticise 
him— as  by  way  of  specimen— 

Wlion  liititiK  lioruns,  fell  ami  dnun',        koon,  sullin 

Sharp  shivers  tlno'  the  Itatli'ss  liower; 

Wlicii  riicDbus  kIus  a  sliortliv'd  (ilowcr  «t:\ri' 

Far  south  the  lift,  fky 

Dlni-dark'ninK  thro'  the  llaky  shower, 

Or  whirling  drift: 

Ao  idglit  the  8tf)rm  the  steeples  rocke<l, 
Poor  liilioiU'  sweet  in  shieii  was  loeke<l. 
While  linins,  wi'  snawy  wveatlis up-ehokcd, 

\Vild-eddyiii(,'  swirl, 
Or  thro'  the  niininK  outlet  Inieked,  vinniliil 

Down  headlouKhiirl.t 

"Halloween"  is  now  almost  an  obsolete 
word— and  the  liveliest  of  all  festivals,  that 
used  to  usher  in  the  winter  with  one  long  night 
of  mirthful  mockery  of  superstitious  fancies, 
not  unattended  with  stirrings  of  imaginative 
fears  in  many  a  simple  breast,  is  gone  with 
many  other  customs  of  the  good  old  time,  not 
among  town-folks  only,  but  dwellers  in  rural 
parishes  far  withdrawn  from  the  hum  of  crowds, 
where  all  such  rites  originate  and  latest  fall 
into  desuetude.  The  present  wi.se  nCncration 
of  youngsters  can  care  little  or  nothing  about 
a  poem  which  used  to  drive  their  grandfathers 
and  grandmothers  half-mad  with  merriment 
when  bovs  and  girls,  gathered  in  a  cirelc  round 
Hom  lice  reciter,  who,  though  perhaps  en- 
dowed with  no  great  memory  for  grammar, 
had  half  of  liurn.s  by  heart.     Many  of  them, 

I  "A  Winter  Ni^Iit,"  vol.  ii.  p.  193. 


doubtless,  are  of  opinion  that  it  is  a  silly  afliiir. 
So  must  think  the  more  a«ed  nutrch-of-niiinl 
men  who  have  outgrown  the  whims  and  follies 
of  their  ill-educated  youth,  and  become  in- 
structors in  all  manner  of  wisdom.  In  practice 
e.vtinct,  to  elderly  peoide  it  survives  in  poetry; 
and  there  the  body  of  the  harmless  sMjiersl  it  ion, 
in  its  very  form  anil  pressure,  is  embalmed.- 
"Halloween"  was  thought,  surely  you  all 
know  thiif,  to  be  a  night  "when  witches, 
devils,  and  other  mi.schief- making  beingH  are 
ill!  abroad  im  their  baneful,  midnight  errands; 
particularly  those  ai'rial  pcojile,  the  fairies,  are 
said  on  that  night  toludd  a  grand  anniversary." 
So  writes  Hums  in  a  note;  but  in  tho  jioeni 
evil  spirits  are  disarmed  of  all  their  terrors, 
and  fear  is  fun.  It  might  have  begun  well 
enough,  and  nobody  Wu  Id  have  fmind  fault, 
with 

.Soiiic  nuTiy,  friendly,  country-folks 

To^iether  did  eoiivenu,  |tlioircr,li.w(irt« 

To  hum  their  ruts,  an'  pou  their  stocks,    nun    pull 

An'  hand  their  Halloween  h"''' 

l''u'  Idythe  that  nlKht; 

but  HurnH,  by  a  few  beautiful  introdtielory 
lines,  brings  the  festival  at  onee  within  the 
world  of  i)oetry. 

I'pon  tliat  ni^'lit,  when  fairies  linht 

On  Ciissilis  Downaiis  dance, 
Or  owrc  till'  lays,  in  splendiii  Ida/.e,  Ii':" 

On  sprightly  eonvsers  jnance; 
Or  for  Coleim  the  route  is  ta'en, 

Iteneath  the  moon's  pale  lii'inns; 
There,  np  the  cove,  to  stray  an'  rove 

Amann  tlie  rocks  and  sticinis 

To  spint  that  niKht: 

AnmuK  the  bonnie  wiiidiiiK  hanks, 

Wliere  ltooi\  rins,  wliniilin',  (dear, 
Wliere  lirneu  ance  rnl'd  the  martial  ranks,         ipimv 

An'  shook  Ills  C'arrick  spear. 

Then  instantly  he  collects  the  company— the 
business  of  the  evening  is  set  a-uoing— each 
stanza  has  its  new  actor  and  its  new  charm  — 
the  transitions  arc  as  quick  as  it  is  in  the  power 
of  winged  words  to  lly;  female  characters  of 
all  ages  and  dispositions,  from  the  anld  guid- 
wifc  "wha  fuff't  her  pipe  wi'  sic  a  hint,"  to  wee 
Jenny  wi'  her  "little  skclpie-limmer's  face"— 
■lean,  Nell,  Merran,  Meg,  maidens  all — and 
"wanton  widow  Leezie" — figiire  each  in  her 
own  individuality,  animated  into  full  life  by 
a  few  touches.  Nor  less  various  the  males, 
from  hav'rel  Will  to  "anld  nnclc  John,  wha 


THE  OENIUa   ANT)   WTUTTNOa  OF  lUTRNS. 


2:? 


wnllock'n  jnyn  Kin'  Mar'H  your  did  dcsin!" — 
Hall  and  .lock,  and  "loiditin'  Jamie  Fleck,'' 
like  all  ImiITum  "cooard  afon^  ImKlL'";"  IliiMndy 
pause  in  tiieir  fant  follow inj;  proeeedinf,"*  lieiiif,' 
caused  l)y  k'ituIoiis  ^rraniiio'M  pioiw  reproof  of 
lier  00  for  daurin'  to  try  sic  sportin'  "as  eat 
the  apple  at.  tlie  k'hss"  a  rejjniof  jirovini,' 
that  lier  own  wrinkled  breast  holds  many  nueer 
ineniories  of  lanu'-syne  llalloweens;— nil  the 
carkiii.i;  eares  of  the  work-day  world  are  clean 
forgotten;  tlio  hopes,  fours,  and  wishes  tliat 
most  airitate  every  liiiman  lireast,  and  are  hy 
the  simplest concealeil,  hereexhiliit  themselves 
wilhoiil  disjinise  in  the  freedom  not  only  per- 
mitted lint  ins]iired  liy  the  passion  that  rules 
the  nitrht-  "  the  jiassion,"  says  the  ]ioet  him- 
Hclf,  "ofpryim^  into  futurity,  which  makes  a 
strikiuj;;  jiart  of  the  history  of  human  nature 
in  its  rude  state,  in  all  a^os  and  nations;  and 
it  may  he  some  entertainment  to  a  iiliilosophie 
mind,  if  any  sueh  sluuild  honour  the  author 
with  a  perusal,  to  see  the  remains  of  it,  among 
the  more  unenliffhtened  of  our  own." 

liut  how  have  we  heen  alito  to  refrain  from 
say in.ix  a  few  wordsahont  t  ho  "  Cotter's  Saturday 
Niu'lit'/"  How  aU'ectinK  (lilhert's  account  of 
its  ori,!,'in! 

"  lioliert  had  frequently  remarked  to  me, 
that  he  thouu;ht  there  was  somclhinir  peculiarly 
veiieralile  Iti  the  jdiraso, '  Let  us  wor>lii])  (Jod,' 
used  liy  a  <leeent  solier  head  of  a  family  intro- 
dncinu:  family  worship.  To  this  sentiment  of 
tlie  author  (ho  world  is  iiidelited  for  the  'Col- 
ter's Satunlay  Niijht.'  The  hint  of  the  plan 
and  title  of  the  poem  were  taken  from  Kertjus- 
son's  '  Farmer's  Innle. '  When  I'oliert  had  not 
some  ]ilcasure  in  view,  in  which  I  was  not 
tliniii,dit  lit  to  jiarticipate,  we  used  frequently 
to  walk  t<iuethor,  when  the  weather  was  favour- 
aiilc,  on  \\w  Sunday  aflerno(Uis  (those  ]irecious 
linathiui^-times  to  tlie  laliouriiif;  jiart  of  the 
community),  and  enjoyed  Hueh  Sundays  as 
would  nuiko  one  r"irret  to  see  their  numlier 
aliridned.  It  was  on  one  of  these  walks  that 
I  first  had  the  plea-sure  of  hearinu:  tlic  author 
rejieat  the  'Cotter's  Saturday  Ni.ijht.'  I  do 
not  recollect  to  have  read  or  lieard  any  thinfj; 
hy  which  I  was  more  highly  chrlrijictl.  "  No 
Avonder  (lilliert  was  hiufhly  electrified;  for 
though  he  had  read  or  heard  many  thinirs  of 
his  brother  Robert's  of  c<|nal  poetical  power, 
not  one  amone;  them  all  was  so  (diarijed  with 


those  sarrofl  inlluenccH  that  conneet  the  human 
heart  with  heaven.  It  ninst  have  sounded 
like  a  very  revid.ition  of  all  the  holiness  for 
ever  abiding  in  that  familiar  observance,  but 
which  custom,  without  impairing  its  ellieaey, 
must  often  partially  hiih;  from  the  children  of 
Labour  when  it  is  all  the  time  helping  to  sus- 
tain them  upon  and  above  this  earth.  .\nd 
this  from  the  erring  to  the  steadfast  brother!  — 
from  the  troulded  to  the  (piiet  spirit!  -out  of 
a  heart  too  often  steeped  in  the  waters  of  bit.- 
terness,  issuing,  as  from  an  unpolluted  foun- 
tain, the  ins]iiration  of  ]iious  song!  lint  its 
ell'ects  on  innumerable  hearts  is  not  now  ilir- 
trlriil — it  insjiires  jieace.  Ft  is  felt  yet,  and 
sailly  changed  will  then  be  Scotland  if  ever  it 
lie  not  felt,  by  every  one  who  jioruses  it,  to  be 
a  communication  from  brother  to  Itrother.  It 
is  felt  by  us,  all  through,  from  beginning  to 
end,  lobe  UiitNs'.s  "('nttcr'sStihinliii/X!ij/it;" 
at  each  succeeding  sweet  or  solemn  stanza  wo 
more  and  more  love  the  man — at  its  close  wo 
liless  liim  ""  ;i  benefactor;  and  if,  as  the  pic- 
ture fatles,  thoni;hts  of  sin  anil  of  sorrow  will 
arise,  and  will  not  he  put  down,  let  them,  as 
we  hope  for  mercy,  be  of  our  own — not  his; 
let  ns  tremble  for  ourselves  as  we  hear  a  voice 
.saying,  "Fear  (Jod  and  keep  his  command- 
ments." 

There  are  few  more  jirr/rrf  poems.  It  is 
the  utterance  of  n  heart  whose  chords  wen;  all 
tuned  to  gratitu<le,  "making  sweet  melody" 
to  the  (liver,  on  a  night  not  le.ss  sacred  in  His 
eye  than  His  own  appointed  Sabbath. 

NdvenilKrcliill  lilaw.s  load  wi'  annry  su;,'li:      RntiRli 

Tlic  sliDifnluK  wiiitcr-day  is  ni'ar  a  closo. 
'I'lic  miry  licasts  retreatitiufrae  tlie  i>leuKli;    iiIumkIi 

'I'lic  lilaek  iiiiiK  trains  o'  cvaws  to  their  repose: 
'I'lie  tdil-wiirn  futlfr  frae  liis  lii'mur  Koes, 

Tliln  niijlit  Ills  weel<ly  nmil  is  at  an  end, 
Ciillects  liis  spades,  hi.s  inattncks,  and  Ins  lines, 

lldliiiif;  tlie  iiitini  in  ease  and  rest  to  spend. 
And  weary,  (I'er  the  moor,  his  course  does  liaineward 

lieiid. 

That  one  single  .stanza  is  in  itself  a  picture, 
one  may  say  a  poem,  of  the  poor  man's  life. 
It  is  so  imaged  on  the  eye  (hat  avc  absolutely 
see  it;  but  then  not  an  epithet  but  shows  the 
condition  on  which  he  holds,  and  the  heart 
with  which  ho  endures,  and  enjoys  it.  Work 
he  must  in  the  face  of  November;  but  (lod  who 
made  the  year  shortens  and  lengthens  its  days 
for  the  sake  of  his  living  ere.ttnres,  and  has 


THE  flKNTUS  AND  WUITINiJS  OF  HUUNS. 


2t 

ii|ipoin(i>il  for  them  iilt  tlu'ir  lioiir  of  runt.  Tlio 
"niir.v  ht'iiMU"  will  moom  Ik;  ill.  Hupiicr  in  tlioir 
clcnn-^irivwed  Ktalls--"tiio  bliwk'iiinj,'  tmiiw 
o'  (TiiwK"  itivlHihl.v  IhikIu'iI  (i!i  tlicir  nx-kinK 
truen;  ftiid  lie  wluim  (i()<i  nmile  iiftor  liin  own 
iiniiKe,  tlmt  "toil-worn  cotter,"  ho  too  nmy 
Ho  down  and  Hleej).  There  in  nothinif  e.xiiefiiil 
in  hi(*  lot  wherefon-  he  should  he  pitieil,  nor 
arc  wc  iwkud  to  pity  him,  an  ho  "eolleets  lii« 
Hpadcs,  his  mattocks,  and  his  hoes:"  many  of 
us  who  have  work  to  do,  and  do  it  not,  may 
envy  his  eontcntment,  and  the  religion  that 
gladdens  his  release  — "  hojiiriK'  the  MintN  in 
case  and  rest  to  spend,"  only  to  sueh  as  he,  in 
truth,  a  Saliliath.  "  Kememlier  that  thou  keep 
holy  the  Salihath  day.  Hix  days  shalt  thou 
labour  and  do  all  that  thou  hast  to  do.  Hut  the 
seventh  day  is  the  Sahltatli  of  the  Lord  thy 
(iod.  In  it  thou  shall  do  no  manner  of  work." 
O!  that  man  should  ever  find  it  in  his  heart 
to  SCO  in  that  \n\<f  a  stern  ohliKation— not  a 
merciful  boon  and  n  blessed  privilcfje  I 

In  those  times  family-worship  in  suchdwell- 
inRs,  all  over  Seotlaml,  was  not  confined  to 
one  weok-duy.  It  is  to  be  believed  that 
William  Humes  miijlit  have  been  heard  by  his 
8on  Uobert  duly  every  ni^ht  saying,  "  l-et  us 
worship  (iod."  "There  was  somethinc;  ]iecu- 
liarly  venemble  in  the  phrase"  every  time  he 
heard  it;  but  on  "Saturday  nif,'lit"  family 
worship  was  surrounded,  in  its  solemnity,  with 
a  patherinif  of  whatever  is  most  cheerful  and 
unalloyed  in  the  lot  of  laliour;  and  the  poet's 
genius  in  a  happy  hour  hearing  those  words  in 
his  heart  collected  many  nights  into  one,  and 
made  the  whole  observance,  as  it  were,  a  re- 
ligious cstiil)lishmcnt,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  forever. 

"The  fifth  and  si.xtli  stanzas,  and  the 
eighteenth,"  .siiys  Gilbert,  "thrilled  with  jie- 
euliar  cc.sta.sy  througli  my  .soul;"  and  well  they 
might;  for,  in  homeliest  words,  they  tell  at 
once  of  home's  familiar  doings  and  of  the 
highest  thoughts  th.,*  can  a.scend  in  supjili- 
cation  to  the  throne  of  God.  AVhat  is  the 
eighteenth  stanza,  and  why  did  it  too  "thrill 
with  peculiar  ecstasy  through  my  soul?"  You 
may  bo  sure  that  whatever  thrilled  Gill»ert's 
sou)  will  thrill  yours  if  it  be  in  holy  kee[)ing; 
for  he  was  a  good  man,  and  walked  all  his 
days  fearing  God. 

Tlien  homcwnnl  all  take  off  tlieir  sev'ral  way; 
The  youngling  cottagers  retire  to  rest; 


Tlic  |)arciitii»lr  tluir  iccrct  IioiiniKo  pay, 
Anil  |ii'i lifer  u|)  to  licavcii  tliu  uanii  niiuuit 

'I'liat  lie  Willi  »tllU  till'  ravcn'K  clam  i-uiis  nciit, 
Ami  <li'ikM  the  Illy  fair  I"  tli.w  ry  priilc, 

Wuiilil,  III  tliii  way  Ills  wIhiI hcch  the  lient, 

Kiir  them  ami  fur  tlnlr  llltle  niies  pniviile; 
Hut, cliLlly,  In  their  licartu  with  Kracu illvliiu  |>iei(|ili 

Think  again  of  the  first  stanza  of  all  for  you 
have  forgotten  it- of  the  toil-worn  (Nittcr  col- 
lecting his  sjiailes.  Ills  mattocks,  and  his  hoes, 
and  weary  o'er  the  moor  beiuling  his  course 
homewards.  In  spite  of  his  hope  of  //c  iiinni, 
you  coulil  hardly  help  looking  on  him  t/iin  us 
if  he  were  ilisconsolale  noir  you  arc  prc|iarci| 
to  believe,  with  the  poet,  that  siiidi  brellircii 
are  among  tiie  best  of  their  country's  sons, 
that 

Kriini  HcciicB  like  thoRO  olil  Scotia's  grnndcur  Hprliiga, 
That  nmki'g  her  lov'il  at  home,  iwei'd  alimail; 

and  you  desire  to  join  in  the  Invocation  that 
bursts  from  his  jdous  ami  jjatriotie  lieart: — 

()  Scotia!  my  ilear,  my  native  Hull  I 

Kiir  wliiim  my  waniicHt  wIhIi  to  heaven  Is  sent! 
Loll);  may  tliy  liaiily  hums  of  riistlit  toll, 

Itu  liicHHil  with  health,  aiitl  jieacu,  ami  sweet 
cnlltelit  I 
Ami,  <»I  may  Heaven  their  slmiili,  lives  prevent 

Ki'iim  luxuiy'H  coiitaKiini,  weak  ami  vile! 
Tlieii,  hiiwe'er  criiii'iin  ami  cuniiiits  lie  rent, 

A  riiliiDiis pdiiiitdce  may  rise  the  while, 
Ami  HtamI  a  wall  of  tire  aioiiml  their  iiiiicli  Inv'il  itilc. 

O  'riiiiii!  who  piiiu'il  till!  ]iatriotl('  tiile 

That  Htleam'il  thru'  Wallace's  iiiiilauiited  lieait; 
Willi  ilar'il  to  iiiilily  stem  tyrannic  jirlilc, 

Oi  milily  (lie,  thcsecnml  nlorioiis  ]iart, 
('riie  iiati'Idt'B  tiiiil  peuiiliarly  thmi  art. 

His  friemi,  iiispiier,  Kiianliaii,  ami  rcwanl  I) 
()  never,  never,  Hciitia's  realm  ilesert: 

lint  still  the  patl'ii't.  ami  the  patriot  liaril, 
III  liri^ht  KUcceHsiDii  raise,  her  ornament  ami  giianl ! 

We  sjud  there  arc  few  more  perfect  poems. 
The  expression  is  hardly  a  correct  one;  but  in 
two  of  tlie  stanzas  there  are  lines  which  we 
never  read  without  wishing  them  away,  and 
there  is  one  .stanza  we  could  sometimes  almost 
wish  away  altogether;  the  sentiment,  though 
beautifully  worded,  being  somewhat  harsh,  and 
such  as  must  be  felt  to  be  unjust  by  many 
devout  and  pious  people: 

Tliey  chant  their  artless  notes  In  siniiile  ruIsc; 

'I'Ik^  tune  their  hearts,  by  far  the  nolilest  aim; 
I'eihaps  Dundee'H  wild  warbling  nieasiiies  rise, 

Or  iilaiiitive  Mnrti/rs,  worthy  of  the  name; 
(1r  noble  Eltjiii  beets  the  heav'nwaril  llame, 

The  sweetest  far  of  Scotia's  holy  lays; 


TIIK  (JKNllIH  AND   WKITIN(iS  Ol''   lU'UNH. 


25 


s 


Cicii;«(r'i/  ii'ilh  Men.',  Ilnlinn  trilU  arc  tame; 
Till'  lifliiil  I'lirs  ltd  lii'itrt  Jill  idiiliiren  raim'; 
Sac  uuuiiii  h(ie  lhf\i  with  mir  Crenlnr't  praitif. 

We  ilo  not  f'mtl  fiuilt  with  llurim  for  liaviiip; 
Hrilteii  llii'>'i!  liiii'H;  tor  iiMsociulioii  of  I'l't'liiiu 
with  Icfliiin,  Ity  coiiiruMl,  is  jhtIiuiw  nioHt,  of 
III!  powirfiil  ill  iiiiiHic.  Ik'lioviiij,'  timt,  tlioro 
\v:\*  no  ilcvotioimi  spirit,  in  Italian  iiiiiHic,  it 
wiiH  iiiidinil  for  him  to  (k'noniii'i'  its  etn|iloy- 
nii'iit  ill  ri'lii?iouK  Hcrvii-cM;  lint  wo  till  know 
tliiit  it  (■aiiiiot  without.  inoKt  i^niorant.  violation 
of  the  truth  lie  wiiil  of  Ihc  hyiiiiiH  of  that  nio!<t 
musical  of  all  in'ople,  and  KiiperstitioiiH  um  they 
may  he,  ainoiiK  tliu  niont  iluvout,  that 

Niiu  uiiiaon  liiio  tlivy  with  our  Crviitor'H  iirulKu. 

Our  iiltjeetion  to  Honiu  lines  in  another  Htan/.a 
is  more  serious,  for  it  applies  not  to  a  feelinjj; 
but  a  jiiilKnu'iit.  That  there  is  more  virtue  in 
a  cottage  than  in  a  ]>ahu'e  we  are  not  disposed 
to  deny  at  any  time,  least  of  all  when  reading 
the  Cotter's  Sa'-irday  Ni^'ht;  and  we  entirely 
;;()  aloiijr  with  U.iins  when  he  suys, 

And  cL'rtcB,  in  fiilr  vlrtiio'H  heavuiily  road, 
Thu  icittiiK''  leaves  tlic  iiiiIhcl'  far  lieliiiiil; 

hut  there,  we  think,  he  oiiirht  to  have  stopped, 
or  illustrated  the  truth  in  a  milder  manner 
than 

What  is  a  lonlliiijf'n  iiompV-a  ciiiiilirouB  load, 
Kisuuisiii!,'  lift  11k'  wntili  >'{  liuiiian  kind, 
Slmlii'il  ill  ai'tK  of  hi'll,  in  wIckciIncsH  rrlln'd  I 

(Mir  moral  nature  revolts  with  a  sense  of  in- 
justice from  the  eomparison  of  the  wickedness 
of  one  class  with  the  ;;oodness  of  another;  and 
the  cllcct  is  the  very  opjiosile  of  that  intended, 
the  risiiij;  up  of  a  niiserahle  conviction,  that  for 
a  while  had  liceii  laid  asleep,  that  vice  and 
crime  are  not  excluded  from  cots,  hut  often, 
alas!  are  found  there  in  their  darkest  colours 
ami  most  iiortentous  forms. 

The  whole  stan/.a  we  had  in  our  mind  as 
Komehow  or  other  not  entirely  delighful,  is 

t'omimr'd  with  tliis,  how  j)oor  llclijsion's  jiridu. 

In  all  the  ]i<ini|i  of  nathocl,  and  of  art. 
When  men  ilisiilay  to  ((inKiirations  wUlo, 

Dt'Votidn'H  cv'ry  niacc  cxccjit  thu  heart ! 
The  J'ower,  inecns'il,  thu  jmtfcant  will  desert, 

The  i)oin]i(iiiH  Htrain,  the  sacerdotal  stole; 
Hut  hajily.  In  sonic  cottage  far  apart, 

ilay  hear,  well  jilcasVl,  the  lannua^e  of  the  soul; 
And  in  his  book  of  life  the  iiiniates  poor  enrol. 

"Let  us  join  in  the  worship  of  (Jod"  is  a 


Mtroni; desire i>r  .viture,and  aeotninandcd  duly; 
and  tliiiH  an;  ItroiiKht  to^rether,  for  praise  and 
imvycr,  "coiiKreKations  wide,"  in  nil  populous 
places  of  every  Christian  land.  Hiiperstition 
is  sustained  l»y  the  same  syni]iathy  as  religion 
— eiiliKhtenment  of  reason  liciiij;  essential  to 
faith.  There  sit,  every  Saliliath,  hundreds  of 
hypocrites,  tlnnisands  of  the  sincere,  tens  of 
thousands  of  the  iiiditlercnt  -  how  many  of  the 
devout  or  how  few  who  shall  say  that  uiider- 
Mtands  the  meaning  of  ilimlloii'/  If  nil  ho 
false  and  hollow,  a  incro  Hcmhlaneu  only,  then 
indeed 

Thu  I'nwcr,  iticeiis'd,  the  paxuant  will  desert, 
Thu  pomiioiig  strain,  thu  Rauurdotal  stolu; 

hut  if,  even  in  tJie  miilstof  "religion's  pride," 
there  he  liumlde  and  contrite  hearts — if  u 
place  he  found  for  the  poor  in  spirit  even  "in 
nay  religions  full  of  jiompand  gold" — a  Chris- 
tian  poet  ought  to  guard  his  heart  against 
scorn  of  the  ritual  of  any  form  of  Christian 
worshiii.  Ho  it  performed  in  Cathedral,  Kirk, 
or  Cottage — (iod  regards  it  only  when  per- 
formed in  spirit  and  in  truth. 

Kememher  all  this  ]ioetry,  and  a  hundred 
almost  as  fine  things  besides,  was  composed 
within  little  more  than  two  years,  by  a  man 
all  the  while  working  for  wages — seven  poundH 
from  May-day  to  May-day;  and  that  he  never 
idled  at  his  work,  but  mowed  ami  ploughed 
as  if  working  by  the  piece,  and  ciiuhl  afford 
therefore,  (iod  bless  his  heart,  to  stay  the  share 
for  a  minute,  but  too  late  for  the  "wee,  sleekit, 
cow'rin',  tiin'rous  beastie's"  nest.  Folks  havo 
said  he  was  a  bad  fanner,  and  neglected  iMoss- 
giel,  an  idler  in  the  land. 

Jlow  various  his  umployinents  whom  the  world 
Calls  idle! 

Absent  in  the  body,  avo  doubt  not,  ho  frc- 
(lucntly  was  from  his  fields:  oftonest  in  the 
evenings  and  at  night.  Was  ho  in  Nansc 
Tinnoek's?  She  knew  him  by  name  and  head- 
mark,  for  once  seen  he  was  not  to  bo  forgotten ; 
but  she  complained  that  he  had  never  drunk 
three  half-mutchkins  in  her  house,  whatever 
he  might  say  in  his  lying  jioems.  In  Poosie 
Nansie's — mother  of  Racer  Jess?  —  He  was 
there  oiirc;  and  out  of  the  scum  and  refuse  of 
the  outcasts  of  the  lowest  grade  of  jiossible 
being,  ho  constructed  a  Hcggar'w  Opera,  in 
which  the  singers   and  dancers,    drabs  and 


n  w 


20 


Till-]  GKNILIS  AND   WKITINOS  Ob'  liUKNS. 


11 


(Iniiikiinls  itil,  lit'lun.i;'  still  tu  liuuuiiiilj;  iinil 
tliougli  hmldliiig  tojrctlicr  in  the  filth  of  the 
llcsh,  iiiu.st  not  b(  I'las.sed,  in  tlicir  enjoyments, 
with  the  bciists  ih.it  jierish.  in  the  SniiddyV 
Ay,  yon  niiuht.  nave  found  him  there  at  times 
when  he  luul  no  horse  to  be  shoed,  no  coulter 
tu  be  sharpened. 

Wlifii  Vulcan  kil'S  Iiis  IilIIows  hieiitli, 
An'  iilon^'luiirn  t;atliL'i'  wi'  tlirir  giaitli,    iiniilLim  iits 

ficth 
curtil  lui 


O  ran'!  to  stu  tlii'u  (l/.z  an'  lieatli 

r  tir  lu^'};it  caiiji! 

TIkii  liuineuia  ciinit'S  cm  like  duatll 
At  uvfiy  fhaui). 

Nae  Mifirv,  tliun,  f<ir  airn  or  stiul; 
'I'liu  hrawnic,  liai'iic,  iilnujilnnaii  rliifl, 
Hrings  liard  oh  ru  liij),  wi'  stunly  wIiulI, 

The  strong  forrliannncr, 
Till  block  an'  stmUliu  rinj;  an'  reel 

Wi'  tlinsoniu  claniour.i 


I1I..W 

iruu 
Ijouy 


Btilliy 


On  frozen  Jluir-loehV  Among  tlie  curlers  "at 
their  ronnii;/  i)lay" — roaring  is  the  right  word 
—but  'tis  not  the  bonspiel  only  that  roars,  it 
is  the  ice,  and  echo  tells  it  is  from  her  crags 
that  submit  not  to  the  snow.     There  king  of 
his  rink  «:us  I{al)bie  Hums  to  be  found;  and 
at  night  in  the  Hostelry,  in  the  reek  of  beef 
and  grccnsand  "Scotch  drink,"  Apollo,  in  the 
shajie  of  a  ploughman,  at  the  head  of  the  fir- 
table  that  dances  with  all  its  glasses  to  the 
horny  fists  clencning  with  cordial  thumpers 
the  sallies  of  wit  and  humour  volleying  from 
his  lips  and  eyes,  unroproved  by  the  hale  old 
minister  who  is  hapjiy  to  meet  his  parishioners 
out  of  the  pulpit,  and  by  his  i)resence  keeps 
the  poet  within   bound.s,   if  not  of  absolute 
decorum,  of  that  decency  becoming  men  in 
their  most  jovial  r.irth,  and  not  to  je  violated 
without  reproach  by  genius  in  its  mostAvanton 
mood  dallying  even  with  forbidden  things. 
Or  at  a  Hockin'  ?    An  evening  meeti.ig,  as  you 
know,  "oiw  of  the  objects  of  which,"  so  says 
the  glossary,  "is  spinning  with  the  rock  or 
distaff;"  but  which  has  many  other  objects, 
as  the  dullest  may  conjecture,  when  lads  and 
las.scs  have  come  flocking  from  "behind  yon 
hills  where  Stinchar  flows,  'mang  moors  an' 
mos.scs  many,  0,"  to  one  solitary  homestead 
made  roomy  enough  for  them  all;  and  if  now 
and  then  felt  to  be  too  close  and  crowded  for 
the  elderly  people  and  the  old,  not  unprovided 
with  secret  spots  near  at  hand  in  r      l)room 

>  "  Scotch  Drink,"  vol.  ii.  p.  83. 


and  the  l)rackens,  where  the  sleeping  iint- 
wliites  sit  undisturbed  by  lovers'  whisjiers,  and 
lovers  may  look,  if  they  choose  it,  unashamed 
to  the  stars. 

And  what  was  he  going  to  do  with  all  tiiis 
poetry — poetry  accumulating  fast  as  his  band, 
released  at  night  from  other  implements,  could 
put  it  on  pai)er,  in  bold,  round,  upright  cha- 
racters, that  tell  of  fingers  more  familiar  with 
the  plough  than  the  pen?  He  himself  some- 
times must  have  wondered  to  find  every  recep- 
tiiclc  in  the  spence  crammed  witn  manuscripl.s, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  many  others  floating 
about  all  over  the  country,  and  setting  the 
smiddies  in  a  roar,  and  not  a  few,  of  which 
nothing  was  .said,  foldcil  in  the  breast-kcrcliicfs 
if  maidens,  put  therein  by  his  own  hand  on 
I  he  lea-rig,  beneath  tiie  milk-white  thoni. 
What  brought  liini  out  into  the  face  of  day  as 
a  I'oef:? 

Of  all  the  women   Munis  ever  loved,  Mary 
Cam[)bell  not  excepted,  the  dearest  to  him  by 
far,  from  first  to  last,  was  Jean  Armour.    J)ur- 
ing  comjjosition  her  image  rises  u|i  from  his 
heart  before  his  eyes  the  instant  he  touches  on 
any  thought  or  feeling  with  which  she  could 
be  in  any  way  connected;  and  sometimes  his 
allusions  to  her  might  even  seem  out  of  place, 
did  they  not  please  us,  by  letting  us  know  that 
he  could  not  altogether  forget  her,  whatever 
the  subject  his  muse  had  chosen.    Others  may 
have  in.spircd  more  poetical  strains,  but  there 
is  an  earnestness  in  his  fervours,  at  her  name, 
that  brings  her  breathing  in  warm  flesh  and 
blood  to  his  breast.    Highland  Mary  he  would 
have  made  his  wife,  and  perlia])s  broken  her 
heart.     He  loved  her  living,  as  a  creature  in  a 
dream,  dead  as  a  spirit  in  heaven.     Hut  .lean 
Armour  possessed  his  heart  in  tlie  stormiest 
.season  of  his  passions,  and  she  possessed  it  in 
the  lull  that  preceded  thcii  dissolution.     She 
was  well  worthy  of  his  afl'ection  on  account 
of  her  excellent  qualities;  and  though  never 
beautiful,  had  many  personal  attraction.s.    ikit 
Murns  felt  himself  b(mnd  to  her  by  that  in- 
.scrutable  mystery  in  the  soul  of  every  man,  by 
which  one  other  being,  and  one  only,   is  be- 
lieved, and  truly,  to  be  cs.sential  to  his  liajjpi- 
ncss  hero,— without  whom  life  is  not  life.    Her 
strict  and  stern  father,  enraged  out  of  all  re- 
ligion both  natural   and   revealed,   with    his 
daughter  for  having  sinned  with  a  man  of  sin, 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WIJITINOS  OF  BURNS. 


27 


toro  from  her  hiuids  her  nuirrimjii  lines  as  she 
besouiflit.  I'orjtivencssoii  her  knees,  ami  without 
jiitv  lor  the  lite  stirriiii^  within  her,  terrified 
lier  into  tiiu  surreiidur  ami  renuneiatiou  of  the 
title  of  wife,  brandinu:  her  therei)y  with  an 
aliliorred  name.  .V  father's  power  is  sometimes 
very  terrible,  and  it  was  so  here;  for  siie  sub- 
mitted, with  less  outward  show  of  agony  than 
can  be  well  understood,  and  IJurns  almost  be- 
eanie  a  madman.  His  worldly  eireuuistances 
were  wholly  desi)erate,  for  bad  seasons  had 
strieki'U  dead  the  cold  soil  of  Mosstjiel;  but  he 
was  willin,tc  to  work  for  his  wife  in  ditches,  or 
to  sui)iiort  her  for  a  while  at  home,  by  his  waives 
as  a  nej^ro-drivcr  in  the  West  Indies. 

A  more  unintelliu'ilile  passaLce  than  this 
never  occurred  in  the  life  of  any  other  man, 
certainly  never  a  more  tryinj;  one;  and  Hums 
must  at  this  time  have  been  tormented  by  as 
many  violent  jiassions,  in  instant  succession  or 
altonether,  as  the  human  heart  could  hold.  In 
verse  he  bad  for  years  f?iven  vent  to  all  his 
uKiods;  and  his  brother  tells  us  that  the  "  l..\- 
jik.nt"  was  composed  "after  the  first  distrac- 
tion of  his  feelini^s  had  a  little  subsided."  Had 
he  lost  her  by  death  he  would  have  been  dumb, 
jiut  his  Ljrief  was  m)t  mortal,  and  it  jrrew  elo- 
(jueiit,  when  relieved  and  sustained  from  pros- 
tration by  other  passions  that  lift  uji  the  head, 
if  it  be  only  to  let  it  sink  down  again,  rage, 
pride,  indignation, jealousy, andscorn.  "  Ne. er 
man  loved,  or  rather  adored  a  Avoman  more 
than  1  did  her;  and  to  confess  tiic  truth  I)etwcen 
you  and  me,  I  do  still  love  her  to  distraction 
after  all.  .  .  .  Jly  poor  dear  unfortunate  Jean! 
...  It  is  not  the  losing  her  that  nuikes  me 
so  uulia]i]>y,  but  for  her  sake  1  feel  most 
severely:  I  foresee  she  is  in  the  rou<l  to,  1  am 
afraid,  eternal  ruin.  May  Almighty  (!od  for- 
give her  ingratitude  and  perjury  tome,  as  I 
from  my  very  soul  forgive  her;  and  may  his 
grace  be  witli  her  and  bless  her  in  all  her 
future  life  !  I  can  have  no  nearer  idea  of  the 
|plac('  of  eternal  punishment  than  what  1  have 
felt  in  my  own  breast  on  her  accoinit.  I  have 
tried  often  to  forget  her;  1  have  run  into  all 
kinds iif  dissipation  and  riots,  mason-meetings, 
drinkiug-matclies,  and  other  mischief,  to  drive 
her  out  of  my  head,  but  all  in  vain.  .\nd  now 
for  a  grand  cure:  the  ship  is  on  iter  way  home 
that  is  to  take  me  mit  to  .Jamaica;  and  then, 
farewell,  dear  old  Scotland;  and  farewell,  dear 


ungrateful  Jean !  for  never,  never  will  1  sec 
you  more." '  In  the  "  Lamknt"  there  arc  the 
same  passions,  but  genius  has  ennobled  them 
by  the  tenderness  and  elevation  of  the  finest 
jjoctry,  guided  their  transitions  by  her  solem- 
nizing power,  inspired  their  appeals  to  con- 
scious night  and  nature,  and  subdued  down  to 
the  beautiful  and  pathetic  the  expression  of 
what  had  else  been  agony  and  despair. 

Twenty  pounds  would  enable  him  to  leave 
Scotland,  and  take  him  to  .(anuiica;  and  to 
raise  them,  it  occurred  to  Robert  JJuriis  to 
publish  his  poems  by  subscription !  "1  was 
])rctty  confident  my  poems  would  meet  with 
some  applause;  but  at  the  worst,  the  roar  of 
tiie  Atlantic  woidd  deafen  the  voice  of  censure, 
and  the  novelty  of  West  Indian  scenes  make  me 
forget  neglect.  1  threw  oll'si-x  hundred  cojiies, 
of  which  I  had  got  subscriptions  for  about 
three  humlred  and  fifty.  My  vanity  was  highly 
gratified  by  the  reception  I  met  with  from  the 
pid)lie;  and  besides,  1  pocketed,  all  c.xpensea 
deducted,  near  twenty  pounds.  This  sum 
came  very  seasonably,  as  I  was  thinking  of  in- 
denting myself,  for  want  of  money  to  procure 
my  passage.  As  soon  as  I  was  master  of  nine 
guineas,  the  price  of  waiting  me  to  the  torrid 
zone,  1  took  a  steerage  passiige  in  the  first  ship 
that  was  to  sail  from  the  Clyde,  for  '  Hungry 
ruin  had  me  in  the  wind. ' "  -  The  ship  sailed; 
but  Burns  was  still  at  Mossgiel,  for  his  strong 
heart  could  not  tear  itself  away  from  Scotland, 
and  some  of  his  friends  encouraged  him  to 
hope  that  he  might  be  nuide  a  ganger! — In  a 
few  months  he  was  about  to  be  hailed  by  the 
universal  acclanuition  of  his  country  a  great 
National  Poet. 

lUit  the  enjoyment  of  his  fame  all  round  his 
birth-place,  "the  heart  and  the  main  region 
of  his  song,"  intense  iw  we  know  it  was, 
though  it  a.ssuaged,  could  not  still  the  troubles 
of  his  heart;  his  life  amidst  it  all  was  as  hope- 
less as  when  it  was  obscure;  "his chest  was  on 
its  road  to  (Ireenock,  where  he  was  to  embark 
in  a  few  days  for  America,"  and  iigaiu  he  sung 

Farewell,  did  Ciiilii's  hills  and  dales, 
Ilcr  liciitliy  miHiiH  and  windiii};  viiles; 
Til'  .scenes  where  wretched  fancy  roves, 
Pursuing  ]ia.st,  unhapiiy  h)ves! 

'  Letter  to  David  liricc,  shocnntker,  Glasf^ow,  I'Jtli 
Juno,  1780. 
-  Letter  to  Moore,  as  given  by  C'unie. 


28 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WlilTINGS  OE  BirKN«. 


Fiuowi'll,  my  fiiends!  farewell,  my  foes! 
My  i)eiiie  with  these- my  love  with  those— 
The  limstiii!,'  tears  luy  heart  lieehire, 
Farewell  the  boniiie  banks  uf  Ayr ;  i 

when  a  few  words  from  a  blind  old  man  to  a 
country  clergyman  kindled  within  him  a  new- 
hope,  and  set  his  heart  on  fire;  and  wliile 

November  ehill  blew  loud  wi'  angry  soiifili, 

"I  posted  away  to  I'^dinburgh  without  a  single 
aquaintance,  or  a  single  letter  of  introduction. 
The  baneful  star  that  had  so  long  shed  its 
blasting  influence  on  my  zenith,  for  once  made 
a  revolution  to  the  nadir. "^ 

At  first,  Burns  was  stjircd  at  with  such  eyes 
as  people  open  wide  who  behold  a  prodigy; 
for  though  he  looked  the  rustic,  ai"'  his  broad 
shoulders  had  the  stoop  that  stiilwart  men 
ac(iuirc  at  the  plough,  his  swarthy  face  was 
ever  and  anon  illumined  with  the  look  that 
genius  alone  puts  oft'  and  on,  and  that  comes 
and  goes  with  a  new  interpretation  of  imagina- 
tion's winged  words.  For  a  week  or  two  he 
had  lived  chiefly  with  some  Ayrshire  acquaint- 
ances, and  was  not  personally  known  to  any 
of  the  leading  men.  Hut  as  soon  as  he  came 
forward,  and  was  seen  and  heard,  his  name 
went  througii  the  city,  and  people  asked  one 
another,  "Have  you  met  JJurus?"  His  de- 
meanour among  the  Magnates  was  not  only 
unemi)arrassed  i)ut  dignified,  and  it  was  at 
once  discerned  by  the  blindest,  that  he  belonged 
to  the  aristocracy  of  nature.  "The  idea  which 
his  conversation  conveyed  of  the  powers  of  his 
mind  excee<led,  if  possible,  that  which  is  sug- 
gested by  his  writings.  Among  the  poets 
whom  I  have  happened  to  know  I  have  been 
struck,  in  more  than  once  instance,  with  the 
unaccountable  disparity  between  their  general 
talents  and  the  occa.sional  inspirations  oi  their 
more  favoured  moments.  IJut  all  the  faculties 
of  13urns's  mind  were,  as  far  ivs  I  could  judge, 
equally  vigorous;  and  his  predilection  for 
poetry  was  rather  the  result  of  his  own  en- 
thusiastic and  impassioned  temper,  than  of  a 
genius  exclusively  adapted  to  that  species  of 
composition."  Who  those  poets  were,  of  oc- 
casional inspiration  and  low  general  talents, 
and  in  conversation  felt  to  be  of  the  Rice  of 
the  feeble,   Dugald  Stewart   had  too  much 

J "  The  gloomy  niglit  is  gutli'ring  fast,"  vol.  ii.  p.  184. 
*  Letter  to  Moore. 


delicacy  to  tell  us;  but  if  Edinburgh  had  been 
their  haunt,  and  theirs  the  model  of  the  poeti- 
cal character  in  the  judgment  of  her  sages,  no 
wonder  that  a  new  light  was  thrown  on  the 
I'hilosophy  of  the  Human  Alind  by  that  of 
Kobert  Hums.  For  his  intellectual  faculties 
were  of  the  higheit  order,  and  though  deferen- 
tial to  superior  knowledge,  he  spoke  on  all 
subjects  he  understood,  and  they  were  many, 
with  a  voice  of  determination,  and  when  need 
was,  of  command.  It  was  not  in  the  debating 
club  in  Tarbolton  alone,  about  which  so  much 
nonsense  has  been  prosed,  that  he  had  learned 
elociuence;  he  had  been  long  giving  chosen 
and  delibcRite  utterance  to  all  his  i)riglit  ideas 
and  strong  emotions;  they  were  all  his  own,  or 
he  had  made  them  liis  own  by  tninsfusion;  and 
so,  tlicrefore,  was  his  speech.  Its  fi)unt  was 
in  genius,  and  therefore  could  not  run  dry — a 
flowing  spring  that  needed  neither  to  hc/diKjcd 
nor  pumped.  As  he  had  the  power  of  elo- 
quence, 80  had  lie  the  will,  the  desire,  the 
andiition  to  put  it  forth;  for  he  rejoiced  to 
carry  with  him  the  .sympathies  of  his  kind, 
and  in  his  higiiest  moods  he  was  not  satisfird 
with  their  admiration  without  their  love. 
Tlierc  never  beat  a  heart  more  alive  to  kind- 
ness. To  the  wise  and  good,  how  eloijuent 
his  gratitude !  to  (Jlencairn,  how  imperishable  ! 
This  exceeding  tenderness  of  heart  often  gave 
such  pathos  to  his  ordinary  talk,  that  he  even 
melted  coninion-iilace  peoi)le  into  tears!  With- 
out scholarship,  without  science,  witii  not 
nnich  of  what  is  called  information,  he 
charmed  the  first  men  in  a  society  e(|ual  in  all 
these  to  any  at  that  time  in  Kumpc.  The 
scholar  was  happy  to  forget  his  classic  lore, 
as  he  listened,  for  the  first  time,  to  the  noblest 
sentiments  flowing  from  the  lips  of  a  rustic, 
sometimes  in  his  own  Doric  divested  of  all 
oft'ensive  vulgarity,  but  oftener  in  language 
which,  in  our  northern  capital,  was  thought 
pure  English,  and  comparatively  it  was  so,  for 
in  those  days  the  speech  of  many  of  the  most 
distinguished  persons  would  have  been  unin- 
telligible out  of  Scotland,  and  they  were  proud 
of  excelling  in  the  use  of  their  mother  tongue. 
The  philosopher  wondered  that  the  peasjint 
should  comprehend  intuitively  truths  that  had 
been  established,  it  was  so  thought,  by  reason- 
ing demonstrative  or  inductive;  as  the  illus- 
trious   Stewart,   a    year  or  two    afterwards, 


wondered  h 

had  of  Ali.so 

it  is  that  th 

no  one  been 

sentence  as 

clangor  of  : 

vastly  more 

the  twingle- 

delicate  flex 

blown  flowe 

dawn,  was  i 

gant  than  tl 

that  from  s( 

of  all  associ 

down  as   in 

lierusing  yo 

man  of  wit 

self — and   a 

social  life — 

ful  amenity 

series  of  am 

the  peculiar 

uals,  and  all 

by  his  own  ) 

companies 

from  the  ri 

converscr  fr 

And  how 

besides  evei 

a  duche.ss'''  < 

in  all  her  1 

carried    liei 

Stewart:  '" 

his  stay  m 

tions  of  jie 

turned  any 

that  I  coul 

which  they 

same  simpl 

which  had 

saw  him  in 

feel  any  ad 

number  am 

In  many  pii 

MI>iigal(l  i 
schooled  Ay) 
"a  distinct  < 
the  doctrine 
Tiiarlvs, "  We 
tlie  doctrine 
familiar  to  I) 
-  Letter  to 
3  The  Duel 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WUrj'INGS  OF  BUIINS. 


29 


Mondcrcd  how  clear  an  idea  Burns  the  I'oct 
had  of  Alison'H  True  Theory  of  TaHtc.i  True 
it  is  that  the  great  law  of  association  has  i)y 
no  one  been  so  beautifully  stated  in  a  single 
sentence  as  by  IJurns:  "That  the  martial 
clangor  of  a  trumpet  had  something  in  it 
vastly  more  grand,  heroic,  and  sublime,  than 
the  twinglc-twangle  of  a  Jew's-harp ;  that  the 
delicate  flexure  of  a  rose-twig,  when  the  half- 
blown  flower  is  heavy  with  the  tears  of  the 
ilawn,  was  infinitely  more  beautiful  and  ele- 
gant than  the  upright  stub  of  a  burdock ;  and 
that  from  something  innate  and  independent 
of  all  associations  of  ideas ; — these  I  had  set 
down  as  irrefragable,  orthodox  truths,  until 
perusing  your  book  shook  my  faith.  "^  The 
man  of  wit — ay,  even  Harry  Erskinc  him- 
self— and  a  wittier  than  he  never  charmed 
social  life — was  nothing  loth,  with  hisdclight- 
fid  amenity,  to  cease  for  a  while  the  endless 
series  of  anecdotes  so  admirably  illustrative  of 
the  peculiarities  of  nations,  orders,  or  individ- 
uals, and  almost  all  of  them  created  or  vivified 
by  his  own  genius,  that  the  most  accomplishe<l 
companies  might  exjierience  a  new  pleasure 
from  the  rich  and  racy  humour  of  a  natural 
converscr  fresh  from  the  plough. 

And  how  did  Hums  i)car  all  this,  and  much 
besides  even  more  trying!  For  you  know  that 
a  duchess''  declared  that  she  had  never  before 
in  all  her  life  met  with  a  man  who  so  fairly 
carried  her  of!"  her  feet.  Hear  I'rofes.sor 
Stewart:  "The  attentions  he  received  during 
his  stay  ni  *owii,  from  all  ranks  and  descrip- 
tions of  jiersons,  were  such  as  would  have 
turned  any  liead  but  his  own.  I  cannot  .'(ay 
that  I  could  perceive  any  unfavourable  effect 
which  they  left  on  his  mind.  He  retained  the 
sjinie  simplicity  of  manners  and  appearance 
which  had  struck  me  so  forcibly  when  I  first 
saw  him  in  the  country,  nor  did  he  seem  to 
feel  any  atlditional  self-importunce  from  the 
number  and  rank  of  his  new  acquaint^ince." 
In  many  jiassages  of  his  letters  to  friends  who 

1  (DuKiild  Stewart  exprcsscil  Burprisc'  that  tlio  uii- 
hcIkkiIlmI  Ayrshire  ploiiKlnimn  sliould  Imvo  formed 
"a  distinct  cdnccption  of  tlio  pciiiTnl  princiidcs  of 
tlic  doctrine  of  nssocintion;"  ou  wliidi  Cnrlylo  rc- 
mai  ks,  "  \Vu  nit''-  tlunk  tlmt  far  8Ul)tler  thiiics  tliiui 
tlie  doctrine  of  ii.siiciation  Inid  from  of  old  lieen 
fandliartoliini.") 

-  t,ftter  to  Ucv.  A.  Alison,  Keliy.  1791. 

^  The  Duchess  of  Uurdun. 


had  their  fears,  Hums  expressed  entire  confi- 
dence in  his  own  self-respect,  and  in  terms 
the  ni  j.st  true  and  touching:  as,  for  example, 
to  J)r.  Moore:  "The  hope  to  be  admired  for 
ages  is,  in  by  far  the  greater  part  of  those  even 
who  are  authors  of  repute,  an  unsubstantial 
dream.  For  my  part,  my  first  ambition  was, 
and  still  my  strongest  wish  is,  to  please  my 
compeers,  the  rustic  inmates  of  the  hamlet, 
while  ever- changing  language  and  manners 
shall  allow  me  to  be  relished  and  understood." 
And  to  his  venerated  friend  Mrs.  JJunlop,  he 
gives  utterance,  in  the  midst  of  his  trimiphs, 
to  dark  forebodings,  some  of  which  were  but  too 
soon  fulfilled !  ' '  You  are  afraid  1  shall  grow  in- 
toxicated with  my  prosperity  as  a  poet;  alas! 
Madam,  I  know  myself  and  the  world  too  well. 
.  .  .  1  assure  you,  Madam,  I  do  not  dissemble 
when  1  tell  you  1  tremble  for  the  consequences. 
The  novelty  of  a  poet  in  my  obscure  situation, 
without  any  of  those  advantiiges  which  arc 
reckoned  necessary  for  that  character,  at  least 
at  this  time  of  day,  has  raised  a  partial  tide  of 
l)ublic  notice  which  has  borne  mc  to  a  height, 
where  I  am  ab.solutely,  feelingly  certain  my 
abilities  are  inade(iuate  to  support  me;  and 
too  surely  do  1  see  that  time  when  the  same 
tide  will  leave  me,  an<l  recede,  jterhaps  as  far 
below  the  mark  of  truth.  1  do  not  say  this  in 
the  ridiculous  affectation  of  self-abasement  and 
modesty.  I  have  studied  myself,  and  know 
what  grouiul  I  occupy ;  and  however  a  friend 
or  the  world  may  differ  from  me  in  that  \y,\r- 
ticular,  I  stand  for  my  own  opinicm,  in  silent 
resolve,  with  all  the  tenaciousness  of  property. 
I  mention  this  to  you  once  for  all  to  tlisbur- 
then  my  mind,  and  1  do  not  wish  to  hear  or  .say 
more  about  it.  — Hut, 

When  proud  fortinie's  eliliing  tide  recedes, 

you  will  bear  mc  witness,  that  when  my 
l)ubl)le  of  fame  Avas  at  the  highest  1  stood 
unintoxicated,  with  the  inebriating  cup  in  my 
hand,  looking  forward  with  rueful  resolve  to 
the  hastening  time,  when  the  blow  of  Calumny 
should  dash  it  to  the  ground,  with  all  the 
eagerness  of  vengeful  triumph."* 

Such  equanimity  is  magnanimous;  for 
though  it  is  easy  to  declaim  on  the  vanity  of 
fame,  and  the  weakness  of  them  who  are  in- 
toxicated with  its  bubbles,  the  noblest  have 

*  Letter  dated  15th  January,  1787. 


i 


30 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WllITINtJS  OK  JJUllNS. 


Htill  loii!,'c(l  for  it,  and  what  a  fatal  change  it 
has  indued  often  wrouj,'ht  on  the  simplicity 
and  sincerity  of  the  most  gifted  spirits !  There 
must  be  a  moral  grandeur  in  his  character  who 
receives  sedately  the  unexpected,  though  de- 
served ratification  of  his  title  to  that  genius 
whose  empire  is  the  inner  being  of  his  race, 
from  the  voice  of  his  native  land  uttered  aloud 
through  all  her  regions,  and  harmoniously 
comi>ined  of  innumerable  tones  all  expressive 
of  a  great  i)eople's  pride.  Make  what  deduc- 
tions you  will  from  tlie  Morth  of  that  "All 
hail!"  and  still  it  must  liave  sounded  in 
iJurns's  ears  as  a  realization  of  that  voice  heard 
by  his  prophetic  soul  in  the  "  Vision." 

ALL  HAIL!  11 V  OWN  INHI'IKEU  liAKl) !  .... 
I  tiui);lit  tliy  iiiiunier8-]i:iiiitiii^  Htraiiia, 
The  loves,  the  ways  of  simple  swains, 
TILL  NOW,  O'ER  ALL  MY  WIDE  DOMAINS 
TnV  FAME  EXTENDS! 

Uobert  Burns  was  not  tlie  man  to  liave  de- 
graded himself  everlastingly,  by  one  moment's 
seeming  slight  or  neglect  of  friends,  new  or 
old,  belonging  either  to  his  own  condition,  or 
to  a  rank  in  life  somewhat  higher  perhaps  than 
his  own,  although  not  exactly  to  that  "select 
society  "  to  which  the  wonder  awakened  by  his 
genius  had  given  him  a  sudden  introduction. 
Persons  in  that  middle  or  inferior  rank  were 
his  natural,  his  best,  and  his  truest  friends; 
and  many  of  them,  there  can  be  no  doubt, 
were  worthy  of  his  happiest  comi)anionship 
cither  in  the  festal  hour  or  the  hour  of  closer 
communion.  He  had  no  right,  with  all  his 
genius,  to  stand  aloof  from  them,  and  with  a 
lieart  like  his  he  had  no  inclination.  Why 
should  he  have  lived  exclusively  with  lords 
and  ladies — i)aper  or  land  lords — ladies  by 
descent  or  courtesy — with  aristocratic  advo- 
cates, philosophical  professoi-s,  clergymen, 
wild  or  moderate,  Arminian  or  Calvinistic? 
Some  of  them  were  among  the  first  men  of  the 
age ;  others  were  doubtless  not  incruditc,  and 
a  few  not  unwitty  in  their  own  esteem;  and 
Hums  greatly  enjoyed  their  society,  in  which 
he  met  with  an  admiration  that  must  have 
been  to  him  the  pleasure  of  a  perpetual 
triumph.  JJut  more  of  them  were  dull  and 
pompous;  incapable  of  rightly  estimating  or 
feeling  the  power  of  his  genius ;  and  when  the 
glitter  and  the  gloss  of  novelty  was  worn  oflT 
before  their  shallow  eyes,  from  the  poet  who 


bore  them  all  down  into  insignificance,  tlien 
no  doubt  they  began  to  get  ofiended  and 
shocked  with  his  rusticity  or  ru(lenes.s,  and 
sought  refuge  in  the  distinctions  of  rank,  and 
the  laws  not  to  be  violated  with  impunity,  of 
"select  society."  The  patronage  lie  received 
was  honourable,  and  he  felt  it  to  be  so;  but  it 
was  still  i)atronagc;  and  had  he,  for  the  sake 
of  it  or  its  givers,  forgotten  for  a  day  the 
humblest,  lowest,  meanest  of  his  friends,  or 
even  his  ac(|uaintanccs,  how  could  he  have 
borne  to  read  his  own  two  bold  lines — 

The  rank  is  Imt  the  Kniiicii  .staiii|i, 
Tliu  man's  tlie  gowtl  for  a'  that? 

Ucsides,  we  know  from  IJurns's  poetry  what 
was  then  the  character  of  the  ])eoi)le  of  Scot- 
land, for  they  were  its  materials,  its  staple. 
Her  peasantry  were  a  noble  race,  and  their 
virtues  moralized  his  song.     The  inhaliitants 
of  the  towns  were  of  the  same  family — the 
same  blood — one  kindred— and  many,  most  of 
them,   had   been   born,   or  in  some  measure 
bred,  in  the  country.    Their  ways  of  thinking, 
feeling,  and  acting  were  much  alike;  and  the 
shopkeepers  of  Edinburgh  and  (ila.sgow  were 
as  proud  of  Kobert  Hums,  as  the  ploughmen 
and  shepherds  of  Kyle  and  the  Stewartry.    He 
saw   in   them   friends  and   brothers.      Their 
admiration  of  him  was,  perhaps,   fully  more 
sincere  and  heartfelt,  nor  accompanied  with 
less  understanding  of  his  merits,  than  that  of 
persons  in  higher  places;  and  most  assuredly 
among  the  respectable  citizens  of  Kdinburgh 
Hums  found  more  lasting  friends  than  he  ever 
did  among  her  gentry  and  noblesse.     Nor  can 
we  doubt,  that  then,  as  now,  there  wei'c  in 
that  order  great  numbers  of  men  of  well  cul- 
tivated minds,  whom  Hums,  in  his  best  houi-s, 
did  right  to  honour,  and  who  wore  jicrfectly 
entitlc<l  to  seek  his  society,  and  to  open  their 
hospitable    door    to    the    brilliant    stranger. 
That  Hurn.s,  whose  sympathies  were  keen  and 
Avide,  and  who  never  dreamt  of  looking  down 
on  others  as  beneath  him,  merely  because  ho 
was  conscious  of  his  own  vast  superiority  to 
the  common  run  of  men,  should  have  shunned 
or  been  shy  of  such  society,  would  have  been 
something  altogether  unnatural  and  incredible; 
nor  is  it  at  all  wonderful  or  blamable  that  he 
should  occasionally  even  have  much  preferred 
such  society  to  that  which  has  been  called 


/^ 


THE   GKNIUS  AND  WHITINGS  OF  BUliNS. 


81 


•■mure  sulcct,"  ami  therefore ivl)ovu  hisnaturiil 
and  proiier  coixlitiuii.  Admirably  as  lie  in 
general  behaved  In  the  higher  circles,  in  those 
humbler  ones  alone  could  he  have  felt  himself 
compleiely  at  home.  His  demeanour  among 
the  rich,  the  K^eat,  tiio  learned,  or  the  wise, 
nnist  often  have  been  subject  to  some  little 
restraint,  and  all  restraint  of  that  sort  is  ever 
jiainful ;  or,  what  is  worse  still,  his  talk  must 
sometimes  have  partaken  of  display.  With 
companions  and  friends,  who  claimed  no 
superiority  in  anythinu;,  the  sensitive  mind  of 
Burns  must  have  been  at  its  best  and  hapi)iest, 
because  completely  at  its  ease,  and  free  move- 
ment ,t;iven  to  the  play  of  all  his  feelinj^s  and 
faculties;  and  in  such  companies  we  cannot 
but  believe  that  his  wonderful  conv(>rsational 
powers  shone  forth  in  their  most  various 
splendour.  1  Ic  must  have  given  vent  then  to 
a  thou.sand  familiar  fancies,  in  all  their  free- 
dom anil  all  their  force,  which,  in  the  fastidious 
society  of  high  life,  his  imagination  must 
have  been  too  much  fettered  to  conceive ;  and 
which,  had  they  flowed  from  his  lips,  would 
either  not  have  been  understood,  or  would 
have  given  offence  to  that  delicacy  of  breeding 
which  is  often  hurt  even  by  the  best  manners 
of  those  v.hose  manners  are  all  of  nature's 
teaching,  and  unsubjected  to  the  salutary 
restraints  of  artificial  life.  Indeed,  we  know 
tliat  Ikirns  sometimes  burst  suddenly  and 
alarmingly  the  restraints  of  ".select  society:" 
and  that  on  one  occasion  he  called  a  clergyman 
an  idiot  for  misquoting  (Jray's  "  lilegy" — a 
truth  that  ought  not  to  have  been  pronnilgated 
in  presence  of  the  parson,  especially  at  so  early 
a  meal  as  breakfast:  and  he  confesses  in  his 
most  confidential  letters,  though  indeed  he 
was  then  writing  with  some  bittcrnes.s,  that 
he  never  had  been  truly  and  entirely  happy  at 
rich  men's  feasts.  If  so,  then  never  could  he 
have  displayed  there  his  genius  in  full  power 
and  lustre.  His  nol)le  rage  must  in  some 
measure  have  been  reprcs.sed — the  genial  cur- 
rent of  his  soul  in  some  degree  frozen.  He 
never  was,  never  could  be,  the  free,  fearless, 
irresistible  l!ol)ert  IJurns  that  nature  made 
him — no,  not  even  although  he  carried  the 
Duchess  of  Gordon  off  her  feet,  and  silenced 
two  Hx-mi>(b>r;itors  of  the  General  Assembly 
of  the  Church  of  Scotland. 

Burn.s,    before  his  visit  to  Edinburgh,  had 


at  all  times  and  places  bqcn  in  the  habit  of 
associating  with  the  best  men  of  his  order — 
the  best  in  everything,  in  station,  in  manners, 
in  moral  and  intellectual  character.    Such  men 
iw  William  Tell  and  Holer,  for  example,  a.sso- 
eiated   with    in   Switzerland   and    the  Tyrol. 
Kven  the    persons  he  got   unfortunately  too 
well  acquainted  with  (but  whose  company  he 
soon  shook  ofl")  at  Irvine  and  Kirk-Oswald — 
smugglers  and  their  adherents — were,  though 
a  lawless  and  dangerous  set,  men  of  spunk, 
and  spirit,  and  power,  both  of  mind  and  body; 
nor  was  there  anything  the  least  degrading  in 
an  ardent,  impassioned,  and  inuigi native  youth 
becoming  for  a  time  rather  too  much  attiiehed 
to  such  daring  and  adventurous,  and  even  in- 
teresting cb.araeters.   They  had  all  a  fine  strong 
poetical  smell  of  the  .sea,  mingled  to  precisely 
the  proper  pitch  with  that  of  the  contraband. 
As  a  poet  liurns  must  have  been  much  the 
better  of  such  temporary  associates;  as  a  man, 
let  us  hope,  notwithstanding  Gilbert's  fears, 
not  greatly   the   worse.      The  i)assions  that 
boiled  in  his  blood  would  have  overflowed  his 
life,  often  to  disturb,  and  finally  to  help  to 
destroy  him,  had  there  never  been  an  Irvine 
and  its  seaport.     But  Burns's  friend.s,  up  to 
the  time  he  visited  Edinburgh,  had  been  chiefly 
his  admirable  brother,  a  few  of  the  ministers 
round  about,    farmers,  ploughmen,  farm-ser- 
vants, and  workers  in  the  winds  of  heaven 
blowing  over  moors  and  mosses,  corn-fields  and 
meadows  beautiful  as  the  blueskies  themselves; 
and  if  you  call   that  low  comi)any,  you  had 
better  fling  your  copy  of  Burns,  "  Cotter's  Sat- 
urday -\iglit,"" Mary  in  Heaven, "and  all,  into 
the  fire.   He,  the  noblest  peasant  that  ever  trod 
tlie  greensward  of  Scotland,  kept  the  society  of 
other  peasants,  whose  nature  was  like  his  own; 
and   then,   were  the  silken-snooded  iiuiidens 
whom  he  wooed  on  lea-rig  and  'mang  the  rigs 
o'  barley,  were  they  who  in.-pired  at  once  his 
love  and  his  genius,  his  passion  and  his  poetry, 
till  the  whole  land  of  Coila  overflowed  with  his 
immortal   song, — so  that  now  to  the  proud 
native's  car  every  stream  murnnirs  a  music  not 
its  own,  given  it  by  sweet  Kobin's  lays,  and 
the  lark  more  lyrical  than  ever  seems  singing 
his  songs  at  the  gates  of  heaven  for  the  .shep- 
herd's sake  as  through  his  half-closed  hand  he 
eyes  the  musical  mote  in  the  sunshine,  aiul 
remembers  him  who  sung  her  uew-wakencd 


38 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  IJUllNS. 


ri 


by  the  daisy's  side, — were  they,  the  blooming 
daugiiters  of  Scotia,  we  demand  of  you  on 
peril  of  your  life,  low  company  and  unworthy 
of  Kobert  Burns? 

As  to  the  charge  of  liking  to  be  what  is  vul- 
garly called  "cock  of  the  company,"  what  does 
that  mean  when  brought  .igainst  such  a  man? 
In  what  company,  pray,  could  not  Jiurns,  had 
he  chosen  it,  and  he  often  did  choose  it,  have 
easily  been  the  first?   No  need  had  he  to  crow 
among  dunghills.     If  j'ou  liken  him  to  a  bird 
at  all,  let  it  be  the  eagle,  or  the  nightingale, 
or  the  bird  of  Paradise.     James  Montgomery 
has  done  this  in  some  exquisite  verses,  which 
arc  clear  in  our  heart,  but  indistinct  in  our 
memorj',  and  therefore  wo  cannot  adorn  our 
pages  with  their  beauty.*    The  truth  is,  that 
Hums,  though  when  his  heart  burned  within 
him,  one  of  the  most  eloquent  of  men  that 
ever  set  the  table  in  a  roar  or  a  hush,  was 
always  a  modest,  often  a  silent  man,  and  he 
would  sit  for  hours  together,  even  in  company, 
with  his  broad  forehead  on  his  hand,  and  his 
large  lamping  eyes  sobered  and  tamed,  in  pro- 
found and  melancholy  thought.  Then  his  soul 
would  "spring  upwards  like  a  pyramid  of 
fire,"  and  send  "illumination  into  dark  deep 
holds,"  or  brighten  the  brightest  hour  in  which 
Feeling  and   Fancy  ever  flung  their  united 
radiance  over  the  common  ongoings  of  this  our 
common-place  Avorld  and  everyday  life.    Was 
this  the  man  to  desire,  with  low  longings  and 
base  aspirations,  to  shine  among  the  obscure, 
or  rear  his  haughty  front  and  giant  stature 
among  pigmies?— he  who 

walked  in  glory  and  in  joy, 
Following  his  plough  upon  the  mountain  side; 

he  who  sat  in  glory  and  in  joy  at  the  festal 
board,  when  mirth  and  wine  did  most  abound, 
and  strangers  were  strangers  no  more  within 
the  fascination  of  his  genius,  for 

One  touch  of  nature  makes  the  whole  world  kin; 

or  at  the  frugal  board,  surrounded  by  his  wife 
and  children,  and  servants,  lord  and  master  of 
his  own  happy  and  industrious  home— the 
frugal  meal,  preceded  and  followed  by  thanks- 
giving  to  the  Power  that  spread  his  table  in 
the  barren  places. 
Show  us  any  series  of  works  in  prose  or  verse 
>  See  "  Poems  in  Memory  of  Burns,   vol.  v. 


in  which  man's  being  is  so  illustrated  as  to  lay 
it  bare  and  open  for  the  benefit  of  man,  and 
the  chief  pictures  they  contain  drawn  from 
"select  .society."    There  are  nonesuch;  and 
for  this  reason,  that  in  such  society  there  is 
neither  power  to  paint  them,  nor  materials  to 
be  painted,  nor  colours  to  lay  on,  till  the  canvas 
shall  speak  a  language  which  all  the  world 
as  it  runs  may  read.     What  would  Scott  have 
been,  had  he  not  loved  and  known  the  people? 
What  Avould  his  works  have  been,  had  they 
not  shown  the  many-coloured  character  of  tlie 
people?    What  would  Shakespeare  have  been 
had  he  not  often   turned  majestically  from 
kings,   and    "lords  and  dukes  and   mighty 
earl.s,"  to  their  subjects  and  vassals  and  lowly 
bondsmen,  and  "counted  the  beatings  of  lonely 
hearts"  in  the  obscure  but  impa.ssioncd  life 
that  stirs  every  nook  of  this  earth  where  human 
beings  abide  ?    What  would  Wordsworth  have 
been,  had  he  disdained,  with  his  high  intellect 
and  imagination,  "to  stoop  his  anointed  head" 
beneath  the  wooden  lintel  of  the  poor  man's 
door?    His  Lyrical  Ikllads,  "with  all  the  in- 
nocent brightness  of  the  new-born  daj',"  had 
never  charmed   the  meditative   heart.      His 
"Church-yard   among    the   iMountains"  had 
never  tonight  men  how  to  live  and  how  to  die. 
These  are  men  who  have  descended  from  aerial 
heights  into  the  humidcstdwcllings;  who  have 
shown  the  angel's  wing  ccjually  when  poised 
near  the  earth,  and  floating  over  its  cottaged 
vales,  iw  when  seen  sailing  on  high  through 
the  clouds  and  azure  depth  of  heaven,  or  hang- 
ing  over  the  towers  and  temples  of  great  cities. 
They  shunned  not  to  parley  with  the  blind 
beggar  by  the  way-side;  they  knew  how  to 
transmute,  by  divinest  alchemy,  the  ba.se  metal 
into  the   fine   gold.      Whatever  company  of 
human  .   .ngs  they  have  mingled  with,  they 
lent  it  colours,  and  did  not  receive  its  shade; 
and  hence  their  mastery  over  the  "wide  .soul 
of  the  world  dreaming  of  things  to  come." 
IJnrns  was  born,  bred,  lived,  and  died  in  that 
condition  of  this  mortal  life  to  which  they  paid 
but  visits;  his  heart  lay  wholly  there;  anil  that 
heart,  filled  as  it  was  with  all  the  best  human 
feelings,  and  sometimes  with  thoughts  divine, 
had  no  fears  about  entering  into  places  which 
timid  moralists  might  have  thought  forbidden 
and  unhallowed  ground,  but  which  he,  wiser 
far,  knew  to  be  inhabited  by  creatures  of  con- 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WHITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


83 


Bcience,  bound  there  often  in  tliiek  darkness 
by  the  inscrutiible  decrees  of  (jod. 

For  a  yeiir  and  more  after  the  i)ublication  of 
the  l'l('.inl>iirf,'li  Edition,  liurns  led  a  Homewliat 
roviiii;;  life,  till  his  final  settlement  with  Creech. 
He  had  a  rlRJit  to  enjoy  himself;  and  it  does 
not  apjjcar  that  there  was  much  to  blame  in 
Ills  conduct  either  in  town  or  country,  though 
he  did  not  live  njion  air  nor  yet  upon  water. 
There  was  much  dissipation  in  those  days — 
much  hard  drinkinj? — in  select  as  well  as  in 
general  society,  in  the  best  as  well  as  in  the 
worst;  and  he  had  his  share  of  it  in  many 
circles— t)ut  never  in  the  lowest.  His  asso- 
ciates were  all  hoiiouraiile  men,  then,  and  in 
after  life;  and  he  left  the  ca])it,al  in  possession 
of  the  rcsjjcct  of  its  most  illustrious  citizens. 
(»f  his  various  tours  and  excursions  there  is 
little  to  be  said;  the  l>irth-places  of  old  Scot- 
tisli  Song  he  visited  in  tlie  spirit  of  a  religious 
pilgrim;  and  his  jioetical  fervour  was  kindled 
by  the  grandeur  of  the  Highlands.  He  had 
said  to  Mrs.  Dunlop,  "  I  have  no  dearer  aim 
than  to  have  it  in  my  power,  unplagued  with 
the  routine  of  business,  for  which  heaven 
knows  I  am  unfit  enough,  to  make  leisurely 
pilgrimages  through  Caledonia;  to  sit  on  the 
fields  of  her  battles;  to  wander  on  the  romantic 
banks  of  her  rivers;  and  to  muse  by  the  stately 
towers  or  venerable  ruins,  once  the  honoured 
abodesof  her  heroes.  Hut  these  are  all  Utopian 
thoughts:  1  have  dallied  long  enough  with 
life;  'tis  time  to  be  in  earnest.  1  have  a  fond, 
an  aged  mother  to  care  for:  and  some  other 
bosom  ties  perhaps  e(|ually  tender.  Where  the 
individual  only  suffers  by  the  consequences  of 
his  own  thoughtlessness,  indolence,  or  folly,  he 
may  be  excusable;  nay,  shining  abilities,  and 
some  of  the  nobler  virtues,  may  half  sanctify  a 
heedless  character;  but  where  (!od  and  nature 
have  intrusted  the  welfare  of  others  to  his  care; 
where  the  trust  is  sacred,  and  the  ties  are  dear, 
that  man  must  be  far  gone  in  selfishness,  or 
strangely  lost  to  reflection,  whom  these  con- 
nexions will  not  rouse  to  exertion." 

Hums  has  now  got  liberated,  for  ever,  from 
"stately  Kdinborough  throned  on  crags,"  the 
favoured  abode  of  i)liilosopliy  and  fashion,  law 
and  literature,  reason  and  refinement,  and  lias 
returned  again  into  his  own  natural  condition, 
neither  essentially  the  better  nor  the  worse  of 
ills  city  life;  the  same  man  he  was  when  "  the 


poetic  genius  of  his  country  fonnd  him  at  the 
plough  and  threw  her  inspiring  mantle  over 
him."  And  what  was  he  now  to  do  with  him- 
self? Into  what  oceui)ation  for  the  rest  of  his 
days  was  he  to  settle  down?  It  would  puz/.le 
the  most  sagacious  even  now,  fifty  years  after 
the  event,^  to  say  what  he  ought  to  have  ilonc 
that  he  did  not  do  at  that  juncture,  on  which 
for  weal  or  woe  the  future  must  have  been  so 
deeply  felt  by  him  to  depend.  And  perhaps 
it  might  not  have  occurred  to  every  one  of  the 
many  jtrndent  persons  who  have  lamented  over 
his  follies,  had  he  stood  in  Hurns's  shoe.s,  to 
make  over,  unconditionally,  to  his  brother  ono 
half  of  all  he  was  worth. ^  (Jilbert  was  resolved 
still  to  struggle  on  with  Mossgiel,  and  IJobcrt 
said,  "  there  is  my  purse."  The  brothers,  dif- 
ferent as  they  were  in  the  constitution  of  their 
souls,  had  one  and  the  same  heart.  They 
loved  one  another — man  and  boy  alike;  and 
the  survivor  cleared,  with  pious  hands,  the 
weeds  from  his  brother's  grave.  There  was  a 
blessing  in  that  two  hundred  pounds — and 
thirty  years  afterwards  (Jilbert  repaid  it  with 
interest  to  l{obcrt's  widow  and  children,  by 
an  Kdition^  in  which  he  wiped  away  stains 
from  the  reputation  of  his  benefactor,  which 
had  been  suffered  to  remain  too  long,  and  some 
of  which,  the  most  dilUcult  too  to  be  effaced, 
had  been  even  let  fall  from  the  fingers  of  a 
benevolent  biographer  who  thought  himself  in 
duty  bound  to  speak  what  he  most  mistakenly 
believed  to  be  the  truth.  "Oh  Robert!"  was 
all  his  mother  coull  .say  on  his  return  to  Moss- 
giel  from  Edinburgh.  In  her  simple  heart  she 
wius  astonished  at  his  fame,  and  coxdd  not  un- 
derstand it  well,  any  more  than  she  could  her 
own  happiness  and  her  own  pride.  Hut  his 
aflTection  .she  understood  better  than  he  did, 
and  far  better  still  his  generosity;  and  duly 
night  and  morning  she  a.sked  a  blessing  on  his 
head  from  H  im  who  had  given  her  such  a  son. 
"  Hetween  the  men  of  rustic  life,"  said  Hums 
— so  at  least  it  is  reported — "and  the  polite 
world  I  observed  little  diflTerence.  In  the  for- 
mer, though  unpolished  by  fashion,  and  un- 
enlightened by  science,  I  have  found  much 

»  This  cssny  was  first  pulilished  in  1840. 

2 1'l'lie  sum  Kivcii  to  Oillici't  was  £180.  ReKardinp; 
wliat  liurns  Rot  as  tlic  i)rotlts  of  the  Edinburi^Ii  edi- 
tion of  his  poems,  see  vol.  i.  \t.  82.] 

5  A  reprint  of  rurric's  nlition,  with  notes  anil  ad- 
ilitiiins  l)y  (iilhcit  ISiuns,  puldisliud  in  1S'20. 


84 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WTJITINOS  OF  BURNS. 


oltMcrvation  and  nuwh  intclliseneo.  Hut  a, 
reliiiod  aii<l  Hm)iiii)lislie(l  woman  was  a  tliinf; 
altoKL'tlior  new  to  niu,  and  of  wliieli  1  had 
formed  Imt  a  very  inadcciuate  idea." '  One  of 
his  l)ioKraiiiiers-' seems  to  liavc  i)elicvcd  that 
liis  love  for  Jean  Armour,  tiic  dau!,diter  of  a 
Mauehlino  mason,  must  have  died  away  under 
tliese  more  adequate  ideas  of  the  sex  aloiijf 
M'ith  tlicir  eorrespondin,!?  emotions ;  and  that 
he  now  married  her  with  reluctance.  <»nly 
think  of  Hums  taicint?  an  Kdinliursh  Hellc  to 
wife!     He  Hew,  stmiewliat  too  fervently, 

To  lovo's  wllllnR  fetters,  tlio  arms  of  Ills  .lenn. 

Her  father  had  ajyain  to  curse  her  for  her  in- 
fatuated love  of  her  husband — for  such  if  not 
by  the  law  of  Scotland — wliid;  may  be  douI)t- 
fiil — Hums  certainly  was  by  the  law  of  heaven 
— and  like  a  good  Christian  had  auain  turned 
his  daughter  out  of  doors.   Had  Hums  deserted 
her  he  had  merely  been  a  heartless  villain.    In 
making  her  his  lawful  wedded  wife  he  did  no 
more  than  any  other  man,  deserving  the  name 
of  man,  in  the  same  circumstances  would  have 
done;  and  had  he  not,  he  would  have  walked 
in  shame  before  men,  and  in  fear  and  trembling 
before  Ood.     Hut  he  did  so,  not  only  because 
it  was  his  most  .sacred  duty,  but  l)ccausc  he 
loved  her  better  than  ever,  and  without  her 
would  have  been  miserable.     Much  had  she 
sufFered  for  his  sake,  ami  he  for  hers;  but  all 
that  distraction  and  despair  which  had  nearly 
driven  him  into  a  sugar  plantation,  were  over 
and  gone,  forgotten  utterly,  or  remembered 
but  as  a  di.smal  dream  endearing  the  placid 
day  that  for  ever  dispelled  it.   He  writes  about 
her  to  Mrs.  Dunlop  and  others  in  terms  of 
sobriety  and  good  sense — "  The  most  placid 
good -nature  and  sweetness  of  disposition;  a 
warm  heart,  gratefully  devoted  with  all  its 
powers  to  love  me;  vigorous  health  and  spright- 
ly cheerfulness,  set  ofF  to  the  best  advantage 
by  a  more  than  commonly  handsome  figure" — 
these  he  though;,  in  a  woman  might,  with  a 
knowledge  of  the  scriptures,  make  a  good  wife. 
During  the  few  months  he  was  getting  his 
hou.sc  ready  for  her  at  Ellisland  he  frequently 
travelled,  with  all  the  fondness  of  a  lover,  the 
long  wilderness  of  moors  to  Mauchline,  where 
she  was  in  the  house  of  her  austere  father, 


I  Cromck's  lieliqucg. 


2  Prof.  Josh.  Walker. 


reconciled  to  her  at  last.^  And  thoi'gh  ho  has 
told  us  that  it  was  his  custom,  in  song-writing, 
to  keep  the  image  of  some  fair  maiden  before 
the  eye  of  his  fancy,  "some  bright  particular 
star,"  and  that  Hymen  was  not  the  divinity 
he  then  invoked,  yet  it  was  on  one  of  tiicse 
visits,  between  Kllisland  and  Mossgiel,  that  he 
penned  under  such  homely  inspiration  as  jire- 
cious  a  love-oflering  as  genius  in  the  jiassion 
of  hope  ever  laid  in  a  virgin's  bosom.  1 1  is  wile 
sung  it  to  him  that  sjinie  evening — and  indeed 
he  never  knew  whether  or  no  he  had  succeeded 
in  anyone  of  his  lyrics,  till  he  heard  his  wonls 
and  the  air  together  from  her  voice. 

Of  a'  tlie  nirts  tlio  wind  can  lilnw,  iHrwtionii 

I  dearly  like  tlic  west, 
K(ir  tlicre  tlie  Imniiio  Iiissie  lives, 

'I'lie  lassie  I  lo'e  lieKt: 
There's  wllil  woods  Kruw,  iuid  rivers  row,        roll 

And  iiioiiy  a  hill  lietueeii; 
Hut  day  and  iiij{ht  my  fancy's  (light 

Is  ever  wi'  my  .lean. 

I  see  her  in  the  dewy  flowers, 

I  see  her  sweet  and  fair: 
I  hear  her  in  the  tunefu'  liinla, 

I  hear  her  charm  the  air: 
There's  not  a  lionnie  flower  that  sprinRS, 

liy  fountain,  shaw,  or  (ireen,  wood 

There's  not  a  himnie  liinl  that  siuKs, 

]!ut  minds  me  o'  my  .lean. 

And  here  we  ask  you  who  may  be  reading 
these  pages,  to  pause  for  a  little,  and  consider 
with  yourselves,  wli.at  up  to  this  tinn^  Hums 
hiul  done  to  justify  the  condemnatory  Judg- 
ments that  have  been  passed  on  his  character 
as  a  man  by  so  many  admirers  of  his  genius 
as  a  i)oet?  Compared  will'  that  of  men  of 
ordinary  wortli,  who  have  <le.>erve(lly  p.a.sscd 
through  life  with  the  world's  esteem,  in  what 
was  it  lamentably  wanting?  Not  in  tender- 
ness, warmth,  strength  of  the  nattiral  afl'ec- 
tions;  and  they  are  good  till  turned  to  evil. 
Not  in  the  duties  for  which  they  were  given, 
and  which  they  make  delights.  Of  wlii<'h  of 
these  duties  was  he  habitually  ne'i^'octful  ?  To 
the  holiest  of  them  all  next  to  piety  to  his 
Ma^er,  he  was  faithful  beyond  most — few 
better  kept  the  fourth  commandment.  His 
youth  though  soon  too  im])assioncd  ha<l  been 
long  pure.     If  lie  were  temperate  by  necessity 

3  [Not  so:  .lean  at  this  time  was  resident  with  the 
family  at  Mo.ssKiel,  "reKUlarly  and  eonst.nntly  ap- 
prenticed to  my  mother  and  sisters  in  tlieir  ilalry 
and  other  rural  business."] 


and  not  mat 

as  if  it  had 

meal  anil  w 

family  were 

he  rose  to  la 

In  the  c( 

sinned,  and, 

tine.     Was 

tinn?     It  is 

his  whole  so 

wickedness : 

what  we  all 

face  of  the 

with  regard 

to  stamp  wi 

from   virtu  I 

Scottish    jie 

religion  ha.- 

iastical  cen 

reprobate — 

many  a  grc> 

that  would 

that  has  bet 

doned  unto 

tlie  congrcf 

(iod.     Thci 

in  houses  tl 

How  many 

who,  were  a 

ghastly  rev 

and  childrc 

them   in   tl 

tlicni  a  lon.i 

by   their   o 

shadows  of 

sullercd  to 

in   the   pas 

such  thing; 

divulge;   a 

never  ombl 

Hnrns   sho 

s])ots  by  tl 

having  <lit 

'  their  yout 

and  men  i 

whose  eyes 

all  that  eili 

Hums  n 

(178S),  of  t 

remained  a 

in  the  dair 

their  new  1 


THE  OKNTT^S  AND  WRTTINGS  OF  BURNS. 


8ft 


rull 


Wnod 


1111(1  not  n<at,iiro,  yd,  lie  \va«  ho  ;i«  ('((iitciitcilly 
us  if  it  imii  liofii  iiy  clioicc.  Hi!  had  lived  on 
nuiid  and  water  with  some  milk,  hi-eaiiso  the 
ianiiiy  were  too  poor  for  butter  fare;  and  yet 
111-  rose  to  lahour  us  the  lark  risen  to  Hinjj;. 

In  tlie  eorriiption  of  our  fallen  nature  he 
sinned,  and,  it  has  lieen  said,  hecamc  a  liher- 
tino.  Was  he  ever  «"'",>'  ol'  deliheratc  scdiie- 
tion?  It  is  not  so  recorded;  and  we  believe 
liis  whole  soul  would  have  recoiled  from  such 
wickolness:  i)ut  let  us  not  allect  if^norance  of 
what  we  all  know,  .\monff  no  people  on  the 
face  of  the  earth  is  the  moral  code  ho  rij^id, 
witli  regard  to  the  intercourse  of  the  sexes,  as 
to  stamp  with  ineflaoealiie  disRraco  every  la])se 
from  virtue ;  and  certainly  not  amont;  the 
Scottish  i)easantry,  austere  as  the  spirit  of 
rdiijion  has  always  been,  and  terrildc  ccdcH- 
iastical  censure.  Hateful  in  all  eyes  is  the 
rcproliate — the  hoary  sinner  loathsome;  but 
iiiiniy  a  ^rcy  liead  is  now  deservedly  reverenced 
that  would  not  be  ho,  were  the  memory  of  all 
that  lias  been  repented  by  the  Klder,  and  jiar- 
(loned  unto  him,  to  rise  upauainHt  him  among 
tlie  coni>;rcKation  as  he  entered  the  house  of 
(lod.  There  has  been  many  a  rueful  tragedy 
in  houses  tliat  in  after  times  "seemed  asleep." 
llow  many  good  and  hapjiy  fathers  of  families, 
who,  were  all  their  past  lives  to  be  pictured  in 
ghastly  revelation  to  tlie  eyes  of  their  wives 
an<l  cliildren,  could  never  again  dare  to  look 
them  in  the  face!  It  i)Ieasc(l  (lod  to  give 
them  a  long  life;  and  they  have  escaped,  not 
i)y  tlicir  own  strength,  far  away  from  the 
shadows  of  their  misdeeds  that  arc  not  now 
sud'crcd  to  pursue  them,  but  are  chained  down 
in  the  ]iast  no  more  to  be  let  loose.  Tiiat 
such  things  were  is  a  secret  none  now  live  to 
divulge;  and  though  once  known  they  were 
never  emblazoned.  Hut  IJuriis  and  men  like 
Hums  showed  the  whole  world  their  dark 
spots  by  the  very  light  of  their  genius;  and 
having  died  in  what  may  almost  be  called 
their  youth,  tliere  tlie  dark  spots  still  are, 
and  men  point  to  them  with  their  fingers,  to 
whoso  eyes  there  may  seem  but  small  glory  in 
all  that  eH'ulgencc. 

IJurns  now  took  possession  at  Wiiitsuntide 
(1788),  of  the  farm  of  Kllisland,  while  his  wife 
remained  at  Mossgiel,  completing  her  education 
in  the  dairy,  till  brought  home  next  term  to 
their  new  house,  which  the  poet  set  a-building 


with  alacrity,  on  a  plan  of  jiis  own  which  won 
as  simple  a  one  as  could  be  devised  :  kitchen 
and  dining-room  in  one,  a  double-bedded 
room  with  a  iied-eloset,  and  a  garret.  The 
Hitc  was  pleasant,  on  the  edge  of  a  high  bank 
of  the  Nith,  commanding  a  wide  and  beauti- 
ful i>rospect, — holms,  jilains,  woods,  an<l  hills, 
and  a  long  reach  of  the  sweeiiing  river.  While 
the  house  and  otliees  were  growing,  he  inhabi- 
ted a  hovel  close  at  hand,  and  though  occa- 
sionally giving  vent  to  some  splenetic  humours 
in  letters  indited  in  his  sooty  cabin,  and  now 
and  then  yielding  to  fits  of  despondency  about 
the  "ticklish  situation  of  a  family  of  children," 
he  says  to  his  friend  Ainslie,  "  I  am  <lecidedly 
of  opinion  that  the  step  1  have  taken  is  vastly 
for  my  hai)piness."  lie  had  to(iualify  himself 
for  iiolding  his  exeiso  commission  by  six 
weeks'  attendance  on  tiie  business  of  that 
profession  at  Ayr — and  we  have  seen  that  he 
made  several  visits  to  Mossgiel.  L'urrie  cannot 
let  him  thus  pass  the  summer  without  moral- 
izing on  his  mode  of  life.  "  I'lcased  with 
surveying  the  grounds  he  v  as  about  to  culti- 
vate, .and  with  the  rearing  of  a  building  that 
sliould  give  shelter  to  his  wife  and  chihh'en, 
and,  as  he  fondly  hoped,  to  his  own  grey  hairs, 
sentiments  of  independence  liuoyed  up  his 
mind,  pictures  of  domestic  comfort  and  peace 
rose  on  his  imagination,  and  r./cin  t/m/n  psissed 
away,  as  he  himself  informs  us,  the  most 
tran<piil,  if  not  the  ha])piest,  which  he  had 
ever  exi)erienced."  Let  us  believe  that  such 
days  were  not  few,  but  many,  an<l  that  wc 
need  not  join  with  the  good  JJoctor  in  grieving 
to  think  that  Burns  led  all  the  summer  a 
wandering  and  unsettled  life.  It  ciudd  not 
be  stationary;  but  there  is  no  reason  to  think 
that  his  occasional  absence  was  injurious  to 
his  ailairs  on  the  farm.  Curric  writes  as  if  he 
thought  him  incapable  of  self-guidance,  and 
says,  "it  is  to  be  lamented  that  at  this  critical 
jieriod  of  his  life,  our  poet  was  without  the 
society  of  his  wife  and  chihlren.  A  great 
change  had  taken  place  in  his  situation ;  his 
old  habits  were  broken;  and  the  new  circum- 
stances in  which  he  was  placed,  were  calculated 
to  give  a  new  direction  to  his  thoughts  and 
conduct.  But  his  application  to  the  cares  and 
labours  of  his  farm  was  intcrr\ipted  by  several 
visits  to  his  family  in  Ayrshire ;  and  as  the 
distance  was  too   great   for  a  single    day's 


86 


TIEE  GENIUS  AND  WHITINGS  OF  liUUNS. 


journey,  lie  fccnerally  »lcpt  ii  iiiyht  at  an  inn 
on  tliu  rojid.    On  niu'Ii  ocaisioni*  lie  sometimes 
fell  into  i'omi)any,  anil  ('or;(ot  the  resolutions 
he  liml  formed.     In  a  little  while  teni|itiition 
assailed  him  nearer  home."     This  is  treating,' 
Burns  like  a  ehild,  a  jierson  of  Ho/<icilt'  a  dis- 
position as  not  to  ho  trusted  without  a  keeper 
on  the  kind's  hiyh-way.     If  he  was  not  (it  to 
ride  hy  himself  into  Ayrshire,  and  there  was 
no  safety  for  him  at  Saiu|uhar,  his  ease  wa,s 
hopeless  out  of  an  asylum.      A   trustworthy 
friend  attended  to  the  farm  as  overseer,  when 
be  was  from  home;  jiotatoes,  ijrass,  and  j,'!"""' 
grew  thouiih  he  was  away;  (ui  Septemlier  JMh, 
we  find  him  where  he  oujjht  to  lie.     "  I  am 
busy  with  my  harvest;"  and   on   the   Kith, 
"This hovel  that  1  shelter  in,  ...  is  pervious 
to  every  blast  that  blows,  and  every  shower 
that  falls;  and  I  am  only  preserved  Irom  beinu; 
chilled    to  death    by   beinj,'  suilbeated   with 
smoke. .  .  .  You  will  bo  pleased  to  hear  that  I 
have  laid  a.sidc  idle  iclrit,  and  bind  every  day 
after  my  reapers."     I'ity  'twas  that  there  had 
not  been  a  eomfortahle  hou.se  ready  furnished 
for  Mi-s.  Burns  to  step  into  at  the  beginning 
of  summer,  therein  to  be  brought  to  bed  of 
"little  Frank;  who,  by  the  bye,  I  trust  will  be 
no  dLseredit  to  the  honourable  name  of  Wallaee, 
as  ho  has  a  fine  manly  eountenanee,  and  a 
figure  that  might  do  eredit  to  a  little  fellow 
two  months  older;  and  likewise  .an  cxeellent 
good  temper,  though  when  he  pleases  he  has 
a  pipe,  only  not  quite  so  loud  as  the  horn  that 
his  immortal  namesake  blew  as  a  signal  to  tiike 
out  the  pin  of  Stirling  bridge."  ' 

Dear  good  old  blind  ]3r.  Blacklock,  about 
this  time,  was  anxious  to  know  from  Burns 
himself  how  he  was  thriving,  and  indited  to 
him  a  pleasant  epistle. 

near  liunis,  tliou  Ijrotlier  of  my  heart, 
Itotli  for  thy  virtues  and  thy  art ; 
If  art  it  may  be  called  in  thee, 
VVliieli  nature's  bounty,  larKo  and  free, 
Witli  pleasure  in  tliy  breast  diffuses, 
And  warms  tliy  soul  with  all  tlie  Muses. 
Whetlier  to  lauKh  witli  easy  ^race. 
Thy  numbers  move  the  safe's  face, 
Or  bid  tlie  softer  passions  ri^e, 
Ami  rutliless  souls  witli  grief  surprise, 
'Tis  nature's  voice  distinctly  felt. 
Through  thee  her  organ,  thus  to  melt. 
Most  anxiously  I  wish  to  know, 
With  thee  of  late  how  matters  go; 

>  Letter  to  Mrs.  Dunlop,  Cth  Sept.  1789. 


How  l<eop8  thy  niuch-lr)vcd  Jean  lier  health '/ 
Wliut  pnimiscs  thy  farm  of  wealtli'i' 
Wlietlier  the  iiniMc  persists  to  smile, 
And  all  thy  aii.vious  cures  JJcguiU'V 
Whether  brlglit  fancy  keeps  alive? 
And  liow  thy  darling  infants  tluive? 

It  api>ears  from  his  reply,  that  Burns  hail 
entrusted  Heron  with  a  letter  to  Blaekloek, 
which  the  preaeher  had  not  delivered,  and  the 
poet  e.\elaim.s — 

'I'lic  Ill-thief  blaw  the  Heron  soiilh!  ,\,.\i\ 

And  never  drink  be  ncjir  bis  drouth! 
lie  tald  mysel'  by  woi'd  o'  <uoutli, 

He'd  tak  my  letter; 
I  lippen'd  to  the  chiel  in  trouth  trntiti'il    fiOLm 

And  bade  nae  better.  ilndnil 

lint  albliris  lionest  Master  Heron  iuiIiiii'ih 

Mad  at  the  time  some  dainty  fair  one, 

To  ware  Ills  tlieidogle  care  on,  exiPi^jil 

An<l  holy  study; 
And  tir'd  o'  sauls  to  waste  his  lear  on. 

E'en  tried  tlie  body. 

Curric  says  in  a  note,  "Mr.  Heron,  author  of 
the  lliMoi-ji  of  Svollinitl  lately  published,  and 
among  various  other  works,  of  a  rcK/itrtalj/e 
life  of  our  poet  himself."  Burns  knew  his 
eharaeter  well;  the  unfortumite  fellow  had 
talents  of  no  ordinary  kind,  and  there  are 
many  good  things,  and  mneh  good  writing  in 
his  life  of  Burns;  but  respectable  it  is  not, 
ba.sely  calumnious,  and  the  origimil  source  (d' 
many  of  (he  worst  falsehoods  even  now  believed 
too  widely  to  be  truths,  concerning  the  nionil 
character  of  a  man  as  far  superior  to  himself 
in  virtue  as  in  genius.  Burns  (hen  tells  his 
venerated  friend  that  ho  liaHalwolntely  become 
a  ganger. 

Ve  glalkit,  gleesome,  dainty  daniles,         Kiddy-puted 
Wiia  by  Castalla's  wimplin'  streaniies,  jd.iiiit'x 

Lowii,  sing,  and  lavu  your  pretty  limliies, 

Ye  ken,  ye  ken,  know 

That  Strang  necessity  supreme  is 

'Jiang  sons  o'  uien. 

I  liao  a  wife  and  twa  wee  laddies, 

They  maun  hae  brose  and  brats  o'  diuldies ;         ikkh 

Yc  ken  yoursels  my  heart  rl^lit  proud  is,      |of  dothiiiK 

I  need  na  vaunt, 
But  I'll  sued  besoms— thraw  saugh  woodies,         cut 

Itwist  willciw  niK's 

Before  they  want. 


I-ord  help  me  thro'  this  warld  o'  care! 
I'm  weary  sick  ot  late  and  air! 
Not  but  I  hae  a  richer  share 

Than  mony  ithers ; 
But  why  should  ae  man  better  fare, 

And  a'  men  brithers  ! 


eiirly 

uthcrs 
one 


THAI 


THE  OENTUR  ANT)  WRTTTNfJS  OF  BITRNS. 


87 


■  ll'Vll 


kiiiiw 


fiirly 


(^IIIK',  KlIlM  IlKSOI.VK,  tnkd  tlioii  till*  Villi, 

'I'liiiii  Htitik  <>'  ciil'l-liiwiip  ill  iiiiiii !  iniUc'lic'iiip 

Ami  lot  liH  liiliiil,  fiiliit  liciirt  wvi  wan  wmi 

A  lady  fair; 
Wlia  ilni'M  t\w  iiliiiimt  that  lut  I'lUi, 

Will  wlijIfHiliiliialr.    unimliiniH 

lint  ti>  iiiiicliiilc  my  silly  iliymi', 

(I'm  Hcaiit  <>'  vi'ixt',  anil  Niiint  n'  tliiic,) 

'I'll    MAKK   A    IIAI'I'Y    I'l  IIK-SMil-;  CI.I.MK 

'I'd  WKANS   AND  Wlh'l;, 
'I'llA'l'S  Till-;  Tlil  r,   I'ATIIiiS   ANI>  Slltl.l.MK 

OK   III  MAN    I. IKK! 

TliPsc  iKililo  Htiiii/.iiM  wciv  written  towiinls 
\\w.  ciiil  (if  Oi'lolior,  and  in  iinotlior  niinitli 
liiinis  liniitf^lit  liis  will!  lionio  to  MUlHland,  and 
liis  three  eliildren,  I'lir  nlie  liad  twlec  born  liini 
twins.*  Tiu!  liapiiiest  period  of  liiw  life,  we 
liave  liis  own  wortl.H  for  it,  wa.s  tiiat  winter. 

IJiit  why  not  say  tlmfc  tlio  three  years  he 
livi'd  at  Kilisland  were  all  happy,  as  huiipincss 
pies  in  this  world?  As  happy  ]ierhaps  as  they 
iiiiirht  have  lieen  had  he  lieen  placed  in  some 
other  condition  ajiparently  far  better  adapted 
to  yield  him  what  all  human  hearts  do  most 
desire.  His  wife  never  had  an  hours  sickness, 
and  wa>i  always  cheerful  as  day,  one  of  those 

Siiilinl  lieiiltliy  chililicli  of  tlie  Odd  of  Jieaveii, 

whoso  very  presence  is  positive  jilcasure,  and 
whose  silent  contentodness  with  her  lot  in- 
s]iires  comfort  into  a  liusbaiid's  heart,  when 
at  times  ojipressed  with  a  mortal  heaviness 
that  no  words  could  lighten,  liurns  says  with 
^i'loomy  f::randeur,  "There  is  a  fdu:,i;y  atmos- 
jihere  native  to  my  soul  in  the  hour  of  care 
which  makes  tiic  dreary  objects  seem  lar,iier 
than  life" — the  objects  seen  by  ima.t?ination  ; 
and  he  who  sull'ers  thus  cannot  be  relieved  by 
any  direct  appliances  to  that  faculty,  only  by 
those  that  touch  the  heart — the  homelier  the 
more  sanative,  and  none  so  sure  as  a  wife's 
affectionate  ways,  (]uietly  moving  about  the 
house  affairs,  which,  insignificant  as  they  are 

1  [Tlicio  arc  sdiiio  mistakes  here.  AFrs.  Hums  went 
to  reside  at  F.llisland  in  the  end  of  17SS,  hut  she  and 
the  |idct  cdiiUl  iidt  j!ct  iiitd  their  new  liimse  till  at 
least  the  spriiiK  fidlowiiift.  They  had  no  cliildien 
with  them  then:  the  twins  which  were  horn  at  Tar- 
lidlton  Mill  in  March,  17SS,  died  shiirtly  after  liirth, 
while  Kdlieit,  Jean's  diily  siirviviiift  child,  was  not 
hi'diiKlit  to  EUisland  till  well  dii  in  17Si).  Francis 
Wallace,  the  seodiid  of  the  "twa  wee  laddies"  iiicii- 
tioiied  in  the  aheve  stanzas,  which  were  written  dii 
21st  Octoher,  1780,  was  horn  in  Aiitnist  <if  the  same 
year,  in  the  new  house  at  EUisland.] 
VOL.  V. 


in  tiiemselves,  are  felt  (o  bo  little  truthful 
realities  that  banish  these  monstrous  phan- 
toms, showing  them  to  be  but  glooms  and 
shadows. 

And  how  fared  tho  fiauger?  Why  he  did 
ills  work.  Currle  says,  "his  farm  no  longer 
occupied  tho  principal  part  of  his  earc  or  ills 
thoughts.  It  was  not  at  I'lllisland  that  he  was 
now  in  general  to  lie  found.  Mounted  on 
horseback,  this  high-minded  jioet  was  |iursuing 
the  defaulters  of  tho  revenue  among  the  hills 
and  vales  of  Nithsdalo;  his  roving  eye  wander- 
ing over  tho  charms  of  nature,  and  muttering 
his  wayward  fancies  as  he  moved  along."  And 
many  a  happy  day  he  had  when  thus  riding 
about  the  country  in  search  of  smugglers  of  all 
sorts,  zealous  against  all  manner  ot  contraiiand. 
lie  delighted  in  tho  broad  brow  of  the  day, 
whether  glad  or  gloomy,  like  his  own  fore- 
head ;  in  the  open  air,  whether  still  or  stormy, 
like  his  own  heart.  "While  pursuing  the 
defaulters  of  the  revenue,"  a  ganger  has  not 
always  to  track  them  by  his  eyes  or  his  no.sc. 
Information  has  beer,  lodged  of  their  where- 
abouts, and  he  deliberately  makes  a  seizure. 
Sentimentalists  may  see  in  this  .something 
very  shocking  to  the  delic,;'')  pleasures  of  sus- 
eeiitiblo  minds,  but  Hums  did  not;  and  some 
of  his  sweetest  lyrics,  redolent  of  the  li(|uid 
dew  of  youth,  were  committed  to  wliitey-brown 
not  .scented  by  the  ro.so's  attar.  Hums  on  duty 
was  always  as  sober  as  a  judge.  A  man  of  his 
sense  knew  better  than  to  muddle  his  brains, 
when  it  was  needful  to  be  quick-witted  and 
ready-handed  too;  for  ho  had  to  do  with  old 
women  who  were  not  to  be  sneezed  at,  and 
with  middle-aged  men  who  could  use  both 
elub  and  cntla.ss. 

Ho  held  them  with  his  glittering  eye ; 

but  his  determined  character  was  nothing  th 
worse  of  being  exhibited  on  broad  shouldc  . 
They  drooped,  as  you  know,  but  from  the 
habit  of  a  strong  man  who  had  been  a  labourer 
from  his  youth  upwards;  and  a  ganger's  life 
was  the  very  one  that  might  have  been  pre- 
.scribcd  to  a  man  like  him,  subject  to  low 
spirits,  by  a  wise  ]ihysician.  Smugglers  them- 
selves are  soldom  drunkards — gangers  not 
often— though  they  take  their  dram;  your 
drunkards  do  not  belong  to  that  comprehen- 
sive class  that  cheat  the  excise. 

69 


38 


THE  OKNlUa  AND  WRTTTNOS  OF  nTTRNS. 


Then  niirnH  win  not  nlwa.vn  "inoiintcil  on 
li(irHel)iU'k  piirsiiint,'  llio  (IcI'iiultcrK  of  ll"' 
rcvi'iuu!  uiniiiiK  llio  hills  iiiul  vuIch  of  NHIih- 
dalo;"  111!  Hilt  .soiiiL'liini'H  liy  liinisulf  in  Friiirn' 
t'urMC  hermitage. 

Thou  whom  chmicr  inny  hlthir  h'lnl, 

Hi;  thou  (lull  iu  rWNXi  t  wi'i'd. 

Ho  thou  lUikt  hi  dllkiii  stoU', 

Oriivi'  thiHi!  coiiMHiU  nil  thy  hoiiI. 

Lifii  in  liiit  n  iliiy  lit  most, 
Siniiiin  fioiii  iii^ht,  111  ihilklirsH  hwt; 
Hop!'  not  Hiiii.tlihu'  cv  ry  hour, 
Ki'iir  Hot  cIoiiiIh  will  iilwiiyi*  lowur. 


Ah  till)  (thnili  n  of  cy'iiliiK  closo, 

Hcrk  iiliit.'  tlu'i'  to  loiiK  li'posc; 

As  llfu  Itself  Ipi'coiiii!*  ilini'iiHi', 

Sei'k  the  ihlmiiry-iiook  of  cimo. 

Tliiii!  nimliiiiti',  with  ttoliff  tliousfht, 

Oil  all  thoii'Mt  si'i'ii,  anil  heard,  iinil  wioiiuhl  ; 

Ami  ti'ucli  tliu  siiorflvi'  younkiMH  roiiinl, 

SnwH  of  tx]irrii'iii'i',  Ka»,'i'  and  sound. 

Say,  iimn'H  triif,  Ki'uuinc  istlmati'. 

Till)  ^jlHiid  t'l'iteiloii  ol  Ills  fi'lf, 

Ih  not,  Alt  thou  liluli  or  low? 

Dill  thy  fortune  elili  or  tlow? 

Pill  iiiany  tiileiitH  kIM  thy  span? 

Or  frugal  Natiin  ,'riiilne  thee  one? 

Toll  them,  and  j.reH.i  it  on  their  iiiliiil. 

As  thou  thyself  must  shortly  tliid, 

Tlie  Hiiiile  or  frown  of  awful  lleav'n. 

To  Virtue  (0'  to  Viie  is  uiv'u. 

8ny,  to  hi)  just,  and  kind,  and  wise, 

Tliuro  siillil  Belf-eiijoynient  lief,: 

That  foolish,  seltlah,  faithless  ways, 

Lt'nil  to  the  wretcliud,  vile,  and  ha80. 

Thus  resiK'ii'd  and  (|Ulet,  creep 

To  the  hed  of  l.rstiiik'  sleep; 

Sleep,  wlienco  thou  slialt  ne'er  awnkc, 

NlK'lit,  where  dawn  shall  never  lireak. 

Till  future  life,  future  no  more. 

To  light  and  joy  the  H'loil  restore. 

To  light  and  joy  unknown  hefore. 

Stranger,  go !    ITeav'ii  lie  thy  guide ! 
Quod  the  lieadsiiiaii  of  Mtliiiide.i 

Bums  acquired  the  fricndsliip  of  many  of 
the  best  families  in  the  vale  of  Nith,  at  Friars' 
Carse,  Tcrrauirhty,  lilackwooil,  Closcliiir'i,  ])al- 
Hwinton,  (ilen.ae,  Ivirkconnel,  Arbiglantl,  and 
other  scats  of  the  gentry  old  or  new.  Sueh 
fiociety  wa.s  far  more  enjoyable  than  that  of 
Ediniturgli,  for  here  he  was  not  a  lion  liut  a 
man.  lie  had  his  jovi.al  hours,  and  sometimes 
they  were  excessive,  as  the  Avhole  world  knows 
from  "the  Song  of  the  AVIiistle."  Hut  the 
Laureate  did  not  enter  the  lists— if  he  had,  it 

>  "  Veracs  written  in  Friars' raise  ITeiiiiitnge,"  vol. 
iii.  p.  13. 


Is  iiossililo  ho  might  have  conqnrrod  Crtilg- 

danoi'li.  These  were  forniidalili'  orgies;  but 
wo  hii\e  heard  "<»!  Willie  birwcd  a  |n'ek  o' 
maul,"  sung  after  a  iiresbylery  iliiincr,  the 
bass  of  the  moderator  giving  something  of  a 
solemn  elianu'ler  to  the  ehunis. 

lint  why  did  Hums  allow  his  genius  In  lie 
idle-  why  did  he  not  constriiet  some  great. 
work  siieli  as  a  Diama'^  His  genius  did  n<>l. 
lie  idle,  for  over  and  above  (he  songs  alluded 
to,  he  wrote  ever  so  many  for  bis  friend  .Inhn- 
son's  Miinnim.  Nobody  would  have  rlenianded 
from  him  a  Drama,  had  lie  not  divulged  his 
determinalion  to  eomimse  one  about  "The 
Hriiee,"  with  the  homelv  liHc  of  "  l.'nb 
.M'l^hieehan's  Klsliin."  Hut  I'll rns  did  not 
think  himself  an  universal  genius,  and  at  Ibis 
time  wiiles,  "  No  man  knows  what,  nature  has 
fitted  him  for  till  he  try;  and  if  afterniire- 
]iaratory  course  of  some  years'  study  of  men 
and  books  I  .shall  find  myself  nneiinal  to  the 
task,  there  is  no  harm  done.  Virtue  and  study 
are  their  own  reward.  I  have  got  Shakspeare, 
and  begun  with  him,"  i^c.  Ho  knew  thivt  a 
great  National  nraiiia  was  not  be  iirodiiccd  as 
easily  as  "  The  Cotter's  Saturday  Light;"  and 
says,  "though  the  rough  niateritil  of  line  writ- 
ing is  undoubtedly  the  gift  of  genius,  the 
workmanship  is  as  certainly  the  united  cH'orts 
of  labour,  attention,  and  pains." 

.\nd  hero,  one  day  between  lireakfast  anil 
dinner,  he  composed  "  Tam  o'  Shantcr."  The 
fact  is  hardly  credible,  but  we  arc  willing  to 
believe  it.  Dorset  only  corrected  his  famous 
"To  all  ye  ladies  now  on  land,  we  men  at  sea 
indite,"  the  night  before  an  expected  cng.age- 
mcut,  a  proof  (if  his  self-iiossession;  lint  he  had 
been  working  at  it  for  days.  Drj'den  da.shed 
off  his  "Alexander's  Feast"  in  no  time,  but 
the  labour  of  weeks  Avas  bestowed  on  it  before 
it  assumed  its  present  shape.  "  Tam  o'  Shan- 
tcr" is  superior  in  force  and  fire  to  that  Ode. 
Never  did  genius  go  at  such  a  gallop — setting 
oir  at  score,  and  making  play,  but  without 
whip  or  spur,  from  Ht^arting  to  winning  post.''^ 

-  [That  a  rough  draft  of  "Tnin  o'  Shantcr"  was 
made  In  one  day  is  no  douht  true,  lint  we  are  not  to 
suppose  that  the  finished  jioeni  was  thus  hurriedly 
put  into  sliajie.  Hums  was  too  good  a  workiiian  not 
to  use  the  file.  lie  first  nieiitions  the  jKieni  in  a  letter 
to  Mrs.  Diinlop,  dated  ^ovemher,  17!M1,  liut  It  Is  not 
till  near  the  eiitl  of  .laniiary  following  that  he  speaks 
of  it  ail  a  jioeni  "  I  liiivo  just  llnislieil.  "] 


THE  (IKNIirS   AND   WIUTINOS  OK   liUItNH. 


All  Ih  inf<pirali<)ii.  1 1  in  wifo  with  lior  woanw 
)i  lilMu  way  nnltlc  iiinoiiK  tliu  linioni  wali-liuil 
him  at  work  w  ho  wan  Ktriiliii,i;  ii|i  and  down 
the  liiow  of  tho  Sniiir,  and  rocitiiii;  to  hiniHulf 
like  oni)  (/'  iiii'iit'il, 

Now  Tnni,  <)  Tiiiii!  Iiu<l  tliuy  licrii  i|Uoniii, 

A'  |i1iMii|i  mill  Hti'a|i|ilii)(i  ill  Mu'ir  tciiiH; 

'I'liilr  NiirkK,  liiHlciiil  d'  crccHlilc  llmiiii'ii,  nmmy 

r.icii  HMinv  «  lilti'  Krvcliti'i'li-llillidrr  lllii'll !         Klaiiiul 

'I'lilr  liiriks  ii'  iiiiiu',  my  milj  piilr,  ilioni'tprui'dn'M 

'I'liit  iiiiri!  wi'i'.'  pliiMli,  m'  idild  liliic  Imlr, 

1  Willi  lllic  uli'il  thrill  III!'  my  Illll'ilii'M,  thiKhi 

I'ui'  III'  lilliik  <r  till'  Imiiiiit'  Iiui'iIIi'k!  liiHHtiH 

His  linnnio  .(can  must  huvu  liccii  Horuly  jior- 
jiloxed  —  Itiit  hIio  wax  familiar  with  all  hit* 
moods,  and  likf  a  irood  wifo  left  him  to  his 
I'oirilalions.  It,  \n  "all  inadi'  out  of  llic  Imil- 
der's  lirain;"  for  tho  story  that  siiusrcsti'd  it  is 
no  Htory  at  all,  the  dull  lie  of  a  <lriink(  n  dotard. 
From  the  jioet's  imairinatioii  it  caiuc  forth  a 
jiorfei't  poem,  imprcKnatod  with  the  native 
s]iirit  of  Si'ottiHli  superstition.  Few  or  none 
of  onr  old  trailitionary  tales  of  wilchesare  very 
appMllini;— they  had  not  their  origin  in  the 
depths  of  the  jjeoplc's  heart — there  is  a  mean- 
ness in  their  mysteries— the  liidieroiis  mixes 
with  the  horrilile — much  matter  there  is  for 
tho  poctieal,  and  more  perhaps  for  the  pie- 
liiresipie— hilt  the  iiathetic  is  selilom  found 
there — and  iievt  r  —  for  Sliakspeare  we  fear  was 
not  a  Seotsmau-  the  Suhlime.  liOt  no  man 
therefore  find  fault  with  "Tarn  o' Shanter," 
lieeause  it  strikes  not  a  deeper  chord.  It  strikes 
a  ehord  that  t'.ianirs  strangely,  aiul  we  know 
not  well  what  it  means.  To  vidi^ar  eyes,  too, 
were  sueh  unaeeountahle  on,u;oinu:s  most  often 
revealed  of  old;  sueh  seers  were  f;enerally 
iloiti'il  or  fAc(v/_half-liorn  idiots  or  viinln. 
iPfel/i  hi  ilrhik:  llail  Milton's  Satan  shown  his 
face  in  Scotland,  folk  either  would  not,  have 
known  him  or  thounht  him  mad.  Tho  devil 
is  much  indelited  to  I5\irns  tor  having  raised 
his  eharaetcr  williout  inipairinn'  his  individu- 
ality— 

o  tlidii!  wliatcver  title  suit  tlieo, 
Aulil  lliiinlc,  Sutmi,  Nick,  or  Clootie, 
Willi  ill  yipii  cavern  urini  an'  .snuty, 

Clos'il  undci- liiitclies,  ipail 

."^IiaiVKcs  nlimit  the  liriiiistniie  cootie,        scatters  foot- 

To  scaiiil  iKiov  wretclies!       scihl 

TTcar  me,  auM  Tlantfie,  for  a  woe, 
An'  lit  poiir  (lamtit'il  lioilics  lie; 


I'm  iiiru  miia'  plutuiiiru  It  enn  kIu, 

E'en  to  II  tifil, 
To  Nkulp  an'  icaml  iiuin'  iIhi^h  like  mc, 

An'  liciii'  iiH  Hi|iit'cl !  ■ 

This  is  eoneillatory;  and  we  think  wo  see 
him  smile.  We  can  almost  lielieve  for  a  mo- 
ment, that  it  does  ^ive  him  no  Ki'eat  pleasure, 
that  he  is  not  inaeeessilile  to  pity,  and  at  timcH 
would  fain  devolve  his  duly  upon  other  hands, 
though  we  cannot  expect  him  to  resii;;n.  Tho 
poet  knows  that  ho  is  tho  I'rincc  of  tho  Air 

Oii'iit  is  tliy  iiowcr,  an'  ttrnit  tliy  fume; 
fill-  kciiii'il  mill  iiiitcil  JH  tliy  iimiic; 
An'  tlio'  yiiii  liiwiii'  IiciikIih  thy  limiie, 

Thipii  tnivils  fur; 
An',  faith!  tlmu's  nclthci'  liiu  imr  hiiiie. 

Nor  liliiti.'  iinr  Hciiiir. 


kiinwn 
flaniiim  i>lt 

Inny 
liimlifiil 

Ifl'tKlltclluil 

at  timua 


Wliyli'N,  rniiKliiK  like  a  ronrin'  lioii, 
Kiir  |)ic),  a'  holes  mi'  cnnu  rs  tiylii'; 
Wliyk'H  nil  till)  HtiiiiiK-wiiiKil  kiii|icHt  tlylii', 

Tilling'  the  kirkH;  unrooflnR 

Wliyles,  in  tho  liuman  Ihisihii  iiryin', 

Unacun  tliiai  lurks. 

That  is  niaKnilicent — Milton's  self  would  have 
thou;,'ht  so — and  it  could  have  heon  written 
by  no  man  who  had  not  studied  seripturo. 
Tho  "Address"  is  seen  to  take;  the  Old  Intru- 
sionist  is  filorified  liy  "tirliuK  the  kirks;"  and 
the  poet  thinks  it  right  to  lower  his  pride. 

I'l'i'  heard  my  reverend  grannie  nay, 
In  laiiely  ulcus  ye  like  to  stray; 
(»r  where  aulil-ruiiril  castles,  ttiny, 

Mini  to  the  union, 
Ye  fright  the  niglitly  wmnrrer's  way, 

\Vi'  cliliitcli  criMin.  unearthly 

Wlieii  twilight  illtl  my  Kramiie  .siniimim 

T(i  siiy  hi  r  iiiMycis,  (luiice,  Imeest  wiiiiiaii ! 

Aft  yont  the  dyke  she's  heard  you  liummln'      licydiiil 

NVi'  eerie  dnme;  Itli"  wiill 

Or,  rustlin',  thro'  the  honrtries  comin'  (■liler-trecs 

\Vi'  heavy  (j;riiaii 

Ae  dreary,  windy,  winter  nlKht, 

The  stms  .shot  down  wi'  skleiitiii'  litlht,  slaiitiiiu 

\Vi'  you,  iiiy.sel,  I^'at  a  flight, 

Ayoiit  the  loUj;h;    lifyond  the  lak,' 
Vc,  like  a  rasli-liuss,  stood  in  sl^ht,      aim.sh  nf  msiies 

Wi'  wavhij;  sa^;h.       h<ill(iw  sduikI 

Throughout  the  whole  "Address"  the  ele- 
ments are  so  eombined  in  him,  as  to  give  the 
world  "  assurance  o'  a  deil;"  but  then  it  is  the 
J)eil  of  Scotland. 

Just  so  in  "Tamo' Shanter."'  Wc  know  not 

1  "Address  ti)  the  Deil,"  vol.  il.  p.  70. 

2  See  vol.  ill.  p.  70. 


40 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


what,  some  great  German  genius  like  Goethe 
might  IiavL  made  of  liim;  but  we  much  mis- 
take the  matter,  if  "Tam  o'  Shanter"  at  Allo- 
way  Kirk  be  not  as  exemplary  a  piece  of 
humanity  as  Faustus  on  May-day  Night  upon 
the  llartz  iMountains.  Faust  does  not  well 
know  what  he  would  be  at,  but  Tam  does; 
and  though  his  views  of  human  life  be  rather 
hazy  he  has  glimpses  given  him  of  the  invis- 
ible world.  His  wife — but  her  tongue  was  no 
scandal— calls  him 

A  skcUmu,  [noisy  follow 

A  MetherinR,  blustering,  (Iruiiki'ii  blelliim;  baiiMin^' 
Tlmt  frne  Novenilier  till  Octnher,  from 

Ae  niaikct-{lay  thou  was  nne sober, 
Tlmt  ilka  nieliler,  wi'  the  miller,  every  millint' 

Tlu.a  ;;'(    .s  laiig  as  thou  had  siller;  money 

Th.if  .  V  ly  iiaii;  was  ea'U  ashoe  on,  nag  ilrivcii 

The  t.rih  anil  thee  gat  roaiinn  fou  on;  drunk 

That  at  tlie  L— il'a  bouse,  ev'n  on  Smnlay, 
Thou  drank  wi'  Kirkton  Jean  till  Jlonday 
She  i)roi)hesy'd,  that  late  or  soon, 
Thou  would  be  foinid  deep  drown'd  in  Doon; 
Oroi.tob'd  wi'  warlocks  in  the  mirk. 
By  AUoway's  auld  haunted  kirk. 

That  is  her  vicAv  of  the  subject;  but  what  is 
Tam's?  The  same  as  Wordsworth's,— "He 
sits  down  to  his  cups  while  the  storm  is  roar- 
ing, and  heaven  and  earth  are  in  confusion; 
th;  night  is  driven  on  by  song  and  tumultuous 
noise;  laughter  and  jests  thicken  as  the  bever- 
age improves  upon  the  palate;  conjugal  fidelity 
archly  bends  to  the  service  of  general  benevo- 
lence; selfishnes.'  is  not  absent,  but  wearing 
the  mask  of  social  cordiality;  and  while  these 
various  elements  of  humanity  are  blended  into 
one  proud  and  happy  composition  of  elated 
spirits,  the  anger  of  the  tempest  without  doors 
only  heightens  and  sets  off  the  enjoyment 
within.  I  pity  him  who  cannot  perceive  that, 
in  all  this,  though  there  was  no  moral  pur- 
pose, there  is  a  mora!  effect. 

Kings  may  be  blest,  but  Tam  was  glorious, 
O'er  a'  the  ills  o'  life  victorious. 

What  a  lesson  do  these  words  convey  of  charit- 
able indulgence  for  the  vicious  habits  of  the 
principal  actor  in  the  scene  and  of  t'lo  to  who 
resemble  him !  Jlen  who,  to  the  rigidly  vir- 
tuous, are  objects  almost  of  loathing,  and  whom 
therefore  they  cannot  serve.  The  poet,  pene- 
trating the  unsightly  and  disgusting  surfaces 
of  things,  has  unveiled,  wi:,h  exquisite  skill. 


the  finer  ties  of  imagination  and  feeling  that 
often  bind  those  beings  to  practices  proiluctivc 
of  much  unhappincss  to  themselves  and  to 
tho.se  whom  it  is  their  duty  to  cherish;  and 
as  far  as  he  puts  the  reader  Into  possession  of 
this  intelligent  sympathy,  he  qualities  him 
for  exercising  a  salutary  influence  over  the 
minds  of  those  wiic  arc  I'ius  deplonibly  de- 
ceived." 

We  respectfully  demur  from  the  opinion  of 
this  wise  and  benign  judge,  that  "there  was 
I'o  mond  purpose  in  all  this,  though  there  is 
a  moral  effect."  So  strong  was  hh  moral  pur- 
pose aiul  so  deep  the  moral  feeling  moved 
within  him  by  the  picture  he  had  so  vividly 
imagined,  that  IJurns  pauses,  in  highest  moral 
mood,  at  the  finishing  touch 

Kings  may  be  lilest,  but  Tam  was  glorious; 

and  then,  by  imagery  of  unequalled  loveliness, 
illusti-ates  an  universal  and  everlasting  truth: 

But  ideasures  are  Tike  i)()i)i)ies  spread. 
You  seize  the  llow'r,  its  bloom  is  slied; 
Or  like  the  snow  falls  in  the  river, 
Ajnonient  white— then  melts  forever; 
Or  like  the  Borealis  race, 
That  flit  t.o  you  'jan  point  their  jilacc; 
Or  like  the  rainbow's  lovely  form 
Evanishing  amid  the  storm. 

Next  instant  he  returns  to  T.':r-  and,  liuniim- 
ized  by  that  ex(iuisite  poetry,  wc  cannot  help 
being  sorry  for  him  "mountin'  his  beast  in  si(! 
a  night."  At  the  first  clap  of  thunder  he  for- 
gets Souter  Johnny— how  "conjugal  fidelity 
archly  bent  to  the  service  of  general  benevo- 
lence"—such  arc  the  tonus  in  which  the  philo- 
sophical Wordsworth  speaks  of 

The  Landbuly  and  Tam  grew  gracious; 
Wi' favoui's,  ='^eret,  sweet,  and  precious: 

and  as  the  haunted  Ruin  draws  nigh,  lie  re- 
members not  on.  'vate's  advice  but  her  pro- 
phecy. He  has  passed  by  some  fearful  places; 
at  the  slightest  touch  of  the  necromancer, 
how  fast  one  after  another  wheels  by,  telling 
at  what  a  ni'e  Tam  rode !  And  wc  forget  that 
wc  are  not  riding  behind  him. 

When,  glimmering  thro'  the  groaning  trees, 
Kirk-Alloway  seem'd  in  a  bleezo. 

We  defy  any  man  of  woman  born  to  tell  us 
who  these  witches  and  warlocks  arc,  and  why 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WHITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


41 


the  devil  brouglit  them  here  into  Alloway 
Kirk.     True 

TliiB  night,  a  chiUl  might  uiulurstand, 
Tlie  clcil  Imcl  business  on  his  hand; 

but  that  is  not  the  (jucHtion — the  question  is 
%fli(it  busines.s?  Wiis  it  a  ball  given  liiui  on 
tiie  anniversary  of  the  Fall? 


Tliere  snt  fiulcl  Niclv,  in  sliape  o'  beast; 
A  towzie  tylic,  lilacli,  grim,  and  large, 
To  giu  tliuni  niusiu  was  liis  charge: 


slmgfc'y 


and  pray  who  is  to  pay  the  piper?  We  fear 
that  young  witch  Nannie! 

Kor  Satan  glowr'd,  and  fldg'd  fu'  fain,  fiilKiiteil 

And  hdtuh'd  and  blew  wi'  niij^Iit  and  main:    jt'rkud 

and  this  may  be  the  nuptiid  ni,t?ht  of  the  I'rinec 
— for  that  tyke  is  he — of  the  Fallen  Angels! 

How  was  Tani  able  to  stand  the  sight, 
"glorious"  and  "heroic"  lus  ho  was,  of  the 
open  presses? 

(..'oltins  stood  round  like  open  presses, 

'I'liat  sliaw'd  tliu  dcail  in  tlieir  last  dresses;    Rlmwcd 

And  by  s e  dovllisli  cantraip  slit,'bt,    arlful  tli;iriii 

Each  ill  its  cauld  hand  held  a  liglit.  mlJ 

necause  sliow  a  man  some  sight  that  is  alto- 
gether miraculously  drcjulful,  and  he  eitiier 
faints  or  feels  no  fear.  Or  say  rather,  let  a 
num  stand  the  first  i/loircr  at  it,  and  he  will 
make  com])aratively  liglit  of  the  details.  There 
was  .\uld  Nick  himself,  there  was  no  misUiking 
him,  and  tliere  were 

witlier'd  lieldams,  aiild  and  drnll, 
UigwiHiilie  hags  wad  speaii  a  fnal,      Hiiikw  wenn 
Lowping  an'  Hinging—  Iciiping 

to  such  dancing  what  cared  Tam  who  lield  the 
c;ind!es?  He  was  bedevilled,  bewiirlocked,  and 
bewitciied,  iiiid  therefore 

able 
To  iiiite  tipoii  the  lialy  tatile,  Imly 

A  niindcrcr's  bams  in  gilibit  ;;ii'iis;  iioim 

'I'wa  spaii-lting,  wee,  uiu'biistin'd  bainis; 
A  tliicf,  iiew-cnlli'd  fine  a  lajie,  Mpe 

Wi'  his  last  gaf|)  his  gab  did  gai)e; 
Kive  tiimaliawKS,  wi'  liliiiil  ifd-nistcd; 
Kive  Kfiinitai  t,  wi'  imirder  crusted; 
A  glutei-,  wliicli  a  liabc  liad  stiaiigled; 
A  liiiifc,  a  fatlier's  tlirnat  liad  mangled, 
Wlidiii  his  ain  son  o'  life  liereft, 
Tlie  gray  liaiis  yet  stack  to  tlie  heft." 

This  collection  has  all  the  effect  of  a  .selection. 
The  bodies  were  not  placed  there;  but  follow- 
ing each  others'  heels,  they  stretch  themselves 


out  of  their  own  accord  upon  the  "haly  table." 
They  had  received  a  summons  to  the  festival, 
which  murderer  and  nmrdered  must  obey. 
IJut  mind  ye,  Tam  could  not  see  what  you  sec. 
Who  told  him  that  that  garter  liad  strangled 
a  babe?  That  that  was  a  parricide's  knife? 
Nobody — and  that  is  a  flaw.  For  Tam  looks 
with  his  bodily  eyes  only,  and  can  know  only 
what  they  show  him;  but  Hums  knew  it,  and 
believed  Tam  knew  it  too;  and  we  know  it, 
for  Uunio  tells  us,  and  we  believe  Tam  as  wise 
as  ourselves;  for  we  almost  turn  Tam — tiic 
poet  himself  being  the  only  reid  warlock  of 
them  all. 

You  know  why  that  Haly  Table  is  so  plea- 
sant to  the  apples  of  all  those  evil  eyes?  They 
feed  upon  the  dead,  not  merely  because  they 
love  wickedness,  but  becau.se  they  inspire  it 
into  the  (|uick.  Who  ever  murdered  his  father 
but  at  the  instigation  of  tluit  "towzie  tyke, 
Idack,  grim,  and  large?"  Who  but  for  him 
ever  strangled  her  new-born  child?  Scimitars 
and  tomahawks!  Why,  such  weapons  never 
were  in  use  in  Scothmd.  True.  IJut  they 
have  long  licen  in  use  in  the  wildernesses  of  the 
western  world,  and  among  the  orient  cities  of 
.Malioun,  and  his  empire  extends  to  the  utter- 
most parts  of  the  earth. 

And  here  we  shall  say  a  few  words,  which 
jierliaps  were  expected  from  us  when  speaking 
a  little  while  ago  of  some  of  his  first  produc- 
tions, about  Burns'  humorous  strains,  more 
especially  those  in  which  he  has  sung  the 
pniises  of  joviality  and  good-fellowship;  as  it 
has  boon  thought  by  many  that  in  them  arc 
coiispi('iioiisly(lispla,vcd,ii()t  only  siiiiie  striking 
(|iialities  of  his  poetical  genius,  but  likewise 
of  his  jiorsoiial  character,  .\moiig  the  count- 
less number  of  what  are  called  convivial  songs 
tlo:itiiig  in  our  literature,  how  few  seem  to 
have  been  inspired  by  such  a  sense  and  spirit 
of  .social  ciijoviiient  as  men  can  synipatiiise 
with  ill  their  ordinary  moods,  when  withdrawn 
from  the  festive  bojird,  and  engaged  without 
blame  in  the  common  amusements  or  recre- 
ations of  !i  busy  or  a  studiinis  life!  The  finest 
of  these  few  have  been  gracefully  and  gaily 
thrown  olf,  in  some  mirthful  minute,  by  Shak- 
spciire  and  Ben  .lonson  and  "the  IJest,"  in- 
ebriating the  nniid  as  with  "divine  gas"  into 
sudden  exliiliiration  that  passes  awiiy  not  only 
without  headache,  but  with  heartache  for  a 


42 


THE  UENIUS  AND  WIUTINGS  OF  LUllNS. 


time  allayed  by  the  Hwcet  ujjlutm.  In  our 
land,  too,  as  in  Greece  of  old,  ;j;eiiius  has  im- 
bibed iiisjiiration  from  the  wine-cui),  and  sunj^ 
of  human  life  in  strains  befitting  poets  who 
desired  that  their  foreheads  should  perpetually 
be  wreathed  with  flowers.  But  putting  iisido 
them  and  their  little  lyres,  with  some  excep- 
tions, how  nauseous  are  the  bacchanalian  songs 
of  Merry  England ! 

On  this  topic  we  but  touch;  and  request  you 
to  recollect,  that  there  is  not  half  a  dozen,  if 
BO  many,  drinking  songs  in  all  Hums.  "Willie 
brew'd  a  peck  o'  maut "  is,  indeed,  the  chief: 
and  you  cannot  even  look  at  it  without  crying 
"O  J{are  Kob  Burns!"  So  far  from  inducing 
you  to  believe  that  the  poet  was  addicted  to 
drinking,  the  freshness  and  fervour  of  its  glee 
convince  you  that  it  came  gushing  out  of  a 
healthful  heart,  in  the  exhilaration  of  a  night 
that  needed  not  the  influence  of  the  flowing 
bowl,  which  friendship,  nevertheless,  did  so 
frequently  replenish.  ^Vordsworth,  who  has 
told  the  world  that  he  is  a  water  drinker— and 
in  the  lai.e  country  he  can  never  be  at  a  loss 
for  his  favourite  beverage — regards  this  song 
with  the  complacency  of  a  philosopher,  know- 
ing well  that  it  is  all  a  pleasant  exaggcrition ; 
and  that  had  the  moon  not  lost  patience  and 
gone  to  bed,  she  would  have  seen  "Ifoband 
Allan"  on  their  way  back  to  Ellisland,  along 
the  bold  banks  of  the  Nith,i  as  steady  as  a 
brace  of  bishops. 

Of  the  contest  immortalized  in  the  "Whistle" 
it  may  be  observed,  that  in  the  course  of  events 
it  is  likely  to  be  as  rare  as  enormous;  and  that 
as  centuries  intervened  lietween  Sir  Ilobcrt 
Laurie's  victory  over  the  Dane  in  the  reign  of 
James  VI.,  and  Craigdarroch's  victory  over 
Sir  Kobert  Laurie  in  that  of  (ieorge  HI.,  so 
centuries,  in  all  human  probability,  will  elapse 
before  another  such  battle  will  be  lost  and 
won.  It  is  not  a  little  amusing  to  hear  uood 
Dr.  Currie  on  this  passage  in  the  life  of  Ihirns. 
In  the  text  of  his  Memoir  he  says,  speaking 
of  the  poet's  intimacy  with  the  best  families 
in  Nithsdale,  "Their  social  parties  too  often 
seduced  him  from  his  rustic  labours  and  his 
rustic  fare,  overthrew  the  unsteady  fabric  of 
his  resolutions,  andinflnmcd  those  jiro/imnitics 
which  tanpvrance  miijht  have  weakened,  and 

>  [It  iiiiiy  lie  ronmrked  tliat  tlio  syinposiiiiii  took 
place  at  Molfat,  twenty  uiiles  distant  from  Ellialand.j 


prudcncr  ulliniiUelij  .su/i/irc-i-scd."  In  a  note  lie 
adds  in  illustration,  "The  poemof  the '  Whistle' 
celebrates  a  bacchanalian  event  among  the 
gentlemen  of  Nithsdale,  where  Hums  appears 
as  umj)ire.  Mr.  Kiddell  died  before  our  bard, 
and  some  elegiac  verses  to  his  memory  will 
be  found  in  vol.  iii.  p.  174.  From  him  and 
from  all  the  members  of  his  family,  Hiirns  re- 
ceived not  kindness  only,  but  friendshij);  and 
thv  sochtji  he  met  with  in  ijcncml  at  Friars' 
Carsit  was  c(dculated  to  inijirorc  his  haliits,  as 
well  as  his  manners.  Mr.  Fergusson  of  Craig- 
darroch,  so  mil  known  for  his  chx/ni'ncc  and 
social  halii/s,  died  soon  after  our  poet.  Sir 
liobert  Laurie,  the  third  person  in  the  drama, 
survives;  and  has  since  been  engaged  in  con- 
tests of  a  l)loo(lier  nature — long  may  he  live 
to  fight  the  battles  of  his  country!  (1791>)." 
Three  better  men  lived  not  in  the  shire;  but 
they  were  gentlemen,  and  Hums  was  but  an 
exciseman;  and  Currie,  unconsciously  influ- 
enced by  an  habitual  deference  to  rank,  pom- 
pously moralizes  on  the  poor  jioet's  "propen- 
sities, which  temperance  might  have  weakened, 
and  prudence  ultimately  suppressed;"  while 
in  the  same  breath,  and  with  the  .same  ink,  he 
eulogizes  the  rich  squire  for  "his  elo(|uence 
and  social  habits,"  ,so  well  calculated  to  "im- 
prove the  habits,  as  well  as  (he  manners,"  of 
the  bard  and  ganger!  Now  suppose  that  "the 
heroes  "had  been  not  Craigdarroch,(ilenridtlell, 
and  Ma.xwclton,  but  Hums,  Mitchell,  and 
I'^indlatcr,  a  ganger,  a  supervisor,  and  a  col- 
lector of  excise,  and  that  the  contest  had  taken 
place  notat  Friars'  C'arsc,  but  at  Ellisland,  not 
for  a  time-honoured  hereditary  eliony  whistle, 
but  a  wooden  ladle  not  a  week  old,  and  that 
lUirns  the  \'ictorious  bad  ac(inired  an  imple- 
ment more  elegantly  fashioned,  though  of  the 
same  materials,  than  the  one  taken  from  his 
mouth  the  moment  he  was  born,  what  l)lul)l)er- 
ing  would  there  not  have  been  among  his 
biographers!  James  Currie,  how  exhortatory! 
Josiah  Walker,  how  lachrymose  ! 

Next  uji  rose  our  liiinl,  like  a  iimiiliet  in  drinli:— 
"<'riii{,'ilarr()cli,  tlinu'lt  soar  when  ereatii>n  shall  sinkl 
Hut  if  tliDU  would  lloinish  innniirtal  in  rhyme, 
Come— one  hottlu  nu)ro— and  have  at  the  sublime ! 

"Thy  line,  that  have  8tnit;j,'le(l  for  freedom  with 

liruee, 
.Shall  heroes  anil  patriots  ever  iirodiicu: 
Ho  thine  lie  the  huu'el,  and  mine  lie  the  hay; 
Tfie  field  tliou  liust  won,  by  you  bright  god  of  day!" 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WlilTINGS  OE  liUllNS. 


43 


ilow  very  sliockiiif?!  Then  only  hear  in  wliat 
a  culpaltle  spirit  HuniH  writes  to  Kiddell,  on 
the  forenoon  of  the  day  of  battle  ! — "Sir,  IJig 
with  the  idea  of  this  important  day  at  Friars' 
Carse,  1  have  watched  the  elements  and  skies 
in  the  full  persuasion  that  they  would  an- 
nounce it  to  the  astonished  world  l>y  sonic 
jihenoniena  of  terrific  portent.  Yesternijj;ht 
until  a  cry  late  hour  did  I  ■'vait  with  anxious 
horror  for  the  appearance  of  some  comet  firing 
half  the  sky;  or  aerial  armies  of  sanguinary 
Scandinavians,  darting  athwart  the  startled 
heavens,  rai)id  as  the  ragged  lightning,  and 
horrid  as  those  convulsions  of  nature  that  hury 
nations.  The  elements,  however,  .seemed  to 
take  the  matter  very  ([uietly:  they  did  not  even 
usher  in  this  morning  with  triple  suns  and  a 
shower  of  hlood,  symbolical  of  the  three  potent 
heroes,  and  the  mighty  claret-shed  of  the  day. — 
For  me,  as  Tiiomson  in  his  '  Winter'  says  of  the 
storm — I  shall  'llearastonishc(l,andastonished 
sing.'  ...  To  leave  the  heights  of  Parnassus 
and  come  to  the  humble  vale  of  prose.  —  I  liavc 
some  misgivings  that  1  take  too  much  upon 
me,  when  I  re<iuest  you  to  get  your  guest,  Sir 
Robert  Lawrie,  to  jjost  the  two  inclosed  covers 
for  me,  the  one  of  them,  to  Sir  William  L'un- 
ning]iam,of  liobertlan(l,l{art.  ,at  Auchcnskcitli, 
Kilmarnock, — the  other,  to  Mr.  Allan  Cluster- 
ton, Writing-Master,  l'^(lini)urgh.  The  first  lias 
akindred  claimon  Sir  lJobert,as  beinga  brother 
liaronet,  and  likewise  a  keen  Foxite;  the 
otlier  is  one  of  the  worthiest  men  in  the  world, 
and  a  man  of  real  genius;  so,  allow  me  to  say, 
he  has  a  fraternal  claim  on  you.  I  want  them 
franked  for  to-morrow,  as  I  cannot  get  them 
to  the  jxist  to-night.  I  shall  send  a  servant 
again  for  them  in  the  evening.  AVishing  that 
your  head  may  be  crowned  with  laurels  to-night, 
and  free  from  aches  to-morrow,  1  have  the 
hiinoiirto  lie.  Sir,  your  deeply  in(lel)ted  humble 
servant,  It.  15."  Why,  you  see  that  this  "  I^et- 
tcr,"'  and  the  "  Whistle" — perha])s  an  im- 
projier  poem  in  priggish  eyes,  but  in  the  eyes 
of  JJaechus  the  best  of  triumphal  odes— make 
up  the  whole  of  Ihirns's  share  in  this  trans- 
action, lie  irii.t  not  III  tlir  Cdrnr.  The  "three 
potent  heroes"  were  too  thoroughly  gentlemen 
to  have  asked  a  fotn-lh  to  sit  by  with  an  emjity 
bottle  before  him  as  umjjire  of  that  del)ate. 
Burns  that  evening  was  sitting  with  his  eldest 

1  It  is  dutcil  Oct.  10th,  1781). 


child  on  his  knee,  teaching  it  to  say  Dad — 
that  night  he  was  lying  in  his  own  bed,  with 
bounie  Jean  by  his  side — ami  "yon  bright 
god  of  day"  saluted  him  at  morning  on  the 
Scaur  above  the  glittering  Nith. 

Turn  to  tlic  passages  in  his  youthful  poetry, 
where  he  speaks  of  himself  or  others  "  wi'  just 
a  drappic  in  their  ee."  Would  you  that  he 
had  never  written  "Death  and  Dr.  Hornbook?"^ 

The  cliiclian  yill  liiul  made  me  canty,  village  olo  lively 
I  was  na  fua,  but  just  had  plenty;  druuk 

I  stachur'd  whyles,  but  yet  took  tmit  aye        Bt.iKwureil 

To  free  the  ditches;  laciinutinieB  liiLtl 
.Vn'  hillocks,  stanes,  an'  bushes,  kenn'd  ayu 

Frae  ghaists  an'  witches.  kIiusIb 


The  risiuK  iiincin  began  to  jilower 
The  distant  Cumnock  hills  out-owre: 
'J'o  count  her  horns,  wi'  a'  my  i)ower, 

I  set  niysel'; 
liut  whether  she  hud  three  or  four, 

I  eou'd  na  tell. 

I  was  come  nmnd  aliont  the  hill, 
And  toddlin'  down  on  Willie's  mill. 
Setting  my  stalf  wi'  a'  my  skill, 

To  keep  me  sicker: 
Tho'  leeward  whyles,  against  my  will. 


storo 


I  took  a  bicker. 


tottuiiiiK 
btuiitly 
a  few  quick  stciia 


I  there  wi'  HoMKTHINO  did  forgather,  &c. 

Then  and  there,  as  you  Icani,  ensued  that 
"celestial  collociuy  divine,"  which,  being  re- 
ported, drove  the  doctor  out  of  the  country, 
by  unextinguishable  laughter,  into  (Jlasgow, 
where  half  a  century  afterwards  he  died  uni- 
versally respected.  Somktiun'cj  had  more  to 
say,  and  long  before  that  time  Burns  had  been 
sobered. 

Hut  just  as  he  began  to  tell. 

The  anld  kirk-haniiiier  stnik  the  bell 

Some  wee  short  hour  ayont  the  twal, 

NVliicli  rais'il  us  baith: 
/  took  the  waij  that  plcas'd  inyiiel', 

And  sae  did  Death. 

In  those  pregnant  Fpistles  to  his  friends,  in 
which  his  generous  and  noble  character  is  re- 
vealed so  sincerely,  he  now  and  then  alludes 
to  the  socialities  customary  in  Kyle;  and  the 
good  people  of  Scotland  have  always  enjoyed 
such  genial  pictures.  When  promising  him- 
self tho  purest  pleasures  society  can  aflbrd,  in 
c(mipany  with  ".Vuld  Lajiraik,"  whom  he 
warmly  praises  for  the  tenderness  and  truth- 
fulness of  his  "sangs"— 

•J  Vol.  i.  p.  '243. 


I\ 


44 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WHITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


There  was  ae  saiitj,  ainaiig  tlio  rest,  oiio 

AbiiDii  tlieiii  a'  it  pleased  me  best,  above 

That  suiiie  kiiul  husband  ha(i  udihest 

To  some  sweet  wife: 
It  thirU'U  the  heart-strings  thro'  the  brcust, 

A'  to  tlie  life; 

and  when  luxuriating  in  the  joy  of  conscious 
genius  holding  communion  with  the  native 
muse,  he  exclaims — 

Gio  me  ae  spark  o'  Nature's  fire, 

Tliat's  a'  tlie  learning  I  <lesire; 

Tlien  tlio'  I  drudge  tlno'  dub  an'  mire      imiliilu 

At  pluugh  or  cart, 
My  muse,  thougli  luunely  in  attire, 

ilay  toueli  tlie  heart; 

where  does  15urns  express  a  desire  to  meet  his 
brother- bard?  Wliere  but  in  the  resorts  of 
their  fellow- labourers,  when,  released  from 
toil,  and  flinging  weariness  to  the  wind,  they 
flock  into  the  heart  of  some  iioliday,  attired  in 
sunshine,  and  feeling  that  life  is  life? 

But  llaueldine  race,  or  ilauehline  fair, 
I  sliould  be  proud  to  meet  you  tliere; 
We'se  giu  ae  uiglit's  diaeliarge  to  care, 

If  we  forgatlier,  nn'it 

An'  hae  a  swap  o'  rhymiii'-warc  uxuIiuumu 

W'i'  ane  anither. 

Tlie  four-gill  chap,  we'se  gar  him  clatter,  iiint-niuusure 
An'  kirsen  him  wi'  reekin'  water;  tliristeii 

Syne  we'll  sit  down  an'  tak  our  v  hitter,  then  u  hiMrty 

To  cheer  our  heart;  lilriiik 

An'  faith  we'se  be  acciuainted  better 

liefore  we  part. 

Awa,  ye  selfish  warly  race,  worUlly 

Wha  think  that  haviiis,  sense,  an'  grace,  Kuod  iiuinnein 
Kv'n  love  an'  fi'iendship,  should  give  place 

To  calch-the-pluck!  totumtliuinniiy 
I  diuna  like  tn  see  yoiu'  face,  do  imt 

Nor  hear  your  crack.  t:ilk 

Hut  ye  whom  social  pleasure  charms, 
Whose  heart  the  tide  of  kindness  warms. 
Who  hold  your  beinn  on  the  terms, 

"  Each  aid  the  others," 
Come  to  my  bowl,  come  to  my  arms, 

.My  friends,  my  brothers  1  • 

Yet  after  all,  "the  four-gill  chap"  clattered 
but  on  paper.  Jiapraik  Avas  an  elderly  man  of 
sober  life,  impoverished  by  a  false  friend  in 
whom  ho  had  confided;  and  Burns,  who  wore 
good  clothes,  and  paid  his  tailor  as  i)unctually 
as  the  men  he  dealt  with,  had  not  much  money 
out  of  seven  pounds  a  year,  to  spend  in  "the 
change  house."  lie  allowed  no  man  to  pay 
his   "lawin,"  but   neither   was  he  given   to 

I  "Epistlo  to  John  Lapraik,"  vol.  i.  p.  249. 


treating — save  the  sex;  and  in  his  "Epistle  to 
James  Smith,  "^  he  gives  a  more  correct  account 
of  his  habits,  when  lie  goes  thus  off  career- 
ingly— 

5Iy  pen  I  here  fling  to  the  door. 

And  kneel,  "Ye  Powers!"  and  warm  implore 

•'  Tho'  I  should  wander  Terra  o'er. 

In  all  her  climes, 
Grant  mo  but  this,  I  ask  no  more. 

Aye  rowth  o'  rhynies. 

"  While  ye  are  pleas'd  to  keep  me  hale,        wlmlu 

I'll  sit  down  o'er  my  scanty  meal, 

liu't  water-brose,  oi°  muslin-kail,  watery  nuui) 

Wi'  cheerfu'  face, 
As  lang's  the  muses  dinna  fail 

To  say  the  grace." 

Kead  the  "Auld  Farmer's  New-Year  Jlorn- 
ing  Salutation  to  his  Auld  JIarc  Jfaggie."-*  Not 
a  soul  but  them  two  .selves  is  in  the  stable — in 
the  farm  yard — nor,  as  far  us  we  think  of,  in 
the  hou.se.  Yes — there  is  one  in  the  house — 
but  she  is  somewhat  infirm,  and  not  yet  out  of 
bed.  Sons  and  daughters  have  long  since  been 
married,  and  have  houses  of  their  own — such 
of  them  as  may  not  luvvc  been  buried.  The 
servants  arc  employed  somewhere  else  out  of 
door.s — and  so  are  the  "four  gallant  lirutes  as 
e'er  did  draw"  a  moiety  of  JIaggie's  "bairn- 
time."  The  Address  is  an  Autul)iograi)liy. 
The  master  remembers  liiniself,  along  with  his 
mare — in  the  days  when  she  was  "dapid't, 
sleek,  and  ghiizie,  a  bonnie  gray;"  and  lie 
"the  pride  o'  a'  the  parishen." 

That  day,  ye  jn-ane'd  wi'  miukle  i)ridc, 
When  ye  bure  hame  my  bonnie  bride; 
An'  sweet,  an'  gracefu'  she  did  ride, 

Wi'  maiden  air! 
Kyle  Stewart  I  could  bragged  wide, 

For  sic  a  pair. 

AVhat  passages  in  their  coninion  life  does  he 
next  select  to  "roose"  mare  and  master?  "  In 
tug  or  tow?"  In  cart,  plough,  or  harrow? 
These  all  rise  liefore  him  at  tho  right  time, 
and  in  a  cheerful  spirit;  towards  tho  close  of 
his  address  he  grows  serious,  but  not  sad — as 
well  he  may;  and  at  the  close,  as  well  he  maj", 
tender  and  grateful.  But  the  imago  he  sees 
galloping,  next  to  that  of  the  "  broose, "  comes 
second,  because  it  is  second  best: 

When  thou  an'  I  were  young  an'  skeigli,    liiijlimcttled 

yVn'  stablc-iiicalB  at  fan's  were  drolgli,  tivbims 

How  thou  wad  prance,  an'  snoiv,  an'  skreigh,   Birtam 

An'  tak  the  road ! 


'■*  See  vol.  ii.  p.  105. 


'•>  Vol.  ii.  p.  80. 


THE  UENIUS  AND  WlllTlNUS  OF  BUKNS. 


45 


Town's-boilicB  ran,  and  stuod  abeigh,         aloof 
An'  ca't  tlice  nmd. 

When  thou  ivaat  corn't  an'  T  was  mellow. 
We  took  tlic  road  aye  liku  a  swallow. 

We  do  not  blame  the  old  farmer  for  having 
got  occasionally  mellow  Homc  thirty  years  ago 
— we  do  not  blame  Burns  for  making  him 
pride  himself  on  his  shame;  nay,  we  bless 
tliem  both  as  wc  hear  these  words  whispered 
close  to  the  auld  mare's  lug : 

Moiiio  a  sair  daurk  we  twa  liae  wrought,     Uiiy'B  work 
An'  wi'  the  weary  warl'  fimjflit!  world 

An'  nionie  an  anxiouH  day,  I  tlioiij^ht 

We  wad  lie  lifat! 
Vet  here  to  crazy  ajie  we'ie  lironKht, 

Wi'  Biinietliinj;  yet. 

And  think  na,  my  anhl  trnsty  si'rvan', 
'I'hat  now  i)erliai)8  thou's  leas  desurvin', 
An'  thy  auld  <lays  may  end  in  at.irvin', 

For  my  last  fou,  All 

A  heupit  stimpart,  I'll  reserve  ane         liraiiud  measuro 

Laid  liy  for  you. 

We've  worn  to  crazy  years  tlicnitlier; 

We'll  toyte  alioiit  wi'  ane  anither;  totter 

Wi'  tentie  care  111  Hit  thy  tetlier,      tliouKlitfid  nmcivu 

To  some  liain'd  riu,         hijiuuiI  ridiiu 
Wharc  ye  nuiy  iiolily  rax  yonr  leather,  etrctch 

Wi'  snia'  fatigue. 

Or  will  you  turn  to  the  "Twa  Dogs,"'  and 
hoar  Luatli,  in  whom  the  best  hunuinities 
mingle  with  tlie  canine — the  I'oet's  own  colley, 
wiiom  some  cruel  wretch  murdered ;  and  gib- 
betted  to  everlasting  infamy  would  have  been 
the  murderer,  had  Burns  but  known  his 
name? 

'i'lic  clearest  comfort  o'  tlicir  lives, 

Their  Krnshic  weans  an'  faithfii'  wives,  tlirivinKohiMren 

Tlie  prattllMK  tiling's  arc  jnst  their  pride, 

Tliat  Hsvectens  a'  their  lire-side. 


An'  whiles  twalpcnnic  worth  o'  nappy 
Can  mak'  the  liodles  nnco  liap|)y; 
They  hiy  aside  then-  private  cares, 
To  mind  the  Kirk  and  State  allairs 
Thiiy'U  talk  o'  patronafje  an<l  j)riest8, 
Wi'  kiiidliiiK  fnry  in  their  lnea.sts, 
»tr  tell  what  new  taxation  s  coinin'. 
An'  fcrlie  at  the  folk  in  l.on'on. 

As  hleak-fac'd  llallowmass  returns. 
They  K'ct  the  jovial,  rantin  kirns. 
When  rural  life,  o'  ev'ry  station, 
I'nitein  common  recreation; 
l-ove  hlinks,  Wit  slajjs,  an'  social  Mirth 
KorKcts  there's  Care  npo'  the  earth. 

'I'hat  merry  day  the  year  hcKins, 
They  liar  the  door  on  frosty  win's; 

»  Vol.  ii.  p.  89. 


lal.  Scuts  1(1. 

Bti;.    !ilo 
I'XiTciliiiHly 


Miiirvi'l 


liitrVL-st-hoineH 


HmsIivs 


The  nappy  reeks  wl'  mantling  ream. 

An'  sheds  a  heart-inspiring  steam ; 

The  luntin'  pipe,  an'  sneeshin'  ndll,  Hinokiug,  Biuifl'-mull 

Are  handed  round  wi'  right  guid  will ; 

The  cantie  auld  folks  eraekin'  eruuse,  cheerful,  tiilkiuK 

The  young  anes  rantin'  thro'  the  house,—      lylcefully 

Aty  heart  has  been  sae  fain  to  see  them,  iileuBud 

That  I  for  joy  liae  barkit  wi'  them. 

Yet  how  happens  it  that  in  the  "Halloween" 
no  mention  is  made  of  this  source  of  enjoy- 
ment, and  that  the  parties  concerned  pursue 
the  ploy  with  unflagging  passion  through  all 
its  charms  and  spells'^  Becau.se  the  festival  is 
kept  alive  by  the  poetic  power  of  super.stition 
that  night  awakened  from  all  its  slumber  in  all 
tho.se  simple  souls ;  and  that  serves  instead  of 
strong  drink.  They  fly  from  fre;ik  to  freak, 
without  a  thought  but  of  the  witcheries— tiie 
means  and  appliances  needful  to  make  them 
potent;  this  Burns  knew  to  be  nature,  and 
therefore  he  delays  all  "creature  comforts" 
till  the  end,  when  the  curtain  has  dropped  on 
that  visionary  stage,  and  the  actors  return  to 
the  floor  of  their  every-day  world.     Then — 

Wi'  merry  sanns,  an'  friendly  cracks,  talks 

I  wat  they  didna  weary; 
An'  unco  tales,  an'  funny  jokes,  stniuge 

Their  sports  were  cheap  an'  cheery; 
Till  hiittcr'd  so'nn,  wi'  fragrant  lunt,  smoke 

Set  a'  their  gabs  a-steerin';  moutlis 

Syne,  wi'  a  social  glass  o'  strunt,  tlu'u  spirits 

They  parted  alt'  careerin' 

Ku'  blythe  that  night. 

We  sec  no  retison  why,  in  the  spirit  of  tlicse 
observations,  moralists  nuiy  not  read  Avith 
pleasure  and  approbation,  "The  Author's 
Karncst  Cry  and  I 'raver  to  (he  Scotch  Wcjirc- 
sentatives  in  the  House  of  Commons."^  Its 
political  economy  is  as  sound  as  its  patriotism 
is  stirring;  and  he  must  be  indeed  a  dunce 
who  believes  that  Hums  uttered  it  eitlicr  as 
a  defence  or  an  encouragement  of  a  national 
vice,  or  that  it  is  calculated  to  stinudale  poor 
peo])le  ill  pernicious  habits.  It  is  an  .\ildress 
that  Cobbett,  had  he  been  a  Scotsman  and  one 
of  the  Forty-Five,-'  would  have  rejoiced  to  lay 
on  the  Table  of  the  Ilou.se  of  Connnons;  for 
Cobbett,  in  all  that  was  best  of  him,  was  a 
kind  of  Hums  in  his  way,  and  loved  the  men 
who  work,  lie  maintained  the  cau.se  of  malt, 
and  it  was  a  leading  article  in  the  creed  of  his 

2  Vol.  ii.  p.  DC. 

'■''\'\\c  number  of  Scotch  members  of  Parliament 
before  the  Iteform  Act  of  1832. 


4G 


THE  GENIUS  ANl)  WltlTlNOS  OE  LUllNS. 


faith  tliiit  tlie  uleinciit  dislillcd  tlicrutrum  in 
like  the  air  they  brentlie,  if  tiie  jjeoplc  liavo  it 
not,  they  die.  Jker  may  be  best ;  and  Bums 
was  tlie  ehariipion  of  beer,  as  well  as  of  what 
bears  a  brisker  name.  He  spoke  of  it  in 
the  "Earnest  Cry,"  and  likcwi.sc  in  the 
"Scotch  J)riiik,"  as  one  of  the  stafls  of  life 
which  had  been  struck  from  the  poor  man's 
hand  by  fiscal  ojjpression.  Tea  was  then 
little  practised  in  Ayrshire  cottages;  and  we 
do  not  at  this  moment  remember  the  word  in 
Burns's  poems.  lie  threatens  a  rising  if 
ministers  will  not  obey  the  voiee  of  the 
people: 

Auld  .Sfotlnnd  lias  a  rnticle  tongue ;         foarlcBB 
Sliu's  just  a  (lovil  wi'  a  niii;; ;  Muilgfou 

All'  if  Hhu  pi'uiiiitiu  auld  <ii'  young 

To  tak  tliiir  jiait, 
TIio'  by  the  neck  she  slidiild  hu  stiuiig, 

She'll  iiu  desfi't. 

In  the  postscript  the  patriotism  and  poetry 
of  the  "Earnest  Cry"  wa.v  stronger  and 
brighter — and  no  drunkard  would  dare  to  read 
aloud  in  the  i)resence  of  men — by  heart  he 
never  could  get  it — such  a  strain  as  this — 
familiar  to  many  million  ears: 

Let  lialf-staiv'd  slaves,  in  wariner  skies, 
Sue  future  wines,  rich  clusfrint:,  rise; 
Their  lot  auld  .Seotlaiul  ne'er  envies, 

lint,  hlytlie  and  frisky. 
She  eyes  her  frcel)orii,  martial  lioys 

Tak  a(f  their  whisky. 

What  tlio'  their  riuchus  kinder  warms, 
While  fragrance  liUionis,  and  lieauty  charms; 
When  wretches  range,  in  famish 'd  sHarms, 

The  scented  groves, 
Or  hounded  forth,  dislioiiour  arms 

In  liungry  droves. 

Their  gun's  a  burden  on  their  shouther ; 

They  dowiia  bide  the  stink  o'  jiowtlier ;     cannot  stan.I 

Their  bauldest  thought's  a  hank'ring  swither     umi r- 

To  Stan'  or  riii,  (taintj- 

Till  skelp— a  sliot-they're  aff,  a'  throw'ther. 

To  save  their  skin. 

But  bring  a  Scotsman  frae  his  hill. 
Clap  in  his  cheek  a  Highland  gill. 
Say,  such  is  Koyal  George's  will. 

An'  there's  the  foe. 
He  has  iiae  thought  but  how  to  kill 

Twa  at  a  blow. 

Nae  caiild,  faint-hearted  doubtings  tease  him ; 
Death  comes,  wi'  fearless  eye  he  sees  him ; 
Wi'  bluidy  hand  a  welcome  gies  him : 

An'  when  he  fa's. 
His  latest  draught  o'  breatliin'  lea'es  him 

lu  fuiut  huzzaii. 


These  are  not  the  sentiments  of  a  man  who 
"takes  an  enemy  into  his  mouth  to  steal  away 
his  brains."  Nor  is  there  any  thing  to  con- 
demn, when  looked  at  in  the  light  with  which 
genius  invests  them,  in  the  pictures  presented 
to  us  in  "Scotch  Drink,"  of  some  of  the  fa- 
miliar scenes  of  humble  life,  whether  of  iiusy 
work,  or  as  busy  rcercation,  and  some  of  home- 
felt  incidents  interesting  to  all  that  livc^such 
as  "when  skirlin'  wcanies  sec  the  light" — 
animated  and  invigorated  to  the  utmost  pitch 
of  tension,  beyond  the  reach  of  the  jaded 
spirits  of  the  labouring  poor — so  at  least  the 
poet  makes  us  for  the  time  Avilling  to  believe 
— when  unaided  by  that  elixir  he  so  fervidly 
sings.  AVho  would  wish  the  following  lines 
expunged ':?  AVho  may  not,  if  he  chooses,  so 
(|ualify  their  meaning  as  to  make  them  true':? 
Who  will  not  pardon  the  first  two,  if  they 
need  pardon,  for  sake  of  the  last  two  that  need 
none?  For  surely  you,  who,  though  guilty  of 
no  excess,  fare  sumptuously  every  day,  will  not 
find  it  in  your  hearts  to  grudge  the  "poor 
man's  wine"  to  the  cotter  after  that  "  Sulurdiiy 
Night"  of  his,  painted  for  you  to  the  life  by 
his  own  son,  Jfobert  Burns ! 

Thou  dears  the  head  o' doited  Lear;  Btuipcficd  karuin;; 
'I'liou  cheers  the  heart  o'  drooiiing  Care  ; 
'Thou  strings  the  nerves  ii'  Labour  sair, 

At's  weary  toil ; 
Thou  even  brightens  dark  Despair 

Wi'  gloomy  suiile. 

Aft,  clad  in  massy  silver  weed,  silver 

Wi'  gentles  tliou  erects  thy  head  ; 
Vet  humbly  kind  in  time  o'  need. 

The  poor  man's  wine. 
His  wee  drap  parritch,  or  his  bread, 

Thou  kitchens  fine,     givost  relish  to 

Gilbert,  in  his  excellent  vindication  of  his 
brother's  character,  tells  us  that  at  the  time 
when  many  of  those  "lihapsodies  respecting 
Drinking"  were  composed  and  first  iiublislicd, 
few  people  were  less  addicted  to  drinking  than 
he ;  and  that  he  assumed  a  poetical  character 
very  dillercnt  from  that  of  the  man  at  the 
time.  It  has  been  said  that  Scotsmen  luive  no 
humour— no  perception  of  humour-  that  wc 
are  all  plain  matter-of-fact  people— not  with- 
out some  strength  of  understanding — Init 
grave  to  a  degree  on  occasions  when  races 
more  favor'd  by  nature  arc  gladsome  to  an 
excess ;  and — 

"III  gay  ueliriuni  rob  them  of  tlieuiselves." 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WlllTlNCiS  Oi''  liUllNS. 


47 


This  Jiulgniuiit  on  our  national  characteristics 
implies  a  t'aniiliar  ac(|uaintaiicc  with  Scottish 
poetry  from  l)unl)ar  to  iiiirns.  It  would  be 
nearer  the  truth — thou,<;;ii  still  wide  of  it — to 
allirni,  that  we  liavc  more  humour  than  all  the 
rest  of  tiie  iidial)itants  of  this  earth  besides; 
but  tiiis  at  least  is  true,  that  unfortunately  for 
ourselves,  wc  have  too  much  humour,  and  that 
it  has  sometimes  been  allowed  to  ilow  out  of 
its  iu'o|)er  province,  and  minj?lc  itself  with 
thou,t(hts  and  thinj^s  that  ouujht  for  ever  to  bo 
kept  sacred  in  the  minds  of  the  people.  A 
few  words  liy  and  bye  on  this  subject;  mean- 
while, witii  respect  to  his  "  lihapsodies  about 
Drinking,"  llurns  knew  that  not  only  had  all 
the  states,  stages,  and  phases  of  inebriety  been 
humorously  illustrated  by  the  comic  genius  of 
his  country's  most  popular  i)oets,  but  that  the 
people  themselves,  in  spite  of  their  deep  moral 
and  relinious  conviction  of  the  sinfulness  of 
intemperance,  were  prone  to  look  on  its  in- 
dujgencies  in  every  droll  and  ludicrous  aspect 
they  could  assume,  according  to  the  infinite 
variety  of  the  nu)dilications  of  individiuil  char- 
acter. As  a  poet  dealing  with  life  as  it  lay 
l)ef'ore  and  around  liim,  so  far  from  seeking  to 
avoid,  he  eagerly  seized  on  these;  and  having 
in  tlie  constitution  of  his  own  being  as  much 
Inunour  and  as  rich  as  ever  mixed  with  the 
higher  elements  of  genius,  lie  sometimes  gave 
vent  to  its  perceptions  and  emotions  in  strains 
perfectly  irresistil)le — even  to  the  most  serious 
— who  had  to  force  themselves  back  into  their 
haidtual  aiul  better  state,  before  they  could 
regard  them  with  due  condemnation. 

Hut  humour  in  men  of  genius  is  always  allied 
to  pathos — its  exquisite  touches 

On  the  iiale  clicek  of  sorrow  awal\t'ii  a  Miiile, 
Anil  illuniiiiu  the  eye  that  was  dim  witli  a  tear. 

So  is  it  a  thousand  times  Avith  the  humour  of 
lUiru.s — and  we  have  seen  it  so  in  our  ipiota- 
ti(uis  from  these  very  "  lUiapsodics."  He 
could  sit  with  "rattling  roarin'  Willie" — and 
when  he  belonged  to  the  C'rochallan  Fenciblcs, 
"he  was  the  king  o'  a'  the  core."  Hut  where 
he  usually  sat  up  late  at  night,  during  these 
glorious  hard-working  years,  was  a  low  loft 
above  a  slalilc — so  low  that  he  had  to  stoop 
even  when  he  was  sitting  at  a  deal  table  three 
feet  by  two — witii  his  "heart  inditing  a  good 
matter"  to  a  plough-boy,  who  read  it  up  to 


the  i)oct  before  they  lay  down  on  the  same 
truckle  bed.* 

Hums  had  as  deej)  an  insight  as  ever  man 
had  into  the  moral  evils  of  the  poor  man's 
character,  condition,  and  life.  From  many  of 
them  he  remained  free  to  the  last;  some  he 
sulfered  late  and  early.  What  were  his  strug- 
gles we  know,  yet  we  know  but  in  jiart,  before 
he  was  overcome.  Hut  it  does  not  appear  that 
he  thought  intemperance  the  worst  moral  evil 
of  the  i)coplc,  or  that  to  the  habits  it  forms 
had  chiefly  to  be  imputed  their  falling  short 
or  away  from  that  character  enjoined  by  the 
law  written  and  unwritten,  and  without  which, 
preserved  in  its  great  lineaments,  there  cannot 
be  to  the  poor  man,  any  more  than  the  rich, 
cither  power  or  peace.  He  believed  that  but 
for  "Man's  iiduunanity  to  man,"  this  might 
be  a  much  better  earth ;  that  they  who  live  by 
the  sweat  of  their  brows  would  wipe  them  with 
lu'ide,  so  that  the  blood  did  but  freely  circulate 
from  their  hearts;  that  creatures  endowed  with 
a  moral  sense  and  discourse  of  reason  would 
follow  their  dictates,  in  preference  to  all  solici- 
tations to  enjoyment  from  those  sources  that 
How  to  them  in  common  with  all  things  that 
have  life,  so  that  they  were  but  allowed  the 
rights  and  privileges  of  nature,  and  not  made 
to  bow  down  to  a  servitude  inexorable  as  ne- 
cessity, but  imposed,  as  he  thought,  on  their 
necks  as  a  yoke  by  the  very  hands  which 
Providence  had  kept  free; — believing  all  this, 
and  nevertheless  knowing  and  feeling,  often  in 
bitterness  of  heart  and  prostration  of  si)irit, 
that  there  is  far  worse  evil,  because  self- 
originating  and  self- inhabiting  within  the 
invisible  world  of  every  human  soul.  Hums 
iiad  no  reprol)ation  to  inflict  on  the  lighter 
sins  of  the  opi)rcssed,  in  sight  of  the  heavier 
ones  of  the  oppressor;  and  when  he  did  look 
into  his  own  heart  and  the  hearts  of  his  breth- 
ren in  toil  and  in  trouble,  for  those  sjirings  of 
misery  which  are  for  ever  welling  there,  and 
need  no  external  blasts  or  torrents  to  lift  them 
from  their  beds  till  they  overflow  their  banks, 

1  [The  story  of  liurns's  hod-place  and  study  being  a 
statde  loft  and  his  licd-fcHow  a  plonf;h-t)oy  lias  liccn 
distinctly  contradicted  hy  tho  jioct's  sister,  Mrs.  llcftg. 
It  is  one  of  the  fictions  of  tlie  niciiduuious  Jolin 
lilaiie.  Hurns's  l)cd-fellow  was  Oilhert;  tlicir  hcd- 
rooni  was  a  srarrct  in  tlio  dwelliiig-housc,  which  con- 
tained a  small  talilc,  at  which  the  poet  wrote  many 
uf  his  most  fuiuuus  pieces.] 


48 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WKITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


and  inuiulate  ruinously  life's  securest  pastures. 
he  saw  the  Pahsions  to  which  are  given  i  w  "- 
and  dominion  for  bliss  or  for  bale — of  them  in 
his  sweetest,  loftiest  inspiriitions,  he  sung  as  a 
poet  all  he  felt  as  a  man ;  willing  to  let  his 
fancy  in  lighter  moo<ls  il''ly  witli  inferior 
things  and  merry  .'.isure  von  with  the 
vcrj'  meat  and  drinic  tliat  s'  ■  :'..j  ii.-ii  who  is 
but  grass,  and  like  the  tlowor  of  the  field  llour- 
ishcth  and  is  cut  .own,  an>  raked  away  out  of 
the  sunshine  inlo  the  shadow  of  the  grave. 

That  Ihirns  did  not  only  noc,  set  hinmelf  to 
dissuade  pour  p  :oi)le  from  dvi  iking,  but  that  he 
indited  "Khapsodies"  about  "Scotch  Drink," 
and  "Earne.4  Cries,"  will  not,  then,  seem  at 
all  Hurpr;    ng  to  poor  poonle  themselves,  nor 
very  culpable  even  in  tin;  eyes  of  the  most 
sober  among  them :  whatever  may  be  the  light 
in  which  some  rich  people  regard  such  delin- 
quencies    your    iJioru  -  in  -  K  rrow- than -anger 
moralists,  ,vho  are  their  own  butlers,  and  sleep 
with  the  key  of  the  wine-cjUar  under  their 
I)iIlow;  his  j)octry  is  very  dear  to  tiic  people, 
iiuu  we  venture  to  sjiy,  that  iiiey  understand 
its  spirii  as  well  as  the  best  of  those  for  whom 
it  was  not  written ;  for  written  it  was  for  his 
own    Order  —  the    enlightened    majority    of 
Christian  men.     No  fear  of  their  being  blind 
to  its  venial  faults,  its  more  serious  imperfec- 
tions, and,  if  there  they  ')e,  its  sins.     Tnjre 
arc   austere  oyes  in  workshops,   and   in  the 
fields,  intolerant  of  pollution;  stern  judges  of 
themHclvcs  and  others  preside  in  those  courts 
of  conscience  that  are  not  open  to  the  public ; 
neverthcle.s.s,    they  have   tender  hearts,   and 
they  yearn  with  exceeding  love  towards  those 
of  their  brethren  who  have  brightened  or  ele- 
vated their  common  lot.     Latent  virtues  in 
such  poetry  as  IJurns's  are  continually  reveal- 
""ig  tlicm.sclves  to  readers,  whose  condition  is 
felt  to  be  uncertain,  and  their  happiness  to 
tltictuate  with  it;  adversity  puts  to  the  test 
our  opinions  and   beliefs,   e(|ually  with   our 
habits  and  our  practices;  and  the  most  moral 
and   religious   man   that  ever  worked    from 
morning  to  night,  that  his  family  might  have 
bread— daily  from  youth  upwards  till  now  he 
is  threescore  and  ten — might  apjirove  of  the 
sentiment  of  that  Song,  feel  it  in  all  its  fer- 
vour, and  express  it  in  all  its  glee,  in  which 
age  meeting  with  age,  and  again  hand  and 
heart  linked  together,  the  "trusty  fere»"  bring 


back  the  past  in  a  sun-burst  on  the  i>re«ent, 
.  nd,  tlioughtless  of  the  future,  pour  out  un- 
blamed  libations  to  the  days  "o'  uuld  lang 
syne!" 

It  seems  to  us  very  doubtful  if  any  poetry 
could  become  popular,  of  v  hich  Jic  j.rcvalent 
spirit  is  not  in  accordance  with  that  of  the 
people,  as  well  in  those  qualities  wc  grieve 
to  call  vices,  as  in  those  we  are  happy  to  pro- 
nounce virtues.  It  is  not  sufllcient  that  they 
be  moved  for  a  time  against  their  will,  by  some 
moral  jioet  desirous,  we  shall  suppose,  of  ii-iri- 
fying  and  elevating  their  character,  by  the 
circulation  of  better  sentiments  than  tho.se 
with  which  they  have  been  long  familiar;  it 
is  nece.s,sary  that  the  will  shall  go  along  with 
their  sympathies  to  preserve  them  jierliaps 
from  being  turned  into  antipatliies;  and  that 
is  not  likely  to  hai)pen,  if  violence  be  done  to 
long-established  customs  aiul  habil.s,  which 
may  Iiave  acijuired  not  only  the  force,  but 
something  too  of  the  sanctity,  of  nature. 

JJut  it  is  certain  that  to  effect  any  happy 
change  in  the  manners  or  the  morals  of  a 
people — to  be  in  any  degree  instrument^il  to 
the  attainment  or  i)re.sorvation  of  their  ..earcst 
interests — a  I'oet  must  deal  with  then;  in  the 
spirit  of  tnitl: ;  and  that  he  may  do  so,  he 
must  not  only  l)e  conversant  with  their  condi- 
tion, but  wise  in  knowledge,  that  he  may  un- 
dersUmd  what  he  sees,  and  whence  it  springs 
— the  evil  and  the  good.  Without  it,  he  can 
never  lieip  to  remove  a  curse  or  estai)lish  a 
blessing;  for  a  while  his  dcnunciatioi's  or  his 
praise^  may  seem  to  be  working  witnders — his 
genius  may  be  extolled  to  the  skies — and  him- 
self ranlied  among  tlie  benefactors  of  his 
people;  but  yet.  a  little  while,  and  it  is  seen 
that  the  miracle  has  nut  been  wrought,,  ii:e 
evil  spirit  has  not  iiccn  t  xorciscd  ;  the  jiliigno- 
s))ol  is  still  on  llic  bcisoni  of  bis  unhealed  coun- 
try; and  the  i>liysician  sinks  away  unob,servcd 
among  men  who  have  not  taken  a  degree. 

Look,  for  example,  at  the  late  of  that  once 
I'asliioiiabli',  for  we  can  hanlly  call  it  popular, 
tale— "Sc'illan  I's  Skirlh,  or  the  lli.story  of 
Will  and  Jean,"  wllh  its  Supplement,  "The 
Waes  o'  War."  Jlector  ]\lacne.  had  taste 
and  feeling — even  genius — and  wUl  beremcm- 
'lered  among  Scottisli  p'v;|s. 

.H»)ljiii  Hums,  in  niony  a  ditty, 
Lou^'ty  sings  in  whisky's  praise; 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS, 


49 


Hwcut  his  sanR !  the  niuir's  the  pity 
E'tT  (111  it  liu  wiir'il  sif  lays.  Biieiit  mnli 

<*'  ii"  till!  ills  |ii">r  Cak'diiiiia 

E'tT  yet  iiiV'T'l.     r  oor  will  tiisto,  tiiHtod 

Brow'il  ill  hell's  lilm  k  I'aiulfiiKiiiiii— 

Whisky's  ill  will  skiiith  lier  maist.     hnrin  most 

So  siiitl  Hector  iMiu'iieil  of  Robert,  Hums,  in 
verse  not,  ([uite  so  viirorous  as  tlie  "  Karncst 
Cry."  It  would  riMiuire  a  deeper  voiec  to 
I'liujliton  the  "droutliy"  from  "Seoteh  Drink," 
if  it  he  "iirewed  in  iiell."  "  impressed  witli 
tlie  lianefiil  eonseriuciieos  inseparalilc  from  an 
inordinate  use  of  ardent  spirits  anion,!;  tlic 
lower  orders  of  society,  anil  anxious  to  contri- 
bute sometliinp;  that  mi^lit,  at  least  tend  to  re- 
tard the  contagion  of  so  dangerous  an  evil,  it 
Avas  conceived,  in  the  ardour  of  philanthropy, 
that  a  natural,  pathetic  story,  in  verse,  calcu- 
lated to  enforce  moral  truths,  in  the  lantiuasc 
of  sini])licity  and  passion,  might  probalily 
interest  the  uncorrupted ;  and  that  a  striking 
picture  of  the  calamities  Incident  to  idle  de- 
iiauchory,  contrasted  with  the  blessings  of  in- 
dustrious prosperity,  might  (altogether  insuffi- 
cient to  reclaim  abandoned  vice)  do  something 
to  strengthen  and  encourage  endangered  vir- 
tue. Visionary  as  these  fond  expect:. tions 
may  have  been,  it  is  pleasing  to  cherish  the 
ide.t;  and  if  we  may  be  allowed  to  dr.'i'w  favour- 
■able  inferences  from  the  side  of  *  n  thou»<(iiil. 
cr>pic:<  in  t  .(•■  s/iort  x/Kicf  of  Jive  iioiitJi".  why 
should  we  despair  of  succer-:s?'  The  success, 
if  wu  niMV  trust  to  statistical  tables,  has,  alas! 
been  small ;  nor  would  it  have  been  greater 
had  a  million  copies  been  put  into  circulation. 
For  the  argument  illustrated  in  the'' History  of 
Will  and  .lean" has  no  1  mndation  in  nature — 
and  proceeds  on  an  assumption  grossly  ca- 
lumnioiis  of  ''le  Scottish  character.  The  fol- 
lowing verses  used  once  to  ring  in  every  ear: — 

Wha  was  aiice  like  Willie  Gnrlaoe,  uncu 

W  lia  111  ncilHiiinn  town  or  fanii? 
ISeiiiity's  lilooiii  .shone  in  lii.s  fair  face, 

Deadl;,'  streiifttli  ivas  in  liis  arm? 

Wliii.  wi'  Will  coiilil  rill,  or  wrestle,  nm 

'i'liniw  til'  sli'dffe,  or  tos.s  tlio  liar'i' 

Ilap  wliat  .mulil,  Ik;  stood  a  castle, 
Or  f(-r  safety  or  for  war: 

W.irni  lii.s  heart,  and  iiiild  its  iiiaiifn', 

Wi' tlie  liaiild  lie  liaiild  wad  lie;         holil    wwiM 

lint  to  fi  viiids  lie  had  .i  "iaiidfn', 
I'lit  ^1'  and  service  aft  were  free. 

He   marries  .loamc  M""ir,  a  wife  worthy  of 


him,  and  for  three  years  they  are  pood  and 
happy  in  the  blessing  of  (lod.     What  in  a  few 
months  makes  drunkards  of  them  both?     He 
happciiH  to  go  once  for  refreshment,  after  a 
long  walk,  into  a  way-side  pulilie>housc — and 
from  that  night  he  is  a  lost  man.     Jle  is  de- 
scribed as  entering  it  on  liis  Avay  homo  from  a 
Fair — and  wo  never  heard  of  a  Fair  where 
there  was  no  whisky — drinks   Meg's   ale   or 
porter,  and  cats  her  bread  and  cheese  without 
incurring  much  blame  from  his  biographer; 
but  his  companion  jirevails  on  him  to  t,aste 
"the  widow's  gill" — a  thing  this  bold  peas,ant 
seems  never  before  to  have  heard  of— and  in- 
fatuated with  the  novel  jiotion,  Willie  fiarlace, 
after  a  few  feeble  struggles,  in  which  he  derives 
no  sui)jiort  from  his  previous  life  of  hajipiness, 
industry,  sobriety,  virtue,  and  religion,  stag- 
gers to  destruction,     .leanie,  in  despair,  takes 
to  drinking  too;  they  arc  "rouped  out;"  she 
becomes  a  beggar,  and  he  "a  sodgcr."     The 
verses  run  smoothly  and  rapidly,  and  there  is 
both  skill  and   power  of  narration,   nor  arc 
touches  of  nature  wanting,  strokes  of  pathos 
that  have  drawn  tears.    But  by  what  insidious 
witchcraft    this    frightful    and     fatal    trans- 
formation was  brought  about,  the  uninspired 
story-teller  gives  no  intimation — a  few  vulgar 
common-places   constitute   the   whole   of  his 
philosophy — and  he  no  more  thinks  of  tracing 
the  eflbets  of  Avbisky  on  the  moral  being — the 
heart — of  poor  Willie  (Jarlace,  than  he  would 
have  thought  of  giving  an  account  of  the  coats 
of  his  stomach,  had  he  been  poisoned  to  death 
by   ar.senie.      His    "hero"    is   not   gradually 
changed    into   a   bca.st,    like   the   victims  of 
C'irv:e's  enchantments;   bui,   rather   resembles 
the  Cyclops  all  at  once  maddened  in  his  cave 
by  the  craft  of  I'lysse.s.     This  is  an  outrage 
against  naau'c;  not  thus  is  the  sting  to  be 
taken    out   of    "Scotland's    Skaith" — iind   a 
nation   of  drunkards   to   be   changed   into  a 
nation  of  gentlemen.     If  no  man  be   for  a 
moment  .afe  who  "prees  the  widow's  gill," 
the  case  is  iiopelc.ss,  anil  despair  admits  the 
inutility  of  Fxci.-;e.     In  the  "Waes  o'  War" — 
the   sequel    oi    the   story   -Willie   returns   to 
Scotland  with  :'  pension  and  a  wooden  leg,  and 
finds  .feanie  with  the  children  in  a  cottage 
given  her  by  "the  good  ikiccleugh."  Both  have 
'  become  as  sober  as  church -mice.      The  loss 
i  of  r.  limb,  and  eight  pounds  a  year  for  life,  had 


so 


THE  OENIUa  ANT>  WniTINOS  OF  nUIlNS. 


1; 


l: 


cfll'chially  reformcil  tlic  huwlinnd;  a  cottauo 
iHul  one  pouiHl  a  (iiinrtcr,  tlio  wife:  and  (/iIm 
wiw  K"'"!  Hector  iMiiciifil's  idea  of  a  Moral 
Tocni  !^a  poem  tliat  wiw  not  alwoliitcij'  to 
Btay  (ho  platruc,  Imt  to  fortify  (lie  eonstitutinn 
ftKain.^'t  it;  "and  if  we  may  l)e  allowed  to  draw 
favoiirai)le  infercneeH  from  tlic  sale  of  (en 
tlioiiHand  copies  in  the  Hliort  wpacc  of  five 
montliH,  why  sliould  we  despair  of  siiccess?" 

It  is  not  from  such  poetry  that  any  liealth- 
ful  influence  can  he  exhaled  over  the  vitiated 
habits  of  a  people ; 

With  otlicr  niinistrntlons,  tlinu,  O  Xntnro ! 
Ilonlest  tliy  wanduiiiiK  and  (li8ton)i)t'ri.Ml  cliild ; 

had  Hums  written  a  Talc  to  exemplify  a  Curse, 
Nature  would  have  told  him  of  them  all;  nor 
would  he  have  lieen  in  anj^ht  unfitted  liy  the 
experiences  that  prompted  many  a  penial  and 
festive  strain,  but,  on  the  contrary,  the  better 
qualified  to  pive,  in  "thoufrhts  that  breathe 
and  words  that  burn,"  some  solution  of  that 
appallina:  mystery,  in  which  the  souls  of  uood 
men  arc  often  seen  hurrying  and  hurried  alons,' 
paths  they  had  long  abhorred,  and  still  abhor, 
as  may  be  seen  from  their  eyes,  even  when 
they  are  rejectini;  all  offered  means  of  salva- 
tion, human  and  divine,  and  have  sold  their 
Bibles  to  buy  death.     Nor  would  Hums  have 
adopted  the  vulffar  libel  on  the  Hritish  army, 
that  it  was  a  receptacle  for  drunken  husbands 
who  had  deserted  their  wives  and  children. 
-There  have  been  many  such  recruits;  but  his 
martial,  loyal,  and  patriotic  spirit  would  ill 
have  brooked  the  thouj^ht  of  such  a  disgrace 
to  the  service,  in  an  ideal  picture,  which  his 
genius  was  at  liberty  to  colour  at  its  own  will, 
and  eould  have  coloured  brightly  according  to 
truth.     "One  summer  evening  he  was  at  the 
inn   at   Hrownhill  with  a  couple  of  friends, 
when  a  poor  way-worn  soldier  passed  the  win- 
dow :  of  a  su(hlen  it  struck  the  poet  to  call 
him  in,  and  get  the  story  of  his  adventures ; 
after  listening  to  which,  he  all  at  once  fell  into 
one  of  those  fits  of  abstraction  not  unusual 
with  him,"  and  perhaps,  with  the  air  of  "T/ic 
mill,  mill  <)"  in  his  heart,  he  composed  the 
"Soldier's   Return."     It,   too,   speaks  of  the 
"wacs   of    war;"   and    that    poor  way-worn 
soldier,   we  can  well    believe,   had  given  no 
very  flattering  account  of  himself  or  his  life, 
cither  before  or  after  lie  had  mounted  the 


cockade.  A'liy  had  he  left  Scotland  and  Mill- 
mannoch  on  the  sweet  banks  of  the  Coyle 
near  Coylton  Kirk?  Burns  cared  not  why: 
he  loved  his  kind,  and  above  all  his  own  peo]ile; 
and  his  imagination  immediately  pictured  a 
blissful  meeting  of  long-jiarted  lovers. 

T  left  till'  llnt'H  mill  tciitcil  Hclil, 
WliiU'c  laiiK  III  Ipccii  II  IcmIkit, 

.My  liiiiiililu  knapsack  a'  my  weiiltli, 
A  iioor  luul  liuiu'st  BiiilKur. 

A  Uiil,  IlKlit  licart  wan  In  my  lirciist; 

,My  liaiid  iiiiNtain'il  wi'  |iliiiiilt'i'; 
And  for  fair  Hidtiii,  liamu  iiKalii, 

I  cliceiy  (111  ilicl  wander. 
I  thciii^'lit  iipiiii  the  liaiikH  ii'  Cull, 

I  tliiiii;;lit  upon  my  Niiiicy, 
I  tliiiii^'lit  iipiiii  tlic  witcliiiiKRiiillo 

Tliat  caiiK'lit  my  yoiitliftil  fancy. 

At  li'iiKtIi  I  rench'il  the  IpihiiiIc  kIcii, 

Where  early  life  1  Hpinted  ; 
I  jiass'd  the  mill,  and  tiystiii'^  thniii, 

Where  Niiiiey  aft  I  ecmi  ted  : 
Wlia  spied  I  hilt  my  iilli  ileiir  nialil, 

DdWn  hy  her  nicither's  dwelling  ! 
And  tili'ii'd  nie  round  to  hide  the  llotid 

That  111  my  eeii  was  .swelling. 

The  ballail  is  a  very  .  i  .utifiil  one,  and 
throughout  how  true  to  initure !  It  is  alivo 
all  over  Scotland;  that  other  is  dead,  or  with 
suspended  animation;  not  because  the  "Sol- 
dier's lietiirn"  is  a  happy,  and  "  \Vill  and  .lean" 
a  mi.'erable  story;  for  the  peo]de's  heart  is 
prone  to  pity,  though  their  eyes  are  not  much 
given  to  tears.  But  the  people  were  tidd  that 
"Will  and  Jean"  had  been  written  for  their 
sakes,  by  a  wise  man  made  niclaiiclioly  by  the 
sight  of  their  condition.  The  njiper  ranks 
were  sorrowful  exceedingly  for  the  lower — all 
weeping  over  their  wine  for  them  over  their 
whisky,  and  would  not  be  comforted !  For 
Hector  JIacneil  informs  them  that 

Mamie's  dull,  wlia  eoiild  net  iiai^  lluht 
On  some  thiiifrs  that  slioiihl  he  clear, 

Faiid  ere  Ioiik  the  faii't,  and  ae  liinlit 
CUihb'd  and  ijat  tin;  Ikizctk'cr. 

The  lower  ranks  read  the  liamcntation,  for 
ever  so  many  tliousaiids  were  thrust  into  their 
hands;  but  though  not  insensible  of  their  own 
infirmities,  and  willing  to  confess  them,  they 
rose  np  in  indignation  against  a  charge  that 
swept  their  firesides  of  idl  that  was  most  sa- 
credly cherished  there,  asked  who  wrote  the 
"Cotter's  Satnrdiiy  Night?"  and  declared  with 
one  voice,  and  a  loud  one,  that  if  they  were  to 


THE  OKNTFR  AND  WriTINOa  OF  miRNR. 


Rl 


I 

I 


I)C  bettered  l)y  pocin«,   it.  slioiild  l)C   by  ilic 
|ioemn  of  tlicir  own  l{(il)ort,  niiriiH. 

And  licro  we  are  ImiiiKlit  !'•  niteiik  of  those 
satii'ieiil  eoiniKisitioiis  wliicli  iimde  IJuriiM  fa- 
moiiM  within  the  Iwundn  of  more  tiiiinone  I'rcM- 
liytcry,  iieforc  the  world  liiid  iicard  hiw  mime. 
In  lioyhood  and  early  youth  he  Khowed  no 
HyniptonriH  of  humour — he  waw  no  droll — dull 
cvpii — from  eonstitutional  headaehcs,  and 
licartquakcs,  and  niystoricn  not  to  he  under- 
stood— no  lauuhinu:  faee  had  ho — the  lovers  of 
niirtii  saw  none  of  its  sparkles  in  his  dark, 
melaneholy  looking  eyes.  In  his  autoltio- 
^Tipliical  sketeh  he  tells  us  of  no  i'unny  or 
facetious  "chap-books;"  his  earliest  readinj; 
was  of  "the  tender  and  true,"  the  serious  or 
the  sublime.  I5ut  from  the  firs,,  lie  had  been 
just  as  susceptible  and  as  observant  of  the 
eoniie  as  of  the  traffic — nature  hail  ^ivcn  him 
a  Kcnius  as  j)owerful  over  smiles  as  tears — but 
a.s  the  sacred  source  lies  deepest,  its  first  inspi- 
rations were  drawn  thence  in  abstraction  aiul 
silence,  and  not  till  it  felt  some  assurance  of 
its  <liviner  strength  did  it  delight  to  disport 
it.self  among  the  ludicrous  images  that,  in  in- 
numerable varieties  of  form  and  colour — all 
representative  of  realities — may  be  seen,  when 
we  choose  to  look  at  them,  mingling  with  the 
most  solemn  or  pathetic  shows  that  pass 
along  in  our  dream  of  life.  You  remember  his 
words, "  Thus  with  me  began  Love  and  Poesy." 
True;  they  grew  together;  but  for  a  long  time 
they  were  almost  silent — seldom  broke  out 
into  song.  His  earliest  love  versos  but  poorly 
express  his  love — nature  was  then  too  strong 
within  him  for  art,  which  then  wa.«t  weak — 
and  young  passion,  then  pure  but  all-cngro.sM- 
ing,  was  filling  his  whole  soul  with  poetry  that 
ere  long  was  to  find  a  tongue  that  would  charm 
the  world. 

It  was  in  the  Humorous,  the  Comic,  the 
Satirical,  that  he  ilrst  tried  and  proved  his 
strength.  I'lxulting  to  find  that  a  rush  of 
words  was  ready  at  his  will — that  no  sooner 
flashed  his  fancies  than  on  the  instant  they 
were  embodied,  lie  wantoned  and  revelled 
among  the  subjects  that  had  always  seemed  to 
him  the  most  risible,  whatever  might  be  the 
kind  of  laughter,  simjile  or  compound — ])ure 
mirth,  or  a  mixture  of  mirth  and  contempt, 
even  of  inilignation  and  scorn — mirth  still 
being  the  chief  ingredient  that  qualified  the 


whole — and  these,  as  you  know,  were  all  in- 
cliidetl  wiliiin  tho  "Sanctinmnio.is,"  from 
which  Hums  believed  tho  sacred  to  be  ex- 
cluded; but  there  lay  tho  danger,  and  there 
tho  blumo  if  he  transgressed  the  holy  bounds. 
His  satires  were  unsjiaringly  directed  against 
certain  ministers  of  the  gospel,  whose  Calvin- 
ism lie  thought  was  not  Christianity;  whoso 
characters  were  to  him  odious,  their  persons 
ridiculous,  their  manners  in  the  pulpit  irreve- 
rent, and  out  of  it  absurd:  and  having  freqtieiit 
opportunities  of  seeing  and  hearing  them  in 
all  their  glory,  he  made  studies  of  them  ron 
amnre  on  the  spot,  and  at  home  from  abundant 
materials  with  a  master's  hand  elaborated 
finished  pictures — for  some  of  them  arc  no  less 
— which,  when  hung  out  for  public  inspec- 
tion in  market  places,  brought  tiic  originals 
before  crowds  of  gazers  transported  into  ap- 
plause. Was  this  wicked?  Wicked  we  think 
too  strong  a  word;  but  wo  cannot  say  that  it 
was  not  reprehensible,  for  to  all  sweeping 
satire  there  must  bo  some  exception — and 
exaggeration  cannot  be  truth.  Uurns  by  his 
irregularities  had  incurred  ecclesiastical  cen- 
sure, and  it  has  not  unfairly  been  said  tliat 
personal  spite  barbed  tho  sting  of  his  satire. 
Yet  we  fear  such  censure  had  been  but  too 
lightly  regarded  by  him;  and  wo  are  disposed 
to  think  that  his  ridicule,  however  bhimeablc 
on  other  grounds,  was  free  from  malignity,  ■ 
and  that  \w.  genius  for  the  comic  rioted  in  tho 
pleasure  of  sympathy  and  the  pride  of  jiower. 
To  those  who  regard  the  persons  he  thus  satir- 
ized as  truly  belonging  to  the  old  Covenanters, 
and  saints  of  a  more  ancient  time,  such  satires 
must  seem  shameful  and  sinful ;  to  us  who 
regard  "I'umblc  John"  and  his  brethren  in 
no  such  light,  they  appear  venial  ofl'ences,  and 
not  so  horrible  as  Hudibrastic.  A  good  many 
years  after  Hurns's  death,  in  o\ir  boyhood  we 
sometimes  saw  and  heard  more  than  one  of 
those  worthies,  and  cannot  think  his  descrip- 
tions greatly  overcharged.  We  remember  walk- 
ing one  day — unknown  to  us,  a  fast-day — in 
the  neighbourhood  of  an  ancient  fortress,  and 
hearing  a  noise  to  be  likened  to  nothing  ima- 
gin.ablo  on  this  earth  but  the  bellowing  of  a 
buflfalo  fallen  into  a  tra])  upon  a  tiger,  which 
as  wc  came  within  li.alf  a  mile  of  the  casi  le  wo 
discerneil  to  bo  the  voice  of  a  pastor  engaged 
in  public  pnaycr.    His  physiognomy  wa.s  little 


02 


THK  OENIUa  AND  WIlITINCifl  OP  mmNS. 


IcHM  alariniii!,'  tlniii  lii'<  voice,  ami  liln  Hfi'iium 
i'orri'KiMmiliMl  williliiH  limks  anil  h\'*  liiiiK'* 
tlio  wliok'  l>i'in«  imloed  itii  I'xtraoi'iliiiar.v  cxlii- 
bition  ol'divinu  wdrnhip.  We  never  eaii  think 
itwinl'ul  tliat  IJurnHsliouiil  liaveliien  hunionms 
on  Mucli  a  imlpiteer;  and  if  wo  HJiiulder  al 
Honie  III'  till!  vei-Kex  in  wliiili  liCKecniH  yetailvo, 
it  is  nut  at.  the  witirist. 

"From  this  time,  I  liepm  to  lie  known  in 
tho  eoiintry  an  a  maker  of  rhymes.  'Holy 
Willie's  I'rayer'  next  made  itHa|iiii'aruiitT,  and 
alarmed  the  kirk-sessinii  so  miicli,  tliat  they 
held  several  meetings  to  look  over  their  s|iirit- 
iial  artillery,  and  see  if  any  of  it  mitrhl  lie 
pointed  against  iirot'ane  rhymers;"  "and  to  a 
jilaee  anions  /'/•o/i'/ic  rhijimi-n,"  says  Mr.  Loek- 
iiart,  in  his  masterly  volume,  "tho  author  of 
this  tirrilili'  iiijlirlion  had  umiuestionalily  es- 
tablished his  ri>,'ht."  Sir  Walter  sjicaks  of 
it  as  "a  jiieeoof  .satire  more  ('.iijuinilcl!/  xenrc 
than  any  which  Hurn«  ever  afterwards  wrote, 
but  unj'ortumttchj  rout  in  o  fonii  loo  (liininjlji 
profiuw  to  lie  received  into  Dr.  t'urrie's  collec- 
tion."  We  have  no  wi.sh  to  say  one  word  in 
opposition  to  the  sentence  pronounced  by  such 
ju(l>,'es;  but  has  Burns  hero  flanil  beyond 
Milton,  Goethe,  and  iJyron?  He  jiuts  a  I'rayer 
to  the  Almighty  into  the  nuiuth  of  one  whom 
lie  believes  to  be  one  of  the  lowest  of  blas- 
phemers. In  that  I'rayer  are  impious  sujipli- 
cations  couched  in  shocking  terms  character- 
istic of  the  hyimcrite  who  stands  on  a  familiar 
footinfi:  with  his  .Maker.  .Milton's  blasphemer 
is  a  fallen  an{j;cl,  (Joetlie's  a  devil.  Hymn's 
the  first  murderer,  and  Hurns'san  elder  of  the 
kirk.  All  the  four  poets  are  alike  ffuilty,  or 
not  guilty — unless  there  be  in  the  case  of  one 
of  them  something  peculiar  that  lifts  him  up 
above  the  rest,  in  the  case  of  another  some- 
thing peculiar  that  leaves  him  alone  a  sinner. 
Let  Milton  then  st^ind  aloof,  acquitted  of  the 
charge,  not  because  of  the  grandeur  and  mag- 
nificence of  his  conception  of  Satan,  but  be- 
cau.se  its  high  significance  cannot  be  misiinder- 
Htood  by  tho  pious,  and  that  out  of  the  mouths 
of  the  dwellers  in  darkness,  a,s  well  as  of  the 
Sons  of  the  iMorning,  "  ho  vindicates  the  \-'?.yn 
of  God  toman."  Hyron's  Cain  bla.sphemes; 
does  iJyron?  Many  have  thought  so— for  they 
saw,  or  seemed  to  see,  in  the  character  of  the 
Cursed,  as  it  glooms  in  soliloquies  that  are 
poetically  sublime,  some  dark  intention  in  its 


delineator  to  inspire  doulils  of  tliu  .jiiMtice  of 
the  Almighty  Om;  who  inhabiteth  eternity. 
Goethe  in  the  "  I'rologuo  in  lieaven"  brings 
.Mcphistophcles  tiico  to  face  with  God.  liut 
(Joethc devoted  many  years  to  "his  great  poem 
Faust,"  anil  in  it  he  too,  as  many  of  the  wise 
and  good  believe,  strove  to  hIiow  rising  out  of 
the  blackness  of  darkness  the  attributes  of 
Ilim  whose  eyes  are  too  pnro  to  behold  in- 
iquity.  He  it  even  so;  then,  v  ny  blame 
Hums'/  You  cannot  .justly  do  so,  nii  account 
of  iho  "daring  jirofanc  form"  in  which  "  Holy 
Willie's  I'rayer"  is  cast,  without  utterly  iTpro- 
liating  the  "  I'rologne  in  Heaven." 

Of  tho  "Holy  Fair"  few  have  s|ioken  with 
any  very  serious  reprehension.  Dr.  Hlair  was 
so  much  taken  with  it  that  he  suggested  a 
well-known  emendation — and  for  our  own  part 
we  have  no  hesitation  in  saying,  that  we  sec 
no  reason  to  lament  that  it  should  have  been 
written  bythe  writer  of  the  "Cotter's  Saturday 
Night."  The  title  of  the  ]ioem  was  no  jirofanc 
thought  of  his— it  had  arisen  long  beforo 
among  the  people  themselves,  and  expressed 
the  jirevalcnt  opinion  respecting  the  use  and 
wont  that  profaned  tho  solomni/ation  of  the 
most  awful  of  all  religious  rites.  In  many 
places,  and  in  none  more  than  in  Mauchline, 
theadministrationof  the  Sacrament  was  hedged 
round  about  by  tlie  self-same  practices  that 
mark  the  character  and  make  tho  enjoyment 
of  a  rural  fair-day.  Nobody  doubts  that  in  the 
midst  of  them  all  sat  hundreds  of  pious  )ieople 
whoso  whole  hearts  and  souls  were  in  the  divine 
service.  Nobody  doubts  that  even  among  those 
who  took  jiart  in  the  open  or  hardly  concealed 
indecencies  which  custom  could  never  make 
harndess,  though  it  made  many  insensible  to 
their  grossness,  not  a  few  were  now  and  then 
visited  with  devout  thoughts;  nay,  that  some, 
in  spite  of  their  improprieties,  wliich  fell  off 
from  them  unawares,  or  were  by  an  act  of 
pious  volition  <lismisscd,  were  privileged  to 
partake  of  the  communion  elements.  Nobody 
siqiposes  that  the  heart  of  such  an  assemblage 
was  to  he  judged  from  its  outside — that  there 
was  no  composcil  depth  beneath  that  restless 
surface.  Hut  everybody  knows  that  there  was 
fatal  desecration  of  the  spirit  that  should  have 
rrhjiml  there,  and  that  the  thoughts  of  this 
world  were  jiaramount  at  a  time  and  {ilace  set 
apart,  under  sanctions  and  denunciations  the 


THE  (JENIUS  AND  WHITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


r)3 


moHt  awful,  to  tlio  remembrance  of  Him  wlio 
piiruhuHed  fur  iH  the  kiiiplom  of  Heaven. 

\Vc  believe,  tlioii,  tiiat  Hiirn^  wun  not  Ruilty 
ill  tliix  jiocm  of  any  intentional  irreverence 
toward  the  puhlic  oniinanceK  of  reiinion.  It 
does  not,  in  our  opinion,  aflbrd  any  reason  for 
Kupponinf?  tliat  he  was  among  tlio  number  of 
those  who  ri'f?anl  such  ordinances  us  of  little  or 
no  avail,  bccau^ie  they  do  not  always  exemplify 
the  reverence  which  becomes  men  in  the  act 
of  communing  with  their  (Jod.  Such  is  the 
constitution  of  human  nature  that  there  are 
too  many  moments  in  the  very  article  of  these 
solemn  occasions  when  the  hearts  of  men  arc 
a  prey  to  all  their  wonted  cares  and  follies; 
and  this  shortcoming  in  the  whole  solemnity 
robs  it  to  many  a  delicate  and  well-disposed, 
iiut  not  thoroughly  instructed  imagination,  of 
all  attraction.  But  there  must  be  a  worship 
by  communities  as  well  as  by  individuals;  for 
in  the  regards  of  rrovidencc,  communities 
appear  to  have  a  personality  as  well  as  indi- 
viduals; and  how  shall  the  worship  of  commu- 
nities be  conductetl,  but  by  forms  and  cere- 
monies, whitli,  as  they  occur  at  stated  times, 
whatever  be  the  present  frame  of  men's  minds, 
must  be  often  gone  through  with  coldness. 
If  those  pc  Hons  would  duly  consider  the  ne- 
cessity of  »  'h  ordinances,  and  their  use  in 
the  conservation  of  religion,  they  would  hold 
them  sacred,  in  spite  of  the  levity  and  hypo- 
crisy that  toooften  accompany  thcirobscrvance, 
nor  would  they  wonder  to  see  among  the  wor- 
shippers an  unsuspected  attention  to  the  things 
of  this  world.  But  there  was  far  more  than 
this  in  the  desecf  uon  which  called  for  "the 
Holy  Fair"  from  iSurns.  A  divine  ordinance 
had  through  unhallowed  custom  been  overlaid 
by  abuses,  if  not  to  the  extinction,  assuredly  to 
the  suppression,  in  numerous  communicants, 
of  the  religious  spirit  essential  to  its  efficacy; 
and  in  that  fact  we  have  to  look  for  a  defence 
of  the  audacity  of  his  sarcasm;  we  are  to  be- 
lieve that  the  Poet  felt  strong  in  the  possession 
of  a  reverence  far  greater  than  that  which  lie 
beheld,  and  in  the  conviction  that  nothing 
which  ho  treated  with  levity  could  be  otherwise 
than  displeasing  in  the  eye  of  (Jod.  We  are  far 
from  seeking  to  place  him,  on  this  occasion, 
by  the  side  of  those  men  who,  "strong  in 
hatred  of  idolatry,"  become  religious  reformers, 
and  while  purifying  Faith,  unsparingly  shat- 

VOL.   V. 


tered  Forms,  not  without  violence  to  the  cher- 
ished emotions  of  many  pious  hearts.  Yet  their 
wit  too  wu"  often  aimed  at  faidty  things  stand- 
ing in  close  connection  with  solemnities  which 
wit  cannot  approach  without  danger.  C'ouhl 
such  scenes  as  those  against  which  Hums  di- 
rected the  battery  of  his  ridicule  be  eiiiliiml 
now?  Would  they  not  be  felt  to  be  most 
in-ofnno?  And  may  we  not  attribute  the  change 
in  some  measure  to  the  Comic  Muse?' 

Hums  did  not  need  to  have  subjects  for 
poetry  pointed  out  and  enumerated  to  him, 
latent  or  patent  in  Scottish  iiife,  as  was  con- 
siderately done  in  a  series  of  dullish  verses  by 
that  excellent  person,  Mr.  Telford,  Civil  En- 
gineer. Why,  it  has  been  asked,  did  he  not 
compose  a  Sacred  I'oem  on  the  administration 
of  the  Sacrament  of  our  Lord's  Last  Supper? 
The  answer  is — how  could  he  with  such  scenes 
before  his  eyes?  Was  he  to  shut  them,  and  to 
describe  it  as  if  such  scenes  were  not?  Was  he 
to  introduce  them,  and  give  us  a  poem  of  a 
mixed  kind,  faithful  to  the  truth?  From  such 
profanation  his  genius  was  guarded  by  his 
sense  of  religion,  which  though  defective  was 
fervent,  and  not  unaccompanied  with  awe. 
Observe  in  what  he  has  written,  how  he  keeps 
aloof  from  the  Communion  Table.  Not  for 
one  moment  does  he  in  thought  enter  the  doors 
of  the  House  of  God.  There  is  a  total  sepa- 
ration between  the  outer  scene  and  the  inner 
sanctuary — the  administration  of  'he  sacra- 
ment is  removed  out  of  all  those  desecrating 
circumstances,  and  left  to  the  imagination  of 
the  religious  mind — by  his  silence.  Would  a 
great  painter  have  dared  to  give  us  a  picture 
of  it?  Harvey  has  painted,  simply  and  sub- 
limely, a  "Hill  Sn  nr  io>  t."  But  there  all  is 
solemn  in  the  light  oi  i;';piving  day;  the  peace 
that  passeth  all  understanding  reposes  on  the 
heads  of  all  the  communicants;  and  in  a  spot 
sheltered  from  the  persecutor  by  the  solitude 
of  sympathizing  nature,  the  humble  and  the 

'  [The  picture  given  In  Burns's  "  Holy  Fair"  coin- 
ciiles  woiulerfully  with  a  scene  of  the  same  kind 
vividly  portrayed  in  prose,  in  a  pamphlet— which 
doubtless  the  poet  had  seen— henring  date  1759,  and 
purporting  to  be  "  A  letter  from  a  Blacksmith  to  the 
Ministers  and  Elders  of  the  Church  of  .Scotland,  in 
which  the  manner  of  pul)lic  worship  in  that  church 
is  considered,"  &c.  So  tliat  Burns  was  not  the  first 
to  draw  attention  to  the  improprieties  attending  such 
I  celebrations.] 

70 


54 


THE   GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


li    ! 


contrite,  in  a  ritual  hallowed  by  their  pious 
forefathers,  draw  near  at  his  bidding  to  their 
Redeemer. 

^Vc  must  now  return  to  Burns  himself,  but 
cannot  allow  hi..i  to  leave  EUisland  without 
dwelling  for  a  little  while  longer  on  the  happy 
life  he  led  for  three  years  and  more  on  that 
pleasant  farm.     Now  and  then  you  hear  him 
low-spirited  in  his  letters,  but  generally  cheer- 
ful; and  th  nigh  his  affiiirs  were  not  very  pros- 
perous, there  was  comfort  in  his  household. 
There  was  peace  and  plenty;  for  Mrs.  Burns 
was  a  good  manager,  and  he  was  not  a  bad  one; 
and  one  way  and  another  the  family  enjoyed 
an  lionest  livelihood.      The  house  had  been 
decently  furnislied,   the   farm    fell   stocked; 
and  they  Avanted  nothing  to  satisfy  their  sober 
wishes.     Three  years  after  marriage.  Burns, 
with  his  Je;in  at  his  side,  writes  to  Mrs.  Dunlop, 
"a.s  fine  a  figure  and  face  we  can  produce  as 
any  rank  of  life  w'hatever;  rustic,  native  grace; 
unaffected  modesty,  and  unsullied  purity;  na- 
ture's mother-wit,  and  the  rudiments  of  taste; 
a  simplicity  of  soul,  unsuspicious  of,  because 
unacquainted  with,  the  ways  of  a  selfish,  inter- 
ested, disingenuous  world;  and   the  dearest 
charm  of  all  the  rest,  a  yielding  sweetness  of 
disposition,  and  a  most  generous  warmth  of 
heart,  grateful  for  love  on  our  part,  and  ardently 
glowing  with  a  more  than  equal  return;  these, 
with  a  healthy  frame,  a  sound,  vigorous  consti- 
tution, which  your  higher  ranks  can  scarcely 
ever  hope  to  enjoy,  are  the  charms  of  lovely 
woman  in  my  humble  walk  of  life."    Josiah 
AValker,  however,  writing  many  years  after, 
expresses  his  belief  that  Burnp  did  not  love  his 
wife.     "A  discerning  reader  will  perceive," 
says  he,  "that  the  letters  in  which  'le  an- 
nounces his  marriage  are  written  in  that  state, 
when  the  mind  is  pained  by  reflection  on  an 
unwelcome  step;  and  finds  relief  to  itself  by 
seeking  arguments  to  justify  the  deed,  and 
les.sen  its  disadvantages  in  the  opinion  of  others. 
But  the  greater  the  change  which  the  taste  of 
Burns  had  undergone,  and  the  more  his  hopes 
of  pleasure  must  in  consequence  have  been 
diminished,  from  rendering  Miss  Armour  his 
only  female  companion,  the  more  credit  does 
he  deserve  for  chat  rectitude  of  resolution, 
which  prompted  him  to  fulfil  what  he  con- 
sidered as  an  engagement,  and  to  act  as  a  ne- 
cessary duty  prescribed.     We  may  be  at  .,ht 


same  time  permitted  to  lament  the  necessity 
which  he  had  thus  incurred.  A  marriage,  from 
a  sentiment  of  duty,  may  by  circumstances  be 
rendered  indispensable;  init  as  it  is  undeniably 
a  duty,  not  to  be  accomplished  by  any  tem- 
porary e.vertion,  however  great,  but  calling  for 
a  renewal  of  effort  every  year,  every  day,  and 
every  hour,  it  is  putting  the  strength  and  con- 
stancy of  our  principles  to  the  most  severe  and 
hazardous  trial.  Had  Burns  completed  his 
marriage,  before  perceiving  the  interest  which 
he  had  the  power  of  creating  in  females,  whose 
accomplishments  of  mind  and  manners  Jean 
could  never  hope  to  equal:  or  had  his  duty  and 
his  pride  permitted  his  alliance  with  one  of 
that  superior  class,  many  of  his  subsequent 
deviations  from  sobriety  and  happiness  might 
probably  have  been  prevented.  It  was  no  fault 
of  Sirs.  Burns,  that  she  was  unable,  from  her 
education,  to  furnish  what  had  grown,  since 
the  period  of  their  first  acquaintance,  one  of 
the  poet's  most  exquisite  enjoyments;  and  if 
a  daily  vacuity  of  interest  at  home  exhausted 
his  patience,  and  led  him  abroad  in  quest  of 
exercise  for  the  activity  of  his  mind,  those  who 
can  place  themselves  in  a  similar  situation  will 
not  be  inclined  to  judge  too  severely  of  his 
error."!  j[j.j,_  Burns,  you  know,  was  alive 
when  this  philosophical  stufl"was  published,  and 
she  I  ved  for  more  than  twenty  years  after  it, 
as  exemplary  a  widow  as  she  had  been  a  wife. 
Its  gross  indelicacy — say  rather  wanton  insult 
t  :■  all  the  feelings  of  a  woman,  is  abhorrent  to 
all  ihe  feelings  of  a  man,  and  shews  the  monk. 
And  we  have  quoted  it  now  that  you  may  see 
what  vile  liberties  respectable  libellers  were 
long  wont  to  take  with  Burns  and  all  that 
belonged  to  him — because  he  was  a  Ganger. 
V  ho  would  have  dared  to  write  thus  of  the 
vife  and  widow  of  a — Gentleman — of  one  who 
was  a  Lddy?  Not  Josiah  AV'alker.  Yet  it 
passed  for  years  unreproved — the  -'Life"  which 
contaiiis  it  still  circulates,  and  seems  ti.  be  in 
some  repute — and  Josiah  Walker  on  another 
occasion  is  cited  to  the  rescue  l)y  George 
Thomson  as  a  champion  and  vindicator  of  the 
truth.  The  insolent  eulogist  dared  to  say  that 
Robert  Burns  in  ma/rying  Jean  Armour  "re- 
paired seduction  by  the  most  precious  sacrifice, 
short  of  life,    which  one  human  being  can 

»  Life  of  Burns,  by.Tosiah  Walker,  prefixed  to  llori- 
..on's  edition  of  tlie  poet's  worljs,  1811. 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


66 


e  necessity 
riage,  fioni 
istaiices  be 
undeniably 
f  any  tem- 
calling  for 
■y  day,  and 
Lli  and  con- 
KCvere  and 
ipleted  hi^ 
crest  wliicli 
lalcs,  whose 
inicrs  Jean 
is  duty  and 
vith  one  of 
subsequent 
ness  might 
vas  no  fault 
;,  from  lier 
■own,  since 
,nce,  one  of 
nts;  and  if 
!  exliausted 
in  quest  of 
,  those  will) 
tuationwili 
2rcly  of  his 
was  alive 
)li.shed,  and 
[irs  after  it, 
)een  a  wife, 
nton  insult 
jhorrent  to 
( the  monk, 
ou  may  see 
ellers  were 
id  ali  that 
a  Gauirer. 
thus  of  the 
of  one  who 
ir.     Yet   it 
Afc"  which 
ms  ti.  be  in 
on  another 
by  George 
lator  of  the 
to  say  that 
•niour  "re- 
IS  sacrifice, 
being  can 
xed  to  llori- 


make  to  another!"  To  her,  in  express  terms, 
he  attributes  her  husband's  misfortunes  and 
misdoings — to  her  who  soothed  his  sorrows, 
forgave  his  sins,  inspired  his  songs,  cheered 
h's  heart,  blesi  his  bed,  educated  his  children, 
revered  his  memory,  and  held  sacred  his  dust. 
What  do  you  think  was,  according  to  this 
biographer,  the  chief  cause  of  the  blameable 
life  Burns  led  at  Ellisland?  Jle  knew  not  what 
to  do  ii'it/i  himself!  "When  not  occupied  in 
the  fields,  his  time  nncst  have  hung  heavy  on 
his  hnmls!"  Just  picture  to  yourself  Hums 
peevishly  pacing  the  "half-parlour  half-kit- 
chen" floor,  with  his  hands  in  his  breeches 
pockets,  tormenting  his  dull  brain  to  invent 
some  employment  by  which  he  might  be  en- 
abled to  resist  the  temptation  of  going  to  bed 
in  the  forenoon  in  his  clothes!  But  how  is 
this?  "V.'I;.Mi  not  occupied  in  the  fields,  his 
time  must  have  hung  heavy  on  his  hands;  for 
we  (ire  not  to  infer,  from  the  literary  eminence 
of  iJurns,  that,  like  a  person  regularly  trained 
to  studious  habits,  he  could  render  himself  by 
study  independent  of  society.  JIc  could  read 
and  write  when  occasion  prompted;  but  he 
could  not,  like  a  professional  scholar,  become 
so  interested  in  a  daily  course  of  lettered  in- 
dustry, as  to  fnd  company  an  interruption 
rathi'r  than  a  relief."  We  cheerfully  admit 
that  Hums  was  not  engaged  at  Ellisland  on  a 
History  of  the  World.  He  had  not  suflicient 
books.  Besides,  he  had  to  ride,  in  good  smug- 
gling weather,  two  hundred  miles  a  week.  Hut 
we  cannot  admit  that  "to  banish  dejection,  rt?((^ 
to  Jill  his  vacant  hours,  it  is  not  surprising 
that  he  should  have  resorted  to  such  associates 
as  his  new  neighbourhood,  or  the  inns  upon 
the  road  to  Ayrshire  could  aflford;  and  if  these 
happened  to  be  of  a  low  description,  that  his 
constant  ambition  to  render  himself  an  impor- 
tant and  interesting  figure  in  every  society, 
made  him  suit  his  conduct  and  conversation  to 
their  taste. "  When  not  on  duty,  the  Exciseman 
Avas  to  be  found  at  home  like  other  farmers, 
and  when  not  "occupied  in  the  fields"  with 
farm  Avork,  he  might  be  seen  playing  with  Sir 
William  Wallace  and  other  Scottish  heroes  in 
miniature,  two  or  three  pet  sheep  of  the  quad- 
ruped breed  sharing  in  the  vagaries  of  the 
bipeds;  or  striding  along  the  Scaur  with  his 
Whangcc  rod  in  his  fist,  with  which,  had  time 
hung  heavy,  he  would  have  cracked  the  skull 


of  Old  Chronos;  or  sitting  on  a  divot-dyke 
with  the  ghost  of  Tarn  o'  Shanter,  Captain 
Henderson,  and  the  Earl  of  Glencairn;  or,  so 
it  is  recorded,  "on  a  rock  projecting  into  the 
Nith  (which  we  have  looked  for  in  vain)  em- 
ployed in  angling,  with  a  cap  made  of  a  fox's 
skin  on  his  head,  a  loose  greatcoat  fixed  round 
him  by  a  belt,  from  which  depended  an  enor- 
mous Highland  broadsword;"  or  with  his  leg> 
under  the  fir,  with  the  famous  Black  Bowl 
sending  up  a  Scotch  mist  in  which  were  visible 
the  wigs  of  two  orthodox  English  clergymen, 
"to  whose  tastes  his  constant  ambition  to  ren- 
der himself  an  important  and  interesting  figure 
in  every  society,  made  him  suit  his  conduct 
and  conversation;" — in  such  situations  might 
Josiah  Walker  have  stumbled  upon  Burns,  and 
perhaps  met  with  his  own  friend,  "a  clergyman 
from  the  south  of  England,  who,  ou  his  return, 
talked  with  rapture  of  his  reception,  and  of 
all  that  he  had  seen  and  heard  in  the  cottage 
of  Ellisland,"  or  with  Kamsay  of  Oughtertyre, 
who  was  so  delighted  "with  Burns's  ttxor  Sa- 
l/ina  qualhi  and  the  poet's  modest  mansion,  so 
unlike  the  habitation  of  ordinary  rustics,  the 
very  evening  the  Bard  suddenly  bounced  in 
upon  us,  and  said  as  he  entered,  '  I  come,  to 
use  the  words  of  Shakspeare,  'stewed  in  haste,'" 
and  in  a  little  while,  such  was  the  force  and 
versatility  of  his  genius,  he  made  the  tears  run 

down  Mr.  S 's  [Dr.  Stewart  of  Luss]  cheeks, 

albeit  unused  to  the  poetic  strain;"  or  who 
knows  but  the  pedestrian  might  have  found 
the  poet  engaged  in  religious  exercises  under 
the  sylvan  shade?  For  did  he  not  write  to 
Mrs.  Dunlop,  "  I  own  myself  so  little  of  a 
Presbyterian,  that  I  approve  of  set  times  and 
seasons  of  more  than  ordinary  acts  of  devotion, 
for  breaking  in  on  that  habituated  routine  of 
life  and  thought,  which  is  so  apt  to  reduce  our 
exi.stence  to  a  kind  of  instinct,  or  even  some- 
times, and  with  some  minds,  to  a  state  very 
little  superior  to  mere  machinery.  This  day 
(New-year-day  morning);  the  fii-st  Sunday  of 
May;  a  breezy,  blue-skycd  noon  some  time 
about  the  beginning,  and  a  hoary  morning  and 
calm  sunny  day  about  the  end,  of  autumn; 
these,  time  out  of  mind,  have  been  with  me  a 
kind  of  holidays. "  Finally,  Josiah  might  have 
made  his  salaam  to  the  Exciseman  just  as  he 
was  folding  up  that  letter  in  which  he  says, 
"We  know  nothing,  or  next  to  nothing,  of  the 


i 


56 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WKITINGS  OF  BUKNS. 


substance  or  stnicture  of  our  souls,  so  cannot 
account  for  those  seeming  caprices  in  them, 
that  one  shouhl  be  particularly  pleased  with 
this  thing,  or  struck  with  that,  which  on  minds 
of  a  different  cast,  makes  no  extraordinary  im- 
pression.    I  have  some  favourite  flowers  in 
spring,  among  which  are  the  mountain-daisy, 
the  hare-bell,  the  fox-glove,  the  wild  brier-rose, 
the  budding  birch,  and  the  hoary  hawthorn, 
that  I  view  and  hang  over  with  particular  de- 
light.    I  never  hear  the  loud,  solitary  whistle 
of  the  curlew  in  a  summer  noon,  or  the  wild 
mixing  cadence  of  a  troop  of  grey  plovers  in 
an  autumnal  morning,  without  feeling  an  ele- 
vation of  soul  like  the  enthusiasm  of  devotion 
or  poetry.     Tell  me,  my  dear  friend,  to  what 
can  this  be  owing?    Are  we  a  piece  of  ma- 
chinery, which,  like  the  iEolian  harp,  passive, 
takes  the  impression  of  the  passing  accident? 
Or  do  these  workings  argue  something  within 
us  above  the  trodden  clod?     I  own  myself 
partial  to  such  proofs  of  those  awful  and  im- 
portant realities — a  God  that  made  all  things 
— man's  immaterial  and  immortal  nature — 
and  a  world  of  weal  or  woe  beyond  death  and 
the  grave.  "1 

Burns,  however,  found  that  an  active  ganger, 
with  ten  parishes  to  look  after,  could  not  be  a 
successful  farmer ;  and  looking  forward  to  pro- 
motion in  the  Excise,  he  gave  up  his  lease, 
and  on  his  appointment  to  another  district 
removed  into  Dumfries.  The  greater  part  of 
his  small  capital  had  been  sunk  or  scattered 
on  the  somewhat  stony  soil  of  Ellisland ;  but 
with  his  library  and  furniture — his  wife  and 
his  children — his  and  their  wearing  apparel 
— a  trifle  in  ready  money — no  debt — youth, 
health,  and  hope,  and  a  salary  of  seventy 
pounds,  he  did  not  think  himself  poor.  Such 
provision,  he  said,  was  luxury  to  what  either 
he  or  his  better-half  had  been  born  to — and 
the  Flitting  from  Ellisland,  accompanied  as  it 
was  with  the  regrets  and  respect  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood, displayed  on  the  whole  a  cheerful 
cavalcade. 

It  is  remarked  by  Mr.  Lockhart  that  Burns's 
"four  principal  biographers.  Heron,  Currie, 
Walker,  and  Irving,  concur  in  the  general 
statement  that  his  moral  course,  from  the  time 
when  he  settled  in  Dumfries,  was  downwards. " 

>  Letter  to  Mrs.  Dunlop,  Ist  Jan.  1789.  See  note  to 
Lockhart's  Life,  vol.  i.  p.  90. 


Mr.  Lockhart  has  shown  that  they  have  one 
and  all  committed  many  serious  errors  in  this 
"general  statement, "  and  we  too  shall  examine 
it  before  we  conclude.  Sleanwhile  let  us 
direct  our  attention  not  to  his  "moral  course," 
but  to  the  course  of  his  genius.  It  continued 
to  burn  bright  as  ever,  and  if  the  character  of 
the  man  corresponded  in  its  main  features  with 
that  of  the  poet,  which  wo  believe  it  did,  its 
best  vindication  will  be  found  in  a  right  under- 
standing of  the  spirit  that  animated  his  genius 
to  the  last,  and  gave  birth  to  perhaps  its  finest 
efliisions — hi.s  matchless  songs. 

In  his  earliest  Journal,  we  find  this  beauti- 
ful passage : — 

"There  is  a  noble  sublimity,  a  heart-melting 
tenderness,  in  some  of  these  ancient  fragments 
[of  Scotch  songs  or  ballads],  which  show  them 
to  be  the  work  of  a  masterly  hand ;  and  it  has 
often  given  me  many  a  heart-ache  to  reflect, 
that  such  glorious  old  bards — bards  who  very 
probably  owed  all  their  talents  to  native  genius, 
yet  have  described  the  exploits  of  heroes,  the 
pangs  of  disappointment,  and  the  meltings  of 
love,  with  such  fine  strokes  of  nature — and 
(0  how  mortifying  to  a  bard's  vanity ! )  their 
very  names  are  'buried  'mongst  the  wreck  of 
things  which  were.'    0  ye  illustrious  names 
unknown !   Mho  could  feel  so  strongly  and 
describe  so  well :  the  last,  the  meanest  of  the 
Muse's  train — one  who,  though  far  inferior  to 
your  flights,  yet  eyes  your  path,   and  with 
trembling  wing  would  sometimes  soar  after 
you — a  poor  rustic  bard,  unknown,  pays  this 
sympathetic  pang  to  your  memory!     Some 
of  you  tell  us,  with  all  the  cliarms  of  verse, 
that  you  have  been  unfortunate  in  the  world 
— unfortunate   in  love:   he  too   has  felt  the 
.  .  .   loss  of  his   little   fortune,   the    loss  of 
friends,  and,  worse  than  all,  the  loss  of  the 
woman  he  adored.     Like  you,  all  his  consola- 
tion was  his  muse:  she  taught  him  in  rustic 
measures  to  complain. — Happy  could  he  have 
done  it  with  your  strength  of  imagination  and 
flow  of  verse !     3Iay  the  turf  rest  lightly  on 
your  bones!  and  may  you  now  enjoy  that 
solace  and  rest  which  this  world  rarely  gives 
to  the  heart  tuned  to  all  the  feelings  of  poesy 
and  love!" 

The  old  nameless  Song  writers,  buried  cen- 
turies  ago  in  kirk-yards  that  have  thomselves 
perhaps  ceased  to  exist — yet  one  sees  some- 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


57 


I)  their 


times  lonesome  burial-places  among  the  hills, 
where  man's  dust  continues  to  be  deposited 
after  tiie  house  of  God  has  been  removed  else- 
,v],ere — the  old  nameless  Song  writers  took 
hold  out  of  their  stored  hearts  of  some  single 
thought  or  remembrance  surpassingly  sweet  at 
the  moment  over  all  others,  and  instantly 
words  as  sweet  had  being,  and  breathed  them- 
selves forth  along  with  some  accordant  melody 
of  the  still  more  olden  time ; — or  when  musical 
and  poetical  genius  happily  met  together,  both 
alike  passion-inspired,  then  was  born  another 
new  tune  or  air  soon  treasured  within  a  thou- 
sand maidens'  hearts,  and  soon  flowing  from 
lips  that  "murmured  near  the  living  brooks  a 
music  sweeter  than  their  own."  Had  boy  or 
virgin  faded  away  in  untimely  death,  and  the 
green  mound  that  covered  them,  by  the  work- 
ing of  some  secret  power  far  within  the  heart, 
suddenly  risen  to  fancy's  eye,  and  then  as 
suddenly  sunk  away  into  oblivion  with  all  the 
wavering  burial-place?  Then  was  framed 
dirge,  hymn,  elegy,  that,  long  after  the 
mourned  and  the  mourner  were  forgotten, 
continued  to  wail  and  lament  up  and  down  all 
the  vales  of  Scotland — for  what  vale  is  un- 
visited  by  such  sorrow — in  one  same  monoton- 
ous melancholy  air,  varied  only  as  each  separ- 
ate singer  had  her  heart  touched,  and  her  face 
saddened,  with  fainter  or  stronger  shade  of 
pity  or  grief! — Had  some  great  l)attle  been 
lost  and  won,  and  to  the  shepherd  on  the 
braes  had  a  faint  and  far  off  sound  seemed  on 
a  sudden  to  touch  the  horizon  like  the  echo  of 
a  trumpet?  Then  had  some  ballad  its  birth, 
heroic  yet  with  dying  falls,  for  the  singer 
wept,  even  as  his  heart  burned  within  him, 
over  the  princely  head  prostrated  with  all  its 
plumes,  haply  near  the  lowly  woodsman, 
whose  horn  had  often  startled  the  deer  as 
together  they  trode  the  forest-chase,  lying 
huml)le  in  death  by  his  young  lord's  feet! — O, 
blue-eyed  maiden,  even  more  beloved  than 
beautiful !  how  couldst  thou  ever  find  heart  to 
desert  thy  minstrel,  who  for  thy  sake  would 
have  died  without  one  sigh  given  to  the  dis- 
appearing happiness  of  sky  and  earth — and, 
witched  by  some  evil  spell,  how  couldst  thou 
follow  an  outlaw  to  foreign  lands,  to  find,  alas ! 
some  day  a  burial  in  the  great  deep?  Thus 
was  enchained  in  sounds  the  complaint  of  dis- 
appointed, defrauded,  and  despairing  passion. 


and  another  air  filled  the  eyes  of  our  Scottish 
maidens  with  a  new  luxury  of  tears — a  low 
flat  tune,  surcharged  throughout  with  one 
groan-like  sigh,  and  acknowledged,  even  by 
the  gayest  heart,  to  be  indeed  the  language 
of  an  incurable  grief! — Or  flashed  the  lover's 
raptured  hour  across  the  brain — yet  an  hour, 
in  all  its  rapture,  calm  as  the  summer  sea — or 
the  level  summit  of  a  far  flushing  forest  asleep 
in  sunshine,  when  there  is  not  a  breath  in 
heaven?  Then  thoughts  that  breathe,  and 
words  that  burn — and,  in  that  wedded  verse 
and  music,  you  feel  that  "love  is  heaven,  and 
heaven  is  love!" — But  affectionate,  sober, 
sedate,  and  solemn,  has  its  suuden  and  strong 
inspirations;  sudden  and  strong  as  those  of  the 
wildest  and  most  fiery  passion.  Hence  the 
old  grey-haired  poet  and  musician,  sitting 
haply  blind  in  shade  or  sunshine,  and  bethink- 
ing him  of  the  days  of  his  youth,  while  the 
leading  hand  of  his  aged  Alice  gently  touches 
his  arm,  and  that  voice  of  hers  that  once  lilted 
like  the  linnet,  is  now  like  that  of  the  dove  in 
its  lonely  tree,  mourns  not  for  the  past,  but 
gladdens  in  the  present,  and  sings  a  holy  song 
like  one  of  the  songs  of  Zion — for  both  trust 
that,  ere  the  sun  brings  another  summer,  their 
feet  will  be  wandering  by  the  craters  of  eternal 
life. 

Thus  haply  might  arise  verse  and  air  of 
Scotland's  old  patliotic  melodies.  And  how 
her  light  and  airy  measures? 

Streaks  of  sunshine  come  dancing  down 
from  heaven  on  the  darkest  days  to  bless  and 
beautify  the  life  of  poverty  dwelling  in  the 
wilderness.  Labour,  as  he  goes  forth  at  morn 
from  his  rustic  lodge,  feels,  to  the  small  bird's 
twitter,  his  whole  being  filled  with  joy;  and, 
as  he  quickens  his  pace  to  field  or  wood,  breaks 
into  a  .song. — Care  is  not  always  his  black 
companion,  but  oft,  at  evening,  hour — while 
innocence  lingers  half-afraid  behind,  yet  .still 
follows  with  thoughtful  footsteps — Jlirth  leads 
him  to  the  circular  seat  beneath  the  tree, 
among  whose  exterior  branches  swings,  creak- 
ing to  and  fro  in  the  wind,  the  sign-board 
teaching  friendship  by  the  close  grasp  of  two 
emblematical  hands.  And  thence  the  catch 
and  troll,  while  "laughter  holding  both  his 
sides,"  sheds  tears  to  song  and  ballad  pathetic 
on  the  woes  of  married  life,  and  all  the  ilia 
that  "our  flesh  is  heir  to." — Fair,   Rocking, 


58 


THE  GENIUS  ^iND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


and  Harvest-home,  and  a  hundred  rural  festi- 
vals, are  for  ever  giving  wings  to  the  flight  of 
the  circling  year;  or  how  could  this  lazy  earth 
ever  in  so  short  a  time  whirl,  spinning  asleep 
on  her  axis,  round  that  most  attractive  but 
distant  sun?    How  loud,  broad,  deep,  soul- 
and-body-shaking  is  the  ploughman's  or  the 
shepherd's  mirth,  as  a  hundred  bold,  sun-burnt 
visages  make  the  rafters  of  the  old  hostel  ring ! 
Overhead  the  thunder  of  the  time-keeping 
dance,  and  all  the  joyous  tenement  alive  witli 
love!    The  pathetic  song,  by  genius  steeped 
in  tears,  is  forgotten;  roars  of  boorish  laughter 
reward  the  fearless  singer  for  the  ballad  that 
brings  burning  blushes  on  every  female  face, 
till  the  snooded  head  can  scarcely  be  lifted  up 
again  to  meet  the  free  kiss  of  affection  bold  in 
the  privileges  of  the  festival,  where  bashful- 
ness  is  out  of  season,  and  the  chariest  maid 
withholds  not  the  harmless  boon  only  half 
granted  beneath  the  milk-white  thorn.     It 
seems  as  if  all  the  profounder  interests  of  life 
were  destroyed,   or  had   never  existed.     In 
moods  like  these,  genius  plays  with  grief,  and 
sports  with  sorrow.     Broad  farce  shakes  hands 
with  deep  tragedy.     Vice  seems  almost  to  be 
virtue's  sister.     The  names  and  the  natures  of 
things  are  changed,  and  all  that  is  most  holy, 
and  most  holily  cherished  by  us  strange  mortal 
creatures — for  which  thousands  of  men  and 
women  have  died  at  the  stake,  and  would  die 
again  rather  than  forfeit  it — virgin  love,  and 
nuptial  faith,  and  religion  itself  that  saves  us 
from  being  but  as  the  beasts  that  perish,  and 
equalizes  us  with  the  angels  that  live  for  ever 
— all  become  for  a  time  seeming  objects  of  scoff, 
derision,  and  merriment.     But  it  is  not  so,  as 
God  is  in  heaven,  it  is  not  so:  there  has  been 
a  flutter  of  strange  dancing  lights  on  life's  sur- 
face, but  that  is  all;  its  deptiis  have  remained 
undisturbed  in  the  poor  man's,  nature;  and  how 
deep  these  are  you  may  easily  know  by  looking, 
in  an  hour  or  two,  through  that  small  shining 
pane,  the  only  one  in  the  hut,  and  beholding 
and  hearing  him,  his  wife  and  children,  on 
their  knees  in  prayer— (how  beautiful  in  devo- 
tion that  same  maiden  now ! ) — not  unseen  by 
the  eye  of  Him  who  sitting  in  the  heaven  of 
heavens  doth  make  our  cart'-  his  footstool ! 

And  thus  the  many  broad-mirth-songs,  and 
tales,  and  ballads  arose,  that  enliven  Scotland's 
antique  minstrelsy. 


To  Burns's  ear  all  these  lowly  lays  were 
familiar,  and  most  dear  were  they  all  to  his 
heart:  nor  less  so  the  airs  in  which  they  have 
as  it  were  been  so  long  embalmed,  and  will  be 
imperishable,  unless  some  fatal  change  should 
ever  be  wrought  in  the  manners  of  our  people. 
From  the  first  hour,  and  indeed  long  before  it, 
that  he  composed  his  rudest  verse,  often  had 
he  sung  aloud  "old  songs  that  are  the  music  of 
the  heart;"  and  some  day  or  other  to  be  able 
himself  to  breathe  such  strains,  had  been  his 
dearest,  his  highest  ambition.  His  "genius 
and  his  moral  frame"  were  thus  imbued  with 
the  spirit  of  our  old  traditionary  ballad  poetry; 
and  as  soon  as  all  his  manifold  passions  were 
ripe,  and  his  whole  glorious  being  in  full 
maturity,  the  voice  of  song  was  on  all  occasions 
of  deepest  and  tenderest  human  interest,  the 
voice  of  his  daily,  his  nightly  speech.  He 
wooed  ejich  maiden  in  song  that  will,  as  long 
as  our  Doric  dialect  is  breathed  by  love  in 
beauty's  ears,  be  murmured  close  to  the  cheek 
of  Innocence  trembling  in  the  arms  of  Passion. 
It  was  in  some  such  dream  of  delight  that, 
wandering  all  by  himself  to  seek  the  muse  by 
some  "trotting  burn's  meander,"  he  found  his 
face  breathed  upon  by  the  wind,  as  it  was 
turned  toward  tiie  region  of  the  setting  sun; 
and  in  a  moment  it  was  as  the  pure  breath  of 
his  beloved,  and  he  exclaimed  to  the  conscious 
stars. 

Of  a'  the  airts  the  wind  can  hlaw,  directions 

I  dearly  like  the  west, 
For  there  the  bonnie  lassie  lives, 

The  lassie  I  lo'e  best. 

How  difllcrent,  yet  how  congenial  to  that 
other  strain,  which  ends  like  the  last  sound  of 
a  funeral  bell,  when  the  aged  have  been  buried: 


We'll  sleep  thegither  at  the  foot, 
John  Anderson,  my  jo! 


tofc'etlier 


These  old  songs  were  his  models,  because 
they  were  models  of  certain  forms  of  feeling 
having  a  ncc<;s,sary  and  external  existence. 
Feel  as  those  who  breathed  them  felt,  and  if 
you  utter  your  feelings,  the  utterance  is  song. 
Burns  did  feel  as  they  felt,  and  looked  with 
the  same  eyes  on  the  same  objects.  So  en- 
tirely was  their  language  his  language,  that  all 
the  beautiful  lines,  and  half  lines,  and  single 
Avords,  thiit,  because  of  something  in  them 
more  exquisitely  true  to  nature,  had  survived 


THE  GENIUS  AND   WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


69 


directions 


together 


all  the  rest  of  the  compositions  to  which  they 
had  long  ago  belonged,  were  sometimes  adopted 
by  him,  almost  unconsciously  it  might  seem, 
in  his  finest  inspirations;  and  oftener  still 
sounded  in  his  ear  like  a  key-note,  on  which 
he  pitched  his  own  plaintive  tune  of  the  iieart, 
till  the  voice  and  language  of  the  old  and  new 
days  were  but  as  one;  and  the  maiden  who  j 
sung  to  herself  the  song  by  her  wheel,  or  on 
the  brae,  quite  lost  in  a  wavering  world  of 
phantasy,  could  not,  as  she  smiled,  choose  but 
also  weep! 

So  far  from  detracting  from  the  originality 
of  his  lyrics,  this  impulse  to  composition 
greatly  increased  it,  while  it  gave  to  them  a 
more  touching  character  than  perhaps  ever 
could  have  belonged  to  them,  had  they  not 
breathed  at  all  of  antiquity.  Old  but  not 
obsolete,  a  word  familiar  to  the  lips  of  human 
beings  who  lived  ages  ago,  but  tinged  with  a 
slight  shiide  of  strangeness  as  it  flows  from  our 
own,  connects  the  speaker,  or  the  singer,  in  a 
way,  though  "mournful,  yet  pleasant  to  the 
soul,"  with  past  generations,  and  awakens  a 
love  at  once  more  tender  and  more  imagina- 
tive towards  "auld  Scotland."  We  think, 
even  at  times  when  thus  e.xcited,  of  other 
Burnses  who  died  without  their  fame;  and, 
glorying  in  him  and  his  name,  we  love  his 
poetry  the  more  deeply  for  the  sake  of  him 
wiiose  genius  has  given  our  native  land  a  new 
title  of  honour  .among  the  nations.  Assuredly 
Burns  is  felt  to  be  a  Scotchman  intiis  et  in  cute 
in  all  his  poetry;  but  not  more  even  in  his 
"Tam  o'  Shantcr"  and  "Cotter's  Saturday 
Night,"  his  two  longest  and  most  elaborate 
compositions,  than  in  one  and  all  of  his  in- 
numerable and  inimitable  songs,  from  "Dainty 
Davie,"  to  "Thou  lingering  star."  We  know 
too  that  the  composition  of  songs  was  to  him 
a  perfect  happiness  that  continued  to  the 
close  of  life — an  inspiration  that  shot  its  light 
and  heat,  it  may  be  said,  within  the  very 
borders  of  his  grave. 

In  his  Common-place  or  Scrap  Book,  begun 
in  April,  1783,  there  are  many  fine  reflec- 
tions on  Song-writing,  besides  that  exqui.site 
Invocation  —  showing  how  early  Burns  had 
studied  it  as  an  art.  We  have  often  heard 
some  of  his  most  popular  songs  found  fault 
with  for  their  imperfect  rhymes — so  imperfect, 
indeed,  as  not  to  be  called  rhymes  at  all;  and 


we  acknowledge  that  we  remember  the  time 
when  we  used  reluctantly  to  yield  a  dissatisfied 
assent  to  such  objections.  Thus  in  "  Highland 
Mary" — an  impassioned  strain  of  eight  qua- 
trains— strictly  speaking  there  are  no  rhymes 
— Montgomery,  drumlie;  tarry,  Mary;  blos- 
som, bosom;  dearie,  Mary;  tender,  asunder; 
early,  Mary;  fondly,  kindly;  dearly,  Mary. 
It  is  not  enough  to  say  that  here,  and  in  other 
instances.  Burns  was  imitating  the  manner  of 
some  of  the  old  songs — indulging  in  the  same 
license;  for  he  would  not  have  done  so,  had  he 
thought  it  an  imperfection.  He  felt  that  there 
must  be  a  reason  in  nature  why  this  was  some- 
times so  pleasing — why  it  sometimes  gave  a 
grace  beyond  the  reach  of  art.  Those  minne- 
singers had  all  musical  cars,  and  were  right  in 
believing  them.  Their  ears  told  them  that 
such  words  as  these — meeting  on  their  tym- 
pana under  the  modifying  influence  of  tune, 
were  virtually  rhymes;  and  as  such  they  "slid 
into  their  souls."  "There  is,"  says  Burns  in 
a  passage  unaccountably  omitted  by  Currie, 
and  first  given  by  Cromek — "a  certain  irregu- 
larity in  the  old  Scotch  songs,  a  redundancy 
of  syllables  with  respect  to  the  exactness  of 
accent  and  measure  that  the  English  poetry 
requires,  but  which  glides  in,  most  melodiously, 
with  the  respective  tunes  to  which  tiiey  are  set. 
For  instance,  the  fine  old  song  of  '  7'he  mill, 
mill,  O,'  to  give  it  a  plain  prosaic  reading, 
it  halts  prodigiously  out  of  measure :  on  the 
other  hand,  the  song  set  to  the  same  tune  in 
Bremner's  Collection  of  Scotch  songs,  which 
begins  'To  Fanny  fair  could  I  impart,  dr.' 
it  is  most  exact  measure;  and  yet,  let  them 
both  be  sung  before  a  real  critic — one  above 
the  biases  of  prejudice,  but  a  thorough  judge 
of  nature — how  flat  and  spiritless  will  the  last 
appear,  how  trite  and  lamely  methodical,  com- 
pared with  the  wild -warbling  cadence,  the 
heart-moving  melody  of  the  first !  This  par- 
ticularly is  the  case  with  all  those  airs  which 
end  with  a  hypermetrical  syllable.  There  is 
a  degree  of  wild  irregularity  in  many  of  the 
compositions  and  fragments  wiiich  are  daily 
sung  to  them  by  my  compeers,  the  common 
people — a  certain  happy  arrangement  of  old 
Scotch  syllables,  and  yet,  very  frequently, 
nothing,  not  even  like  rhyme,  or  sameness  of 
jingle,  at  the  ends  of  the  lines.  This  has  made 
me  sometimes  imagine  that,  perhaps,  it  might 


60 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


be  possible  for  a  Scotch  poet,  with  a  nice 
judicious  ear,  to  set  compositions  to  many  of 
our  most  favourite  airs,  particularly  the  class 
of  them  mentioned  above,  independent  of 
rhyme  altogether.  "^ 

It  is  a  common  mistake  to  suppose  tliat  the 
world  is  indebted  for  most  of  Burns's  songs 
to  George  Thomson.  He  contributed  to  that 
gentleman  sixty  original  songs,  and  a  noble 
contribution  it  was;  besides  hints,  suggestions, 
emendations,  and  restorations  innumerable; 
but  three  times  as  many  were  written  by  him, 
emended  or  restored,  for  Johnson's  Scots 
Mu.sicAL  Museum.  He  began  to  send  songs 
to  Johnson,  with  whom  he  had  become  inti- 
mately acquainted  on  his  first  visit  to  Edin- 
burgh, early  in  1787,  and  continued  to  send 
them  till  within  a  few  days  of  his  death.  In 
November,  1788,  he  says  to  Johnson,  "I  can 
easily  see,  my  dear  friend,  that  you  will  very 
probably  have  four  volumes.  Perhaps  you  may 
not  find  your  account  lucratively  in  this  busi- 
ness; but  you  are  a  patriot  for  the  music  of 
your  country,  and  I  am  certain  posterity  will 
look  on  themselves  as  highly  indebted  to  your 
public  spirit.  Be  not  in  a  hurry;  let  us  go  on 
correctly,  and  your  name  shall  be  immortal." 
In  the  middle  of  1796, — he  died  on  the  21st 
July — he  writes  from  Dumfries  to  the  worthy 
music-seller  in  Edinburgh:  "  How  are  you,  my 
dear  friend,  and  how  comes  on  your  fifth 
volume?  You  may  probably  think  that  for 
Bome  time  past  I  have  neglected  you  and  your 
work;  but  alas,  the  hand  of  pain,  and  sorrow, 
and  care,  has  these  many  months  lain  heavy 
on  me !  Personal  and  domestic  affliction  have 
almost  entirely  banished  that  alacrity  and  life 
with  which  I  used  to  woo  the  rural  Muse  of 
Scotia.  .  .  .  You  are  a  good,  worthy,  honest  fel- 
low, and  have  a  good  right  to  live  in  this  world, 
because  you  deserve  it.  JIany  a  merry  meet- 
ing this  publication  has  given  us,  and  possibly 
it  may  give  us  more,  though,  alas!  I  fear  it. 
This  protracting,  slow,  consuming  illness  which 
hangs  over  me,  will,  I  doubt  much,  my  ever 
dear  friend,  arrest  my  sun  before  he  has  well 
reached  his  middlecareer,  and  will  turnover  the 
poet  to  far  other  and  more  important  concerns 
than  studying  the  brilliancy  of  wit,  or  the  pathos 
of  sentiment.  However,  hope  is  the  cordial  of 
the  human  heart,  and  I  endeavour  to  cherish  it 
'  Common-place  Book,— Sept.  1785. 


as  well  as  I  can.    Let  me  hear  from  you  as  soon 
as  convenient.    Your  work  is  a  great  one,  and 
though  now  that  it  is  near  finished,  I  sec,  if  we 
were  to  begin  again,  two  or  three  things  that 
might  be  mended ;  yet  I  will  venture  to  pro- 
phesy, that  to  future  ages  your  publication 
will  be  the  text-book  and  standard  of  Scottish 
song  and  music.    I  am  ashamed  to  ask  another 
favour  of  you,  because  you  have  been  so  very 
good  already;  but  my  wife  has  a  very  particular 
friend  of  hers,  a  young  lady  who  sings  well, 
to  whom  she   wishes   to   present    the  Scotx 
Musical  Museum.     If  you  have  a  spare  copy, 
will  you  be  so  obliging  as  to  send  it  by  the 
very  first  Fly,  as  I  am  anxious  to  have  it  soon. " 
Turn  from  James  Johnson  and   his  »SVoA-i 
Musical  Museum  for  a  moment  to  George 
Thomson  and  his  Collection.     In  September, 
1792,  Mr.   Thomson — who  never  personally 
knew  Burns — tells  him  "for  some  years  past 
I  have,  with  a  friend  or  two,  employed  many 
leisure  hours  in  collating  and  collecting  the 
most  favourite  of  our  national  melodies  for 
publication;"  and  says — "We  shall  esteem  your 
poetical  assistance  a  particular  favour;  besides 
2)ai/iii(j  any  reasonable  jmce  you  shall  please 
todemand  for  it. "  Burns,  spurning  the  thought 
of  being  "paid  any  reasonable  price,"  closes 
at  once  with  the  proposal,  "as  the  request  you 
make  will  positively  add  to  my  enjoyments 
in  complying  with  it,  I  shall  enter  into  your 
undertaking  with  all    the  small    portion  of 
abilities  I  have,  strained  to  their  utmost  exer- 
tion by  the  impulse  of  enthusiasm."     That 
enthusiasm  for  more  than  three  years  seldom 
languished  —  it  was  in  his  heart  when  his 
hand  could  hardly  obey  its  bidding;  and  on 
the  12th  of  July,  1796— shortly  after  he  had 
written,  in  the  terms  you  have  just  seen,  to 
James  Johnson  for  a  copy  of  his  Scots  Musical 
Museum — he  writes  thus  to  George  Thomson 
for  five  pounds.     "After  all  my  boasted  inde- 
pendence, curst  Necessity  compels  me  to  im- 
plore you  for  five  pounds.     A  cruel  scoundrel 
of  a  haberdasher,  to  whom  I  owe  an  account, 
taking  it  into  his  head  that  I  am  dying,  has 
commenced  a  process,  and  will  infallibly  put  me 
into  jail.   Do,  for  God's  sake,  send  me  that  sum, 
and  that  by  return  of  post.     Forgive  me  this 
earnestness;    but  the  horrors  of  a  jail  have 
made  me  half  distracted,    /  do  not  ask  all 
this  gratuitously;  for  upon  returning  health,  I 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


61 


hei-p.li>i  promise  and  engage  to  furnish  you  with 
Jive  poumh  worth  of  the  neatest  song-genius 

you  hove  utrn.    .    .    .    FOKGIVE,  FORGIVE  ME !" 

J[r.  Johnson,  no  doubt,  sent  a  copy  of  the 
Museum;  but  we  do  not  know  if  the  Fly 
arrived  before  tlie  Hieu.*  Mr.  Thomson  wan 
prompt:  and  13r.  Currie,  .speaking  of  IJurns's 
refusing  to  become  a  weekly  contributor  to  the 
Poet's  Corner  in  the  Morning  Chronicle,  at  a 
guinea  a  week,  say.s,  "Yet  he  had  for  several 
years  furnished,  and  was  at  that  time  furnish- 
ing, the  Muspum  of  Johnson  with  his  beautiful 
lyrics,  without  fee  or  reward,  and  was  obstin- 
ately refusing  all  recompense  for  his  assistance 
to  the  greater  work  of  .Mr.  Thomson,  which  the 
justice  and  generosity  of  that  gentleman  was 
pressing  upon  him."  That  ob.stinacy  gave  way 
at  last,  not  under  the  pressure  of  Mr.  Thom- 
gon's  generosity  and  justice,  but  under  "the 
sense  of  his  poverty,  and  of  the  approaching 
distress  of  his  infant  family  which  pressed," 
says  Dr.  Currie  truly,  ' '  on  Burns  as  he  lay  on 
the  bed  of  death." 

But  we  are  anticipating;  and  desire  at  pre- 
sent to  see  Burns  "in  glory  and  in  joy." 
' '  Whenever  1  want  to  be  more  than  ordinary 
//(  soii'i — to  be  in  some  degree  equal  to  your 
diviner  airs — do  you  imagine  I  fast  and  pray 
for  the  celestial  emanation?  Tout  au  con- 
train'.  I  have  a  glorious  recipe;  the  very  one 
that  for  his  own  use  was  invented  by  the 
divinity  of  healing  and  poe.-iy,  when  erst  he 
piped  to  the  flocks  of  Admetus.  I  put  my.self 
in  the  regimen  of  admiring  a  fine  woman; 
and  in  proportion  to  the  adorability  of  her 
charms,  in  proportion  you  are  delighted  with 
my  verses.  The  lightning  of  her  ej'e  is  the 
godheail  of  Parnassus;  and  the  witchery  of  her 
smile,  the  divinity  of  Helicon.  "^  We  know 
the  weak  side  of  liis  character — the  sin  that 
most  easily  beset  him — that  did  indeed  "stain 
his  name  ' — and  made  him  for  many  seasons 
the  prey  of  remorse.  But  though  it  is  not 
allowed  to  genius  to  redeem  —  though  it  is 
falsely  said,  that  "the  light  that  leads  astray 
is  light  from  heaven"  —  and  though  Burns's 
transgressions  must  be  judged  as  those  of  com- 

1  [Jessie  Lew.irs  was  the  young  lady  for  whom  the 
Museum  was  intended.  It  ihily  arrived  and  was  pre- 
sented to  her  l)y  tlie  poet,  with  a  poetical  inscription 
dated  June  ■JCitli,  wliicli  will  l)e  found  in  vol.  iii.] 

=  Letter  to  Thomson,  19th  October,  1794. 


mon  men,  and  visited  with  the  same  moral 
reprobation — yet  surely  we  may  dismiss  them 
with  a  sigh  from  our  knowledge,  for  a  while, 
as  we  feel  the  charm  of  the  exquisite  poetry 
originating  in  the  inspiration  of  passion,  puri- 
fied by  genius,  and  congenial  with  the  utmost 
innocency  of  the  virgin  breast. 

In  his  Love-Songs,  all  that  is  best  in  his 
own  being  delights  to  bring  itself  into  com- 
munion with  all  that  is  best  in  theirs  whom  he 
visions  walking  before  him  in  beauty.     That 
beauty  is  made  "still  more  beauteous"  in  the 
light  of  his  genius,  and  the  passion  it  then 
moves  partakes  of  the  same  ethereal  colour. 
If  love  inspired  his  poetry,  poetry  inspired  his 
love,  and  not  only  inspired  but  elevated  the 
whole  nature  of  it.     If  the  highest  delights  of 
his  genius  were  in  the  conception  and  cele- 
bration of  female  loveliness,  that  trained  .sensi- 
bility was  sure  to  produce  extraordinary  devo- 
tion to  the  ideal  of  that  loveliness  of  which 
innocence  is  the  very  soul.    If  music  refine  the 
manners,  how  much  more  will  it  have  that 
eft'ect  on  him  who  studies  its  spirit,  as  Burns 
did  that  of  the  Scottisli  songs,   in  order  to 
marry  them  to  verse.     "  Until  I  am  complete 
master  of  a  tune,  in  my  own  singing  (such  as 
it  is),  I  never  can  compose  for  it.     My  way 
is:  1  consider  the  poetic  sentiment  correspon- 
dent to  my  idea  of  the  musical  expression; 
then  choose  my  theme;    begin  one  stanza; 
when  that  is  composed,  which  is  generally  the 
most  difficult  part  of  the  business,  I  walk  out, 
sit  down  now  and  then,  look  out  for  subjects  in 
nature  around  me  that  are  in  unison  and  har- 
mony with  the  cogitations  of  my  fancy,  and 
workings  of  my  bosom;  humming  every  now 
and  then  the  air  with  the  verses  I  liave  framed. 
When  I  feel  my  Muse  beginning  to  jade,  I 
retire  to  the  solitary  fireside  of  my  study,  and 
there  commit  my  efl'usions  to  paper;  swinging 
at  intervals  on  ^he  hind  legs  of  my  elbow  chair, 
by  way  of  calling  forth  my  own  critical  stric- 
tures as  my  pen  goes  on.      Seriously,  this,  at 
home,  is  almo.st  invariably  my  way."^    Then 
we  know  that  his  Bonnie  Jean  was  generally 
in  his  presence,  engaged  in  house  affairs,  while 
he  was  thus  on  his  inspiring  swing,  that  she 
was  amongst  the  first  to  hear  each  new  song 
recited  by  her  husband,  and  the  first  to  sing 
it  to  him,  that  he  might  know  if  it  had  been 
s  Letter  to  Thomson,  September,  1793. 


62 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


produced  to  live.*  He  has  said,  that  "musi- 
cally speaking,  conjugal  love  is  an  instrument 
of  which  the  gamut  is  scanty  and  confined,  but 
the  tones  inexpressibly  sweet" — that  Love, 
not  so  confined,  "  has  powers  equal  to  all  the 
intellectual  modulations  of  the  human  soul. " 
But  did  not  those  "tones  inexpressibly  sweet" 
often  mingle  themselves  unawares  to  the  Poet 
with  those  "intellectual  modulations?"  And 
had  he  not  once  loved  Jean  Armour  to  dis- 
traction? His  first  experiences  of  the  passion 
of  love  in  its  utmost  sweetness  and  bitternes.><, 
had  been  for  her  sake,  and  the  memories  of 
those  years  came  often  of  themselves  unbidden 
into  the  very  heart  of  his  songs  when  his  fancy 
was  for  the  hour  enamoured  of  other  beauties. 
With  a  versatility,  not  compatible  perhaps 
with  a  capacity  for  the  profoundest  emotion, 
but  in  his  case  with  extreme  tenderness,  he 
could  instantly  assume,  and  often  on  the  slight- 
est apparent  impulse,  some  imagined  character 
as  completely  as  if  it  were  his  own,  and  realize 
its  conditions.  Or  he  could  imagine  himself 
out  of  all  the  circumstances  by  whicii  his  indi- 
vidual life  was  environed,  and  to  all  the  emo- 
tions arising  from  that  transmigration,  give 
utterance  as  lively  as  the  language  inspired  by 
his  communion  with  his  own  familiar  world. 
Even  when  he  knew  he  was  dying,  he  looked 
in  Jessie  Lewars'  face,  whom  he  loved  as  a 
father  loves  his  daughter,  and  that  he  might 
reward  her  filial  tenderness  for  him  who  was 
fast  wearing  away,  by  an  immortal  song,  in 
his  affection  for  her  he  feigned  a  hopeless 
passion,  and  imagined  himself  the  victim  of 
despair: — 

TIiou  art  sweet  as  the  smile  when  fond  lovers  meet, 
And  soft  as  then-  parting  tear— Jessy! 

Although  thou  nwini  never  be  mine, 
Althougli  even  hojie  is  denied; 

I  [It  would  appear  that  while  at  Ellisland  Burns 
had  the  advantage  of  another  warbler  on  whom  to 
try  the  quality  of  his  lyrics.  During  one  of  his  visits 
to  Brownliill  Inn  he  was  told  that  a  young  woman 
named  Christina  Kirkpatriclf,  who  lived  near  at  hand, 
was  a  delightful  singer  of  his  songs.  Burns  expressed 
a  wish  to  hear  her,  and  was  delighted  with  the  way 
in  whicli  she  lilted  forth  the  products  of  his  fancy. 
She  had  a  voice  of  great  compass,  a  capital  ear,  aiid 
a  heartfelt  appreciation  of  the  old  national  music. 
Her  talents  were  turned  to  good  account  by  Burns; 
the  songs  that  he  penned  in  honour  of  Deborah  Davies, 
Jean  Lorimer,  and  his  other  heroines,  being  subjected 
by  him  to  the  ordeal  of  Kirsty  Kirkpatrick's  fine 
musical  taste  and  rich  voice.] 


'  I  is  sweete   for  tl'"e  dcsp.'  ■  lii),, 
Than  auglit  In  the  world  .jcbide— Jot'.  '. 

It  was  said  by  one  who  durii .  a  1  my  iH'o 
kept  Haying  weighty  things — old  Hoi  Lis — 
that  "in  great  ditt'erences  of  persons,  the 
greater  have  often  fallen  in  love  with  the 
meaner;  but  not  contrary. "  What  Gilbert  tells 
us  of  his  brotlier  might  seem  to  corroborate 
that  dictum — "His  love  rarely  settled  on  per- 
sons who  were  higher  than  himself,  or  who 
had  more  con.sequence  in  life."  Tiiis,  however, 
could  only  apply  to  the  early  part  of  his  life. 
Tiien  he  had  few  opportunities  of  fixing  his 
affections  on  persons  above  him;  and  if  he  had 
had,  their  first  risings  would  have  been  sup- 
pressed by  his  pride.  But  his  after  destination 
•so  far  levelled  the  inequality  that  it  was  not 
unnatural  to  address  his  devotion  to  ladies  of 
high  degree.  He  then  felt  that  he  could  com- 
mand their  benevolence,  if  not  inspire  their 
love;  and  elated  by  tiiat  consciousness,  he  feared 
not  to  use  towards  them  the  language  of  love, 
of  unbounded  passion.  He  believed,  and  he 
was  not  deceived  in  the  belief,  that  he  could 
exalt  tliem  in  their  own  esteem,  l)y  hanging 
round  their  proud  necks  the  ornaments  of  his 
genius.  Therefore,  sometimes,  he  seemed  to 
turn  himself  away  disdainfully  from  sunburnt 
bosoms  in  homespun  covering,  to  pay  his  vows 
and  adorations  to  the  Queens  of  Beauty.  The 
devoirs  of  a  poet,  whose  genius  was  at  their 
service,  have  been  acceptable  to  many  a  high- 
born dame  and  damsel,  as  the  submission  of  a 
conqueror.  Innate  superiority  made  him,  in 
these  hours,  absolutely  unable  to  comprehend 
the  spirit  of  society  as  produced  liy  artificial 
distinction.s,  and  at  all  times  unwilling  to  sub- 
mit to  it  or  pay  it  homage.  "  Perfection  whis- 
per'd,  passing  by.  Behold  the  Lass  o'  Balloch- 
myle!"  and  Burns,  too  proud  to  ciiange  liim- 
.self  into  a  lord  or  sq\iire,  imagined  what 
happiness  might  have  been  his  if  all  tho.se 
charms  had  budded  and  blown  within  a  cottage 
like  "a  ro.se-tree  full  in  bearing." 

O,  had  she  l)een  a  country  maid, 

And  I  the  hapity  country  swain, 
Tho'  sheltered  in  tlie  lowest  shed 

That  ever  rose  on  .Scotland's  jilain: 
Thro'  weary  winter's  wind  and  rain. 

With  joy,  with  rapture,  I  would  toil; 
And  nightly  to  my  bosom  strain 

The  bonnie  lass  o'  Ballochmyle  I 

He  speaks  less  passionately  of  the  charms  of 


THE  GiiNlUS  ANl»  WRITINGS   ;. F  BURNS. 


et 


"bonnie  Lesley,  as  ahcgacd  o'er  the  border," 
for  they  had  not  taken  him  by  surprise;  he 
was  prepared  to  behold  a  queen,  and  with  hij 
own  hands  he  placed  upon  her  head  the  crown. 

'J'o  see  her  is  to  love  her, 

And  h)vu  Imt  her  fur  ever; 
For  Nature  iimile  her  what  she  is, 

And  never  made  anltlier  ! 

Thou  art  a  (jueen,  fair  Lesley, 
Thy  subjects  we,  t)efore  thee: 

Thou  art  divhie,  fair  Lesley, 
The  hearts  o  men  adore  thee. 

Nay,  evil  spirits  look  in  her  face  and  almost 
become  good — while  angels  love  her  for  her 
likeness  to  themselves,  and  happy  she  must 
be  on  eartli  in  the  eye  of  heaven.  We  know 
not  much  about  the  "  Lovely  Davies;"  but  in 
his  stanzas  she  is  tiie  very  Sovereign  of  Nature. 

Each  eye  it  cheers  when  she  ajjpeurs, 

Lilce  l'hijul)us  in  the  morning, 
When  past  the  shower,  and  ev'ry  flower 

The  garden  is  adorniUK. 
As  the  wretch  looks  o'er  .Siberia's  shore. 

When  winter-bound  the  wave  is; 
8ne  droops  our  heart  wlien  we  maun  part 

Frae  charming,  lovely  Davies. 

Her  smile's  a  ititt  frae  'boon  the  lift,      aliure   sky 

That  malts  us  mair  than  princes; 
A  8(.'e|)ter'd  hand,  a  king's  connnand. 

Is  in  her  d.irting  glances. 
Tlie  man  in  arms  'gainst  female  charms, 

Even  he  her  willing  slave  is; 
He  hugs  his  chain,  and  owns  the  reign 

Of  comiuering,  lovely  Davies. 

The  loveliest  of  one  of  the  loveliest  families 
in  Scotland  he  changed  into  a  lowly  lassie, 
aye  working  "her  mammic's  wark,"  and  her 
lover  into  young  Kobie  —  who  "gaed  wi' 
Jeanie  to  the  tryste,  and  danc'd  wi'  Jeanio  on 
the  down."  In  imagination  he  is  still  himself 
the  happy  man — his  loves  are  short  and  rap- 
turous as  his  lyrics — and  while  his  constancy 
may  be  complained  of,  it  is  impossible  to  help 
admiring  the  richness  of  iiis  genius  that  keeps 
for  ever  bringing  fresh  tribute  to  her  whom  he 
happens  to  adore. 

Her  Voice  is  the  song  of  the  morning, 
That  wakes  thro'  the  green-spreading  grove. 

When  rhccbus  ;)eeii3  over  the  mountains. 
On  music,  and  pleasure,  and  love. 

That  was  the  voice  of  one  altogether  lovely — 
a  lady  elegant  and  accomplished — and  adorn- 
ing a  higher  condition  than  his  own;  but 
though  finer  lines  were  never  written,  they  are 


not  finer  than  these  four  inspired  by  the  pass- 
ing by  of  a  young  woman  from  the  country,  on 
the  High  Street  of  Dumfries,  with  her  shoes 
and  stockings  in  her  hand,  and  her  petticoats 
frugally  yet  liberally  kilfed  to  her  knee. 

Her  yellow  hair,  beyond  compare. 
Comes  trinkling  down  her  swan-white  neck; 

And  her  two  eyes,  like  stars  in  skies. 
Would  keep  a  sinking  ship  frae  wreck. 

It  may  be  thouglit  that  such  poetry  is  too 
high  for  the  people — the  common  people — 
"  beyond  the  reaches  of  their  souls;"  but  Hums 
.cnew  better — and  he  knew  that  he  who  would 
be  their  poet,  must  put  forth  all  his  powers. 
There  is  not  a  single  thought,  feeling,  or  imago 
in  all  he  ever  wrote,  that  has  not  been  com- 
prehended in  its  full  force  by  thousands  and 
tens  of  thousands  in  the  very  humblest  con- 
dition. They  could  not  of  themselves  have 
conceived  them — nor  given  utterance  to  any 
thing  resembling  them  to  our  ears.  How  dull 
of  apprehension!  how  unlike  gods!  But  let 
them  be  spoken  to,  and  they  hear.  Their 
hearts,  delighted  with  a  strange  sweet  musie 
which  by  re  jgnition  they  understand,  are  not 
satisfied  with  listening,  but  yearn  to  respond; 
and  the  wliole  land  that  for  many  years  had 
seemed  but  was  not  silent,  in  a  few  months  is 
overflowing  with  songs  that  had  issued  from 
highest  genius  it  is  true,  but  from  the  same 
source  that  is  daily  welling  out  its  waters  in 
every  human  breast.  The  songs  that  establish 
themselves  among  a  people  must  indeed  be 
simple — but  the  simplest  feelings  are  the 
deepest,  and  once  that  they  have  received 
adccjuate  expression,  then  they  die  not — but 
live  for  ever. 

Sfany  of  his  Love-songs  are,  as  they  ought 

to  be,  untingcd  with  earthly  desire,  and  some 

of  these  are  about  the  most  beautiful  of  any — 

as 

Wilt  thou  be  my  dearie? 

When  sorrow  wrings  thy  gentle  heart, 
Wilt  thou  let  me  cheer  thee'? 

By  the  treasure  of  my  soul. 
That's  the  love  I  bear  thee  1 

I  swear  and  vow  that  only  thou 
Shall  ever  be  my  dearie. 

Only  thou,  I  swear  and  vow. 
Shall  ever  he  my  dearie. 

Lassie,  say  thou  lo'es  me; 

Or  if  thou  wilt  na  l)e  my  ai ' 
Say  na  thou'lt  refuse  me 

If  it  winna,  canna  be. 


C4 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


Tlinu  for  thlno  nmy  tlionac  me, 

Let  iiic,  InHsU',  (iiilckly  ilie, 
Trusting  tlmt  tlum  loos  me. 

Liissif,  let  1110 ((uUkly  ille, 
Trusting  tlint  tliou  lots  iiie. 

Nothing  can  be  more  cxcjuisitely  tender — 
passionless  from  the  excess  of  passion — pure 
from  very  despair — love  yet  hopes  for  love's 
confession,  though  it  feels  it  can  be  but  a  word 
of  pity  to  sweeten  death. 

In  the  most  exquisite  of  his  Songs,  lie  con- 
nects and  blends  the  tcnderest  and  most  pas. 
xionate  emotions  with  all  appearances — ani- 
mate and  inanimate;  in  them  all — aii  in  some 
by  a  single  touch — we  are  made  to  t'eei  that 
we  are  in  the  midst  of  nature.  A  bird  glints 
by,  and  wc  know  we  are  in  the  woods — a  prim- 
rose grows  up,  and  we  are  among  the  braes — 
the  mere  name  of  a  stream  brings  it.s  banks 
before  us — two  or  three  words  leave  us  our 
own  choice  of  many  waters. 

Far  dearer  to  me  yon  lone  glen  o'  green  brcckan, 
VVi'  the  burn  stealing  under  the  lang  yellow  broom. 

It  has  been  thought  that  the  ejes  of  "the 
labouring  poor"  are  not  very  sensible — nay, 
that  they  are  insensible  to  scenery — and  that 
the  pleasures  thence  derived  are  confined  to 
persons  of  cultivated  taste.  True  that  the 
country  girl,  as  she  "  lifts  her  leglin,  and  hies 
her  away,"  is  thinking  more  of  her  lover's  face 
and  figure — whom  she  hopes  to  meet  in  the 
evening — than  of  the  trysting  tree,  or  of  the 
holm  where  the  grey  hawthorn  has  been  stand- 
ing for  hundreds  of  years.  Yet  she  knows  right 
well  that  I'ley  are  beautiful;  and  slie  feels 
their  beauty  in  the  old  song  she  is  singing  to 
herself,  that  at  dead  of  winter  recalls  the 
spring  time  and  all  the  loveliness  of  the  season 
of  leaves.  The  people  know  little  about  paint- 
ing— how  should  they? — for  unacquainted  with 
the  laws  of  perspective,  they  cannot  see  the 
landscape -picture  on  which  instructed  eyes 
gaze  till  the  imagination  beholds  a  paradise. 
But  the  landscapes  themselves  they  do  see — 
and  they  love  to  look  on  them.  The  plough- 
man does  so,  as  he  "homeward  plods  his  weary 
way;"  the  reaper  as  he  looks  at  what  Bums 
calls  his  own  light — "the  reaper's  nightly 
beam,  mild  chequering  through  the  trees."  If 
it  were  not  so,  why  should  they  call  it  "Bon- 
nie Scotland" — why  should  they  call  him 
"Sweet  Robbie  Burns?" 


In  his  Songs  they  think  of  the  flowers  as 
alive,  and  with  hearts;  "  How  blest  the  flowers 
that  round  thee  bloom!"  In  his  Songs,  the 
birds  they  hear  singing  in  common  ho\irs  with 
common  pleasure,  or  give  them  not  a  thought, 
without  losing  their  own  nature  partake  of 
theirs,  and  shun,  share,  or  mock  human  pas- 
sion, He  is  at  once  the  most  accurate  and  the 
most  poetical  of  ornithologists.  By  a  felicitous 
epithet  he  characterizes  each  tribe  according 
to  song,  plumage,  habits,  or  haunts;  often  in- 
troduces them  for  sake  of  their  own  Iiappy 
selves;  oftener  as  responsive  to  ours,  in  the 
expression  of  their  own  joys  and  griefs. 

Oh  stay,  sweet  wnrblliig  wood-lark,  stay, 
Kor  quit  for  1110  tlic  trembling  spray, 
A  nn]des8  lover  courts  thy  lay, 
Thy  soothing  fond  complaining. 

Again,  again  that  tender  part. 
That  I  may  catch  thy  melting  art: 
For  surely  that  wad  touch  her  heart, 
Wha  kills  niu  wl'  d'.sdaiuing. 

Say,  was  thy  little  mate  unkind, 
And  heard  theo  as  the  careless  wind? 
Oh,  nocht  but  love  and  sorrow  joln'd, 
Sic  notes  o'  woe  could  waukeu. 

Thou  tells  o'  never-ending  care; 
0'  speechless  grief,  and  dark  despair; 
For  pity's  sake,  sweet  bird,  nae  malr! 
Or  my  poor  heart  is  broken  ! 

Wlm  "no  Jeany  Cruikshank?  Only  child 
"of  my  worthy  friend,  Mr.  William  Cruik- 
shank of  the  High  School, Edinburgh. "  Where 
did  she  live?  On  a  floor  at  the  top  of  a  com- 
mon stair,  now  marked  No.  30,  in  James's 
Square.  Burns  lived  for  some  time  with  her 
father — his  room  being  one  which  has  a  win- 
dow looking  out  from  the  gable  of  the  house 
upon  the  green  behind  the  Register  Office. 
There  was  little  on  that  green  to  look  at — 
perhaps  "a  washing"  laid  out  to  dry.  But  the 
poet  saw  a  vision — and  many  a  maiden  now 
often  sees  it  too — whose  face  may  be  of  the 
coarsest,  and  her  liair  not  of  the  finest — but 
who,  in  spite  of  all  that,  strange  to  say,  has 
an  imagination  and  a  licart. 

A  rose-bud  by  my  early  walk, 

Adown  a  corn-inclo.sud  bawk,    a  path  in  a  comfluld 

Sae  gently  lieiit  its  thorny  stalk. 

All  on  a  dewy  morning; 
Ere  twice  the  shades  o'  dawn  are  fled. 
In  a'  its  crimson  glory  spread, 
And  drooping  rich  the  dewy  head. 

It  scents  the  early  morning. 


THE  OENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


65 


Within  tliu  I))i8h,  her  covert  neit 
A  Uttlu  linnet  fiinilly  prest, 
Thu  (luw  8iit  I'hllly  (ui  Irt  lirviiHt 

Mao  t'luiy  In  thu  ninintng. 
She  aoon  BhiiU  hcu  her  tender  liniiiil, 
The  iirlile,  the  jilensnre  o'  the  woiiil, 
Anmng  thu  fre»h  Kreen  leaveH  lpf<lew'(l, 

Awuke  the  early  nmrning. 

80  thou,  dear  hlril,  youna  Jeanle  fair! 
On  trenil)llng  string,  or  voeal  air, 
Sliall  sweetly  pay  the  tender  eare 

That  tends  thy  early  morning. 
80  thou,  gwe-'t  roHC-ltml,  young  and  gay, 
Shalt  beauteous  blaze  upon  the  day, 
And  bless  the  parent  h  evening  ray 

That  watch  d  thy  early  morning. 

Indeed,  in  all  \m  poetry,  w  hat  an  overflowing 
of  tenderne»8,  pity,  ami  aflfection  towards  all 
living  creatures  that  iniuibit  the  earth,  the 
water,  and  the  air!  Of  all  men  tliat  ever 
lived.  Hums  was  the  least  of  a  Hentimentalist; 
he  was  your  true  JIan  of  Feeling,  lie  did 
not  preach  to  Christian  people  the  duty  of 
humanity  to  animals;  he  spoke  of  them  in 
winning  words  warm  from  a  manliest  breast, 
as  his  fellow-creatures,  and  made  us  feel  what 
we  owe.  What  child  could  well  be  cruel  to  a 
helpless  animal  who  had  read  "The  Death 
.ind  Dying  Words  of  Poor  Mailie"— or  "The 
Twa  Dogs?"  "The  Auld  Farmer's  New- 
years'-day  Address  to  his  Auld  ilare  JIaggic" 
liJiH — \ve  know — humanized  the  heart  of  a 
(iilmcrton  carter.  "Not  a  mouse  stirring," 
arc  gentle  words  at  that  hour  from  Shakspeare 
— when  thinking  of  the  ghost  of  a  king;  and 
he  would  have  loved  brother  Hums  for  saying 
— "What  makes  thee  startle  at  me,  thy  poor 
earth-born  companion,  an'  fi-llow- mortal.'" 
Safe-housed  at  fall  of  a  stormy  winter  night, 
of  whom  does  the  poet  think,  aiong  with  the 
unfortunate,  the  erring,  and  the  guilty  of  his 
own  race? 

List'ning  the  doors  an'  winnoeks  rattle,  windowa 

I  thought  nie  on  the  ourie  cattle,  shivcriuR 

Or  silly  sheep,  wha  bide  this  brattle  short  contest 

0'  winter  war. 
And  thro'  the  drift,  deep-lairing  sprattle,       scramMo 

Beneath  a  scaur.  cliff 

Ilk  happing  bird,  wee,  helpless  thing,  hopping 

That,  in  the  merry  months  o'  spring 
Delighted  me  to  hear  thee  sing. 

What  conies  o'  thee? 
\Vhare  wilt  thou  cower  thy  cluttering  wing,  Bhivering 

An'  close  thy  ee? 

The  poet  loved  the  sportsman;  but  lament- 
ing in  fancy    "Tam   Sam.son's  Death" — he 


could  not  help  thinking,  that  "on  his  moulder- 
ing breast,  some  spitefu'  muirfowl  bigs  her 
nest."  When  at  Kirkoswald  studying  trigo- 
nomctrj',  piano  and  spherical,  he  sometimes 
associated  with  smugglers  but  never  with 
punchers.  You  cannot  tigurc  to  yourself  young 
Robert  Hums  stealing  stoopingly  along  under 
cover  of  a  hedge,  with  a  long  gun  and  a  lurcher, 
to  get  a  shot  at  a  hare  sitting,  and  perhaps 
washing  her  face  with  her  paws.  No  triiinper 
ever  "coft  fur"  at  Mossgicl  or  Kllisland.  He 
fould  have  joined,  had  he  liked,  in  the  pas- 
sionate ardour  of  the  rod  and  the  gun,  the  net 
and  the  leister;  but  he  liked  rather  to  think 
of  all  those  creatures  alive  and  well,  "in  their 
native  element."  In  his  love-song  to  "the 
charming  fillettc  who  overset  his  trigonome- 
try," and  incapacitated  him  from  the  taking 
of  the  sun's  altitude,  he  says  to  her,  on  pro- 
posing  to  take  a  walk — 

Now  westlin  winds  and  slaught'ring  guns 
Bring  autumn's  pleasant  weather; 

And  the  moorcock  springs,  on  whirring  wings, 
Aniang  the  blooming  heather. 

The  pavt'iiige  loves  the  fruitful  fells; 

The  I  lover  loves  the  mountains; 
The  wi  odeoek  haunts  the  lonely  dells; 

The  sc.iring  hern  the  fountains: 
Thro'  lofty  groves  thu  cushat  roves, 

The  path  of  man  to  shun  it; 
The  hazel  bush  o'erhangs  the  thrush. 

The  spreading  thorn  the  linnet. 

Thus  ev'ry  kind  their  pleasure  find. 

The  savage  and  the  tender; 
Some  social  join,  and  leagues  combine; 

Some  solitary  wander: 
Avaunt,  away,  the  cruel  sway  I 

Tyrannic  man's  dominion; 
The  sportsman's  joy,  the  niurd'ring  cry. 

The  flutt'ring,  gory  pinion  ! 

Bruar  Water,  in  his  Humble  Petition  to  the 
Noble  Duke  of  Atholc,  prays  that  his  banks 
may  be  made  sylvan,  that  shepherd,  lover  and 
bard  may  enjoy  the  .shades;  but  chiefly  for 
sake  of  the  inferior  creatures. 

Delighted  doubly  then,  my  Lord, 

You'll  wander  on  my  banks, 
And  listen  mony  a  grateful  bird 

Return  you  tuneful  thanks. 

The  sober  laverock — the  gowdspink  gay — the 
strong  blackbird — the  clear  lintwhite — the 
mavis  mild  and  mellow — they  will  all  sing 
"God  bless  the  Duke."  And  one  mute  crea- 
ture will  be  more  thankful  than  ali  the  rest — 


oil 


THE  GENIUS  AND  VVRITIN(nS  OF  BUllNS. 


"coward  mniikln  sleep  seeurc,  low  in  her 
gruHsy  torin.  "  Yo\i  know  tliut  ho  tiireatcned 
to  throw  Jem  Thoni'^oii,  a  fartncr'n  son  near 
EiliHlantl,  into  tlio  Nith,  for  nhooting  iit  a 
hare— and  ui  nevcral  of  hin  morning  land- 
neapcH  a  hare  if*  hirplini,'  liy.  What  hnniaii 
and  poetical  Hympathy  is  tiierc  in  hin  aildrcHH 
to  the  startled  wild  fowl  on  Loch  Turit!  He 
Hpeaks  of  "parent,  (ilial,  kindred  tics;"  and  In 
tiie  closing  lines  who  docs  not  feel  that  it  in 
Jiitrnn  that  speaks? 

Or,  If  maiiH  supcrlnr  mlnht 

Dale  liiviiilf  jipur  niitlve  rlKht, 

(Ml  tlio  liifty  etlii'i'  Imhiio 

Mini  with  111!  his  pnwi-s  jdu  scorn; 

Swiftly  Hi'ck  on  clannliiK  wIiiks, 

otliri'  lakes  ami  other  HpriiiKs; 

Anil  the  foo  you  cannot  lirave, 

Scorn  at  least  to  be  hU  slave. 

Whatever  ho  his  mood,  grave  or  gladsome, 
mirthful  or  melancholy— or  when  sorrow 
smiles  hack  to  joy,  or  care  joins  hands  with 
folly— ho  has  always  a  thought  to  give  to 
them  who  many  think  have  no  thought,  hut 
who  all  seemed  to  him,  from  highest  to  lowest 
in  that  scale  of  being,  to  possess  each  Us  ap- 
propriate degree  of  intelligence  and  love.  In 
the  "Sonnet  written  on  his  birth-day,  January 
2r>th,  1793,  on  hearing  a  thrush  sing  in  a 
morning  walk,"  it  is  truly  aflecting  to  hear 
how  he  connects,  on  the  sudden,  hi.i  own  con- 
dition, with  all  its  cares  and  anxieties,  with 
that  of  the  cheerful  bird  upon  the  hattess 
bough — 

Yet  come,  thnu  child  of  poverty  and  care; 
Tlie  mite  'ilK'h  Ileftveii  lieatowa,  that  mite  with  thee 
I'll  share. 

We  had  intended  to  speak  only  of  his  Songs; 
and  to  them  we  return  for  a  few  minutes  more, 
asking  you  to  notice  how  cheering  such  of 
them  as  deal  gladsomoly  with  the  concerns  of 
this  world  must  bo  to  the  hearts  of  them  who 
of  their  own  accord  sing  them  to  themselves, 
at  easiei  work,  or  intervals  of  labour,  or  at 
gloaming  when  the  day's  darg  is  done.  All 
partings  are  not  sad — most  are  the  reverse; 
lovers  do  not  fear  that  they  shall  surely  die 
the  day  after  they  have  kissed  farewell;  on  the 
contrary  they  trust,  with  the  blessing  of  God, 
to  be  married  at  the  term. 

Jockey's  ta'en  the  parting  kiss, 

•I'er  the  mountains  he  is  gane; 
And  with  him  is  a'  my  bliss, 

Nought  hut  griefs  with  me  remaiu. 


Spare  my  love,  ye  winds  that  hlaw, 

I'lashy  sluuts  and  heatinu  rain ; 
Spare  my  luve,  thou  feathery  snaw, 

Drifting  o'er  tliu  frozen  plain. 

When  the  shades  of  evenliiK  creep 

O'er  the  tluy's  fair,  glailHoiiie  eo, 
Sound  and  safely  may  he  sleep, 

Sweetly  III) the  his  wankenlng  lie! 
He  will  lliillk  on  lier  he  loves, 

Fondly  he  11  repeat  her  name; 
For  where'er  hu  distant  roves. 

Jockey's  heart  is  still  at  hame. 

There  is  no  great  matter  or  merit,  some  one 
may  say,  in  such  lines  as  these — nor  is  there; 
but  they  express  sweetly  enough  some  natural 
sentiments,  and  what  more  woultl  you  have 
in  a  song?  You  have  had  far  more  in  some 
songs  to  which  we  have  given  the  go-by;  but 
we  are  speaking  now  of  the  class  of  the  simply 
pleasant;  and  on  us  their  edcct  is  like  that  of 
a  gentle  light  falling  on  a  pensive  place,  when 
there  are  no  absolute  clouds  in  the  sky,  and  no 
sun  visible  either,  but  when  that  soft  cil'usion, 
we  know  not  whence,  makes  the  whole  day 
that  had  been  somewhat  sad,  serene,  and 
reminds  us  that  it  is  summer.  Helieving  you 
feel  as  we  do,  we  do  not  fear  to  displease  you 
by  quoting  "Tho  Tither  Morn." 

The  tither  morn,  when  1  forlorn, 

Anuath  an  alk  sat  moaning,  «wk 

I  didna  trow,  I'd  see  my  joe,  dear 

iieslde  me,  gin  the  gloaming. 
Hut  he  sau  trig,  lap  o'er  the  rig,  nent  rlil«i! 

And  dautingly  did  cheer  me,  caressinyly 

Wlien  I,  whiit  reck,  did  least  expec' 

To  see  my  lad  so  near  me. 

His  bonnet  he,  a  thought  ajee, 

Cocked  sprusli  when  first  he  clasii'd  me; 
And  I,  I  wat,  wi'  fairnees  grnt, 

While  in  his  grips  he  press'd  me. 
Dell  take  the  war !  I  late  and  air, 

Ilao  wiah'd  sin  .Jock  departed; 
But  now  as  glad  I'm  wl'  my  lad, 

As  short-syne  broken-hearted. 

Fu"  aft  at  e'en  wl'  dancing  keen, 

When  a'  were  blythe  and  merry, 
I  car'd  na  by,  sae  sad  was  I, 

In  absence  o'  my  dearie, 
lint,  praise  be  hlest,  my  mind's  at  rest, 

I'm  happy  wi'  my  .Tohnny: 
At  kirk  and  fair,  I'll  aye  be  there, 

And  be  aa  canty 's  ony.i 


aiirucely 
wot      wept 

•arljr 
linw 

lately 


cared  not  at  all 


cheerful 


1  [This  song  appears  in  most  editions  as  a  composi- 
tion of  Burns,  but  it  had  been  printed  in  several  col- 
lections of  songs,  under  the  title  of  "The  Surprise," 
long  before  the  poet  had  contributed  anything  to  the 
public.  It  may  be  found  in  The  Ooldftnch,  Edinburgh, 
1782;  The  British  SoftujHer,  Olasgow,  1786,  dec] 


THK   (JKNIUS   AND   WHITINGS  OF   BUUX.S. 


er 


Wc  liclicvc  that  tlie  iiiomI  l)uuutlful  of  hU 
MoiiKt  nru  ilcarott  to  tliu  |>ui)|ilu,  niiil  thcHo  aru 
the  piiit-'ioiiate  iiiul  the  putliutic;  liut  there  aru 
Homo  I'liiniL'i'tt'il  ill  one  way  or  otlicr  with  the 
tenilcr  passion,  proat  favouritct*  too,  from  tho 
ll^iit  aixl  lively  up  to  (lie  huiiiorous  and  comic 
— yet  aiiioiiir  the  broadest  of  tiiat  elans  there 
is  selilom  any  coarseness — indecency  never — 
vulirar  you  may  call  Home  of  theiii  if  you 
please;  they  were  not  intended  to  lie  nciilccl.^ 
Flirts  and  co<|ni'ltes  of  liuth  sexes  are  of  every 
rank;  in  liiimlde  life  the  saucy  and  Hcornful 
toss  their  lieads  full  high,  or  "go  by  like 
stoiire;"  "lor  sake  o'  gowd  she  left  mo"  is  a 
eoinplaini  heard  in  all  circles;  "although  the 
night  be  ne'er  sac  wet,  ami  ho  bo  no'cr  hiio 
weary  ft,"  a  gentleman  of  a  certain  ago  will 
make  liiiii>elf  ridiculous  by  dropping  on  the 
knees  of  Uh  corduroy  breeches;  Auiitic  would 
fain  become  a  mother  and  in  order  .hereunto 
a  wife,  and  waylays  a  hobbletehoy;  daughters, 
the  most  filial,  think  nothing  of  breaking  their 
mothers'  hearts  as  their  grandmothers'  were 
broken  iiefore  them;  innocents,  with  no  other 
tc;u  '.ng  but  that  of  nature,  in  the  conduct  of 
intrigue:  in  which  verily  there  is  neither 
Hlianic  nor  sorrow,  become  systematic  and 
coiisunimate  hypocrites  not  worthy  to  live — 
(dnglc;  despairing  swains  are  saved  from 
Huicidc  by  peals  of  laughter  from  those  for 
whom  they  fain  would  die,  and  so  get  noosed; 
— and  surely  here  is  a  field — indicated  and  no 
more — wide  enough  for  the  Scottish  Comic 
Muse,  anil  would  you  know  how  productive  to 
the  hand  of  genius  you  have  but  to  read  Hums. 

In  one  of  his  letters  he  says,  "If  I  could, 
and  I  believe  I  do  it  as  far  as  I  can,  I  would 
wipe  away  all  tears  from  all  eyes."  His  nature 
was  indeed  humane;  and  the  tendernesses  and 
kindlinesses  apparent  in  every  page  of  liis 
poetry,  and  most  of  all  in  his  Songs,  cannot 
l)ut  have  a  humanizing  influence  on  all  those 
classes  exposed  by  the  necessities  of  their  con- 
dition to  many  causes  for  over  at  work  to 
harden  or  shut  up  the  heart.  Hums  does  not 
keep  continually  holding  up  to  them  the  evils 
of  their  lot,  continually  calling  on  them  to 
endure  or  to  redress;  but  while  he  stands  up 
for  his  Order,  its  virtues  and  its  rights,  and 

'  [Professor  Wilson  was  probably  not  awnre  that 
Uurns  (lid  write  indecent  songs,  8«6  rosa,  and  for  the 
perusal  of  special  friends.] 


huH  bolts  to  hurl  at  tho  oppressor,  his  delight 
U  to  inspire  uontentment.  in  that  solemn — 
"Dirge," — a  sjiiritual  being,  suddenly  spied 
in  the  gloom,  Ncems  an  .Vpparition,  made  sage 
by  Hutlerings  in  the  llesli,  sent  to  instruct  us 
and  all  who  breathe  that  "Alan  was  made  to 
Mourn." 

.Many  and  sharp  the  num'roiis  Ills 

Iliwiivcii  witli  our  fraiiiu! 
.Moru  piiliituil  still  we  iimko  oui'selvca 

Ili'Ki't't,  I'uiiiiirHi',  and  hIiiuiu' I 
And  man,  whose  huiivcii-eivcteil  face 

Thu  siiiili's  of  love  itdiirii, 
.Man's  iMJiuinuMlt)'  to  iimii 

Mul<us  countless  thoiiHaiiilH  iiioiivii 

See  yonder  poor  o'erlntioinvd  winlit, 

Ho  iiliject,  iiiuaii,  and  vile. 
Who  lieKH a  hrcither  of  the  eiiitli 

To  Kive  him  leave  to  tidl; 
And  see  his  lordly /i'H((iv-i(.'on(i 

'I'lie  piHir  i)etitioii  spurn, 
I'nmliiilfiil,  tho'  a  weepiiiK  wife 

And  helpless  otfapriiiK  iiioiirn 

Hut  we  shall  suppose  that  "brother  of  the 
earth"  rotten,  and  forgotten  b/  tho  "bold 
peasantry  their  country's  pride,"  who  work 
without  leave  from  worms.  At  his  work  we 
think  wo  hear  a  stalwart  tiller  of  the  soil 
humming  what  must  be  a  ver.se  of  Hums. 

Is  there  (or  honest  Poverty 

Tliat  hliiKS  his  head,  and  a'  that? 
The  coward-slave,  we  i)n8s  him 

Wo  dare  he  poor  for  a'  that ! 

What  tho'  on  haniely  fare  we  dine. 

Wear  hoddiii  Ki'cy,  and  a'  that;  r"flr«e  woollen  cloth 
Oio  fools  their  silks,  and  knaves  their  \t  iiie, 

A  man's  a  man  for  a'  that ! 


Then  let  ua  pray  that  come  it  may— 

As  come  it  will  for  a'  that— 
That  sense  and  worth,  o'er  a'  the  earth. 

May  l)ear  the  Rree,  and  a'  that !  supremacy 

For  a'  that,  and  a'  that. 

It's  comiii);  yet  for  a'  that, 
That  man  to  man,  the  world  o'er, 

Shall  hrothers  he  for  a'  that ! 

A  spirit  of  Independence  reigned  alike  in 
the  Genius  and  the  Character  of  Hums.  And 
what  is  it  but  a  strong  sense  of  what  is  due  to 
Worth  apart  altogether  from  the  distinctions 
of  society —  'Jie  vindication  of  that  Worth  being 
what  he  felt  to  be  tho  most  honoured  call  upon 
himself  in  life?  That  sense  once  violated  is  de- 
stroyed, and  therefore  he  guarded  it  as  a  sacred 
thing — only  less  sacred  than  Conscience.  Yet  it 


I 


08 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


belongs  to  Conscience,  and  is  the  prerogative 
of  Man  as  Man.  Sometimes  it  may  ^cem  as 
if  he  watched  it  with  jealousy,  and  in  jealousy 
there  is  always  weakness,  because  there  is  fear. 
But  it  was  not  so;  he  felt  assured  that  his  foot- 
ing was  firm  and  that  his  back  was  on  a  rock. 
No  blast  could  blow,  no  air  could  beguile  him 
from  the  position  he  had  taken  up  with  his 
whole  soul  in  "its  pride  of  place."  His  words 
were  justified  by  his  actions,  and  his  actions 
truly  told  his  thoughts;  his  were  a  bold  heart, 
a  bold  hand,  and  a  bold  tongue,  for  in  the 
nobility  of  his  nature  he  knew  that  though 
born  and  bred  in  a  hovel  he  was  the  equal  of 
the  highest  in  the  land;  as  he  was — and  no 
more — of  the  lowest,  so  that  they  too  were 
MEN.  For  hear  him  speak — "What  signify 
the  silly,  idle  gewgaws  of  wealth,  or  the  ideal 
trumpery  of  greatness:  When  fellow-par- 
takers of  the  same  nature  fear  the  same  God, 
have  the  same  benevolence  of  heart,  the  same 
nobleness  of  soul,  the  same  detestation  of  every 
thing  dishonest,  and  the  same  scorn  at  every 
thing  unworthy — if  they  are  not  in  the  de- 
pendence of  absolute  beggary,  in  the  name  of 
common  sense  are  they  not  equals?  And  if 
the  bias,  the  instinctive  bias  of  their  souls 
run  the  same  way,  why  may  they  not  be 
FRIENDS?"*  He  was  indeed  privileged  to 
write  that  "Inscription  for  an  Altar  to  Inde- 
pendence." 

Thou  of  an  independent  mind, 

With  soul  resolv'd,  with  soul  resign'd; 

Prep.ir'd  Power's  proudest  frown  to  brave, 

Whr'  wilt  not  be,  nor  have  a  slave; 

Vi  tue  alone  who  dost  revere, 

Iny  own  reproach  alone  dost  fear, 

Approach  this  shrine,  and  worihip  here. 

Scotland's  adventurous  sons  are  now  as  proud 
of  this  moral  feature  of  his  poetry  as  of  all  the 
pictures  it  contains  of  their  native  country. 
Bound  up  in  one  volume  it  is  the  Manual  of 
Independence.  AVere  they  not  possessed  of 
the  same  spirit,  they  would  be  ashamed  to 
open  it;  but  what  they  wear  they  win,  what 
they  eat  they  earn,  and  if  frugal  they  be — and 
that  is  the  right  word — it  is  that  on  their 
return  they  may  build  a  house  on  the  site  of 
their  father's  hut,  and,  proud  to  remember 
that  he  was  poor,  live  so  as  to  deserve  the 
blessings  of  the  children  of  them  who  walked 

I  Letter  to  Margaret  Chalmers,  16th  Sept.  1788. 


with  them  to  daily  labour  on  wliat  was  then 
no  better  than  a  wilderness,  but  has  now  been 
made  to  blossom  like  the  rose.  Ebenezer 
Elliot  is  no  flatterer — and  he  said  to  a  hundred 
and  twenty  Scotsmen  in  Sheffield,  met  to  cele- 
brate the  birthday  of  Burns — 

Stern  Mother  of  the  deathless  dead ! 

AVhere  stands  a  Stot,  a  freeman  stands; 
Self-stayed,  if  pour— self-cluthed~self-fed; 

Mind-mighty  in  all  lands. 

Jfo  wiclied  plunder  need  thy  sons, 
To  save  the  wretcli  whom  mercy  spurns; 

No  i  lassie  lore  tliy  little  ones, 
Who  find  a  Bard  in  Biu-ns. 

Their  path  tho'  dark,  they  may  not  miss; 

Secure  they  tread  on  danger's  brink; 
They  say  "tliis  shall  he  "  and  it  is: 

For  ere  they  net,  they  think. 

There  are,  it  is  true,  some  passages  in  his 
poetry,  and  more  in  his  letters,  in  which  this 
Spirit  of  Independence  partakes  too  much  of 
pride,  and  expresses  itself  in  anger  ami  scorn. 
These,  however,  were  but  passing  moods,  and 
he  did  not  love  to  cherish  them;  no  great 
blame  had  they  been  more  frequent  and  per- 
manent— for  his  noble  nature  was  exposed  to 
many  causes  of  such  irritation,  but  it  triumphed 
over  them  all.  A  few  indignant  flashes  broke 
out  against  the  littleness  of  the  great ;  but 
nothing  so  paltry  as  personal  piijue  inspired 
him  with  feelings  of  hostility  towards  the 
highest  orders.  His  was  an  imagination  that 
clothed  high  rank  with  that  ditriiity  which 
some  of  the  degenerate  descendants  of  old 
houses  had  forgotten;  and  whenever  true  noble- 
men "reverenced  the  lyre,"  and  grasped  the 
hand  of  the  peasant  who  had  received  it  from 
nature  as  his  patrimony.  Burns  felt  it  to  be  no- 
wise inconsistent  with  the  stubborncst  indepen- 
dence that  ever  .supported  a  son  of  the  soil  in 
his  struggles  with  necessity,  reverently  to  doff 
his  bonnet,  and  bow  his  head  in  their  presence 
with  a  proud  humility.  JefiVey  did  liimself 
honour  by  acknowledging  that  he  had  been  at 
first  misled  by  occasional  splenetic  passages,  in 
his  estimation  of  Burns's  character,  and  by 
afterwards  joining,  in  eloquent  terms,  in  the 
praise  bestowed  by  other  kindred  >iiirits  on 
the  dignity  of  its  independence.  "It  is  ob- 
served," says  Campbell  with  his  usual  felicity, 
"that  he  boasts  too  much  of  his  in  lopcndonce; 
but  in  reality  this  boast  is  neit'icr  frequent 


THE   GENIUS  AND  WHITINGS  OF  BUKNS. 


69 


nor  obtrusive;  and  it  is  in  itself  the  expression 
of  a  noble  and  laudable  feeling.  So  far  from 
calling  up  disagreeable  rceoUeetions  of  rus- 
tieity,  his  sentiments  triumpli,  by  their  natural 
energy,  over  those  false  and  artilieial  distine- 
tions  which  the  mind  is  but  too  apt  to  form  in 
allotting  its  symiiatliies  to  the  sensibilities  of 
the  rich  and  poor.  He  carries  us  into  the 
iiumble  .scenes  of  life,  not  to  make  us  dole  out 
our  tribute  of  charitable  compassion  to  i)aupers 
and  cottagers,  i)ut  to  make  us  feci  with  them 
on  cipial  terms,  to  make  us  enter  into  their 
passions  and  interests,  and  share  our  hearts 
with  them  as  brothers  and  sisters  of  the  human 
species." 

in  notiiing  else  is  the  sincerity  of  his  soul 
more  iipparent  than  in  his  Friendships.  All 
who  had  ever  been  kind  to  him  he  loved  till 
the  last.  It  mattered  not  to  him  what  was 
tlieir  rank  or  condition — he  returned,  and 
more  than  returned,  their  affection — he  was, 
with  regard  to  such  ties,  indeed  of  the  family 
of  the  faithful.  The  consciimsiiess  nf  his  in- 
finite superiority  to  the  common  race  of  men, 
and  of  his  own  fame  and  glory  as  a  I'oet,  never 
for  a  moment  made  him  forget  the  humble 
eompanions  of  his  ob.scure  life,  or  regard  with 
a  haughty  eye  any  face  that,  had  ever  worn 
towards  him  an  expression  of  benevolence. 
The  Smiths,  tlie  Muirs,  the  Browns,  and  the 
I'arkers,  were  to  him  as  the  Aikens,  tlie  15al- 
laiitines,  the  Ilamiltons,  the  Cunningluur.s, 
aiul  the  Ainslies — these  as  the  Stewarts,  the 
(Ircgorys,  the  Blairs,  and  the  ^lacken/.ies — 
tliese  again  as  the  (Jraliams  and  the  Krskines 
— and  these  as  the  Dacrs,  the  (Jleneairns,  and 
the  other  men  of  rank  who  were  kind  to  him 
— all  were  his  friends — his  benefactors.  His 
heart  expando-^  ,o-,vards  them  all,  and  throbbed 
with  gratitii  ]{is  eldest  son — and  he  has 

much  of  his  father's  intellectual  power — bears 
his  o\yn  Christian  name — the  others  are  Jiiiiict 
Oknaurn,  and  WHI'min  X'n-ol — so  called  re- 
spectively after  a  nobleman  to  whom  he 
thought  he  owed  all — and  a  schoolmaster  to 
wliom  he  owed  nothing — yet  ecpially  entitled 
to  bestow — or  receive  that  honour. 

There  is  a  bciutiful  passage  in  his  Second 
Connnon  I'lace  ISook.  showing  how  <leeply  he 
felt,  and  how  tr\ily  he  valued,  tlie  iiatronagc 
which  (he  worthy  alone  can  bestow.  "  Wiiat 
pleasure  is  in  the  power  of  the  fortunate  and 
vol..  V. 


the  happy,  by  their  notice  and  patronage,  to 
brighten  the  countenance  and  glad  the  heart 
of  depressed  youth  !  I  am  not  so  angry  with 
mankind  for  their  deaf  economy  of  the  purse: 
the  goods  of  this  world  cannot  1)C  divided 
without  being  lessened — but  why  be  a  niggard 
of  that  which  bestows  bliss  on  a  fellow-creature, 
yet  takes  nothing  from  our  own  means  of  en- 
joyment? We  wrap  ourselves  up  in  the  cloak  of 
our  own  better  fortune,  and  turn  away  our  eyes, 
lest  the  wants  and  w  ,es  of  our  liroilicr-nmrtals 
should  disturb  the  seliish  apathy  of  our  .souls  I"i 
What  was  the  amount  of  all  the  kindness  shown 
him  by  the  Karl  of  (Uencairn?  That  excellent 
nobleman  at  once  saw  tliai  he  was  a  great 
genius, — gave  him  the  han<l  of  friendship — 
and  in  conjunction  with  Sir  .iolui  Whitcfoord 
got  the  members  of  the  Caledonian  Hunt  to 
sub.seribc  for  guinea  instead  of  six  .shillimr 
copies  of  his  volume.-  That  was  all — and  it 
was  well.  For  that  ]?urns  was  as  grateful  a.>s 
for  the  preservation  of  life. 

The  liriiloi:ro(ini  may  forget  tlio  luiile 

Was  iiiailc  liis  wedilcd  wife  yustivcu; 
Tlic  liiniiarcli  may  forget  the  crown 

That  <iii  liis  lieail  an  lionr  lias  1  een; 
Tile  mother  may  forget  the  child 

That  smiles  sae  sweetly  on  her  knee; 
Ihit  1 11  remeinlier  thee,  Gleneaiin, 

.\iiil  a'  that  thou  hast  ilunu  for  me  ! 

lie  went  into  mourning  on  the  deatli  of  his 
benefactor,  and  desired  to  know  where  he  was 
to  be  buried,  that  he  might  attend  the  iuneral 
and  drop  a  tear  into  his  grave. 

The  '■  Lament  for  (ilencairn"  is  one  of  the 
finest  of  Klegies.  We  cannot  agree  with  those 
critics — some  of  thein  of  deserved  re]iiii:ition — 
who  have  olijected  to  the  fm'm  in  which  the 
poet  chose  to  give  expression  to  his  grief, 
hnagination,  touched  by  human  sorrow,  loves 
to  idealize;  because  thereby  it  ]iurifies,.levates, 
and  ennoldes  realities,  witliout  imjiairing  the 
pathos  belonging  to  them  in  nature.  Many 
great  poets — nor  do  we  fear  now  to  mention 
3fil  ton  among  the  number — have  in  such  strains 

'  (This  ))assaa:o  occur.*  in  a  letter  to  i  laufonl  Tait, 
l.'ith  <Kt.  IT'.KI.] 

-  |So  lliinis  himself  .'^aid  in  a  U  ttei  tn  Hiillautine, 
hut  he  iiiade  a  mistake.  What  tile  Hunt  did  was  to 
<lirect  "Mr.  Ilagart  ...  to  snliseiiln'  for  'Hie  hun- 
dred copies,  in  their  name,  for  whieli  he  slMiild  jiay 
to  Mr.  I'lurns  tweiity-tlvu  i)oiuid..i,  ujion  the  iiuhlioa- 
tiuu  of  his  hook."] 

71 


I"! 

I'',!' 

M 


r^ 


70 


THE  GEXIUS  AND  AVIUTINGS  OF  BURNS. 


Pi^ 


Ml 


cclcl)rate(l  the  beloved  dead.  They  have  gone 
out,  aloii,!,'  with  tlie  ol'Joct  of  their  dosirc,  iVom 
the  real  liviiiu:  world  in  wliicli  tiiey  had  been 
united,  and  siia(U)wed  forth  in  iniaircry  tiiat 
liears  a  hidi  similitude  to  it,  all  that  was 
most  spiritual  in  the  communion  now  iirokcii 
in  upon  by  the  mystery  of  death.  So  it  is  in 
the  hycidas— and  so  it  is  in  this  "  Lament." 
Hums  imauincd  an  ai;-ed  Hard  liiviny-  vent  to 
Ills  sorrow  for  his  noble  master's  untimely 
death,  amon,^'  the  "fading'  .  ellow  woods  that 
wav'd  o'er  Lui;ar's  wiiulin^'  stream."  That 
nunie  at  onee  awakens  in  us  the  thouuht  of 
his  own  dawninir  genius;  and  though  his  head 
was  yet  dark  as  the  raven's  wing,  and  "the 
locks  were  bleached  white  wi'  time''  of  the 
Apparition  evoked  with  his  wailing  harp  among 
"the  winds  lamenting  thro'  their  caves,"  yet 
Avc  feel  on  the  instant  that  the  imaginary 
mourner  is  one  and  tiie  same  with  tiie  real  — 
that  the  old  and  tiic  young  are  inspired  with 
the  same  passion,  and  have  but  onr  heart. 
AVe  are  taken  out  of  the  present  time,  ami 
placeil  in  one  far  remote — yet  by  such  removal 
the  personality  of  the  poet,  so  for  from  bcini; 
weakened,  is  enveloped  in  a  melancholy  light 
tliat  shows  it  more  endearingly  to  our  eyes — 
the  harp  of  other  years  sounds  with  the  sorrow 
that  never  dies — the  words  heard  are  the  ever- 
lasting language  of  att'eelinn— and  is  not  the 
object  of  such  lamentation  aggrandized  by 
thus  being  lifted  into  the  domain  of  poetry? 

I've  seen  sue  UKiiiy  eliaiiirefu'  years, 

Oil  I'iii'tli  I  iiiii  a  .straii^rer  tiniwii; 
I  wander  in  the  ways  of  mm. 

Alike  nnkmiwint.'  ainl  nnkmiwn: 
Unliianl,  unpitiu<l.  unrelievil. 

I  liuar  alane  my  laile  o'  can-, 
For  silunt,  hiw.  on  hn\s  of  dust, 

Lie  a'  tliat  wuuld  my  siuiuw.s  share. 

And  last  (the  .sum  of  a'  uiy  griefs  !) 

My  niilile  niastei'  lies  in  clay; 
TUK  FI.cAV'i;  AM.VXO  (ilJ!    ItAIloXS  Iliil.tl, 

niS  Ciif.NTltV's  I'KIIiK,  HIS  ClirXTllV'S  .ST.W. 

AVc  go  along  with  such  a  mourner  iii  the  e.val- 
tation  of  the  character  of  liie  mournc! — great 
must  have  been  the  goodness  to  generate  such 
gratitude — that  which  would  have  been  felt 
to  be  exaggeration,  if  expies.sed  in  a  form  not 
thus  imaginative,  is  here  brought  within  our 
un(iuesiioninirsym[iathy — !ind  we  arc  prep'ired 
to  return  to  the  event  in  its  reality,  wiih  un- 
diminished fervour,  when  Burns  re-ajipears  in 


his  own  character  without  any  disguise,  and 
exclaims — 

Awake  thy  last  sad  voice,  my  hari)! 

'I'lii'  V(jiee  of  woe  and  wild  despair; 
.•\waki',  ris(iund  tliy  latest  lay, 

'llun  slei'])  in  siknee  evcrniairl 
And  tlion,  my  last,  best,  only  friend. 

That  llllcst  an  untimely  tondi, 
Aiript  tin's  triiiuti-  from  tlif  llanl 

Thou  lironjilit  from  fortunes  mirkest  gloom. 

In  poverty's  low,  barren  vale. 

Thick  mists,  ohseure,  iliV(dv'd  me  round; 
Though  oft  1  tinir<l  tlie  wistful  lye, 

Nae  ray  of  fame  was  to  lie  found: 
Thuu  found  st  nic.  \\kv  the  morniJiK'  sun 

Tliat  melts  the  fo;;s  in  lim|iid  iiir. 
The  fiitiidlfss  li.-ird  and  rustic  song, 

lleiame  alilce  tliy  fosteiin,:;  care. 

The"Klegyon  t'aptjiin  ^Matthew  Hender- 
son'— of  whom  little  or  noliiing  is  now  known 
— is  a  woiulerfully  fine  flight  of  imagination, 
but  it  wants,  we  think,  the  deep  feelini;'  of 
the  "Lament.  "  It  may  be  calle<l  a  I'apture. 
Burns  says,  "  It  is  a  tribute  to  a  num  1  loved 
miu'h;"  and  in  "The  J'^iiitaph"  which  follows 
ii.  he  draws  his  character — and  a  noble  one  it 
is— in  many  points  resembling  his  own.  With 
the  exce)ition  of  the  opening  and  <  oiu'ludim;' 
stanzas,  the  Mlegy  consists  entirely  of  a  sup- 
plication to  Nature  to  Join  with  him  in  lament- 
ing the  death  of  the  "ac  best  fellow  e'er  was 
born;"  and  thoUL;h  to  our  ears  tln.'re  is  some- 
thing grating  in  that  term,  yet  the  ilisau^ree- 
alileness  of  it  is  done  away  by  the  words 
immediately  foilnwing: 

T1ki\  Mattliew,  Nature's  sid'  shall  mourn 
r.y  wood  and  «  ild. 

Where,  liaply,  I'ity  strays  foi-lorii, 
I'lae  man  (■xil'd. 

The  poet  is  no  ^ooner  on  the  wing  thiui  be 
rejoices  in  hi>  sircni;th  of  pinion,  ami  Mitb 
ecpial  eas;;  soars  aiul  stoops.  \Vc  know  not 
where  to  look,  in  the  whole  range  of  poetry, 
for  an  Invocation  to  the  great  and  fair  objects 
of  the  exteriuil  world,  so  rich  ami  vari(uis  in 
imairery,  and  lliront;hout  so  sustained;  and 
here  again  we  do  not  fear  to  refer  to  the  ••  l,y- 
eidas" — and  lo  say  that  liobert  Burns  will 
staiid  a  ''(unparison  with  .lohn  ^Milton. 

r.nt  oil,  tlR.  hoavy  clianue,  now  thou  art  j;oue. 
Now  tlioii  art  Lione,  and  never  must  return  1 
I'lici'.  .'^hiplavd,  thee  tlio  wnods.  and  desert  caves. 
With  wild  thyme,  and  the  yaddiUK  vine  uer);rown, 
And  all  their  echoes  inoiuii: 


the 


t'onie  i. 


ii 


THE   GENIUS  AND  WHITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


;uisc,  ami 


jst  gloum. 
rount!; 


\v  lleiidor- 
iiow  known 
iiiiginalion. 
>  t'cclini;  lit' 
:i  I'aptiire. 
lan  I  lovotl 
lidi  follows 
lohlo  one  il 
own.  ^Vitll 
oonchidinn- 
ly  of  a  >»\>- 
1  ill  lament - 
o\v  e'er  was 
re  is  .some- 
10  (lisaiii'oo- 
tlio    wortl-* 


Miimin 
il.l, 

I. 

m^  than  lie 

,  ami  with 

know  not 

;  of  Jiootrv, 

fair  olijeets 

varioiw  in 

lim'il ;   ami 

0  the  "  l.y- 
iiiinis   will 

Ion. 

1  art  tioiR", 
•turn  '. 

lesi'it  cavi'R. 
le  IP  I'luiowii, 


'J'lie  willows  and  the  Imzijl  copses  green 

.Sliall  iinw  no  iiicire  lie  aeeii 

yanniii!.'  thi'ir  joyous  leaves  to  tliy  soft  lays. 

As  killiiii;'  as  tlie  canker  to  tlie  rose, 

Or  taint-wiiiiii  to  tlie  weanliiiK-lienls  that  graze, 

Or  front  to  lloweis,  tliat  their  );ay  warilrohu  wear, 

Wlieii  llr.-t  tlie  whitethorn  lilows; 

Siieh,  I.yciilas,  thy  h>ss  to  slieplierd's  ear. 

Keturn,  .Sicilian  Muse, 
And  call  the  vales,  and  liid  tlieiii  hither  cast 
'I'lieir  liells  and  flowerets  of  a  thou.sand  hues. 
Vc  valleys  low,  where  the  mild  whisiiers  use 
(If  shades,  and  wanton  winds,  and  gusliiMg  hrooks, 
(In  whose  flesh  lap  the  swart-star  sjiarely  looks, 
'I'liiciw  hither  all  your  iiuailit  eiiaineU'd  eyes, 
That  mi  the  i;reen  turf  suck  the  honied  showers, 
And  jiiirple  all  the  ground  with  vernal  tloweis. 
Urin;;'  the  rathe  primrose  that  forsaken  dies. 
The  tiifteil  eroH-toe,  and  pale  jessamine. 
The  white  pink,  and  the  pansy  freak'd  with  jet, 
'file  filiiwiii).'  vi(det. 

The  nnisk-rose,  and  the  well-attir'd  woodljine, 
With  cowslips  wan  that  haiin  the  pensive  head. 
And  every  llower  that  sad  emhroidery  wears; 
liid  anKirantlnis  all  his  lieaiity  shed. 
And  dattodillic,  1111  their  ciijis  with  tears. 
To  strew  the  Laureat  lierse  where  I.ycid  lies. 


.Ml 
inipos 


how 

l.as- 


who  know  the  "i.yeidas,"  know 
-ilile  it  is  to  (lelaeh  any  one  -inirle 
.siue  from  liie  rest,  without  marring'  its  heanty 
of  reiation-iiiii — without  deprivini,'  it  of  the 
charm  eoii-i-iiiiii'  in  the  rise  and  fall — the  iiii- 
(lulatioii  — ill  which  the  whole  divine  {loem  now 
gently  and  now  ma,u:nifa'ently  lluetiiates.  I5nt 
even  when  thus  detached,  the  poetry  of  these 
{lassaiies  is  e.xquisite — the  e.xpressiini  is  perfect 
—consummate  art  has  erowiied  the  eoneep- 
tions  of  inspired  genius — and  shall  Ave  dare  to 
KCt  liy  their  side  .stanzas  written  hy  a  iilough- 
man?  Wo  shall.  Hut  first  hoar  Wordsworth. 
In  the  '■  llxciirsion,"  tiic  I'edlar  says— and 
the  H.\ci>einaii  oorroliorates  its  truth — 

The  poets  in  their  elejjies  and  hymn.s 
Lament  ill'.'  the  departed,  call  the  j.'roves; 
They  call  upon  the  hills  and  slieaiiis  to  iiiourn; 
And  seiineless  rocks;  nor  idly:  for  they  speak 
In  the>e  their  invocations  with  a  voice 
<if  human  j'assioii. 

Voii  have  liourd  Milton — hear  iJurns — 


Ve  liills.  mar  neiliiurs  o'  the  stariis. 
'J'hat  inimdly  cock  your  crestinu'  cairns  1 
Ve  dills,  tlic  haunts  of  sailing  earu.i, 

Where  echo  sliimlitrs! 
t'onie  j..iii,  ye  Xature's  sturdii'st  tmirns, 

.\[y  wailiiij;  nnmliers! 

Mourn,  ilka  m-nve  the  cushat  kens  I 
Yc  liaz  lly  -Ikiws  and  brierv  dens  I 


st.'irs 
eagles 


wcujil.jiincon 
Wdo  U'll  ili'lls 


71 


leapa 


Ve  burnies,  wimplin'  down  your  ftleiis, 
Wi'  toddlin  din. 

Or  foaming  Strang,  wi'  hasty  stens, 
i'rae  linn  to  linn. 

Mourn,  little  harebells  o'er  the  lea; 
Ve  stately  foxgloves,  fair  to  see, 
Ve  woodbines,  hanging  lionnilie 

In  scented  bow'rs, 
Ve  roses  on  your  thorny  tree. 

The  tlrst  o'  flow'rs. 


At  dawn,  when  ev'ry  grassy  blade 

Droojis  with  a  diamond  at  his  head. 

At  evil,  when  beans  their  fragrance  shed, 

1  til'  rustling  gale, 
Ve  mailkins,  whiddin'  thro'  the  ghide,     liares  skirplng 

Come  join  my  wail. 


Mourn,  yc  wee  songsters  o'  the  wood; 
Ve  grouse  that  eiap  the  heather  bud; 
Ve  curlews  calling  thro'  a  cliid; 

Ve  whistling  plover; 
And  mourn,  ye  wliirring  paitrick  liroud 

lies  gane  for  ever  I 


I'artndge 


-Mourn,  sooty  coots,  and  speckled  teals; 
Ve  fisher  herons,  watching  eels; 
\v  duck  and  drake,  wi'  airy  wheels 

Circling  the  lake; 
Ve  liitteiiis,  till  the  (|uagmire  reels, 

Kair  for  bis  sake. 

Mourn,  clam'ring  craiks  at  clo.sc  o'  day, 
'Mang  fields  o"  flow'ring  clover  gay; 
And  when  ye  wing  your  annual  way 

Frae  our  cauld  shore, 
Tell  thae  far  worlds,  wlvi  lies  in  clay. 

Wham  We  deiilore. 

Ve  houlets,  frae  your  ivy  bow'r. 

In  some  aiild  tree,  or  eldritch  tow'r, 

What  time  the  moon,  wi'  silent  glow'r, 

Sets  up  her  horn. 
Wail  thro'  the  dreaiy  miilnigbt  hour 

Till  waukrife  morn  1 

O,  rivers,  forests,  hills,  and  plains  I 
Oft  li.ive  ye  heard  my  canty  strains: 
I!ut  now,  what  else  for  me  remains 

lint  tales  of  Wo,-  ; 
And  frae  my  een  tlie  drapiiing  ruins 

Maun  ever  flow. 

.Mourn,  sjiring.  tliou  darling  of  the  year  I 
Ilk  cowslip  cup  shall  kc]!  a  tear: 
Thou,  simmer,  while  each  corny  spear 

.•sbiKits  np  its  head. 
Thy  gay,  green,  Howry  tresses  shear, 

''or  him  lliat'.i  dead  I 

TIkiU.  nutunin,  wi'  thy  yillow  hair. 
In  grief  lliy  sallow  mantle  tear! 
Thou,  winter,  hurling  thro'  the  air 

Tlie  roaring  blast. 
Wide  o'er  the  naked  worM  declare 

Thv  worth,  we've  lost! 


those 


owls 

finr-iiisi-irin,/ 

stare 


wakeful 


fliocrful 


catoli 


m 


^ 


72 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


lie  renews  the  recjucst,  and  says  most  airect- 

iiigly— 

I  dreiul  thee,  Fate,  relentless  iukI  seviTe, 
With  all  a  iioefs,  liusljaiid's,  fatheis  (iai-1 
Already  mie  strung  Imld  of  Imiie  is  lust, 
Glencairn,  tlie  truly  nulile,  lies  i-.i  diist; 
(Kk'd,  like  the  sun  etlijisd  as  nunu  I'lijiears, 
And  left  us  darkling'  in  a  woild  of  tears;) 
OhI  hear  my  ardent,  grateful,  selllsli  jiray'rl 
Fintry,  my  other  stay,  lung  bless  an<l  sjiare  1 
Thro'  a  long  life  his  hopes  ancl  wishes  erown, 
And  hiiglit  in  cloudless  skies  his  sun  no  down  1 
ilay  bliss  domestic  smooth  his  private  path. 
Give  energy  to  life,  and  soothe  his  latest  iireatli, 
Witli  many  a  lllial  tear  circling  the  lied  of  deatli  I 

The  favour  was  granted — and  in  anotlier  Kjiis- 
tle  was  recjuited  with  inmiortal  thanks: 

I  call  nn  goddess  to  ins]>ire  my  strains, 
A  falded  nnise  may  suit  a  bard  that  feigns; 
Friend  of  my  life  1  my  ardent  spirit  Imriis, 
And  all  the  triliute  uf  my  heart  returns, 
For  boons  aecordeil,  goodness  ever  new, 
1'lie  gift  still  dearer,  as  the  giver  you. 

Thou  orb  of  dayl  thou  othei-  paler  light  1 

And  all  the  other  sjiarkling  stars  of  niglit; 

If  aught  that  giver  from  my  miml  elface. 

If  i  that  giver;!  bounty  e'er  disgiace; 

Then  roll  to  me,  along  yoiu'  wandering  sjjheres, 

Only  to  number  out  a  villain's  years  I 

Love,  Friendsliip,  Independence,  i'atriotism 
— these  were  the  perpetual  inspirors  of  hi^i 
genius,  even  when  they  did  not  form  tlie  theme 
of  his  effusions.  His  religious  feelings,  his 
resentment  against  hypocrisy,  and  other  occa- 
sioi.al  inspirations,  availed  only  to  the  occa.-ion 
on  which  they  appear.  Hut  these  influence 
him  at  all  times,  even  while  there  is  not  a 
whisper  aliout  them,  and  when  himself  is  nn- 
consc'^'us  of  their  operation.  Every  thing  most 
di''.'  ,  jve  of  lii.s  character  will  he  found  to 
apperl:.  iti  \(>  *)u-ii\,  «ln?ther  wc  regard  him  as 
a  poet  or  a  niio.  His  i  afriotism  was  of  the 
true  pontic  kind — intense — exclusive;  .Scot- 
lap  '  .'"'l  t)ie  "  limat'!  of  SiO»land  were  in  .iis 
e^cs  the  d.- ir"'<t  to  nature-  S.'otland  'ii;  1  the 
jieoplr  >'  ,  ■iilan  1  Uic  U)o*,herand  thecliildren 
oflihi'ii  •.  In  lii.s  .puliation,  when  a  ill  )Uglit 
of  I'ireigi.  ;  nd:  •••oi-t  his  f;'.ney,  lie  isked, 
"What  are  liiev'    i  ;i  ■  ottuiits  j'  the  tvrant  and 


Mourn  him,  thou  .Sun,  great  source  of  light! 
Jloiirn,  Empress  of  the  silent  night  I 
And  you,  ye  twinkling  starnies,  liright, 

ily  Matthew  inouiu ! 
For  thro'  your  orbs  he's  ta'eii  his  Hight, 

Ne'er  to  return. 

Of  all  Hurns's  friends  the  most  efficient  was 
Graham  of  Fintry.  To  him  he  owed  Excise- 
man's ilip/oma — .settlement  as  a  ganger  in  the 
District  of  Ten  Parishes,  when  he  was  gudeman 
at  Ellisland — translation  as  a  ganger  to  Dum- 
fries— support  against  insidious  foes  despicable 
yet  not  to  be  despised  with  rumour  at  their 
head — vindication  at  the  Kxci.se  lioard — pro 
loco  et  tempore  supervisorship — and  though 
he  knew  not  of  it,  .security  from  dreaded  degra- 
dation on  his  death-bed.  His  first  "Epistle 
to  Mr.  Graham  of  Fintry,"  is  in  the  style,  sliall 
Tve  say  it,  of  Dry  den  and  Pope?  It  is  a  noble 
composition;  and  these  fine,  vigorous,  rough, 
and  racy  lines  truly  and  duly  express  at  once 
his  independence  and  his  gratitude  : 

Come  thou  who  giv'st  with  all  a  courtier's  grace; 

Fkie.nd  of  my  lifk,  true  jialron  of  my  rhymes  1 

I'rop  of  my  dearest  hojies  for  future  times. 

Why  shrinks  my  soul  half  Ijliishing,  half  afraiil. 

Backward,  abash'd  to  ask  thy  friendly  aid? 

I  know  my  need,  I  know  thy  giving  hand, 

I  crave  thy  friemlship  at  thy  kind  commaiul; 

I5nt  there  are  such  who  court  the  tuneful  Nine- 
Heavens!  should  the  branded  character  be  mine! 

Whose  verse  in  nuinhood's  ]iride  sublimely  flows. 

Yet  vilest  reptiles  in  their  liegging  ]irose. 

Mark,  how  their  lofty  independent  sjiirit 

.Soars  on  the  spurning  wing  of  injur d  nurit ! 

.Seek  not  the  proofs  in  private  life  to  find; 

Pity  the  Ijcst  of  wonls  should  he  hut  wiml ! 

So,  to  heaven's  gates  the  lark's  shrill  song  ascends, 

But  grovelling  on  tlie  earth  the  cand  ends. 

In  all  the  dani'rous  cry  of  starving  want, 

They  dun  benevidence  with  shameless  front; 

Oldige  them,  patronize  their  tin6(d  lays— 

They  persecute  you  all  their  future  days  ! 

Ere  my  poor  soul  such  deeii  danmation  stain, 

.\ry  horny  list  assume  the  jilougli  again; 

The  ijieliald  jacket  let  me  ]iatch  ome  more; 

Oil  eiijhtccn pence  a  week-  I've  lir'il  he/are. 

Tho'  thanks  to  Heaven,  I  dare  even  that  last  shift, 

I  trust  meantime  my  boon  is  in  tliy  gift: 

That,  plac'd  by  thee  upon  the  wish  d-for  height. 

Where,  man  and  nature  fairer  in  her  sight, 
My  Muse  may  imp  her  wing  for  some  sublimer  Hight. 

I  slave."  Ti  !^  '.v.-.;  oe  tl<  'r  philo.sophical  noridiil- 
Rcad  over  again  the  la.st  three  lines!  The  I  anthropical;  '•  t'r-.  IJnriis  was  a  bigot.  And 
fiivour  reijuested  was  removal  from  I  he  labori.     the  cosmoiiolite  may  well   laugh  !<•  hear  the 


ous  and  extensive  district  which  he  mtrrei/fd 
for  the  Excise  at  Ellisland  to  one  of  smaller 
dimcusiotLS  at  Dumfries.     In  another  Epi.-,tle 


cottager  proclaiming  that 
iiian  views  with  disdain 
gold-bubbling  fountains  with   their  ore  and 


the  brave  ('alcdo- 
spicy  forests   and 


THE   GENIUS   AND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


78 


,t  airoct- 


IIIS, 

) 

ly'r! 
ire  I 
own, 
(Uiwii  I 
iiith, 
;  hrtiitli, 
of  (If  nth : 

liur  Kiiis- 


ns; 
lis, 


^1 

sjihores,                     S 

Patriot  i>ni             <■ 

cvti  of  his             S 
tlie  theme              ^ 

}lini,'s,   his 

ilhor  occa-                 ,- 
le  oi;ca>ion                jj 
:  iuHufne'C                 4 
c  is  not  a               i| 

self  is  un-                1 

liiini;  most                '1 

;  ftuind  to               ;| 
inl  liim  as               | 

was  of  tlie               ^ 

ivo ;    Scot-             .:^ 

rrc  ill    ;is               ,g 

il   ■,!   i    ilic               iff 

lici-lulilren             M 

a  :],  niiilit 

liu    i^kod,                i 
tvrant,  and               '^ 
al  norphil-              li 

pit.      Ami              ''i. 

)  hear   the              jl 

ive  t'aledo-              :|^ 

'orests   and             M 

ir  ore   and           M 

their  nutmcffs — and  blessing  himself  in  seant 
ai>i>arel  on  ''eauld  C'aledinia's  blast  on  the 
wave. "  The doetrinc  will  not  stand  the  serutiny 
of  juilsrnicnf ;  but  w  ith  what  eontenti'ated  i)owcr 
of  jMietry  does  the  iirejudiee  burst  forth?  I^et 
all  lands  have  caeh  its  own  prejudieed,  bi^ffot- 
ed,  patriotie  poets,  blind  and  deaf  to  what  lies 
beyond  tiieir  own  liorizon,  and  thus  shall  the 
whole  habitable  world  in  due  time  be  glorified. 
Shakspeare  himself  Avas  never  .so  happy  as 
when  settinuup  ICngland,  in  power,  in  beauty, 
and  in  majesty  above  all  the  kingdoms  of  the 
earth. 

In  times  of  national  security  the  feeling  of 
Patriotism  among  the  masses  is  so  quie.scent 
that  it  seems  hardly  to  exist;  in  their  ease 
national  glory  or  national  danger  awakens  it, 
and  it  leaps  up  armed  atp-<(-j)ii'.  IJiit  the 
.saered  fire  is  never  e.xtinet  in  a  nation,  and  in 
tranquil  times  it  is  kept  alive  in  the  hearts  of 
those  who  are  called  to  high  functions  in  the 
jiublie  service — by  none  is  it  Initi'il  so  surely 
as  by  the  poets.  It  is  the  identification  of 
individual  feeling  and  interest  with  tho.se  of  a 
ct.niniunily;  and  so  natural  to  the  human  soul 
is  this  cidarged  act  of  sympathy,  that  when 
not  called  forth  by  some  great  pursuit,  peril, 
or  success,  it  applies  itself  intensely  to  internal 
policy:  and  hence  the  animosities  and  rancour 
of  parties,  which  arc  evidences,  nay  forms, 
though  degenerate  ones,  of  the  Patriotic  Feel- 
ing; aii<l  this  is  proved  by  the  fict  that  on  the 
approach  of  common  danger,  party  dift'crences 
in  a  great  measure  cease,  and  are  transmuted 
into  the  one  harmonious  elemental  Love  of 
our  native  Land.  IJurns  was  .said  atone  time 
to  have  been  a  Jacobin  as  well  as  a  Jacobite; 
and  it  must  have  re(]uired  even  all  his  genius 
to  eflect  such  a  junction.  He  certainly  wrote 
some  so-so  verses  to  the  Tree  of  Liberty,  and 
like  Cowper,  Wordsworth,  aiul  other  great  and 
good  men,  rejoifcd  when  down  fell  the  Has- 
tillc.  But  when  there  was  a  talk  of  taking 
our  Island,  he  soon  evinced  the  nature  of  Ids 
aflection  for  the  French. 

Does  hatiKhty  Gnul  Invasion  tliroat  ? 

Then  let  tlie  lnuns  tiewnre,  Sir; 
TIrmv'.s  wiMiilin  walls  iiimn  our  6ea.«, 

And  vnliiMtfiTsoii  slioix".  Sir. 
Tlic  Mtli  .shiiU  nui  to  Ciusincon, 

Ami  Ciilfi/i  sink  in  Solway, 
Ere  \\i'  ptrniit  a  foieifiii  fou 

On  British  grii\uiil  to  rally. 


f'lreiijn 
tiluilgi-uu 


IUU3t 

patch 

tinker 

(hire 


n'love 


()  lot  us  not,  like  snarlini;  tykes, 

In  wrangling  lio  iliviik'ii; 
Till,  slapl  coniu  in  an  unco  loim' 

And  Hi'  a  ninj.'  decide  it. 
lie  Uritiiin  still  to  lliitain  true, 

AniiinLT  oiu'sels  united; 
For  never  liut  liy  r.iitlsli  hands 

.Maiui  liiitLsh  wrangs  be  righted. 

The  kettle  o'  the  Kirk  and  .State, 

I'erhaps  a  elout  may  fail  in't; 
But  deil  a  foreign  tinkler  hnui 

Shall  ever  ca'  a  nail  int. 
Our  fathers'  hluid  the  kettle  bought, 

And  wha  wad  dare  tosjioil  it, 
liy  Heavens',  the  saerilegious  dot; 

Shall  fuel  be  to  boil  it. 

The  wretch  that  wad  a  tyrant  own, 

Ami  the  wretch,  his  true-born  brother, 
Who  would  set  the  iinih  alioon  the  thrnw 

.May  they  be  danincl  together'. 
Who  will  not  sin^  "God  save  the  King,  " 

.Shall  hang  as  liigh's  the  steeple; 
But  while  we  sing  "God  save  the  King," 

We'll  ne'er  forget  the  l'eoi)le. 


These  arc  far  from  being  "elegant"  stanzas — 
there  is  even  a  rudeness  about  tliem — but  'tis 
the  rudeness  of  the  Scottish  Thistle — a  para» 
phra.se  of  "nemo  me  impune  lacesxet."  The 
staple  of  the  war-song  is  home-grown  and 
home-spun.  It  flouts  the  air  like  a  i)anner  not 
idly  .spread,  whereon  "the  ruddy  Lion  ramps 
in  gold."  Not  all  the  orators  of  the  day,  in 
Parliament  or  out  of  it,  in  all  their  .speeches 
put  together  embodied  more  political  wisdom, 
or  appealed  with  more  eft'cctivc  power  to  the 
noblest  principles  of  patriotism  in  the  British 
heart. 

"A  gentleman  of  birth  and  talents"'  thus 
writes,  in  1835,  to  .Mian  Cunningham,"  I  was 
at  the  play  in  Dumfries,  October  179'2,  tlie 
Caledonian  Hunt  being  then  in  town — the  play 
was  'As  you  like  it' — Mi.ss  Fontenelle,  Posa- 
lind — when  'God  save  the  king'  was  called 
for  and  sung;  we  all  stood  uj)  uncovered,  but 
IJuriis  sat  still  in  the  middle  of  the  pit,  with 
his  hat  on  his  head.  There  was  a  great  tumult, 
with  shouts  of  '  turn  him  out,  and  '  shame 
Hums!'  which  continued  a  good  while,  at  last 
he  was  either  expelled  or  forced  to  take  ott" 
ills  hat — f  fonjef  w/iic!i."  And  a  lady  with 
whom  Robert  Chambers  once  conversed,  "re- 
membered being  present  at  the  theatre  of 
Dumfries,  during  the  heat  of  the  Revolution, 
when  Burns  entered  the  pit  somewhat  att'ected 

1  Mr.  C.  K.  Shavpe  of  Iloddatn. 


li 


m 


Ij     :i 


I      li 


S   H 


74 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


l)y  liquor.    On  God  save,  the  himj  bcinj?  struck 
uji,  file  audience  rose  as  usual,  all  except  the 
intemperate  poot,  who  cried  for  Ca  im.^    A 
tumult  was  the  consequence,  and  Hums  was 
comi)clled  to  leave  the  house."     Wc  cannot 
believe  that  Hums  ever  was  guilty  of  such 
vulgar  insolence — such  brutality;  notliing  else 
at  all  like  it  is  recorded  of  him — and  the 
worthy  story-tellers  are  not  at  one  as  to  the 
facts.     The  gentleman's  memory  is  defective; 
but  had  he  himself  been  the  offender,  surely 
he  would  not  have  forgot  whether  he  had  '  ecu 
comi)elled  to  take  off  his  hat,    or  had  b  en 
jostled,  perhaps  only  kicked  out  of  the  pi.iy- 
house.     The  lady's  eyes  and  ears  were  sliarper 
— for  she  .saw  "  Burns  enter  the  pit  somewhat 
affected  by  liquor,"  and  then  heard  liim  "cry 
for  (Ja  ira."     By  what  means  he  was  "com- 
pelled to  leave  the  house,"  she  does  not  say; 
but  as  he  was  "sitting  in  the  middle  of  the 
pit"  he  must  have  been  walked  out  very  gently, 
so  as  not  to  have  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
male  narrator.^    If  this  public  outrage  on  all 
decorum,  decency,  and  loyalty,  had  been  jier- 
petrated  by  Burns,  in  Octoher,  one  is  at  a  loss 
to  comprehend  how,  in  Dccemhor,  he  could 
have  been  "surprised,  confounded,  and  dis- 
tracted by  Mr.  Mitchell,  the  Collector,  telling 
me  that  he  has  received  an  order  for  your 
Board  to  inquire  into  my  political  conduct, 
and   blaming  me  as  a  person  disaffected  to 
government."    The  fact  we  believe  to  be  this 
— that  JJurns,  whoso  loyalty  was  suspected, 
had  been  rudely  commanded  to  take  off  his 
hat  by  some  vociferous  time-servers — just  ax 
he  iv(i8  (joimj  to  do  .w— that  the  row  arose  from 
his  declining  to  uncover  on  compulsion,  and 
subsided  on  his  disdainfully  doffing  his  beaver 
of  his  own  accord.     Had  he  cried  for  Ca  ira, 
he  would   have  deserved  dismissal  from  the 
Excise;  ana  in  his  own  opinion,  translation  to 
another  post — "Who  will  not  sing  God  save 
the   King,  .shall  hang  as  high's  the  steeple." 
The  year   Jieforc,    "during   the   heat   of  the 
French  devolution, "  Burns  composed  his  grand 
war-song — "Farewell,    thou    ftiir  day,   thou 
green  earth,  and  ye  skies,"  and  sent  it  to  Mrs. 
Dunlop  with  these  words:  "I  have  just  finished 

1  [Hums  seems  to  refer  to  this  incident  in  letter  to 
ilr.  Oniham  of  Kintrj,  .Ith  .Taniiary,  ivn;i.l 

-  |\Vc  li.ive  elsewliere  reinari^ed  that  tlie  two  stories 
may  refer  to  different  occurrences.] 


the  following  song,  which,  to  a  lady,  the  de- 
scendant of  Wallace,  anil  many  heroes  of  his 
truly  illustrious  line — and  herself  the  mother 
of  several  soldiers,  needs  neither  preface  nor 
apology."  And  the  year  ajhr,  he  composed 
"The  I'oor  and  Honest  Sodgcr,"  "which  was 
sung,"  says  Allan  Cunningham,  "in  every  cot- 
tage, village,  and  town.  Yet  the  man  who 
wrote  it  was  supposed  by  the  mean  and  ilio 
.spiteful  to  be  no  Avcll-wisher  to  his  country!" 
Why,  as  men,  who  have  any  hearts  at  all,  love 
their  parents  in  any  circumstances,  .-o  they 
love  their  country,  be  it  great  or  small,  poor 
or  wealthy,  learned  or  ignorant,  free  or  en- 
■slavcd;  and  even  disgrace  ami  degradation  will 
not  quench  their  filial  aflection  to  it.  But 
Scotsmen  have  good  rca.son  to  be  ju'oud  of 
their  country;  not  so  much  for  any  particular 
event,  as  for  her  whole  historical  progress. 
Particular  events,  however,  are  tlioimiit  of  by 
them  as  the  landmarks  of  that  progros;  and 
these  are  the  great  points  of  history  "con- 
.sj)icuous  in  the  nation's  eye."  Karlier  times 
l)resent  "the  uncoiKpiered  Caledonian  spear;'' 
later,  the  uneciual  but  generally  victorious 
struggles  with  the  sister  country,  i-suing  in 
national  independence;  and  latcrstiji,  the  holy 
devotion  of  the  soul  of  the  people  to  their 
own  profound  religious  Faith,  and  its  simple 
Forms.  AVould  that  Burns  had  pondered  more 
on  that  warfare !  That  he  had  Ming  it:^  final 
triumph!  But  we  must  lie  contented  with  his 
" Scots  wha  liae  wi' Wallace  bled;"  and  with 
repeating  after  it  with  him,  "So  may  (!od 
defend  the  cause  of  truth  and  liberty,  as  he 
did  that  day!     Amen!" 

'Sir.  Symc  tells  us  that  Burns  conipo-cd  this 
ode  on  the  31st  of  July,  Vi'X\,  on  the  mo,  r 
road  between  Kenmure  and  (iatclioiise.  "The 
sky  was  symp.afhetic  with  the  wretchedness  of 
the  soil;  it  became  lowering  and  <laik — the 
winds  sighed  hollow — the  lightniiii:  gleaniod 
— the  thunders  rolled.  The  jioet  eiijoyed  the 
awful  scene — bespoke  not  a  word — but  seemed 
wrapt  in  meditati  In  a  little  while  the  rain 
began  to  fall — it  ^oured  in  floods  iqion  u^. 
For  three  hours  did  the  wild  elements  ruiiiljlc 
their  bellyful  upon  our  defenceless  heads.  ' 
That  is  very  fine  indeed;  and  "what  do  you 
think,"  asks  Mr.  Syme,  "Burns  was  about? 
He  was  charging  the  Knglisli  .\rmy  along  with 
Bruce  at  Bannockbiirn."     On  the  second  of 


i 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WIUTINGS   OF  BUllNS. 


75 


,  final 
itli  \\U 
(I  witli 
Cod 


-0(1  tlii-" 
iiicii  r 
"The 

llicssnl' 
-tho 

loilllR'il 

,xm1  iIh- 
sciniK'il 
mill 

Mill       11-;. 

iiiinlilc 
lioads.  ■' 
(Id  Vdii 
alioiitV 
ws  with 
•uiid  of 


August — when  the  weather  was  more  sedate 
—on  their  return  from  St.  .Mary's  Isle  to 
Dumfries  "he  was  eii.Lfaged  in  tlie  same 
manner;"  and  it  appears  from  one  of  his  own 
letters,  that  he  returned  to  the  eliargo  one 
evening  in  Septcmhcr.  Tiie  thoughts,  and 
feelings,  and  images,  came  rusiiing  upon  him 
during  the  storm — they  formed  themselves 
into  stanzas,  like  so  many  awkward  scjuads  of 
raw  levies,  during  the  serene  state  of  the 
atmosphere — and  under  the  harvest  moon, 
firm  as  the  measured  tread  of  marching  men, 
with  admirable  precision  they  wheeled  into 
line.  This  account  of  the  composition  of  the 
Ode  would  seem  to  clear  .Mr.  Synie  from  a 
charge  nothing  short  of  falsehood  brought 
against  him  liy.Vllan  Cunningham.  .Mr.  Synie's 
wiM'ds  are,  "  1  said  that,  in  the  midst  of  the 
storm,  on  the  wilds  of  Kenniure,  IJurns  was 
wrajit  in  meditation.  What  do  you  think  lie 
was  alxnit?  lie  was  chari,qm;'  the  Kii;;lish 
.Vriiiy  along  with  Bruce  at  Haniiockluini.  He 
was  engaged  in  the  same  nuinner  in  our  ride 
hoiiic  from  St.  .Mary's  ls!e,  and  1  did  not  dis- 
tiirlt  him.  Xirt  </iii/  In',  /irot/imd  nif  t/ic 
Aililritx  (if  Brncfi  tn  hix  troopx,  (iik/  i/urr  me  a 
riijii/  to  Diihill.'  Nothinn'  can  lie  ni.-re  cir- 
ciiinstaiitial;  and  if  not  true,  it  is  a  thumper. 
.Mian  say.s,  "Two  ov  three  plain  W(U*ds,  and  a 
stiibliorn  date  or  two,  will  go  far  I  fear  to  raise 
mis  pk-asiiiLi:  legend  into  the  regions  of  ro- 
uiniice.  Tlie  (ialloway  adventure,  according 
to  .Synie.  happened  in  .luly;  lint  in  the  suc- 
ceeding Scptemlier,  the  poet  announced  the 
song  to  ThonisiMi  in  these  words:  "There  is 
a  tradition  which  1  liav(>  met  with  in  many 
places  in  Scotland  that  siic  air  of '//c//  tiittiv 
tn  it  /  !i' wii^  Udliert  Hnice's  inarch  at  the  Battle 
of  Ijaniiockliiini.  Tiii-  iliouulil,  in  my  //(slir- 
nlijIif.'K  t'l-i'iihi;/  ir(ilk\  warmed  me  to  a  pitch  of 
enthusiasm  on  the  tin  ■■  of  lilierty  and  in- 
dependence, wliicli  I  ;  :  rew  into  a  kind  of 
Scotlisli  ode — that  one  niiirht  suppose  to  be 
the  royal  Scot's  address  tc  his  hcriiic  followers 
on  that  eventful  morning.  I  >liowc(l  the  air 
to  I'rbani,  who  was  greatly  pleased  with  it, 
and  begged  me  to  make  soft  verses  for  it.  but 
1  had  no  idea  of  L'ivinir  myself  any  tnuible  on 
the  subject  till  the  accidental  recollection  of 
that  glorious  struL'^t-'le  for  freedom,  associated 
with  the  glowing  idea  oi  r-ome  other  strugiiles 
of  the  same  nature,  not  (|uite  so  ancient,  roused 


up  my  rliymir.g  mania?"  Currie,  to  make 
the  letter  agree  with  the  legend,  altered  jjiMar- 
ii/'j/Wk  ereniiKj  walk  into  "solitary  wanderings. " 
Burns  was  indeed  a  remarkaiile  man,  and 
yielded  no  doubt  to  strange  impulses;  but  to 
compo.se  a  song  "in  thunder,  lightning,  and  in 
rain,"  intimates  such  self-possession  as  i'uw 
possess.  \Vc  can  more  readily  believe  that 
Burns  wrote  "ycttcniiij/il'.-^  trciiiiiii  mtlk,"  to 
.save  himself  the  trouble  of  entering  into  any 
detail  of  his  previous  study  of  the  subject,  than 
that  Syme  told  a  downright  lie.  .Vs  to  com- 
posing a  .song  in  a  thunder  storm,  C'uuning- 
luun — who  is  him.self  "a  remarkable  man," 
and  has  conij)ose(l  some  songs  worthy  of  being 
classed  with  those  of  Burns,  —  would  find  it 
one  of  the  easiest  and  pleasantest  of  feats;  for 
lightning  is  among  the  most-  harmless  vagaries 
of  the  electric  fluid,  and  in  a  hilly  country, 
seldom  singes  but  worsted  .stockings  and  sheep. 
Burns  sent  the  .Address  in  its  j)erf'ection  to 
(ieorge  Thomson — recommending  it  to  be  set 
to  the  old  air — "//(•//  fi(tt'«>  ttiittic" — according 
to  Tradition, — who  cannot,  however,  bo  rea- 
.sonably  e.xpected  to  speak  "the  truth,  the  whole 
truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth," — llobert 
I'rnco's  march  at  the  battle  of  Bannock  burn. 
.V  e(unmittee  of  taste  sat  (ui  "Ifii/  tntllf  fidf/li'," 
and  pronounced  it  execrable.  "  1  happened 
to  dine  yesterday,"  says  Mr.  Thomson,  "with 
a  ]iarty  of  your  friends,  to  whom  1  read  it. 
They  were  all  charined  witli  it;  entreated  me 
to  find  out  a  suitable  air  for  it,  and  reprobated 
the  idea  of  giving  it  a  tune  so  totally  devoid 
of  interest  or  grandeur  as  '/A//  tii/f!i'  tttiftif.' 
.Vssuredly  your  partiality  for  this  tune  must 
arise  from  the  ideas  associated  in  y(uir  mind 
by  the  tradition  concerning  it,  for  1  never 
heard  any  person — and  1  have  c(uiversc(l  again 
and  again  with  the  greatest  enthusiasts  for 
Scottish  airs — I  say,  I  never  heard  any  one 
speak  of  it  as  worthy  of  notice.  1  have  been 
running  over  the  whole  hundred  airs — of 
which  I  have  lately  sent  you  the  list — and  1 
think  Lewie  fiordon  is  most  happ.ily  adapted 
to  your  ode,  at  least  with  a  very  slight  altera- 
tion of  the  fourth  line,  which  I  shall  presently 
submit  to  you.  Now  the  variation  1  have  to 
sugaest  upon  the  last  line  of  each  ver.sc,  the 
only  line  too  short  for  the  air,  is  as  follows: 
A'erse  1st,  Or  to  f/lorious  victory.  "Jd,  C'hiiim 
— chains  and  slaverj'.     3rd,  Let  him.  Iff  him 


THE  GENIUH  AND   WltlTINCS   (»F  J'.LUNS. 


•Ith,    Let  liiin  hnmh/  follow  '  imtii 


7fl 

turn  iiiid  floe. 
me.  5th,  but  tlni/  s/,<ill,  tlicy  siiiill  lie  tVee. 
tith,  Lot  us,  let  "^  <lo  or  die."  "Glorious" 
and  "bnivcly,"  l)ad  as  they  are,  especially 
" bravely,"  which  is  indeed  most  bitter  bad, 
might  have  been  borne;  but  just  supiMise  i'or  a 
moment,  that  I'obcrt  IJrucc  had,  on  addressing 
his  ainiy  "on  the  morning  of  that  eventful 
day,"  come  over  again  in  that  odd  way  every 
word  he  uttered,  "chains-  chains;"  "let  him 
—let  him;"  "they  shall— they  shall;"  "'et  us 
— let  us;"  why  the  army  wouM  li'tv  u  ''t 
himalkuldy!  Action,  ,  ^iiestio.^abiy,  i..  Uie 
main  point  in  oratory,  and  IJrucc  might  have 
imposed  on  many  by  the  peculiar  style  in 
Avhich  it  is  known  he  handled  his  battle-a.xe, 
but  we  do  not  hesitate  to  a.ssert  that  had  he 
stuttered  in  that  style,  the  English  would  liavc 
won  tlie  day.  iJurns  winced  sorely,  liut  <lid 
what  he  could  to  accommodate  Lewie  Gordon. 
"The  only  line,"  said  Mr.  T.,  "which  I 
dislike  in  the  whole  of  the  song  is  'Welcome 
to  your  gory  bed.'  Would  not  another  word 
be  preferable  to  'welcome?'  "  Mr.  T.  proposed 
"honour's  bed;"  but  Hums  replied,  "your 
idea  of  'lionour'.s  bed'  is,  though  a  beautiful, 
a  hackneyed  idea;  so  if  you  plea.se  we  will  let 
the  line  .stand  as  it  is."  But  Mr.  T.  was  tena- 
cious— "one  word  more  with  regard  to  your 
heroic  ode.  I  think,  with  great  deference  to 
the  poet,  that  a  prudent  general  would  avoid 
saying  any  thing  to  his  soldiers  which  might 
tend  to  make  death  more  frightful  than  it  is. 
'Gory'  presents  a  disagreeable  image  to  tlio 
mind;  and  to  tell  them  '  Welcome  to  your  gory 
bed,'  seems  rather  a  di.scouraging  address,  not- 
withstanding the  alternative  which  follows. 
I  have  shown  the  song  to  three  friewh  of  ex- 
cellent tuKti',  and  each  of  them  olijected  to  this 
line,  which  emboldens  me  to  use  the  freedom 
of  bringing  it  again  under  your  notice.  I 
would  suggest '  Now  prepare  for  honour's  bed, 
or  for  glorious  vietorj'.'  "  Quoth  liurns  grimly 
— "  My  ode  i)lea.ses  me  so  much  that  1  cannot 
alter  it.  Your  proposed  alteration  would,  in 
my  opinion,  make  it  tame.  I  have  scrutinized 
it  over  and  over  again,  and  to  the  world,  some 
way  or  other,  it  shall  go  as  it  is."  That  four 
Scotsmen,  taken  seriatim  et  sepnrntivi — in  the 
marii;'  ardour  of  their  patriotic  souls  sliould 
obj'  i.  to  '  Welcome  to  your  gory  bed, '  from  an 
unc;iumunicated  apprehension  common  to  the 


re  of  them  all,  and  operating  like  an  in- 


silnct,  that  it,  was  titteil  to  frighten  Itobcrt 
Mrucc  s  army,  and  make  it  take  to  its  heels, 
leaving  the  cause  of  Liberty  and  Independence 
to  siiift  I'or  itself,  is  a  coincidence  that  sets  at 
dcliance  the  iloctrine  of  chancos,  proves  hislor_\ 
to  be  indeed  an  old  almanac,  and  national 
character  an  empty  name. 

Sccjts,  whn  luiL'  w  i'  WiiUncf  liled, 
Scuts,  nliaiii  liruco  liii»  aftcn  letl; 
Wflcuiiie  ti>  yuur  t,'i>ry  bed, 
Or  to  victorif ! 

Now's  till'  flay,  nml  iiuw's  the  Imur: 
^co  the  front  »'  luttl.-  h>\\vr. 
■  c  aiipioaih  iiiiiuil  Kihvaiils  pDWcr— 
Chains  anil  shiveriel 

Wlia  will  he  a  traitor-kii.ive? 
Wha  can  till  u  cowanls  yravu? 
Wlia  sac  liase  as  lie  a  slavu'.' 
Ltt  him  turn  iomI  Hfo'. 

Wha  for  Sootlai!  1       in;;  ami  law 
Frcei loin's  swoni  vs    ■^tionnly  iliaw, 
Fivcinan  stanil,  or  fi  ■  uman  fa'. 
Let  him  on  wi'  nic ! 

Hy  oppression's  woes  and  pahis! 
By  yonr  sons  in  servile  chains! 
We  will  drain  oiUMlearest  veins, 
Hut  they  shall  lie  free ! 

Lay  the  proud  usurpers  low! 
Tyrants  fall  in  every  foe! 
Liberty's  in  every  hlowl — 
Let  us  do,  or  die! 

All  Scotsmen  at  home  and  abroad  swear  this  is 
the  grandest  Ode  out  of  the  IJible.  What  if  it 
be  not  an  Ode  at  all?  An  Ode,  however,  let  it 
be;  then,  wherein  lies  the  power  it  possesses  of 
stirring  up  into  a  devouring  fire  the  jier/er- 
riilium  hiijeniinn  Srotorum?  The  two  armies 
suddenly  stand  before  us  in  order  of  battle— 
and  in  the  grim  repose  preceding  the  tempest 
we  hear  but  the  voice  of  IJrucc.  The  whole 
Scottish  army  hears  it — ih)w  standing  on  their 
feet — risen  from  their  knees  as  the  Abbot  of 
Inchart'ray  had  blessed  tliem  and  the  Hanncr 
of  Scotland  with  its  roots  of  Stone.  At  the 
first  six  words  a  hollow  murmur  is  in  that 
wood  of  spears.  "  Welcome  to  your  gory  bed! " 
a  shout  that  shakes  the  sky.  Hush!  hear  the 
king.  At  Eilirririi's  name  what  a  yell  I  "Wha 
will  be  a  traitor-knave?"  fluttering  thunder 
growls  reply.  The  ins])ired  Host  in  each 
appeal  anticipates  the  Leader — yet  shudders 
with  fresh  wrath,  as  if  each  reminded  it  of 
some  intolerable  wrong.     "  Let  us  do,  or  die" 


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23  WIST  MAIN  STRKT 

WUSTIR.N.Y.  14580 

(716)872-4503 


w" 


—the  !•: 

is  free. 
Tliat 
liiit  noil 
friend 
Klodden 
liifc  nt 
iieroes. 
1  treat li  o 
tlieir  CO 
tliey  wii 

<  >nr 

Scottish 

aiity,  we 

laud  the 

would 

pray  hav 

missing 

to  insert 

Then  le 

nients  p' 

Dun-Kdi 

tiiat  shal 

to  jknni 

Of  tlu 

for  Mr. 

tain  som 

iiiui.srine, 

much  til 

nients. 

I.allads,  : 

as  comp 

fication  i 

it  away 

((Jod  pn 

winning 

l)aek  on 

been  haj 

we  a'  iui 

the  whol 

shall  be 

a'!'"     J 

pendent! 

the  imp 

long   be 

futation 

duct  du 

these  al 

unolordi 

furnish  t 

iider  ho 

his  proft 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WHITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


77 


— tlic  English  arc  overthrown — and  Scotland  ' 
in  free.  j 

That  is  a  very  Scottish  critique  indeed — 
Imt  none  the  worse  for  that;  so  our  English 
friends  must  forgive  it,  and  be  consoled  hy 
Flodden.  The  Ode  in  suhlinic.  Death  and 
Lite  at  that  hour  are  one  and  the  same  to  the 
heroes.  So  that  Scotland  but  survive,  what  is 
breath  or  blood  lo  them?  Their  l)eing  is  in 
their  country's  lii)crty,  and  with  it  secured 
they  will  live  for  ever. 

«»ur  critique  is  getting  more  and  more 
Scottish  still;  so  to  rid  ourselves  of  nation- 
ality, we  request  such  of  you  as  think  we  over- 
land the  ( )de  to  point  out  one  word  in  it  that 
Would  be  better  away.  You  cannot.  Then 
pray  have  the  goodness  to  point  out  one  word 
missing  that  ought  to  have  been  there — plea.sc 
to  in.sert  a  desiderated  stanza.  You  cannot. 
Then  let  the  bands  of  all  the  Scottish  regi- 
ments play  "  Hey  tuttie  taittie;"  and  the  two 
Dun-Edins  salute  one  another  with  a  siilvo 
that  shall  startle  the  echoes  from  Berwick-Law 
to  Henmore. 

of  the  delight  with  which  Burns  laboured 
for  Mr.  Thomson'.s  Collection,  his  letters  con- 
tain some  lively  description.  "You  cannot 
inuigine,"  says  he,  7th  April,  1793,  "how 
much  this  business  has  added  to  my  enjoy- 
ments. What  with  my  early  attachment  to 
ballads,  your  book  and  ballad-making  are  now 
as  completely  my  hobby-horse  as  ever  forti- 
fication was  uncle  Toby's;  so  I'll  e'en  canter 
it  away  till  I  come  to  the  limit  of  my  race 
(dod  grant  I  ma\  take  the  right  side  of  the 
winning  post),  and  then,  cheerfully  looking 
back  on  the  honest  folks  with  whom  I  have 
been  happy,  I  shall  say  or  sing,  '  Sae  merry  as 
we  a'  hae  Iteen,'  and  raising  my  last  looks  to 
the  whole  human  race,  the  last  words  of  Coila 
shall  be,  '  Good  niglit,  and  joy  be  wi'  you 
a'!'"  James  Gray  was  the  first,  who,  inde- 
l)endently  of  every  other  argument,  proved 
the  impossibility  of  the  charges  that  had  too 
long  been  suftered  to  circulate  without  re- 
futation against  Burns's  character  and  con- 
duct during  his  later  yeans,  by  pointing  to 
these  almost  daily  effusions  of  his  clear  and 
undoi'ded  genius.  His  innumerable  Letters 
furni.sh  the  .same  best  proof;  and  when  we  con- 
sider how  much  of  his  time  was  occupied  by 
his  professional  duties,  how  much  by  perpetual 


interruption  of  visitors  from  all  lands,  how 
much  by  blameless  social  intercourse  with  ail 
classes  in  Dumfries  and  its  neighbourhood,  and 
how  frecpiently  he  suffered  under  constitu- 
tional ailments  affecting  the  very  seat  and 
source  of  life,  we  cannot  help  despising  the 
unreflecting  credulity  of  his  biographers  who 
with  such  jiiviliirts  before  their  eyes,  such  a 
display  of  feeling,  fancy,  imagination,  and 
intellect  continually  alive  and  on  the  alert, 
could  keep  one  after  another,  for  twenty  years, 
in  doleful  dissertations  deploring  over  his 
/lahilM — most  of  them  at  the  close  of  their 
wearisome  moralizing  anxious  to  huddle  all 
up,  that  his  countrymen  might  not  be  obliged 
to  turn  away  their  faces  in  shame  from  the 
last  .scene  in  the  Tragedy  of  the  Life  of  Robert 
Burns. 

During  the  four  years  Bums  lived  in  Dum- 
fries he  was  never  known  for  one  hour  to  be 
negligent  of  his  professional  duties.  We  are 
but  imperfectly  acquainted  with  the  details  of 
the  business  of  a  ganger,  but  the  calling  must 
be  irk.some;  and  he  was  an  active,  steady, 
correct,  courageous  officer — to  be  relied  on 
equally  in  his  conduct  and  his  accounts. 
Josiah  Walker,  who  was  himself,  if  we  mistake 
not,  for  a  good  many  years  m  the  Customs  or 
E.vcise  at  Perth,  will  not  allow  him  to  have 
been  a  good  ganger.  In  descanting  on  the 
unfortunate  circumstances  of  his  situation,  he 
says  with  a  voice  of  authority,  "his  superiors 
were  bound  to  attend  to  no  qualification,  but 
such  as  was  conducive  to  the  benefit  of  the 
revenue ;  and  it  woulil  have  been  equally 
criminal  in  them  to  pardon  any  incorrectness 
on  account  of  his  literary  geniu.s,  as  on  account 
of  his  dexterity  in  ploughing.  The  merchant 
or  attorney  who  acts  for  himself  alone,  is  free 
to  overlook  some  errors  of  his  clerk,  for  the 
sake  of  merits  totally  unconnected  with  busi- 
ness ;  but  the  Board  of  Excise  had  no  power  to 
indulge  their  poetical  taste,  or  their  tender- 
ness for  him  by  whom  it  had  been  gratified, 
at  the  expense  of  the  public.  Bunis^  was 
therefore  in  a  place  where  he  could  turn  his 
peculiar  endowments  to  little  advantage;  and 
where  he  could  not,  without  injustice,  be  pre- 
ferred to  the  most  obtuse  and  uninteresting  of 
his  brethren,  who  surpassed  him  in  the  humble 
recommendation  of  exactness,  vigilance,  and 
sobriety.     Attention  to   these  circumstances 


. 

p 

; 

1 

1     i 

,! 

t 

; 

78 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BUKNS. 


miglit  have  prevented  insinuations  against  tiie 
liberality  of  his  superior  officers,  for  showing 
80  little  desire  to  advance  him,  and  so  little 
indulgence  to  those  eccentricities  for  which 
the  natural  temperament  of  genius  could  he 
pleaded.  For  two  years,  however,  IJurns 
stood  sutriciently  hinh  in  the  opinion  of  the 
Board,  and  it  is  surely  l)y  no  means  improper, 
that  where  professional  pretensions  are  nearly 
balanced,  tiie  additional  claims  of  literary 
talent  should  be  permitted  to  turn  the  scale. 
Such  was  the  reasoning  of  a  particular  mcml)er 
of  the  Hoard — whose  taste  and  munificence 
were  of  corresponding  extent,  and  who  saw  no 
injustice  in  giving  some  preference  to  an  officer 


granted;  but  of  what  incorrectness  had  IJurns 
been  guilty,  which  it  woidd  have  been  crimi- 
nal in  the  IJoard  to  pardon?  Hy  wlmm,  among 
the  "most  olituse  and  uninteresting  of  his 
brethren,"  had  he  l)ee.i  sur])assed  "in  the 
humble  recommendation  of  exactness,  viiri- 
lance,  and  soiiriety?"  Not  by  a  single  cine. 
.Mr.  Findlater,  who  was  Hurns's  supcrvi-nr 
from  his  admission  into  the  M.xcise.  mi'l  ■■^n/  /.// 
/liiii  the  nii/ht  Ill/on',  fie  did/,  says,  "In  all 
that  time,  the  superinten<lence  of  his  beha- 
viour as  an  otlieer  of  the  revenue  was  a  br;;neli 
of  my  especial  province,  and  it  may  be  >uppc)>eil 
1  would  not  bean  inattentive  oli.-erver  of  iJie 
general  conduct  of  a  man  an<l  a  poet  .-o  cele- 


who  could  write  permits  as  well  as  any  other,  i  brated  by  his  countrymen.    In  the  former  eapa- 
and  poems  much  better."'      Not  for  worhls  '  city  ...   he  was  e.\em]>laiy  in  his  attention, 


would  we  say  a  single  syllable  derogatory  from 
the  merits  of  the  Hoard  of  Kxcise.    We  respect 
the  character  of  the  defunct;  anil  did  we  not, 
still  we  should  have  the  mast  <lelicate  regard 
to  the  feelings  of  its  descendants,   many  of 
whom  are  probably  now  jirospcrous  gentlemen. 
It  was  a  Hoard  that  richly  deserved,  in  all  its 
dealings,  the  utmost  eulogies  with  which  the 
genius  and  gratitude  of  Josiah  Walker  could 
brighten  its  green  cloth.     Most  criminal  in- 
deed would  it  have  been  in  such  a  Hoard  — 
most  wicked  and   most   sinful — "to   pardon 
any  incorrectness  on  account  of  Hurns's  liter- 
ary genius,  as  on  account  of  his  dexterity  in 
ploughing."     Deeply  impressed  with  a  sense 
— approaching  to  that  of  awe — of  the  respon- 
sibility of  the  Hoard  to  its  conscience  and  its 
country,  we  feel  that  it  is  better  late  than 
never,  thus  to  declare  before  the  whole  world, 
A.  D.  1840,  that  from  winter,  1791,  to  summer, 
1796,  the  Hoard   "had  no  power  to  indulge 
their  poetical   taste,   or  their  tenderness  for 
him  by  whom  it  had  been  gnitified,  at  the 
e.xpen.se  of  the  public."    The  Hoard,  we  doubt 
not,  had  a  true  innate  poetical  taste,  and  must 
have  derived  a  far  higiier  and  deeiier  deliglit 
from  the  poems  than  the  permits  of  Hums; 
nay,  we  are  willing  to  believe  that  it  was  itself 
the  author  of  a  volume  of  poetry,  and  editor 
of  a  literary  journal. 

Hut  surpassing  even  Josiah  Walker  in  our 

veneration  of  the  Hoard,  we  ask  what  has  all 

this  to  do  with  the  character  of  Hums?     Its 

desire  and  its  impotency  to  promote  him  are 

1  Life  prefixed  to  Morison's  edition  of  Burns,  1811. 


.   .  ,  and  was  even  jealous  of  the  lea>t  im|iuta- 
tion  on  his  vigilance.  ...    It  was  not  till  near 
the  latter  end  of  his  days  that  there  was  any 
falling  oil"  in  this  respect,  and  tlii>  was  amply 
accounted  for  in  the  jiressure  of  di>e:i>e  an<l 
accumulating  infirmities.   ...    1  will  farther 
avow  that  I  never  .saw  him,  which  was  very 
frc(|uently  while  he  lived  at  llllisland.  and  >till 
more  so,  almost  eveiy  day,  after  he  renioveil 
to  Dumfries,  but  in  hours  of  businos  he  was 
(|uite  himself,  and  eaitable  of  diseliarging  the 
duties  of  his  office;  nor  was  he  ever  known  to 
drink  by  himself  or  seen  to  indulge  in  the 
use  of  licpior  in  a  forenoon.   ...    I   have  seen 
Hiirns  in  all  hi    various  phases — in  bis  eon- 
vivial  inoment>,  in   his  .-ober  moods,  and   in 
the  boscnn  of  his  family;  indeed.  I   believe   I 
saw  more  of  him  than  any  other  individual 
had  occasion  to  sec,  after  he  became  an  excise 
officer;  and  I  never  beheld  any  thini;'  like  the 
gross  enormities  with  wbieii  he  is  now  eliarired. 
That  when  .set  doww  in  an  evening  with  a  few 
friends  whom  he  liked,  he  was  ai>t  to  prolong 
the  .social    hour   beyond   the    boumls   whi<-h 
prudence  would  dictate,  is  uii(|uestionalde;  but 
in  his  family,  I  will  venture  to  say,  he  was  never 
seen  otherwise  than  attentive  and  afleetionate 
to  a  high  degree."     Such  is  the  te>timony  of 
the  supervisor  respeetinir  the  ganger;  and  in 
that  capacity  Hums  staniis  up  one  of  its  very 
best  servants  before  the  Hoard.     There  was  no 
call,   therefore,    for  Josiah's  Jeremiad.      Hut 
our  words  have  not  been  wasted ;  for  15unis's 
character   has   suffiireil    far  more    from    such 
a.spersions  as  these,  which,  easily  as  they  can 


THK   GENIUS  AND  WIJITINUS   OF  BUIJNS. 


"9 


? 


be  wiped  away,  were  too  loiii;  left  as  atlinitted 
Hiaiiw  oil  his  inciiiory,  than  from  dctiiiite  and 
tlireet  char{,'cs  of  spefiiie  facts;  and  it  is  still 
the  duty  of  every  man  who  writes  about  him, 
to  apply  the  spun^e.  Nttihing,  we  repeat, 
shall  tempt  ns  to  blame  or  abuse  the  Hoard. 
Hut  we  venture  humbly  to  confess  that  wu  do 
not  clearly  sec  that  the  Hoard  would  have 
been  "gratifyinc;  its  tenderness  at  the  exjiense 
of  the  public,"  had  it,  when  told  l>y  lUirns 
that  ho  was  dyinir,  and  disabled  by  the  hand 
of  (iod  from  performinfi;  actively  the  duties  ;)f 
his  temporary  supcrvisorship,  re(iucsted  Itn 
iiiiik'i'  to  continue  to  him  f  r  a  few  months 
his  full  salary— seventy  pounds  a-year — in- 
stead of  reducing  it  in  the  proportion  of  one 
liiilf — not  because  he  was  a  genius,  a  poet, 
and  the  author  of  many  immortal  productions 
— but  merely  because  he  was  a  man  and  an 
exciseman,  and  moreover  the  father  of  a  few 
mortal  children,  who  with  thoir  mother  were 
in  want  of  bread. ' 

(;ray,  whom  we  knew  well  aiul  highly  es- 
teemed, was  a  very  superior  man  to  honest 
Findlater — a  man  of  jioetical  taste  and  feeling, 
and  a  scholar — on  all  accounts  well  entitled  to 
speak  of  the  character  of  Hums;  and  though 
there  were  no  bounds  to  his  enthusiasm  when 
jioets  and  poetry  were  the  themes  of  his  dis- 
course, he  was  ii  worshipper  of  truth,  and 
rightly  believed  (hat  it  Avas  best  .seen  in  the 
light  of  love  an<l  admiration.  Compare  his 
bold,  generous,  and  impassioned  eulogy  on  the 
noble  qualities  and  dispositions  of  his  illus- 
trious friend,  with  the  timid,  guarded,  and 
roiirest  praise  for  ever  bortlering  on  censure, 
of  biographers  who  never  saw  the  jioet's  face, 
and  yet  have  dared  to  draw  his  character  with 
the  same  assurance  of  certainty  in  their  de- 
lineations as  if  they  had  been  of  the  number 
of  his  familiars,  and  h;id  looked  a  thousand 
times,  by  night  and  day,  into  the  saddest 
secrets  of  his  heart.  Far  better,  surely,  in  a 
world  like  this,  to  do  more  rather  than  less 
than  justice  to  the  goodness  of  great  men.  No 
fear  that  the  world,  in  its  final  judgment,  will 
not  make  suflicient  deductions  from  the  laud, 
if  it  be  exaggerated,  which  love,  inspired  by 
admiration  and  jiity,  delights  to  bestow,  as  the 
sole  tribute  now  in  its  power,  on  the  virtues  of 

'  I  Hums  (lid  not  suffer  tliis  reduction.  See  note  to 
Life,  vol.  i.  p.  12S.] 


departed  genius.  Calumny  may  last  for  ages 
— we  had  almost  .said  for  ever;  lies  have  life 
even  in  their  graves,  and  centuries  after  they 
have  been  interred  they  will  burst  their  cere- 
ments, and  walk  up  and  down,  in  the  face  of 
day,  nndistinguishable  to  the  weak  eyes  of 
mortals  from  truths — till  they  touch;  and  then 
the  truths  expand,  and  the  lies  hrivel  up,  but 
after  a  season  to  reappear,  and  to  be  welcomed 
back  again  by  the  dwellers  in  this  delusive 
world. 

"He  was  courted,"  .«ays  (!ray,  "by  all  cla.sses 
of  men  for  the  fa.scinating  powers  of  his  con- 
versation, but  over  his  social  scene  uncon- 
trolled passion  never  iircsidcd.  ( )ver  the  social 
l)Owl,  his  wit  Hashed  for  hours  together,  pene- 
trating whatever  it  .struck,  like  the  (ire  from 
heaven;  but  even  in  the  Inuir  of  thoughtless 
gaiety  and  merriment  I  never  knew  it  tainted 
l)y  indecency.  It  was  jdayful  or  caustic  by 
turns,  following  an  alliusion  throuirh  all  its 
windings;  astonishing  by  its  rapidity,  or 
amusing  by  its  wild  originality,  and  grotesque, 
yet  natural  combinations,  but  never,  within 
my  observation,  disgusting  by  its  grossness. 
In  his  morning  hours  1  never  saw  him  like 
one  suffering  from  the  effects  of  last  night's 
intemperance,  lie  ajipeared  then  dear  and 
unclouded.  He  was  the  eloquent  advocate  of 
humanity,  ju.stice,  and  political  freedom. 
From  his  paintings,  virtue  appeared  more 
lovely,  and  piety  assumed  a  more  celestial 
mien.  While  his  keen  eye  was  pregnant  with 
fancy  and  feeling,  and  hi.s  voice  attuned  to 
the  very  passion  which  he  wished  to  communi- 
cate, it  would  hardly  have  been  possible  to 
conceive  any  being  more  interesting  and  de- 
lightful. .  .  .  The  men  with  whom  he 
generally  associated,  were  not  of  the  lowest 
order.  He  numbered  among  his  intimate 
friends  many  of  the  most  respectable  inhabi- 
tants of  ])umfries  ami  the  vicinity.  Several 
of  those  were  attached  to  him  by  ties  that  the 
haml  of  calumny,  busy  as  it  was,  could  never 
snap  asunder.  They  admire<l  the  poet  for  his 
genius,  and  loved  the  man  for  the  candour, 
generosity,  and  kindness  of  his  nature.  His 
early  friends  dung  to  him  through  good  and 
bad  report,  with  a  zeal  and  fidelity  that  prove 
their  (lisl)elicf  of  the  malicious  stories  circu- 
lated to  his  disadvantage.  Among  them  were 
some  of  the  most  distinguished  characters  in 


80 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


*    i 


this  country,  and  not  a  few  females,  eminent 
for  delicacy,  taste,  and  jjenius.  They  were 
l)roud  of  his  friendshii),  and  cherished  him  to 
the  last  moment  of  his  existence.  He  was 
endeared  to  them  even  l)y  his  misfortunes,  and 
they  still  retain  for  his  memory  that  attcction- 
ate  veneration  which  virtue  alone  inspires. "* 

Gray  tells  us  too  that  it  came  under  his  own 
view  professionally,  that  IJurus  superintended 
the  education  of  his  children — and  promising 
children  they  were,  nor  has  that  promise  been 
<lisiippointed — with  a  degree  of  care  that  he 
liad  never  known  surpassed  by  any  parent 
whatever;  that  to  see  him  in  the  happiest 
light  you  had  to  see  him,  as  he  often  did,  in 
his  own  house,  and  that  nothing  could  exceed 
the  mutual  affection  between  husband  and 
wife  in  that  lowly  tenement.  Yet  of  this  man, 
Josiah  Walker,  who  claims  to  have  been  his 
friend  as  well  as  James  Gray,  writes,  "soured 
by  disappointment,  and  stung  with  occasional 
remorse,  impatient  of  findiiuj  little  to  interext 
him  at  home,  and  rendered  inconstant  from 
returns  of  his  hypochondriacal  ailment,  multi- 
plied by  his  irregular  life,  he  saw  the  difficulty 
of  keeping  terms  with  the  world,  and  aban- 
doned the  attempt  in  a  rash  and  reijardless 
despair!" 

It  may  be  thought  by  some  that  wc  liave 
referred  too  frequently  to  Walker's  ilemoir, 
perhaps  that  we  have  spoken  of  it  with  too 
much  asperity,  and  t.'iat  so  respectable  a  per- 
son merited  tenderer  treatment  at  our  hands. 
He  was  a  respectable  person,  and  for  that  very 
reason,  we  hope  by  our  strictures  to  set  him 
aside  for  ever  as  a  biographer  of  Hums.  He 
had  been  occasionally  in  company  with  the 
Poet  in  Edinburgh,  in  1787,  and  had  seen  him 
during  his  short  visit  at  Athol  house.  "Cir- 
<;um.stances  led  him  to  Scotland  in  November, 
1795,2  after  an  absence  of  eight  years,  and  he 
felt  strongly  prompted"  to  visit  his  old  friend: 
for  your  common-place  man  immediately  be- 
comes hand  and  glove  with  your  man  of  genius, 
to  whom  he  has  introduced  himself,  and  ever 
after  the  first  interview  designates  him  by  that 
flattering  appellation  "my  friend."  "  For  this 

1  [Gray's  Letter  to  Gilbert  Burns.  See  Appendix  to 
Locljlmrt's  Life.] 

-  [Jlr.  Wnllter  probably  went  wrong  by  a  year  In 
nialiing  tliis  statement.  Tlie  true  date  of  his  visit 
jseenis  rather  to  have  been  1794.] 


purpose  I  went  to  J)umfrics,  and  called  upon 
him  early  in  the  forenoon.  I  found  him  in  a 
small  house  of  one  storey.  He  was  sittini,'  in 
a  window-seal  reading,  with  the  doors  open, 
and  the  family  arrangements  goiny-  on  in  his 
presence,  and  altogether  without  that  ai)pear- 
ancc  of  snugne.ss  and  seclusion  which  a  student 
requires.  After  conversing  Avith  him  for  some 
time,  he  proposed  a  walk,  aiul  promised  to  cmi- 
duct  mc  through  some  of  his  favourite  haunts. 
We  accordingly  (juitted  the  town,  and  wandered 
a  considerable  way  up  the  beautiful  banks  of 
the  Nith.  Here  he  gave  me  an  account  of  his 
latest  productions,  and  repeated  some  satirical 
ballads  which  he  had  composed  to  favour  one  of 
the  candidates  at  the  last  borough  election. 
These  I  thought  inferior  to  his  other  pieces, 
though  they  had  .some  lines  in  which  dignity 
compensated  forcoarseness.  Herepcatedalsohis 
fragment  of  an  "Ode  to  Liberty,"  with  marked 
and  peculiar  energy,  and  showed  a  disposition, 
which,  however,  was  easily  repressed,  to  throw 
out  political  remarks  of  the  .same  nature  with 
those  for  which  he  had  been  reprehended.  On 
finishing  our  walk,  he  passed  some  time  with 
me  at  the  inn,  and  I  left  him  early  in  the 
evening,  to  make  another  visit  at  some  distance 
from  Dumfries.  On  the  .second  morning  after 
I  retunie<l  with  a  friend — who  was  acquainted 
with  the  poet — and  we  found  him  ready  to  pass 
a  part  of  the  day  with  us  at  the  inn.  On  this 
occasion  I  did  not  thi  ik  him  quite  so  interest- 
ing as  he  had  appeared  at  his  outset.  His 
conversation  was  too  elaborate,  and  his  ex- 
pression weakened  by  a  frcciucnt  endeavour  to 
give  it  artificial  strength.  He  had  been  ac- 
customed to  speak  for  applause  in  the  circles 
which  he  frequented,  and  seemed  to  think  it 
necessary, -in  making  the  most  common  re- 
mark, to  depart  a  little  from  the  ordinary 
simplicity  of  language,  and  to  couch  it  in 
something  of  epigrammatic  point.  In  his 
pvaise  and  censure  he  was  so  decisive,  as  to 
render  a  dissent  from  his  judgment  difficult 
to  be  reconciled  with  the  laws  of  good  breeding. 
Ills  wit  was  not  more  licentious  than  is  un- 
happily too  venial  in  higher  circles,  though  1 
thought  him  rather  unnecessarily  free  in  the 
avowal  of  his  excesses.  Such  were  the  clouds 
by  which  the  pleasures  of  the  evening  were 
partially  shaded,  but  frequent  coruscations  of 
genius  were  visible  between  them.     When  it 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WKITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


8! 


began  to  grow  late,  ho  nhowcd  no  disposition 
til  retire,  but  called  for  fresh  oupjtlics  of  liciuor 
with  a  freedom  whieh  might  bo  cxeiisable,  as 
we  were  in  an  inn,  and  no  condition  had  been 
distinctly  made,  though  it  might  easily  have 
iieen  inferred,  had  the  inference  been  welcome, 
that  he  was  to  consider  liimself  as  our  guest; 
nor  was  it  till  he  saw  us  worn  out,  that  he  de- 
parted aliout  tjirec  in  tlie  morning  witii  a  re- 
luctance, which  probably  jtroccedcd  less  from 
lieing  deprived  of  our  company,  than  from 
lieing  conhiied  to  his  own.  I'pon  the  whole, 
1  found  this  last  interview  not  quite  so  grati- 
fyiiiiras  1  hail  expected;  although  I  discovered 
in  his  conduct  no  errors  which  I  had  not  seen 
in  men  who  stand  hiuli  in  the  favour  of  society, 
or  sutliciciit  to  account  tor  the  Miysterious  in- 
sinuations which  1  heard  against  his  character, 
lie  on  this  occasion  drank  freely  witlnuit  being 
intoxicated — a  circtimstance  from  which  1  con- 
cluded, not  only  that  his  constitution  was  still 
uid)roken,  but  that  he  was  not  addicted  to 
solitary  cordials;  for  if  he  luid  tasted  liquor  in 
the  morning,  he  must  have  easily  yielded  to 
the  excess  of  the  evening,  lie  did  not,  how- 
ever, always  escape  so  well.  Abont  two  months 
after,  returning  at  the  same  unseasonable  hour 
from  a  similar  revel,  in  which  he  was  probably 
better  suiiported  by  his  comjiiiiion. ,  he  was  so 
much  disordered  as  to  occasion  a  considerable 
delay  in  getting  home,  where  he  arrived  with 
tiie  chill  of  cold  without,  added  to  the  fever  of 
ctn-iety  within,"  &c. 

And  for  this  the  devotee  had  made  what  is 
called  "a  pilgrimage  to  the  shrine  of  genius'" 
as  far  as  Dumfries  !  Is  this  the  spirit  in  which 
people  with  strong  propensities  for  poetry  arc 
privileged  to  write  of  poets,  long  after  they 
have  been  gathered  to  their  rest?  No  ten- 
derness— no  pity — no  respect — no  admiration 
— no  gratitude — no  softening  of  heart  —  no 
kindling  of  spirit — on  recollection  of  his  final 
farewell  to  Itobert  IJurns!  If  the  interview- 
had  not  been  satisfactory,  he  was  bound  in 
friendship  to  have  left  no  record  of  it.  Silence 
in  that  case  was  a  duty  especially  incumbent 
on  him  who  had  known  Burns  in  happier  times, 
when  "dukes,  and  lords,  and  minhty  earls" 
were  proud  to  receive  the  ploughman.  He 
might  not  know  it  then,  but  he  knew  it  soon 
afterwards,  that  iJtirns  was  much  broken  down 
in  body  and  in  spirit. 


Those  two  days  should  have  worn  to  him 
in  retrospect  a  mournful  complexion;  and  the 
more  so,  that  he  believed  Burns  to  have  beei» 
then  a  ruined  man  in  character,  which  he  had 
once  prized  above  life.  He  calls  upon  him 
early  in  the  forenoon,  and  finds  him  "  in  a  small 
house  of  one  storey,  (it  haiipened  to  have  two) 
.  .  .  on  a  window-seat  reading,  with  the  doors 
open,  and  the  family  arrangements  going  on 
in  his  presence."  After  eight  years'  absence 
from  Scotland,  did  not  his  heart  leap  at  t!ie 
sight  of  her  greatest  son  sitting  thus  happy  in 
his  own  humble  household?  Twenty  years 
after,  did  not  iiis  heart  melt  at  the  ri>ini,'  up  of 
the  sanctified  image?  No — for  the  room  was 
"altogether  irltliuut  (hut  aiijirardnce  o/  i^ini;/- 
)«.«  and  seclusion  which  a  student  re<iHires!" 
The  I'oet  conducted  him  through  some  of  his 
beautiful  Juiunts,  and  for  his  amusement  let 
off  some  of  his  electioneering  squibs,  which 
are  among  the  very  best  ever  composed,  and 
Whiggish  as  they  are,  might  have  tickled  a 
Tory  as  they  jogged  along;  but  Jos  thought 
them  "inferior  to  his  other  pieces,"  and  .so  no 
doubt  they  were  to  the  "Cotter's  Saturday 
Night,"  and  "  Scots  wha  hac  wi'  Wallace  bled." 
Perhiips  they  walked  as  far  as  Lincluden — and 
the  bard  repeated  his  famous  fragment  of 
an  "(ide  to  Liberty" — with  "marked  and  pe- 
culiar energy."  The  listener  ought  to  have 
lost  his  wits,  and  to  have  leapt  .sky-high.  But 
ho  who  was  de^;tined  to  "The  Defence  of 
Order, "1  felt  himself  called  by  the  voice  that 
sent  him  on  that  mission,  to  rebuke  the  bard 
on  the  i)aiiks  of  his  own  river — for  he  "showed 
a  disposition,  which,  however,  was  easily  re- 
ju-essed,  to  throw  out  political  remarks  of  the 
.same  nature  with  those  for  which  h.  had  been 
reprehended,"  three  years  before  by  the  Board 
of  Kxcise !  Mr.  Walker  was  not  a  Commis- 
sioner. Burns,  it  is  true,  had  been  told  "not 
to  think;"  but  here  was  a  favourable  oppor- 
tunity for  violating  with  safety  that  imperial 
mandate.  Woods  have  ears,  but  in  their 
whispers  they  betray  no  secrets — had  Burns 
tidked  treason,  'twould  have  been  pity  to  stop 
his  tongue.  The  world  is  yet  rather  in  the 
dark  as  to  "the  political  remarks  for  which 
he  had  been  reprehended,"  and  as  he  "threw- 

1  {The  Df/ence  nf  Onlcr:  a  Poiin.  Three  parts,  r.y 
.Tosiah  Wiilker.  M.A.,  Professor  of  Humanity  in  the 
fniversity  of  Glasgow.    Svo.    Edin.  1803.] 


i  ■  , 


M 


88 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


out  8omc  of  the  same  nature,"  why  was  the 
world  allowed  to  remain  unenliirhtened?  What 
riglii  had  .losiah  Walker  to  repress  any  re- 
marks made  in  the  confidence  of  friendship 
by  I!()l)ert  Hums?  And  what  power?  Had 
Hums  chosen  it,  he  could  a  easily  have  si/wt- 
liiiihtil  Josiah  as  thrown  him  into  the  Nith. 
He  was  not  to  he  jiut  down  by  fifty  such:  he 
may  have  refrained,  l)ut  he  was  not  repressed, 
and  in  courtesy  to  his  conqianion,  treated  him 
with  an  old  wife's  sonff. 

The  record  of  tlu  second  day  is  shameful. 
To  ask  any  person,  liowever  insiirnificant,  to 
your  inn,  and  then  find  fault  with  him  in  a 
private  letter  for  kecijini;  you  out  of  bed, 
would  not  be  jrcntlemanly;  but  of  such  offence 
twenty  years  after  his  death  publicly  to  accuse 
Uurns !  No  mention  is  made  of  dinner — and 
we  slirewdly  suspect  IJtirns  dined  at  home. 
However,  he  gave  up  two  days  to  the  service 
of  his  friend,  and  his  friend's  friend,  and  such 
Avas  his  reward.  Why  did  not  this  dignified 
personage  "repress"  Jiurns'.s  licentious  wit  as 
well  as  his  political  opinions?  Hit  was  "not 
more  licentious  than  is  unhappily  too  venial 
in  higher  circles,"  why  mention  it  at  all? 
What  were  the  "excesses"  of  which  he  was 
unnecessarily  free  in  the  avowal?  They  could 
not  have  regarded  unlawful  intercourse  with 
the  sex — for  "they  were  not  sufficient  to  ac- 
count for  the  mysterious  insinuations  against 
his  character,"  all  of  which  related  to  women. 
Yet  this  wretched  mixture  of  meanness,  world- 
liness,  and  morality,  interlarded  with  some 
liberal  sentiment,  and  spiced  with  spite,  abso- 
lutely seems  intended  for  a  vindication  ! 

There  are  generally  two  ways  at  least  of 
telling  the  .same  story;  and  'tis  pity  we  have 
not  Hurns'sown  account  of  that  long. sfileriiiif. 
It  is  clear  that  before  midnight  he  had  made 
the  di.scovcry  that  his  right  and  his  left  hand 
asses.<or  were  a  couple  of  solemn  blockheads, 
and  that  to  relieve  the  tedium,  he  kept  plying 
them  with  all  manner  of  liams.  Both  gentle- 
men were  probably  in  black,  and  though  lay- 
men, decorous  as  deacons  on  religion  and 
morality — defenders  of  the  faith — sententious 
champions  of  Church  and  State.  It  mtist 
have  been  amusing  to  .see  them  gape.  Nobody 
ever  denied  that  Burns  always  conductcil  him- 
self with  the  utmost  propriety  in  presence  of 
tliose  whom  he  respected  for  their  geniu.s,  their 


learning,  or  their  worth.  Without  sacrificing 
an  atom  of  his  independence,  how  deferential, 
nay,  how  reverential  was  he  in  his  behavinur 
to  Dugald  .Stewart!  Hiui  /le  and  Dr.  Hlair 
entertained  Hums  as  their  guest  in  that  inn, 
how  delightful  had  been  the  evening's  record ! 
No  such  "licentious  wit  as  is  unhappily  too 
venial  in  higher  circles,"  would  have  flowed 
from  his  lips— "o  "unneces.sarily  free  avowal 
of  his  excesses."  He  would  have  delighted 
the  philosiiphcr  and  the  divine  with  his  noble 
sentiments  as  he  had  done  of  old — the  illus- 
trious  Professor  would  have  renicinlicred  and 
heard  .again  the  beautiful  elo(|uciice  tlial 
charmed  him  on  the  Braid-hills.  There  can 
be  nothing  unfair  surely  in  the  conjecture, 
that  these  gentlemen  occasionally  contributed 
a  sentence  or  t'.o  to  the  stock  of  conversation. 
They  we.  "  iitirtdiniiiij  Hums,  and  good  man- 
ners must  have  induced  them  now  and  then 
"here  to  interpose"  with  a  small  smart  re- 
mark— sentiment  facete — or  unctuous  anec- 
dote. Having  lived  in  "higher  circles,"  and 
heard  much  of  "the  licentious  wit  unhappily 
too  venial  there,"  we  do  not  well  see  how  they 
could  have  avoided  giving  their  guest  a  few 
specimens  of  it.  (irave  men  are  often  gross — 
and  they  were  both  grave  as  ever  was  earthen 
ware.  Such  wit  is  the  most  contagious  of  any; 
and  "budge  doctors  of  the  Stoic  fur,"  then 
express  "Fancies"  that  are  any  thing  but 
"C'iiaste  and  Noble."  Who  knows  but  that 
they  were  driven  into  indecency  by  the  desper- 
ation of  self-defence — took  refuge  in  repartee 
— and  fought  the  ganger  with  his  ov.n  rod? 
That  Burns,  in  the  dead  silence  that  ever  ami 
anon  occurreil,  should  have  called  for  "fresh 
supplies  of  liquor,"  is  nothing  extraordinary. 
For  there  is  iu)t  in  nature  or  in  art  a  .stdder 
.spectiide  than  an  empty  bottle  standing  in 
the  centre  of  a  circle,  equidistant  from  three 
friends,  one  of  whom  had  returned  to  his  native 
land  after  a  yearning  absence  of  eight  years, 
another  anonymous,  and  the  third  the  author 
of  ".Scotch  Hriiik"  and  the  "  Farnest  Cry." 
Josiah  more  than  insinuates  that  he  himself 
shy'd  the  Ijottle.  We  more  than  douiit  it — we 
believe  that  for  some  hours  he  turned  u])  his 
little  finger  as  fretiuently  as  Bums.  Ho  did 
right  to  desist  as  soon  as  he  had  got  his  dose, 
and  of  that  he  was  not  only  the  best  but  the 
only  judge;  he  appears  to  have  been  sewn  up 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WHITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


8a 


"when  it  l)cpan  to  grow  late;"  Hurnw  wan  Hober 
as  a  lark  "almut  tliree  in  the  nioriiini;."  It  is 
likely  eiioiidi  that  "alxiut  two  monthft  after, 
HuriiJi  was  liettersuiiported  by  his  conipaiiions 
at  a  sliiiil'ir  ni'il" — .so  iiuieli  better  indeed  in 
every  way  that  tiie  rrnl  imn  <linsiinil(ir;  but 
still  we  flini?  'o  lur  first  Itelief,  that  tne  two 
^rentleuien  in  bhwk  drank  as  niueh  as  eould 
liave  bi'en  reasonably  exjieeteil  of  them — that 
is,  as  nnifli  as  they  ei)ul<l  iiold: — iiad  they 
altcniiited  more,  there  is  no  saying  what  might 
have  been  tiie  eonseijuenees.  And  we  still 
continue  to  think,  too,  that  none  but  a  iieart- 
less  man,  or  a  man  whose  heart  had  been  pulled 
u]i  like  a  bladder  with  vanity,  would  have 
lairireil  to  the  tail  of  his  i)itil'ul  tale  of  that 
iiiulit,  that  cruel  statement  aliout  "cold  with- 
out, aiul  ebriety  within,"  which  was  but  the 
tittle-tattle  of  gossiping  tradition,  and  most 
]>rol>ably  a  lie. 

This  is  the  proper  way  to  treat  all  such 
nil iDiiriiliiliii — with  the  ridicule  of  contempt 
ami  M'lirn.  Itcfute  falsehood  first,  and  then 
l:i-li  llic  '"'lols  that  utter  it,  .Much  of  the  ob- 
|iii|uy  that  so  long  rc>ted  on  the  mernory  of 
our  great  National  I'oet  oriLiinated  in  frivolous 
licaiMiys  of  his  life  and  conversation,  which  in 
every  telling  lost  some  portion  of  whatever 
truth  miiilit  have  once  belonged  to  them,  and 
aeipiired  at  least  an  e(iual  portion  of  falsehood, 
till  they  bccaiiie  unmi.\ed  calumnies — nuuiy 
of  them  of  the  blackest  kiiul — got  into  jjrint, 
which  is  implicitly  believeil  by  the  million — 
till  the  simple  story,  which,  as  first  told,  had 
illustrated  some  interesting  trait  of  hi.s  char- 
acter or  L'cniiis,  as  last  told,  redounded  to  his 
disgrace,  and  was  listened  to  by  the  totally 
abstinent  with  uplifted  eyes,  hand*,  and  shoul- 
ders, as  an  anecdote  of  tlie  dreadful  debauch- 
eries of  liobert  Hurns, 

That  he  did  sometimes  associate,  while  in 
Kdinburiih.  with  persons  not  altogether  worthy 
of  him,  need  not  be  denied,  nor  wondered  at, 
for  it  was  inevitable.  He  was  not  for  ever 
beset  with  the  consciousness  of  his  own  .super- 
eminence,  rrudence  he  did  not  despise,  and 
he  has  said  some  strong  things  in  her  praise? 
but  she  was  not,  in  his  .system  of  morality, 
the  Queen  of  Virtues.  His  genius,  .so  far  from 
separatim;'  him  from  any  jnirtion  of  his  kind, 
impelled  him  towards  humanity,  without  fear 
and  without  suspicion.      No  saint  or  prude 


was  he  to  shun  the  society  of  "Jolly  com- 
panions every  one. "  Though  neveraddicted  to 
drinking,  he  had  often  set  the  table  in  a  roar 
at  Tarbolton,  Mauehline,  Kirkoswald,  Irvine, 
and  Ayr,  and  was  he  all  at  once  to  appear  in 
the  character  of  dry  (^uiker  in  Kdinl)urgh? 
Were  the  joys  that  circle  round  the  tlowing 
bowl  to  be  interdicted  to  him  alone,  the  witti- 
est, the  brightest,  the  most  original,  aiul  the 
most  clorpient  of  all  the  men  of  his  day?  At 
KUisland  we  know  for  certain,  that  his  do- 
mestic life  was  temperate  and  sober;  and  that 
beyond  his  own  doors,  his  convivialities  among 
"gentle  and  semple,"  though  not  unfre(iuent, 
were  not  excessive,  and  left  his  character  with- 
out any  of  those  deeper  stains  with  which  it 
has  been  since  said  to  have  been  sullied.  It 
is  for  ever  to  be  lamented  that  he  was  more 
dissii)ated  at  Dumfries — how  nnich  more — 
and  under  wiiat  stronger  temi)tations  can  be 
told  in  not  many  words.  Hut  every  glass  of 
wine  "or  stouter  cheer"  he  drank — like  mere 
ordinary  men  too  fond  of  the  festive  hour — 
.seems  to  have  been  set  down  against  him  as  a 
separate  sin;  and  tho  world  of  fashion,  and  of 
jihilosophy  too,  we  fear,  Imth  of  which  used 
him  rather  scurvily  at  last,  would  not  be  satis- 
fied unless  IJurns  could  be  made  out — a 
drunkard!  Hatl  he  not  been  such  a  wonderful 
man  in  conversation,  he  might  have  enjoyed 
unhurt  the  fame  of  his  poetry.  But  what  was 
reading  his  jjoetry,  full  as  it  is  of  mirth  and 
pathos,  to  hearing  the  I'oet !  When  all  were 
desirous  of  the  eomjiany  of  a  man  of  such 
geniu.s  and  such  dispositions,  was  it  in  human 
nature  to  be  always  judicious  in  the  selection 
or  rejection  of  lussociates?  His  deepest  and 
best  feelings  he  for  the  most  part  kept  sacred 
for  communion  with  those  who  were  held  i)y 
him  in  honour  as  well  as  love.  Hut  few  were 
utterly  excluded  from  the  cordiality  of  one 
who,  in  the  largeness  of  his  heart,  could  sym- 
pathize with  all,  provided  he  could  but  bring 
out,  by  the  stroke  of  the  keen-tempered  steel 
of  his  own  nature,  some  latent  spark  of  hu- 
manity from  the  flint  of  theirs;  and  it  is  easy 
to  sec  with  what  dangers  he  thus  must  have 
been  surrounded,  when  his  genius  and  humour, 
his  mirth  and  glee,  his  fun  and  frolic,  and  all 
the  outrageous  merriment  of  his  exhilarated  or 
maddened  imagination  came  to  be  considered 
almost  as  common  property  by  all  who  chose 


Il 


i; 
I 


84 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINtJS  OF  BURNS. 


to  introduce  themsclvc!*  to  ISolicrt  BurnH,  and 
tlioiij,'lit  tlieinMolvcs  entitled  to  <lo  so  heeatise 
tiiey  eouid  jiiovc  tlic.v  liad  iiin  poenm  liy  iieurt. 
TiieyHent  for  tiie  jraiiKerund  tlie  >;iiuger  eanie. 
A  |)roudernian  hreatiied  not,  l>ut  lie  iiail  never 
been  Miibjeeted  to  tlie  i-iTemoniai  of  manners, 
tiie  rule  of  arlifioiai  lit'  and  lie  was  ready,  at 
all  times,  tograsp  the  hand  held  out  in  friend- 
ship, to  jto  when  a  messau'e  said  eonie,  for  he 
knew  that  his  "lowroof'd  house"  was  hon- 
oured lieeause  by  his  genius  he  had  greatly 
glorified  his  people. 

We  have  seen,  from  one  eharaeleristie  in- 
stanee,  how  shamefully  hiseondeseension  must 
often  have  been  al)Use<l ;  and  no  doubt  but 
that  sometimes  lie  behaved  imprudently  in 
such  parties,  aiul  incurred  the  blame  of  intcm- 
pcranec.  Fretjuently  must  he  have  joined  them 
with  a  heavy  heart!  How  little  did  many  not 
among  the  worst  of  those  who  stupidly  stared 
at  the  "wondrous  guest,"  understand  of  iiis 
real  eharaeter!  How  often  must  they  liave 
required  mirth  from  him  in  his  meianehoiy, 
delight  in  his  despair!  The  coarse  ImH'oon 
ambitious  to  show  off  bei'orc  the  author  of 
"Tam  o'  Shanter"  and  "The  Holy  Fair"— 
liow  eould  it  enter  into  his  fat  heart  to  conceive, 
in  the  midst  of  iiis  own  roaring  ribaldry,  that 
the  tire-eyed  son  of  genius  was  a  hypochon- 
driac, sick  of  life !  Why  such  a  fellow  woidd 
think  nothing  ne.xt  morning  of  impudently 
telling  hi.s  cronies  that  on  the  whole  he  liad 
been  disappointed  in  the  Poet.  Or  in  another 
key,  forgetting  that  the  Toet,  who  continued 
to  sit  late  at  a  tavern  table,  need  own  no  re- 
lationship but  that  of  time  and  pluce  with  the 
proscr  who  was  lying  resignedly  under  it,  the 
drunkard  boa«ts  all  over  the  city  of  the  glori- 
ous night  he  had  had  Avith  HiKX.s. 

Dut  cf  th;  multitudes  who  thus  sought  the 
society  of  l',urn.s,  there  must  liave  been  many 
in  every  way  qualified  to  enjoy  it.  His  fame 
had  crossed  the  Tweed;  and  though  a  know- 
ledge of  his  poetry  could  not  then  luive  been 
prevalent  over  England,  he  had  ardent  admirer  i 
among  t!ic  mostcultivatcd  classes,  before  whose 
eyes,  shadowed  in  a  language  l)Ut  imperfectly 
understood,  liad  dawned  a  new  and  beautiful 
world  of  rustic  life.  Young  men  of  generous 
birth,  and  among  such  lovers  of  genius  some 
doubtless  themselves  endowed  with  the  pre- 
cious gift,  acquainted  with  the  clod-hojipers  of 


their  own  country,  hnigcd  ti»  behold  the  pro- 
digy  who  had  stalked  bi'iwecn  the  stilts  of  the 
plough  in  moods  of  lendcrot  or  loftiest  inspi- 
ration; and  it  is  pleasing  to  think  that  the 
i'oet  was  not  seldom  made  hapjiy  liy  such 
visitors — that  they  carried  back  with  ihcm  to 
their  own  noblest  land  a  still  ileeper  impres- 
sion of  the  exalted  worth  of  the  genius  of  Cale- 
donia, Xor  did  the  gidd  coin  of  the  genius 
of  Hums  sustain  any  dejirecialion  dnrini:  his 
life  lime  in  his  own  country,  lie  had  that  to 
comfort  liim — that  to  glory  in  till  the  last; 
and  in  his  sorest  poverty,  it  niu  t  have  iieen 
his  exceeding  great  rev'rd.  Ebeiiezcr  Kllioi 
has  nobly  expressed  tluu  belief — and  cuipleil 
with  it — as  we  have  often  done — the  be-',  vin- 
dication of  Scotland — 
Hit  sii.\i.i,  it  ok  oik  sikks  iik  toi.k 

TUAT    IIIKV    TUKII!    UllolllKI!  1 !    l-'ol'.SoOK? 

No!  Ki'l!    rilKV  (i.Wi;   lll.M   .MiiliK  THAN   (KiLIi; 
TUKV   ItKAl)  TUK  UUAVE   .\lAN  S   11'h.k. 

What  happens  during  their  life — more  or  less 
— to  all  eminent  men — happened  to  Hums. 
Thinking  on  such  things,  one  sometimes  can- 
not help  believing  that  man  hates  to  honour 
man,  till  the  jiower  in  which  miracles  have 
been  wrought  is  extinguished  or  withdrawn 
— and  then,  when  jeidousy,  envy,  ami  all  iin- 
charitableness  of  necessity  cease,  we  confess  its 
grandeur,  bow  <lown  to  it,  and  woishi])  it. 
Hut  who  were  they  who  in  his  own  eountry 
continued  most  steadfastly  to  honour  his  genius 
and  himself — all  through  what  have  been 
called — truly  in  .some  respects  — falsely  in 
others — his  dark  days  in  Dumfries — ;'iul  on  ti> 
hisdeath?  Not  lords  and  earls — not  lawyers  aim 
wits — not  philosophers  and  doetors — tluiugb 
among  the  nobility  and  gentry — among  the 
classes  of  leisure  and  of  learning  he  had  friends 
who  wished  him  well,  and  were  not  indi.>poseil 
to  serve  him;  noi  the  male  generation  of  critics 
— not  the  literary  prigs  epicene— not  of  de- 
cided sex  the  blues  celestial — though  many 
periods  were  rounded  among  them  ujxni  the 
.Ayrshire  ploughman;  but  the  .Mkn  hf  his 
OWN'  OuuKH,  with  their  wives  and  ilauuhters — 
shepherds,  and  herdsmen,  and  ploughmen — 
dclvers  and  ditchers  —  hewers  of  wood  and 
drawers  of  water — soldiers  and  sailors — whe- 
ther regulars,  militia,  fcncibles,  volunteers — 
on  board  king's  or  merchants'  ship  '■  I'ar  far  at 
.sea"  or  dirt  gabbert — within  a  few  vards  of  the 


I 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WIUTINtJS  OF  BURNS. 


^6 


land  on  eitlicr  huIc  of  the  Clyde  or  the  Curt — 
the  WoiiKiNii  Teoi'I-k — whi'  vor  the  instru- 
int'iit  (if  tlioir  toil — tiifv  luitrowizcd  HiiriiH  then 

they  iiiitnmize  him  now — they  would  not 

lijivi'  hurt  II  liiiir  of  his  head — tlicy  will  not 
hiar  iif  any  dislioiioiir  to  liis  ihist — they  know 
well  wlmt  it  in  to  endure,  to  yield,  to  enjoy, 
and  to  Hufl'er — and  the  memory  of  their  own 
liartl  will  l>u  hallowed  for  ever  among  the 
linillierhood  like  a  reliu;ion. 

In  Dumfries — as  in  every  other  eonsideralde 
town  ill  Seoilaiid — and  we  might  add  Kiigland 

it  was  then  customary,  mui  know,  with  the 

rcspeetaiile  inhahitaiils,  to  pass  a  eonvivial 
hour  or  two  of  un  evening  in  some  dceent 
taviTii  or  other — and  Hiirns's  hoirf  was  the 
(ilohe,  kept  i)y  honest  Mrs.  llysloj),  who  had 
a  snnsic  sister,  "Anna  wi'  the  gowden  locks," 
tlie  heroine  of  what  in  his  fond  deceit  ho 
tiiought  was  the  liest  of  all  his  songs.  •  The 
worthy  towns-folk  did  not  frequent  bar,  or 
]iarlour,  or  eluli-room — at  least  they  did  not 
think  they  did  —  from  a  desire  for  ilrink; 
though  doubtless  they  often  took  a  glass  more 
than  they  intended,  nay  sometimes  even  two ; 
and  the  prevalence  of  such  a  system  of  social 
life,  for  it  was  no  less,  must  have  given  rise, 
with  others  beside  the  predisposed,  to  very 
hurtful  habits.  They  met  to  e.\patiate  and 
confer  on  state  affairs — to  read  the  newspapers 
— to  talk  a  little  scandal — and  so  forth — and 
the  result  was,  we  have  been  told,  considerable 
dissipation.  The  .system  was  not  excellent; 
dangerous  to  a  man  whose  face  was  always 
more  than  welcome;  without  whom  there  was 
wanting  the  evening  or  the  morning  star. 
Burns  latterly  indulged  too  much  in  such  com- 
potatious,  and  sometimes  drank  more  tlian  was 
good  for  him;  hut  not  a  man  now  dlirc  in  JJiim- 
frliK  nrr  mtir  hhn  into.iicdtvd ;  and  the  sur- 
vivors all  unite  in  declaring  that  he  eared  not 
whether  the  stoup  were  full  or  empty,  so  that 
there  were  ronrer'<(ttiun — argumentative  or 
declamatory,  narrative  or  anecdotal,  grave  or 
gay,  satirical  or  .scrmonic;  nor  would  any  of 
tiium  have  liojicd  to  see  the  sun  rise  again  in 
this  world,  had  Hums  jiortentously  fallen  j 
asleep.  They  had  much  belter  been,  one  and  i 
all  of  them,  even  on  the  soberest  nights,  at  i 
their  own  firesides,  or  in  their  beds,  and  orgies  '■ 
that  seemed  moderation  itself  in  a  /mirf,  would  j 

'  ["Anna"  was  a.  niece  of  Mrs.  llj  slop's,  not  her  sister.]  I 
VOL.  V. 


have  been  felt  outmgeous  at  /lonn:  IJiit  the 
blame,  whatever  be  its  amount,  must  not  be 
heaped  on  the  head  of  Hums,  while  not  a 
syllabic  Imti  ever  been  said  of  the  same  enor- 
mities  steadily  practised  for  a  scries  of  years 
by  the  dignitaries  of  the  borough,  who  by 
themselves  and  friends  were  oidned  to  have 
been  from  youth  upwards  among  the  most 
sober  of  the  children  of  .Vdani.  Dues  any  body 
suppose  that  liurns  would  have  addicted  him- 
self to  any  meetings  considered  dvireputable 
— or  that,  had  he  lived  now,  he  would  have 
/ri'i/uvnti'il  any  tavern,  except  ]ierhaps  some 
not  unfavoured  one  in  the  airy  realms  of  im- 
agination, and  built  among  the  clouds? 

JIalicious  jieople  would  not  have  ventured 
during  his  lifetime,  in  underhand  and  under- 
toned  insinuations,  to  whisper  away  Hurns's 
moral  character,  nor  would  certain  memorialists 
have  been  ho  lavish  of  their  lamentations  and 
regrets  over  his  evil  habits,  Inul  not  his  politi- 
cal jirinciples  during  his  later  years  been  such 
as  to  render  him  with  ma'.y  an  object  of  sus- 
picion  efpiivalent,  in  troubled  times,  to  fear 
and  hatred.  A  revolution  that  shook  the 
foundations  on  which  so  many  old  evils  and 
abuses  rested,  and  promised  to  restore  to 
millions  their  natural  liberties,  and  by  that 
restoration  to  benefit  all  mankind,  must  have 
agitated  his  imagination  to  a  jiitch  of  enthu- 
siasm far  beyond  the  reach  of  ordinary  minds 
to  conceive,  who  nevertheless  thought  it  no 
presumption  on  their  part  to  decide  dogmatic- 
ally on  the  highest  questions  in  political 
science,  the  solution  of  which,  i.ssuing  in 
terrible  practice,  had  upset  one  of  the  most 
ancient,  and  as  it  had  been  thought,  one  of 
the  firmest  of  thrones.  No  Vionder  that  with 
his  eager  and  earnest  spirit  for  over  on  liis 
lips,  he  came  to  be  rojiuted  a  Democrat. 
IJumfrie.s  was  a  Tory  town,  and  could  not 
tolerate  a  revolutionary — the  term  was  not  in 
use  then — a  liadical  Exciseman.  And  to  say 
the  truth,  the  idea  must  have  been  not  a  little 
alarming  to  weak  nerves,  of  Burns  as  a  dema- 
gogue. With  such  eyes  and  such  a  tongue  he 
would  have  proved  a  formidable  Man  of  the 
People.  It  is  certain  that  he  spoke  and  wrote 
rashly  and  repreh'Misibly — and  deserved  a  cau- 
tion from  the  Hoard.  Hut  not  such  tyrannical 
reproof;  and  perhaps  it  was  about  as  absurd  in 
the  Hoard  to  order  15urns  not  to  tiiiiik,  as  it 

72 


M 


rilK  (iKXirS  AND  WHITINVJS  OF  lU'ltNS. 


woiilil  have  l)ccn  In  him  to  order  it  to  tliliilf;, 
fur  tliiiilviiit,'  ciiincH  of  imtiire,  ami  not  "f  in- 
•itituiitiM,  and  'lis  al)oul  as  ditH.'ult  to  I'ontrol 
ns  to  create  it.  lie  defended  himself  Itiddly, 
and  like  a  man  eonscious  nf  harltourini,'  in  his 

I Ill)  no  evil   wihli  to  the  State,     "  In  mv 

defence  to  their  neensut ions,  1  Haid,  that  what- 
ever miirht   be  my  sentiments  of  reimhlies, 
ancient  or  modern,  as  to  Hritain,  1  alijnrcd  the 
Ideas — that  a  toNsrin  tion,  which,  in  its  ori- 
ginal principles,  experience  had  proved  to  he 
every  way  httcd  for  onr  happiness  in  society, 
it  would  he  insanity  to  sacrilice  to  an  untried 
visionary  theory:— that  in  consideration  of  my 
beincr  situated  in  a  department,  '«owcver  hum- 
Ide,  immediately  in  the  han<ls  of  people  in 
power,  I  had  forlwrnc  takini?  any  active  jiart, 
ether  personally,  or  as  an  author,  in  the  present 
business  of  Hkkohm;  but  that,  where  I  must  de- 
clare my  .sentiments,  I  would  say  there  existed 
a  system  of  corruption  between  the  executive 
power  and  the  representative  part  of  the  legis- 
lature, wliich  boded  no  good  to  our  glorious 
coxstititiun;  and  which  every  patriotic  Briton 
must  wish  to  see  amended." '    His  biographers 
have  had  difficulty  in  forming  their  opinion  as 
to  the  etVect  on  Hurns's  mind  of  the  cxi)rcMsion 
of  the  Board's  sovereign  will  and  displeasure. 
Scott,  without  duo  considcation,  thought  it  so 
preyed  on  his  peace  as  to  render  him  desperate 
— and  has  said  that  "from  the  moment  his 
hopes  of  promotion  were  utterly  blasted,  his 
tendency  to  dissipation  hurried  him  precipi- 
tately into  tho.se  excesses  which  shortened  his 
life."      Lockhart  on  the  authority  of   Mr. 
Findlater  di.ssents  from  that  statement — Allan 
C'unningiiam  thinks  it  in  essentials  true,  and 
that  Burns's  letter  to  Mr.   Erskine  of  Mar, 
"covers  the  Board  of  Exci.se  and  the  British 
Government  of  that  day  with  eternal  shame." 
Whatever  may  have  been  the  effect  of  those 
proceedings  on  Burns's  mind,  it  is  certain  that 
the  freedom  with  which  lie  gave  utterance  to 
his  political  opinions  and  sentiments  seriously 
injured  him  in  the  estimation  of  multitudes  of 
excellent  people,  who  thought  them  akin  to 
doctrines  subversive  of  all  government  but 
that  of  the  mob.     Nor  till  he  joined  the  Dum- 
fries Volunteers,  and  as  their  Laureate  issued 
his  popular  song,  that  flew  over  tlie  land  like 

1  Letter  to  John  Francis  Erskine  of  Mar,  13th  April, 
1793. 


wild-firc,  "Mocshaughiytiaul  invasion  threat?" 
was  he  ircmrally  rcu'ardcd  as  a  loyal  suiijcct. 
l-'or  two  or  three  years  he  hail  liceu  lookcil  cm 
with  evil  eyes,  ami  spoken  of  in  evil  whispci* 
by  too  many  of  the  good—and  he  had  hinisclf 
in  no  small  measure  to  blame  for  their  I'aNc 
judgment  of  his  character.  Here  are  ii  few  of 
Ids  lines  to  "The  Tree  of  l.ibcrty." 

lint  viriiiiis  fiilks  MVi'  Imti'  to  rcu 

'I'lif  works  II  Vii'tiic  lliilvi',  iniiii, 
Tliu  ciiinll)  viiiiiln  s  liiiriii  il  tlic  tree,  nirncl 

And  Knit  to  sec  It  tlnivc,  niiui;  «t'i<t 

Kliiu  l.oiir  tliiiiiulit  to  cut  it  ilown, 

Wlit'ii  it  was  unco'  sniii',  mini;  vir; 

H'or  this  till'  wati'linicii  cnirk'il  liis  crown. 

Cut  iitr  his  hi'iiil  anil  a',  man. 

I.ct  llrituin  lioiiAt  her  hnnly  oak, 

Iter  popliii'  anil  her  pine,  man, 
Aiihl  Itiifain  nnco  coulil  crack  her  Joke, 

Ami  o'er  her  nei^tliliour  shine,  man. 
lint  Heck  the  fiirext  rouinl  ami  round. 

And  Hoon  'twill  he  agreed,  man, 
Thiit  sic  a  tree  cannot  lie  found, 

'Twixt  London  and  the  Tweed,  man. 


Vfot  hotull  till) 
IMKUU  tlint 
such    Iwouiil  not 


Wao  worth  the  loon  wlni  wadna  cat 

Sic  halesonie  dainty  cheer,  man; 
I'd  Kic  my  shoon  (rae  atf  my  feet. 

To  taste  sic  fruit,  I  swear,  nnin.  miih 

.Syne  let  us  prny,  auld  Kii^'laml  may  tliun 

Sure  plant  tliis  far-fam  d  tree,  man; 
And  Idythc  we'll  sinK.  and  hail  the  day 

That  gave  us  liberty,  man. 

So  sunk  in  slavery  at  this  time  was  Scotland, 
that  Kngland  could  not  sleep  in  licr  bed  till 
she  had  set  her  sister  free — and  sent  down 
some  liberators  who  narrowly  escaped  getting 
hanged  by  this  most  ungrateful  country.  Such 
"perilous  stuff"  as  the  above  might  have  been 
indited  by  I'almer,  Gerald,  or  Margarot — how- 
all  unworthy  of  the  noble  Burns?  Of  all  men 
in  the  world,  the  author  of  "The  Cotter's 
Saturday  Night"  was  by  nature  the  least  of  a 
Jacobin.  We  cannot  help  thinking  that,  like 
Byron,  he  loved  at  times  to  astonish  dull  people 
by  daring  things,  to  see  how  they  looked  with 
their  hair  on  end ;  and  dull  people — who  are 
not  seldom  malignant — taking  him  at  his 
word,  had  their  revenge  in  charging  him  with 
all  manner  of  profligacy,  and  fabricating  vile 
stories  to  his  disgrace;  there  being  nothing  too 
gross  for  the  swallow  of  political  rancour. 

1 1  is  proved  by  many  very  strong  expressions 
in  his  correspondence  that  the  reproof  he  re- 
ceived from  the  Board  of  Excise  sorely  troubled 


THE  (JKMUS   AM)  WUITIMJH  OF  lil'lLNM. 


87 


vimion  lliival?" 
,  Idval  Hulijt'ci. 

llfCII    llMlkcil   nil 

II  I'vil  wlii«iu'i'* 

lu>  liiul  liiniKi'll' 

I'lir  tlicif  I'liNc 

L'rc  lire  11  lew  nf 


nir»i'i| 


VirjT 


crown . 


III. 
1(1, 


inn. 

Woe  lipfnll  111.' 
it  IrnKui'  tliiit 

BUCh      |Wiiulllll"t 


y 

nn; 

1  day 


micli 
tllOD 


e  was  Scotland, 
in  her  bed  till 
and  sent  tlown 
escaped  gettinK 
1  country.  Such 
night  have  been 
Margaret — how 
ns?    of  all  men 
"The   (.'otter's 
re  the  least  of  a 
nking  that,  like 
nish  dull  people 
ley  looked  with 
eoplc — who  are 
ig    him  at    hU 
irging  him  with 
fabricating  vile 
ing  nothing  too 
al  rancour, 
•ong  expressions 
reproof  he  re- 
sorely  troubled 


liiiii;  and  no  dniilit  It  had  an  evil  intliiciice  on 
|iiilili<  ii|iiiiiiin  that  did  not  suliside  till  it  was 
li'ari'd  111'  wa-tdylii!,',  and  that  ceased  for  a  time 
(Piil.v  with  his  death.  We  iiave  expressed  oiir 
indiu'iiation — our  cuntenipt  of  that  tyrannical  j 
Irciitiiniit;  and  have  not  wiililicld  our  respect —  i 
our  ailiiiii'ati'in  I'runi  the  eharaelcristie  man- 
liness with  which  lie  repelled  the  accuHatlonn 
Hoinc  lii«idioiis  cneinics  had  secretly  sent  In 
t(i  tiie  i|iiarier  where  they  knew  fatal  injury 
niiirht  lie  done  to  all  his  prospects  in  life.  Hut 
was  It  pci<>ilde  that  his  most  unguarded,  rash,  j 
and  we  do  not  fur  a  nninicnt  hesitate  to  say,  i 
Idanicalplc  expres.sion  of  political  opininiis  : 
advcr>c  til  those  maintained  by  all  men  friendly 
to  the  u'tivernnient,  could  lie  iierinitted  to  pass 
without  notice'^  lie  had  no  right  to  encourage 
what  the  government  sought  to  put  down, 
while  he  was  "their  servant  in  a  very  humble 
departinciit;"  and  thougli  he  successfully  re- 
pelled the  slanders  of  the  despicable  creatures 
who  strove  to  destroy  him,  even  in  his  high- 
spiritcil  letter  to  Krskine  there  is  enough  to 
show  tiiat  he  had  entered  into  such  an  e.xpos- 
tulaiioii  with  the  Hoard  as  must  have  excited 
stioiii;  di-pleasure  and  disapproval,  which  no 
per>oii  of  .sense,  looking  back  on  those  most 
dangerous  times,  can  either  wonder  at  or 
blame.  He  says  in  his  defence  before  the 
Hoar<l,  "1  stated  that,  where  I  must  declare 
my  scntimcnt.s,  I  would  say  there  existed  a 
system  of  corruption  between  the  executive 
power  and  the  rejircsentative  part  of  the  legis. 
laturc,  which  boded  no  good  to  our  glorious 
co.NSTiTi  Tiux,  and  which  every  patriotic  Hriton 
must  wish  to  see  amended."  From  a  person  in 
his  situation  even  such  a  declaration  was  not 
prudent,  and  prudence  was  a  duty;  but  it  is 
manifest  from  what  he  adds  for  Krskine's  own 
ear,  that  something  more  lay  concealed  in  those 
generalities  than  the  mere  Mords  seem  to  im- 
ply. "  I  have  three  sons,  who  I  sec  already, 
have  brouirht  into  the  world  souls  ill  qualified 
to  inhabit  the  bodies  of  .slavk.s. — Can  I  look 
tamely  on,  and  see  any  machination  to  wrest 
from  thcmthe  birthright  of  my  boys, — thclittlc 
independent  Hkito.vs,  in  whose  veins  run.s  my 
own  blood V—Xo!  1  will  not!  should  my  heart's 
blood  stream  around  my  attempt  to  defend  it! 
Does  any  man  tell  me,  that  my  feeble  eflforts 
can  be  of  no  service;  and  that  it  does  not  be- 
long to  my  humble  station  to  meddle  with  the 


concern  of  a  people'/"  Wight  or  wrong — and 
we  think  they  were  right  —  the  government 
of  the  coiintry  had  rexdved  to  iiidmld  piiiiel- 
ples,  to  whieli  the  man  who  eoiild  not  refrain 
from  tliiH  fiercely  declaring  himself,  at  the 
Very  time  all  that  was  dearest  to  him  was  In 
peril,  ciiiild  n<it  but  be  held  hostile;  and  >o 
far  from  lis  being  their  duty  to  overlook  such 
opinions,  because  they  wore  the  opinions  of 
Hums,  It  was  just  bei'ause  they  were  the  opin- 
ions of  Hums  that  it  was  their  duty  to  restrain 
and  reprove  tlicin.  He  eontinncd  'oo  long 
after  this  tn  be  by  far  too  nut^pokcn — as  we 
have  seen;  but  that  his  Scottish  soul  had  in 
aimht  beeonie  Frciiehilied,  wc  never  shall  be- 
lieve, but  while  we  live  shall  atlriliiite  the  ob- 
stinacy with  which  he  persisted  to  sing  and 
say  the  jiraises  of  that  peojile,  after  they  had 
murdered  their  king  and  their  <|ucen,  and  had 
been  guilty  of  all  enormities,  in  a  great  mea- 
sure to  a  haughtiness,  that  could  not  brook  to 
retract  opinions  he  had  oft'ensively  declared 
before  the  faces  of  many  whom,  not  without 
reason,  he  ilespised — to  a  horror  of  the  idea  of 
any  sacrifice  of  that  independent  spirit  wiiich 
was  the  very  life  of  his  life.  Hums  had  been 
insulted  by  those  who  were  at  once  his  su]ie- 
riors  and  his  inferiors,  and  shall  Hums  truckle 
to  "the  powers  that  be?"  At  any  bidding 
but  that  of  his  own  conviction  swerve  a  hair's- 
breadth  from  his  political  creed?  No:  not 
even  though  his  reason  had  told  him  that  some 
of  its  articles  were  based  in  delusion,  and  if 
carried  into  practice  among  his  own  country, 
men,  pursuant  to  the  plots  of  traitors,  who 
were  indeed  aliens  in  soul  to  the  land  he  loved, 
would  have  led  to  thedestruction  of  that  liberty 
for  which  he,  by  the  side,  or  at  the  head  of 
his  cottage  compatriots,  would  have  gladly  died. 
The  evil  consequences  of  all  this  to  Hums 
were  worse  than  you  may  have  imagined,  for 
over  and  above  the  lies  springing  up  like  pud- 
dock-stools  from  domestic  midden.s,  an  ephem- 
eral brood  indeed,  but  by  succession  peren- 
nial, and  that  even  now  when  you  grasp  them 
in  your  hand,  .spatter  vileness  in  your  eye.s, 
like  so  many  devil's  snuft'-boxes — think  how 
injurious  to  the  happiness  of  such  a  soul  as 
his,  to  all  its  natural  habitudes,  must  have 
been  the  feuds  carried  on  all  around  him,  and 
in  which  he  with  his  commanding  powers  too 
largely  mingled,  between  political  parties  in  a 


88 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WEITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


provincial  town,  contending  as  they  thought, 
the  one  for  hearths  and  altars,  the  other  for 
regeneration  of  those  principles,  decayed  or 
dead,  which  alone  make  hearths  and  altars 
sacred,  and  their  defence  worth  the  tears  and 
the  blood  of  brave  men  who  would  fain  be  free. 
His  sympathy  was  "wide  and  general  as  the 
casing  air;"  and  not  without  violence  could  it 
be  contracted  "within  the  circle  none  dared 
tread  but  they"  who  thought  Williaia  Pitt  the 
reproach,  and  Charles  Fox  the  paragon  of  ani- 
mals. Within  that  circle  he  met  with  many 
good  men,  the  Herons,  :Millors,  IJiddells,  Ma.\- 
wel):;,  Symes,  and  so  forth;  within  it  too  he 
forgathered  with  many  "a  fool  and  something 
more."  Now  up  to  "the  golden  exhalation 
of  the  dawn"  of  his  gaugership,  !<'irns  had 
been  a  Tory,  and  he  heard  in  "the  whisper  of 
a  faction"  a  Avord  unpleasing  to  a  Whiggish 
ear,  turncoat.  The  charge  was  false,  and  he 
disdained  it;  but  disdain  in  eyes  that  when 
kindled  up  burned  like  carriage  lamps  in  a 
dark  night,  frightened  the  whispering  faction 
into  such  animosity,  that  a  more  than  usual 
sumph  produced  an  avenging  epigram  upon 
him  and  two  other  traitoi<,  in  which  the  artist 
committed  a  mistake  of  u  orkmanship  no  sub- 
sequent care  could  rec'""^  "  'ead  of  hitting 
the  right  nail  on  the  head,  why  he  hit  the 
\roni;  lail  on  the  point,  so  no  wooden  mallet 
cou;;!  ('  '(^  it  home.  From  how  much  social 
pI;:'NniT.  miijt  not  Burns  have  thus  been  wil- 
iVily  self-debarred!  From  how  many  happy 
irj  "';i'.''-iii"r>T  1  By  nature  he  was  not  vindictive, 
yj  occasionally  he  seemed  to  be  so,  visiting 
slight  offence  with  severe  punishment,  some- 
times imagining  offence  when  there  was  none, 
and  in  a  few  instances,  we  fear,  satirizing  in 
savage  verses  not  only  the  innocent,  but  the 
virtuous;  the  very  beings  whom,  had  he  but 
known  them  as  he  might,  he  would  have  loved 
and  revered — celebrated  them  living  or  dead 
in  odes,  elegies,  and  hymns — thereby  doing 
holy  service  to  goodness  in  holding  up  shining 
examples  to  all  who  longed  to  do  well.  Jlost 
of  his  intolerant  scorn  of  high  rank  had  the 
same  origin — not  in  his  own  nature,  which 
was  noble,  but  in  prejudices  thus  superinduced 
upon  it,  which  in  their  virulence  were  mean — 
though  his  genius  could  clothe  them  in  mag- 
nificent diction,  and  so  justify  them  to  the 
proud  poet's  heart. 


It  is  seldom  indeed  that  Lockhart  misses  the 
mark;  but  in  one  instance — an  anecdote — 
where  it  is  intended  to  present  the  pathetic, 
our  eye  perceives  but  the  picturesque: — we 
allude  to  the  tale  told  him  by  Davie  .Maccul- 
loch,  son  of  the  Laird  of  Ardwell.  '•  He  told 
me  that  he  was  seldom  more  grieved  than 
when,  riding  into  Dumfries  one  fine  summer's 
evening  to  attend  a  county  ball,  he  saw  liurns 
walking  alone  on  the  shady  side  of  the  princi- 
pal sti'cet  of  the  town,  while  the  oiipositc  part 
was  gay  with  successive  groujis  of  gentlemen 
and  ladies,  all  drawn  together  for  the  festivities 
of  the  night,  not  one  of  whom  appeared  willing 
to  recognize  iiim.  The  horseman  disnuuinted 
and  joined  Burns,  who  on  his  proposing  to 
him  to  cross  the  street,  said,  '  Nay,  my  young 
friend,  that  is  all  ovc  'ow,'  and  quotcil,  after 
a  pause,  some  verses  of  Lady  (irizcll  Baillie'a 
pathetic  ballad  beginning,  '  The  boiniet  stood 
ance  sae  fair  on  his  brow,' and  eiuling  'Ami 
ircre  iia  mij  heart  llri/it  I  inn/  dii.'  it  was 
little  in  Bunis'.s  character  to  let  his  feelings 
on  certain  sulijects  escape  in  this  fashion.  He 
immediately  after  citing  these  verses,  assumed 
the  sprightliness  of  his  most  pleasing  manner; 
and  taking  his  young  friend  home  with  him, 
entertained  him  very  agreeably  until  the  hour 
of  the  ball  arrived,  with  a  bowl  uf  his  usual 
potation,  and  bonnie  Jean's  singing  of  some 
verses  which  he  had  recently  composed."  'Tis 
a  pretty  picture  in  the  style  of  Watteau.  "The 
opposite  part  gay  with  successive  groups  of 
gentlemen  and  ladies,  all  drawn  together  for 
the  festivities  of  the  night."  What  were  they 
about,  and  where  were  they  going?  Were  they 
as  yet  in  their  ordinary  clothes,  colts  and  fillies 
alike,  taking  their  exercise  preparatory  to  the 
country  dances  of  some  thirty  or  forty  coui)lc, 
that  in  those  days  used  to  try  the  ivind  of  I)otli 
sexes?  If  so,  they  might  have  cho.-eu  better 
training-ground  along  the  banks  of  the  Nith. 
Were  they  all  in  full  fig,  the  females  with  fea- 
thers on  their  heads,  the  males  with  chapeaux 
bras — "stepping  westward"  arm  in  arm,  in 
successive  grou]is,  to  the  Assenilily-room?  In 
whichever  of  these  two  i)leasant  predicaments 
they  were  placcil,  it  showed  rare  persjiicacity 
in  Daintie  Davie,  to  discern  that  not  one  of 
them  aj)i)tared  willing  to  recognize  Burns — 
more  especially  as  lie  was  walkinudu  the  other 
and  shady  side  ol   the  street,  and  Davie  on 


THE  GENIUS  AND  \VKITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


89 


liorscliaok.  By  what  secret  signs  did  the  fair 
IVcc-iiKisons — for  siii-ii  there  be — express  to 
tlieir  mounted  brotiier  tlieir  mnvillingness  to 
recognize  from  tiie  sunsiiine  of  tiieir  promcn- 
iii'.e,  llio  gaun'cr  waliiing  alone  in  the  siiade  of 
ills?  AVas  llirtation  at  so  low  an  cl)l>  in  ])um- 
frics-sliire,  that  the  flower  of  her  heuux  and 
belles,  "in  successive  groups,  drawn  together 
for  the  festivities  of  the  night,"  could  find 
eves  for  a  disagreeable  object  so  many  yards  of 
causeway  remote?  And  if  JJurns  observed  that 
they  gave  him  the  cold  shoulder — cut  him 
across  the  street — on  what  recondite  principle 
of  conduct  did  he  continue  to  walk  there,  in 
place  of  stalking  off  with  a  frown  to  his  Jfon-f.' 
And  is  it  high  (Jalloway  to  propose  to  a  friend 
to  cross  the  street  to  do  the  civil  "to  succes- 
sive groups  of  gentlemen  antl  ladies,  not  one  of 
whom  had  ai'pearei'  willing  to  recognize  him?" 
However,  it  was  gallant  under  such  discourage- 
ment to  patronize  the  ganger;  and  we  trust 
that  the  "wicked  wee  bowl,"  while  it  detained 
from,  and  disinclined  to,  did  not  incapacitate 
for  the  Ball. 

Hut  whence  all  tho.sc  expressions  .so  frequent 
in  his  ciirrespondence,  and  not  rare  in  his 
poetry,  of  self-reproach  and  rueful  remorse? 
From  a  source  that  lay  deeper  than  our  eyes 
can  reach.  We  know  his  worst  sins,  but  can- 
not know  his  sorrows.  The  war  between  the 
spirit  and  the  flesh  often  raged  in  his  nature 
— as  in  tiiat  of  the  best  of  beings  who  are 
nvAd — and  no  Ciiristian,  without  humblest 
self-abasement,  will  ever  read  his  Confessions. 

Is  there  a  wliim-iiisiiiii'd  foii', 

Owre  fast  I'ur  tliouglit,  owru  liot  for  ride, 

Owre  blntc  to  seek,  owrc  iiroud  to  suool,    laslifiil 

Let  liiiu  ilriiw  near;  [criusjo  alyuitly 

Ami  owre  this  grassy  heap  sing  dool,  lamont 

And  diaji  a,  tear. 

Is  tliere  a  hard  of  rustic  song, 

Whii,  noteless,  steals  the  erowds  anioUL', 

That  weekly  this  area  throng, 

O,  i)ass  not  liy! 
Hut,  with  a  frater-teeling  strong, 

Here,  heave  a  sigh. 

Is  there  a  man,  who.se  judgment,  dear, 
Can  others  teach  the  eour.se  to  .steer. 
Vet  runs,  himself,  life's  mad  career, 

Willi  as  the  wave; 
Here  pause— ami,  thn>'  the  starting  tear, 

.Survey  this  grave. 

The  poor  inhabitant  below 

Was  ([uick  to  learn,  and  wise  to  know. 


And  keenly  felt  the  friendly  glow, 

.And  .Softer  llame; 
Hut  thoughtle.ss  fi  Hies  laid  him  low, 

And  stain'd  his  nanie. 

Kender,  attend— whether  thy  soul 
Soars  fancy '.s  flights  lieyond  the  pole. 
Or  darkling  giulis  this  earthly  hole. 

In  low  ])uisuit; 
Know,  prudent,  cautious  .self-coutrol 

Is  H  isdom's  rout. 

A  IJard's  Epitaph!  Such  his  character  drawn 
by  himself  in  deepest  despondency — in  dis- 
traction— in  despair  calmed  while  he  was  com- 
posing it  by  the  tranquillizing  power  that  ever 
accompanies  the  action  of  genius.  And  shall 
we  judge  him  as  severely  as  he  judged  himself, 
and  think  worse  of  him  than  of  common  men, 
because  he  has  immortalized  his  frailties  in  his 
contrition?  The  sins  of  common  men  are  not 
remembered  in  tlieir  epitaphs.  Silence  is  a 
privilege  of  the  grave  few  seek  to  disturl).  If 
there  must  lie  no  eulogium,  our  name  and  age 
suffice  for  that  stone — and  whatever  may  have 
been  thought  of  us,  there  are  some  to  drop  a 
tear  on  our  "forlorn  hi-  jacet."  Hums  wrote 
those  lines  in  the  very  prime  of  youthful  man- 
hood. You  know  Avhat  produced  them — his 
miserable  attachment  to  lier  who  became  his 
wife,  lie  was  then  indeed  most  miserable — 
afterwards  most  happy;  he  cared  not  then 
though  he  should  die — all  his  other  oftences 
rose  against  him  in  that  agony ;  and  how 
humbly  he  speaks  of  his  high  endowments, 
under  a,  sense  of  the  sins  by  which  they  had 
been  debased !  lie  repented,  and  sinned  again 
and  again;  for  his  repentance — though  sincere 
— was  not  permanent ;  yet  who  shall  say  tliat 
it  was  not  accepted  at  last?  "Owre  this  grassy 
heap  sing  dool,  and  drap  a  tear,"  is  an  injunc- 
tion that  has  been  obeyed  by  many  a  pitying 
heart.  Yet  a  little  while,  and  his  Jean  buried 
him  in  such  a  grave.  A  few  years  more,  and 
a  mausoleum  was  erected  by  the  nation  for 
his  honoured  dust.  Now  liusband  and  wife 
lie  side  by  side — "in  hopes  of  a  joyful  resur- 
rection." 

Hums  belonged  to  that  ordc  of  prevailing 
poets,  with  whom  "all  thoughts,  all  passions, 
all  delights"  possess  not  that  entire  satisfac- 
tion nature  intends,  till  they  eftiise  themselves 
abroad,  for  sake  of  the  .sympathy  that  binds 
them,  even  in  uttermost  .solitude,  to  the 
brotherhood  of  man.     No  secrets  have  they 


90 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


that  words  can  reveal.  They  desire  that  the 
wliole  race  shall  see  their  very  souls — shall 
liear  the  very  beatings  of  their  hearts.  Tluis 
tliey  hope  to  live  for  ever  in  kindred  bosoms. 
They  feel  that  a  great  power  is  given  tiiem  in 
their  miseries — for  what  miseries  lias  any  man 
ever  harboured  in  the  recesses  of  his  spirit, 
that  lie  lias  not  shared,  and  will  share,  with 
"numbers  without  number  numberless"  till 
the  Judgment  Day! 

Who  reads  unmoved  such  sentences  as  these? 
"The  fates  and  characters  of  the  rhyming 
tribe  often  employ  my  thoughts  when  I  am 
disposed  to  be  melancholy.  There  is  not 
among  all  the  martyrologies  that  ever  were 
penned,  so  rueful  a  narrative  as  the  lives  of 
the  poets. — In  the  comparative  view  of 
wretches,  the  criterion  is  not  what  they  are 
doomed  to  suffer,  but  how  they  are  formed  to 
bear. "  *  Long  before  the  light  of  heaven  had 
ever  been  darkened  or  obscured  in  his  con- 
science by  evil  tlioughts  or  evil  deeds,  when 
the  bold  bright  boy,  with  his  thick  black 
clustering  hair  ennobling  liis  ample  forehead, 
W0S  slaving  for  liis  parents'  sakes — Kobert 
used  often  to  lie  by  Gilbert's  side  all  night 
long  without  ever  closing  an  eye  in  sleep;  for 
that  large  heart  of  his,  that  loved  all  his  eyes 
looked  upon  of  nature's  works  living  or  dead, 
perfect  as  was  its  mechanism  for  the  play  of 
all  lofty  passions,  would  get  suddenly  disar- 
ranged, as  if  approached  the  very  hour  of 
death.  Who  will  say  that  many  more  years 
were  likely  to  have  fallen  to  the  lot  of  one  so 
framed,  had  he  all  life  long  drunk,  ns  in 
youth,  but  of  the  well-water — "lain  down 
with  the  dove,  and  risen  with  the  lark?"  If 
excesses  in  which  there  was  vice  and  there- 
fore blame,  did  injure  his  health,  how  far 
more  those  other  excesses  in  which  there  was 
so  much  virtue,  and  on  which  there  should  be 
praise  for  ever!  Over-anxious,  over-working 
hours  beneath  the  mid-day  sun,  and  some- 
times too  to  save  a  scanty  crop  beneath  the 
midnight  moon,  to  which  he  looked  up  with- 
out knowing  it  witii  a  poet's  eyes,  as  he  kept 
forking  the  sheaves  on  the  high  laden  cart 
that  "Hesperus,  who  led  the  starry  host," 
beheld  crashing  into  the  barn-yard  among 
shouts  of  "Harvest  Home." 

It  has  been  thought  that  tiiere  are  not  a 
>  Letter  to  Jliss  Craik  of  Arbiglnnd,  August,  1790. 


few  prominent  points  of  character  common  to 
Burns  and  Byron;  and  though  no  formal  com- 
parison bctweeen  tiiem  has*  been  drawn  that 
we  know  of,  nor  would  it  be  worth  one's  while 
attempting  it,  as  not  much  would  come  of  it,  avc 
suspect,  without  violent  stretching  and  Ijcnd- 
ing  of  materials,  and  that  free  play  of  fancy 
which  makes  no  bones  of  facts,  still  there  is 
this  resemblance,  that  they  both  give  unre- 
served expositions  of  their  most  secret  feelings, 
undeterred  by  any  fear  of  offending  others,  or 
of  bringing  censure  on  themselves  by  such 
revelations  of  the  inner  man.  Byron  as  a 
moral  being  was  below  Burns;  and  there  is  too 
often  mucli  affectation  and  insincerity  in  his 
Confessions.  "  Fare  thee  well,  and  if  for  ever, 
still  for  ever  fare  thee  well,"  is  not  elegiac, 
but  satirical;  a  complaint  in  whidi  the  bitter- 
ness is  not  of  grief,  but  of  gall ;  how  unlike 
"The  Lament  on  the  unfortunate  issue  of  a 
Friend's  Amour"  overflowing  with  the  expres- 
sion of  every  pas.sion  cognate  with  love's  des- 
pair! Do  not  be  startled  by  our  asking  you  to 
think  for  a  little  while  of  Robert  Burns  along 
with — Samuel  Johnson.  Listen  to  him,  and 
you  hear  as  wise  and  good  a  man  as  eartii  ever 
saw  for  ever  reproaching  himself  with  his 
wickedness;  "from  almost  the  earliest  time  he 
could  remember  he  had  been  forming  sciicmes 
for  a  better  life."  Select  from  his  notes, 
prayers,  and  diaries,  and  from  the  autiientic 
records  of  his  oral  discourse,  all  acknowledg- 
ments of  his  evil  thoughts,  practices,  and 
iiabits — all  charges  brought  against  him  l)y 
conscience,  of  sins  of  omission  and  coniniission 
— all  declarations,  exclamations,  and  interjec- 
tions of  agonizing  remorse  and  gloomy  despair 
— from  thfm  write  his  character  in  his  cpitapii 
— and  look  there  on  the  Christian  Sage!  tiod 
forbid!  that  saving  truths  should  be  so  changed 
into  destroying  falsehoods.  Slothful — soltisli 
— sensual — envious — uncharitable — uiidutifuj 
to  his  parents — thoughtless  of  Him  who  died 
to  save  sinners — and  living  without  God  in 
the  Avorld; — Tha'  '■  <  the  wretched  l)cing  named 
Samuel  Johnson — in  the  eyes  of  his  idolatrous 
countrymen  only  a  little  lower  than  the  angels 
— in  his  own  a  worm!  Slothful!  yet  iiow 
various  his  knowledge!  acquired  by  fits  and 
snatches — book  in  hand,  and  porins  as  if 
nearly  sand-blind — yet  with  eyes  in  their  own 
range  of  vision,   keen  as   the  lynx's  or  the 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


91 


eagle's — on  pages  no  better  than  blanks  to 
common  minds,  to  his  hieroglyphioal  of  wisest 
fjcj-rets — or  in  long  assiduity  of  continuous 
studies,  of  which  a  month  to  him  avail  more 
than  to  you  or  us  a  year — or  all  we  have  had 
of  life. — Selfish!  with  obscure  people,  about 
whom  nobody  cared,  provided  for  out  of  his 
.■^lender  means  within  doors,  paupers  though 
they  thought  it  not,  and  though  meanly  en- 
dowed by  nature  as  by  fortune,  admitted  into 
tlie  friendship  of  a  Sage  simple  as  a  child — 
out  of  doors,  pensioners  waiting  for  him  at  the 
corners  of  streets  of  whom  he  knew  little,  but 
that  they  were  hungry  and  wanted  bread,  and 
prol)ably  had  been  brought  by  sin  to  sorrow. 
—Sensual!  Because  his  big  body,  getting 
old,  "needed  repairs,"  and  because  though 
lianselas  Prince  of  Alii/ssiiita  had  been  writ- 
ten on  an  empty  stomach,  Avliich  happened 
when  he  was  comparatively  young  and  could 
not  help  it,  now  that  he  had  reached  his  grand 
climacteric,  he  was  determined  to  show  not  to 
tlic  whole  world,  but  to  large  parties,  that  all 
the  fat  of  the  earth  was  not  meant  for  the 
mouths  of  blockheads. — Envious!  of  David 
(iarriek?  Poh!  poll!  Pshaw!  pshaw! — Un- 
diaritable?  AVe  have  disposed  of  that  clause 
of  tiie  verse  in  our  commentary  on  "selfish." 
— I'ndutiful  to  his  parents?  He  did  all  man 
could  to  support  his  mother — and  having  once 
disobliged  his  father  by  sulkily  refusing  to 
assist  at  his  book-stall,  half  a  century  after- 
wards, more  or  less,  when  at  the  head  of 
English  literature^  and  tiie  friend  of  IJurke 
and  Beauclerk,  he  stood  bare  headed  for  an 
hour  in  the  rain  on  the  site  of  said  book-stall, 
in  tlie  market-place  of  Lichfield,  in  penance 
for  that  great  sin.  As  to  the  last  two  charges 
in  (he  indictment — if  he  was  not  a  Christian, 
who  can  hope  for  salvation  in  tiie  Cross? — If 
ills  life  was  that  of  an  atheist,  who  of  wonian 
born  ever  walked  with  (iod?  Yet  it  is  true 
lie  was  a  great  sinner.  "If  we  say  that  we  have 
no  sill,  we  deceive  ourselves,  and  the  trutli  is 
not  in  us;  but  if  we  confess  our  sins,  he  is 
faitliful  and  just  to  forgive  us  our  sins,  and  to 
cleanse  us  from  all  unrighteousness"  [1  John 
i.  8,  9]. 

Ikirns  died  in  his  thirty-eighth  year.  At 
that  age  wiiat  had  .lohnsou  done  to  be  for  ever 
remembered?  He  had  written  Irene,  London, 
and  the  Life  of  Savaye.     Of  Irene  the  world 


makes  little  account — it  contains  many  just 
and  noble  sentiments — but  it  is  a  Tragedy 
without  tears.  The  life  is  an  eloquent  lie, 
told  in  the  delusion  of  a  friendship  sealed  by 
participated  sorrows.  London  is  a  satire  of 
the  true  moral  vein — more  sincerely  indignant 
with  the  vices  it  withers  than  its  prototyjie  in 
Juvenal — with  all  the  vigour,  without  any  of 
the  coarseness  of  Dryden — with  "the  pointed 
propriety  of  Pope,"  and  ver.sification  almost  as 
musical  as  his,  while  not  so  monotonous — an 
immortal  strain.  But  had  ho  died  in  1747, 
how  slight  had  been  our  knowledge — our 
interest  how  dull — in  the  Life  and  Writings 
of  Samuel  Johnson!  How  slight  our  know- 
ledge! We  should  never  have  known  that 
in  childhood  he  showed  symptoms  "of  that 
jealous  independence  of  spirit  and  impetuosity 
of  temper  which  never  forsook  him" — as  Burns 
in  the  same  season  had  showed  that  "stubliorn 
sturdy  something  in  his  disposition"  which 
was  there  to  the  last; — That  he  displayed  then 
"that  power  of  memory  for  which  he  was  all 
his  life  eminent  to  a  degree  almost  incredible" 
— as  Burns  possessed  that  faculty — so  thought 
Murdoch — in  more  strength  than  imagination; 
— That  he  never  joined  the  other  boys  in  their 
ordinary  diversions  "but  would  wander  aAvay 
into  the  fields  talking  to  himself" — like  Burns 
walking  miles  "to  pay  his  respects  to  the 
Leglen  wood;" — That  when  a  boy  he  was 
immoderately  fond  of  reading  romances  of 
chivalry — as  Burns  was  of  Blind  Harry; — 
That  he  fell  into  "an  inattention  to  religion 
or  an  indifference  about  it  in  his  ninth  year," 
and  that  after  his  fourteenth  "became  a  sort 
of  lax  talker  against  religion,  for  he  did  not 
much  ffiink  about  it,  and  this  lasted  till  he 
went  to  Oxford  where  it  would  not  be  sxjt'ered" 
— ^just  as  the  child  Burns  was  remarkable  for 
an  "enthusiastic  idiot  piety,"  and  had  jdeasure 
during  .some  years  of  his  youth  in  puzzling  hi.^ 
companions  on  points  in  divinity,  tili  he  saw  his 
folly,  and  without  getting  his  mouth  shut,  was 
•jiute; — That  on  his  return  home  from  Stour- 
bridge school  in  his  eighteenth  year  "he  had 
no  settled  plan  of  life,  nor  looked  forward  at 
all,  but  merely  lived  from  day  to  day" — like 
Burns  who,  when  a  year  or  two  older,  in  his 
perplexity  writes  to  his  father  that  he  knows 
not  what  to  do,  and  is  sick  of  life; — That  his 
love  of  literature  was  excited  by  accidentally 


! 


I 


92 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WKITINGS  OF  BUKNS. 


finding  a  folio  Petrarch — as  Burns's  love  of 
poetry-  was  by  an  octavo  Shenstone; — That  he 
thereon  became  a  gluttonous  book-devourcr — 
as  Burns  did — "no  book  being  so  voluminous 
as  to  slacken  his  industry,  or  so  antiquated  as 
to  damp  his  r-^searches;" — That  in  his  twen- 
tieth year  he  felt  himself  "overwhelmed  with 
a  horrible  hypochondria,  with  perpetual  irrita- 
tion, fretfulness,  and  impatience,  and  with  a 
dejection,  gloom,  and  despair  which  rendered 
existence  misery" — as  Burns  tells  us  he  was 
afflicted — even  earlier — and  to  the  last — 
"with  a  constitutional  melancholy  or  hypo- 
chondriasm  that  made  me  fly  tosolitude" — with 
horrid  flutterings  and  stoppages  of  the  heart 
that  often  almost  choked  liim,  so  that  he  had 
to  fall  out  of  bed  into  a  tub  of  water  to  allay 
the  anguisli; — That  he  was  at  Pembroke 
College  "caressed  and  loved  by  all  about  him 
as  a  gay  and  frolicsome  fellow" — while  "ah! 
Sir,  I  was  mad  and  violent — it  was  bitter- 
ness which  they  mistook  for  frolic" — just 
as  Burns  was  thought  to  be  "with  his  strong 
appetite  for  sociality  as  well  from  native 
hilarity  as  from  a  pride  of  observation  and 
remark, "  though  when  left  alone  desponding 
and  distracted; — "That  he  was  generally  seen 
lounging  at  the  College  gate,  with  a  circle  of 
young  students  around  him,  whom  he  was 
entertaining  with  wit,  and  keeping  from  their 
studies,  if  not  spiriting  them  up  to  rebellion 
against  the  College  discipline,  which  in  his 
maturer  years  he  so  much  extolled" — as  Burns 
was  sometimes  seen  at  the  door  of  a  Public 
ridiculing  the  candles  of  the  Auld  Light,  and 
even  spiriting  the  callants  against  the  Kirk 
itself,  which  we  trust  he  looked  on  more 
kindly  in  future  years; — That  he  had  to  quit 
college  on  his  father's  bankruptcy  soon  followed 
by  death,  as  Burns  in  similar  circumstances 
had  to  quit  Lochlea; — "That  in  the  forlorn 
state  of  his  circumstances,  ^JUtat.  23,  he  ac- 
cepted of  an  offer  to  be  employed  as  usher  in 
the  school  of  Market-Bosworth,"  where  he  was 
miserable — just  as  Burns  was  at  the  same  age, 
not  indeed  flogging  boys  but  flailing  barns,  "a 
poor,  insifiificant  devil,  unnoticed  and  un- 
known, and  stalking  up  and  down  fairs  and 
markets;" — That  soon  after  "he  published 
proposals  for  printing  by  subscription  the 
Latin  Poems  of  Politian  at  two  shillings  and 
sixpence,  but  that  there  were  not  subscribers 


enough  to  secure  a  suflicicnt  sale,  so  the  work 
never  appeared,  and  proliably  never  was  exe- 
cuted"— as  Burns  soon  after  issued  proposals 
for  printing  by  subscription  on  terms  rather 
higher  "among  otJiers  the  <Jrdination,  Scotch 
Drink,  the  Cotter's  Saturday  Night,  and  an 
Address  to  the  JJcil,"  which  volume  ere  long 
was  published  accordingly  and  had  a  great 
sale; — That  he  had,  "from  early  youth,  been 
sensible  to  the  influence  of  female  charms, 
and  when  at  Stourbridge  scliool  was  much  en- 
amoured of  Olivia  Lloyd,  a  \'iung  (Quaker,  to 
whom  he  wrote  a  copy  of  verses" — ^just  as 
Hums  was — and  did — in  the  case  of  Margaret 
Thomson,  in  the  kale-yard  at  Kirk  Oswald,  and 
of  many  others; — That  "his  juvenile  attach- 
ments to  the  fair  sex  were  however  very  tran- 
sicnt;  and  it  iscertain  that  he  formed  nocriminal 
connection  whatsoever.  Jlr.  Hector,  who  lived 
with  him  in  his  younger  days  in  the  utmost 
intimacy  and  social  freedom,  has  assured  me 
that  even  at  that  ardent  season  his  conduct  was 
strictly  virtuous  in  that  respect" — ^just  so  with 
Burns  who  fell  In  love  with  every  lass  he  saw 
"come  wading  barefoot  all  alane,"  while  his 
brother  Gilbert  gives  us  the  same  assurance 
of  his  continence  in  all  his  youthful  loves; — 
That  "in  a  man  whom  religious  education  has 
saved  from  licentious  indulgencies,  the  passion 
of  love  when  once  it  has  seized  him  is  exceeding 
strong;"  and  "this  was  experienced  l)y  John- 
son when  he  became  the  fervent  admirer  of 
51rs.  Porter  after  her  first  husband's  death" — 
as  it  was  unfortunately  too  much  the  case  with 
Bums,  though  he  did  not  marry  a  widow 
double  his  own  age — but  one  who  was  a  Maid 
till  she  met  Bob  Jlossgicl — and  some  six 
[eight]  years  younger  than  himself; — That 
unable  to  find  subsistence  in  his  native  place, 
or  any  where  else,  he  was  driven  by  want  to 
try  his  fortune  in  London,  "the  great  field  of 
genius  and  exertion,  where  talents  of  every 
kind  have  the  fullest  scope,  and  the  highest 
encouragement,"  on  his  way  thither,  "riding 
and  tying"  with  Davie  Garrick — ^just  .is  Burns 
was  impelled  to  make  an  experiment  on  Edin- 
burgh, journeying  thither  on  foot,^  but  with- 
out any  companion  in  his  adventure; — That 
after  getting  on  there  indiftcrently  well,  he 
returned  "in  the  course  of  the  next  summer 
to  Lichfield,  where  he  had  left  Jlrs.  Johnson," 
>  [See  note,  vol.  iv.  i).  39.] 


THE  GEXIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


93 


and  staid  there  three  weeks,  liis  mother  asking 
him  wliether,  when  in  London,  "He  was  one 
of  tliose  who  gave  tlic  wall  or  those  who  took 

it," just  as   Jiurns  returned   to   !Mauehlinc, 

whore  he  had  left  Mrs.  Ikirns,  and  remained 
in  the  neighbourhood  about  the  same  period 
of  time,  his  mother  liaving  said  to  him  on  his 
return,  "Oh,  Robert;"— That  he  took  his  wife 
bai'k  with  him  to  London,  resolving  to  supimrt 
her  the  best  way  he  could,  by  the  cultivation 
of  the  fields  of  literature,  and  chiefly  through 
an  engagement  as  ganger  and  supervisor  to 
Cave's  ^lagazine — as  JJurns,  with  similar  pur- 
poses, and  not  dissimilar  means,  brought  his 
wife  to  LUisIand,  then  to  ]3umfries; — That 
partly  from  necessity  and  partly  from  inclina- 
tion, he  used  to  perambulate  the  streets  of  the 
city  at  all  hours  of  the  night,  anil  was  far  from 
being  prim  or  precise  in  his  company,  associ- 
ating much  with  one  Savage  at  least  who  had 
rubbed  shoulders  with  the  gallows — just  as 
Burns  on  .(enny  CJeddes  and  her  successor 
kept  skirring  tlio  country  at  all  liours,  though 
we  do  not  hear  of  any  of  his  companions  hav- 
ing been  stabbers  in  brothel-brawls; — That  on 
the  publication  of  his  Lomloii,  that  city  rang 
with  applause  and  Pope  pronounced  the 
author — yet  anonymous — a  true  poet,  who 
would  soon  be  "diftrre,"  while  General  Ogle- 
thorpe became  his  patron,  and  such  a  prodi- 
gious sensation  did  his  genius  make,  that  in 
the  fulness  of  his  fame,  Earl  Oower  did  what 
he  could  to  set  him  on  the  way  of  being  ele- 
vated to  a  school  mastership  in  some  small 
village  in  Shropshire  or  Staf!brdshire,  "of 
which  the  certain  salary  was  nuii/  jioumls  a- 
year,  vhkh  u-ouhl  mah'  him  h(ip)»jfor  life" — 
so  said  English  Karl  Gower  to  an  Irish  Dean 
called  Jonathan  Swift — ^just  as  Hums  soon 
after  the  publication  of  "Tarn  o'  Shanter," 
was  in  great  favour  with  Captain  (irose — 
though  there  was  then  no  need  for  any  poet 
to  tell  the  world  he  was  one,  as  he  had  been 
"deterre"  a.  year  or  two  before,  and  by  the 
unexampled  exertions  of  Graham  of  Fintry, 
the  Earl  of  filcncairn  being  oblivious  or  dead, 
was  translated  to  the  diocese  of  Dumfries, 
where  he  died  in  the  thirty-eighth  year  of  his 
age;  the  very  year,  we  believe,  of  /lis,  in  which 
Johnson  issued  the  prospectus  of  his  Diction- 
ary;— and  here  we  leave  the  Lexicographer  for 
a  moment  to  himself,  and  let  our  mind  again 


be  occupied  for  a  moment  exclusively  by  the 
Exciseman. 

You  will  not  suppose  that  we  seriously  insist 
on  this  parallel  as  if  the  lines  throughout  ran 
straight;  or  ihat  we  are  not  well  aware  that 
there  was  far  from  being  in  reality  such  com- 
plete correspondence  of  the  circumstances — 
much  less  the  characters  of  the  men.  IJut 
both  had  to  struggle  for  their  very  lives — it 
was  sink  or  swim — and  by  their  own  buoyancy 
they  were  borne  up.  In  Johnson's  case,  there 
is  not  one  dark  stain  on  the  story  of  all  those 
melancholy  and  memorable  years.  Hawkins 
indeed  more  than  insinuates  that  there  was  a 
separation  between  him  and  his  wife,  at  the 
time  he  associated  with  Savage,  and  used  with 
that  profligate  lo  stroll  the  streets;  and  that 
she  was  ' '  harboured  by  a  friend  near  the 
Tower;"  but  t'roker  justly  remarks — "That 
there  never  has  existed  any  human  being,  all 
the  details  of  whose  life,  all  the  motives  of 
whose  actions,  all  the  thoughts  of  whose  mind, 
have  been  so  unreservedly  lirought  before  the 
public;  even  his  prayers,  his  most  secret  medi- 
tations, and  his  mostscrupulous  self-reproaches, 
have  been  laid  before  the  world;  and  there  is 
not  to  be  found,  in  all  the  unparalleled  in- 
formation thus  laid  before  us,  a  single  trace 
to  justify  the  accusation  which  Hawkins  so 
wantonly  and  so  odiously,  and,  it  may  be 
assumed,  so  falsely  makes."  However,  he 
walked  in  the  midst  of  evil — he  was  familiar 
with  the  faces  of  the  wicked — the  guilty,  as 
they  were  passing  by,  he  did  not  always  shun, 
as  if  they  were  lepers;  he  had  a  word  for  them 
— poor  as  he  was,  a  small  coin — for  they  were 
all  of  the  unfortunate  and  forlorn,  and  his 
heart  was  pitiful.  So  was  that  of  IJurns. 
^■ery  many  years  Heaven  allotted  to  the  Sage, 
that  virtue  might  be  instructed  by  wisdom — 
all  the  good  acknowledge  that  he  is  great — 
and  his  memory  is  hallowed  for  evermore  in 
the  gratitude  of  Christendom.  In  his  prime, 
it  pleased  God  to  cut  off  the  Poet — but  his 
genius  too  has  left  a  blessing  to  his  own  people 
— and  has  dift'used  noble  thoughts,  generous 
sentiments,  and  tender  feelings  over  many 
lands,  and  most  of  all  among  them  who  more 
especially  feel  that  they  are  his  brethren,  the 
Poor  who  make  the  Kich,  and  like  him  arc 
happy,  in  spite  of  its  hardships,  in  their  own 
I  condition.     Let  the  imperfections  of  his  char- 


H  i 

"l 

1 

^■■l 

;  * 

j 

' 

94 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BUKNS. 


acter  then  be  spared,  if  it  be  even  for  sake  of 
his  geniiw;  on  higher  grounds  let  it  be  hon- 
oured; for  if  there  was  much  weakness,  its 
strength  was  migiity,  and  his  rellijious  country 
is  privileged  to  forget  his  frailties,  in  humble 
trust  that  they  arc  forgiven. 

We  have  said  but  little  hitherto  of  Burns's 
religion.  Some  have  denied  that  he  had  any 
religion  at  all — a  rash  and  cruel  denial — made 
in  face  of  his  genius,  his  character,  and  his 
life.  What  man  in  his  senses  ever  lived  with- 
out religion?  "The  fool  hath  .said  in  his 
heart,  There  la  no  God" — was  JJurns  an 
atheist?  We  do  not  fear  to  say  that  he  was 
religious  far  beyond  the  common  run  of  men, 
even  theni  who  may  have  had  a  more  consistent 
and  better  considered  creed.  The  lessons  he 
received  in  tlie  "auld  clay  biggin"  v;crc  not 
forgotten  through  life.  He  speaks — and  we 
believe  him — of  his  "early  ingrained  piety" 
having  been  long  remembered  to  good  purpose 
— what  he  called  his  "idiot  piety" — not 
meaning  thereby  to  disparage  it.  but  merely 
that  it  Wiis  in  childhood  an  instinct.  "Our 
Father  which  art  in  heaven,  hallowed  be  thy 
name!"  is  breathed  from  the  lips  of  infancy 
with  the  same  feeling  at  its  heart  that  beats 
towards  its  father  on  earth,  as  it  kneels  in 
prayer  by  his  side.  No  one  surely  Avill  doubt 
his  sincerity  when  he  writes  from  Irvine  to 
his  father — "Honoured  Sir — .  .  .  I  am  quite 
transported  at  the  thought,  that  ere  long,  per- 
haps very  soon,  I  shall  bid  an  eternal  adieu 
to  all  the  pains,  and  uneasiness,  and  disquiet- 
udes of  this  Avcary  life ;  for  I  assure  you  I  am 
heartily  tired  of  it;  and  if  I  do  not  very  much 
deceive  myself,  I  could  contentedly  and  gladly 
resign  it.  It  is  for  this  reason  I  am  more 
pleased  with  the  IStli,  16th,  and  17th  verses 
of  the  7th  chapter  of  IJevclation.s,  than  with 
any  ten  times  as  many  verses  in  the  whole 
Bible,  and  would  not  exchange  the  noble  en- 
thusiasm with  which  they  inspire  me,  for  all 
that  this  world  has  to  oflTcr."  These  verses 
run  as  follows:  "15.  Therefore  are  they  before 
the  throne  of  God,  and  serve  him  day  and 
night  in  his  temple:  and  he  that  sittcth  on  the 
throne  shall  dwell  among  them.  16.  They 
shall  hunger  no  more,  neither  thirst  any 
more;  neither  shall  the  sun  light  on  them,  nor 
any  heat.  17.  For  the  Lamb  which  is  in  the 
midst  of  the  throne  shall  feed  them,  and  shall 


lead  them  unto  living  fountains  of  waters;  and 
God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  their 
eyes."  When  he  gives  lessons  to  a  young 
man  for  his  conduct  in  life,  one  of  them  is, 
"The  great  Creator  to  a<lore;"  when  he  con- 
soles a  friend  on  the  death  of  a  relative,  "he 
points  the  brimful  grief-worn  eyes  to  scenes 
beyond  the  grave;"  when  he  expresses  benevo- 
lence to  a  distressed  family,  he  beseeches  the 
aid  of  Him  "who  tempers  the  wind  to  the 
shorn  lamb;"  when  he  feels  the  need  of  aid  to 
control  his  passions,  he  imi)lorcs  that  of  liio 
"(treat  Governor  of  all  below;"  when  in  sick- 
ness, he  has  a  prayer  for  the  pardon  of  his 
erroi.-i,  and  an  expression  of  confidence  in  the 
goodness  of  God;  when  suffering  from  the  ills 
of  life,  he  asks  for  the  grace  of  resignation, 
"because  they  are  thy  will;"  when  he  observes 
the  sufferings  of  the  virtuous,  he  remembers  a 
rectifying  futurity; — he  is  religious  not  only 
when  surprised  by  occasions  such  as  these,  but 
also  on  set  occasions ;  he  had  regular  worship 
in  his  family  while  at  Ellisland — -wc  know 
not  how  it  was  at  Dumfries,  but  Ave  do  knoy 
that  there  he  catechised  his  children  every 
Sabbath  evening; — Nay,  he  does  not  enter  a 
Druidical  circle  without  a  prayer  to  God. 

He  viewed  the  Creator  chiefly  in  his  attri- 
butes of  love,  goodness,  and  mercy.  "  In  jiro- 
portion  as  we  are  wrung  with  grief,  or  dis- 
tracted with  anxiety,  the  ideas  of  a  superin- 
tending Deity,  an  Almighty  protector,  are 
doubly  dear."  Him  he  never  lost  sight  of  or 
confidence  in, even  in  the  depths  of  his  remorse. 
An  avenging  (Jod  was  too  seldom  in  his  con- 
templations— from  the  little  severity  in  his 
own  character — irom  a  philosophical  view  of 
the  inscrutable  causes  of  human  frailty — and 
most  of  all,  from  a  discaseil  aversion  to  what 
was  so  much  the  theme  of  the  sour  Calvinism 
around  him;  but  which  would  have  risen  up 
an  appalling  truth  in  such  a  soul  us  his,  had  it 
been  habituated  to  proioundcr  thought  on  the 
mysterious  corruption  of  our  fallen  luxture. 

Sceptical  thoughts  as  to  revealed  rclitiion 
had  assailed  his  mind,  wliile  with  expan('..'>ig 
powers  it  "communed  Avith  the  glorious  uiii- 
A'crse;"  and  in  17S7  he  Avrites  from  Edinburgh 
to  a  "  Mr.  James  Candlish,  stiident  in  physic, 
Glasgow  College,"  Avho  had  favoured  him  Avith 
a  long  argumentative  infidel  letter,  "I,  like- 
Avise,  since  you  and  I  Avere  first  acquainted, 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


95 


in  the  pride  of  despising  old  women's  stories, 
ventured  in  'the  daring  path  Spino/a  trod;' 
liut  experience  of  the  weakness,  not  the 
strcngtli  of  liuman  powers,  ^nade  vie  <jl(td  to 
iirii.<i>  (it  irveiiled  reUijioii."  When  at  EUisIand 
he  Avrites  to  Jlrs.  Dunlop,  "  My  idle  reasonings 
sometimes  make  me  a  little  seeptieal,  but  the 
necessities  of  my  heart  always  give  the  cold 
)ihiIosophizing3  the  lie.  Who  looks  for  the 
heart  weaned  from  earth;  the  soul  affianced  to 
hertiod;  the  correspondence  fixed  with  heaven; 
the  pious  supplication  and  devout  thanks- 
giving, constant  as  the  vicissitudes  of  even  and 
morn;  who  thinks  to  meet  with  these  in  the 
court,  the  palace,  in  the  glare  of  public  life? 
No:  to  find  them  in  their  precious  importance 
and  divine  efficacy,  we  must  search  among  the 
obscure  recesses  of  disappointment,  atllictio  ,, 
poverty,  and  distress."  And  again,  next  year, 
from  the  same  place  to  the  same  correspondent, 
"That  there  is  an  incomprehensible  Great 
Being,  to  whom  I  owe  my  existence,  and  that 
he  must  be  intimately  ac<iuaintcd  with  the 
operations  and  progress  of  the  internal  ma- 
chinery and  consequent  outward  deportment 
of  this  creature  which  he  has  made — these  are, 
1  think,  self-evident  propositions.  That  there 
is  a  real  and  eternal  distinction  between  virtue 
and  vice,  and  consequently,  that  I  am  an  ac- 
countable creature;  that  from  the  seeming 
nature  of  the  human  mind,  as  well  as  from 
the  evident  imperfection,  nay  positive  injus- 
tice, in  the  administiiition  of  affiiirs,  both  in 
the  natural  and  moral  worlds,  there  must  be  a 
retributive  scene  of  existence  beyond  the  grave; 
must,  I  think,  be  alloAved  by  every  one  who  will 
give  himself  a  moment's  reflection.  I  will  go 
farther  and  affirm,  that  from  the  sublimity, 
excellence,  and  purity  of  his  doctrine  and  pre- 
cepts, unparalleled  by  all  the  aggregated  wis- 
dom and  learning  of  many  preceding  ages, 
though  to  a])p<'(iriincp  he  himself  was  the 
obscurest  and  most  illiterate  of  our  species; 
therefore  Jesus  was  from  Clod."  Indcetl,  all 
his  best  letters  to  ilrs.  Dunlop  arc  full  of  the 
expression  of  religious  feeling  and  religious 
faith;  though  it  must  be  confessed  with  pain, 
that  he  speaks  with  more  confidence  in  the 
trulli  of  natural  than  of  revealed  religion,  and 
too  often  lets  sentiments  inadvertently  escape 
him,  that,  taken  by  themselves,  would  imply 
that  his  religious  belief  was  but  a  Christianized 


Theism.  Of  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  he 
never  expresses  any  serious  doubt,  though  now 
and  then  his  expressions,  though  beautiful, 
want  their  usual  force,  as  if  he  felt  the  inade- 
quacy of  the  human  mind  to  the  magnitude 
of  the  theme.  ' '  Y'e  venerable  sages,  and  holy 
flamens,  is  there  probability  in  your  conjec- 
tures, truth  in  your  stories  of  another  world 
beyond  death;  or  are  they  all  alike  baseless 
visions  and  fabricated  fables?  If  there  is  an- 
other life,  it  must  be  only  for  the  just,  the 
amiable,  and  the  humane.  What  a  flattering 
idea  this  of  the  world  to  come !  Would  to  tiod 
1  as  firmly  believed  it  as  I  ardently  wish  it," 

How  then  could  honour'd  Thomas  t'arlyle 
bring  liimself  to  affirm,  "that  Hums  had  no 
religion?"  His  religion  was  in  much  imper- 
fect— but  its  incompleteness  you  discern  only 
on  a  survey  of  all  his  effusions,  and  by  infer- 
ence; for  his  partieularexpressions  of  a  religious 
kind  are  genuine,  and  as  acknowledgments  of 
the  superabundant  goodness  and  greatness  of 
God,  tlicy  are  in  unison  with  the  sentiments 
of  the  devoutest  Christian.  But  remorse  never 
suggests  to  him  the  inevitable  corruption  of 
man;  Christian  humility  he  too  seldom  dwells 
on,  though  without  it  there  cannot  be  Christian 
faith;  and  he  is  silent  on  the  need  of  recon- 
cilement between  the  divine  attributes  of  Jus- 
tice and  Mercy.  The  absence  of  all  this  might 
pass  unnoticed,  were  not  the  religious  senti- 
ment so  prevalent  in  his  confidential  commu- 
nications with  his  friends  in  his  most  serious 
and  solemn  moods.  In  them  there  is  frequent, 
habitual  recognition  of  the  Creator;  and  who 
that  finds  joy  and  beauty  in  nature  has  not 
the  same?  It  may  be  well  supposed  that  if 
common  men  are  more  ideal  in  religion  than 
in  other  things,  so  would  be  Hums.  He  who 
lent  the  colours  of  his  fancy  to  common  things, 
would  not  withhold  them  from  divine.  Some- 
thing— he  knew  not  what — he  would  exact  of 
man — more  impressively  reverential  than  any 
thing  he  is  wont  to  oft'er  to  God,  or  perhaps 
can  offer  in  the  way  of  institution — in  temples 
made  with  hands.  The  hi-artfclt  adoration 
always  has  a  grace  for  him  —  in  the  silent 
bosom — in  the  lonely  cottage — in  any  place 
where  circumstances  are  a  pledge  of  its  reality; 
but  the  moment  it  ceases  to  be  heart/elf,  and 
visibly  so,  it  loses  his  respect,  it  seems  as 
profanation.     'Oline  is  the  religion  of  the 


DG 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


^ 


h 


brcastj"  and  if  it  be  not,  what  in  it  worth? 
Hut  it  must  also  revive  a  ri.niit  spirit  witiiia 
us;  and  tliere  may  be  gratitude  for  goodness 
witliout  sueii  eiiango  as  is  required  of  us  in 
tiic  gospel.  He  was  too  buoyant  witli  immor- 
tal spirit  within  him,  not  to  credit  its  immor- 
tal destination;  he  was  too  thoughtful  in  his 
human  love  not  to  feel  how  dill'erent  must  be 
our  afleetions  if  they  arc  towards  flowers  which 
the  blast  of  death  may  wither,  or  towards 
spirits  which  are  l)ut  beginning  to  live  in  our 
sight,  antl  are  gathering  good  and  evil  here 
for  an  eternal  life.  JJunis  l)elieved  that  by 
his  own  unassisted  understanding,  and  his  own 
unassisted  heart,  he  saw  and  felt  those  great 
truths,  forgetful  of  tiiis  great  i-uth,  that  he 
had  been  taught  tliem  in  the  Written  Word. 
Had  all  he  learned  in  the  "auld  clay  biguin" 
become  a  blank — all  the  knowledge  inspired 
into  his  lieart  during  the  evenings,  when  "  the 
sire  turned  o'er,  wi'  patriarchal  grace,  the  big 
ha'-biblc,  ance  his  father's  pride,"  how  little 
or  how  much  would  he  then  have  knc  i  of 
God  and  Immortality?  In  that  delusion  he 
shared  more  or  less  with  one  and  all — whether 
poets  or  philosophers — who  have  put  their 
trust  in  natural  Theology.  As  to  the  glooms  in 
which  his  sceptical  reason  had  been  involved, 
they  do  not  .seem  to  have  been  so  thick — so 
dense — as  in  the  case  of  men  without  number 
who  have  by  the  blessing  of  God  become  true 
Christians.  Of  his  levities  on  certain  celebra- 
tions of  religious  rites,  we  before  ventured  an 
explanation;  and  while  it  is  to  be  lamented 
that  he  did  not  more  frequently  dedicate  the 
genius  that  shed  so  holy  a  lustre  over  "The 
Cotter's  Saturday  Night, "  to  the  service  of  re- 
ligion, let  it  be  remembered  how  few  poets 
have  done  so — alas!  too  few — that  he,  like  his 
tuneful  brethren,  must  often  have  been  de- 
terred by  a  sense  of  his  own  imworthiness  from 
approaching  its  awful  mysteries — and  above 
all,  that  he  was  called  to  his  account  before  he 
had  attained  his  thoughtful  prime. 

And  now  that  we  are  approaching  the  close 
of  our  Memoir,  it  may  be  well  for  a  little 
while  clearly  to  consider  Burns's  position  in 
this  world  of  ours,  where  we  humans  often 
find  ourselves,  we  cannot  tell  how,  in  strange 
positions;  and  where  there  are  on  all  hands  so 
many  unintelligible  things  going  on,  that  in 
all  languages  an  active  existence  is  assumed 


of  such  powers  as  Chance,  Fortune,  and  Fate. 
Was  he  more  unhappy  than  the  generality  of 
gifted  men?  In  what  did  liuit  unhap|pincss 
consist?  How  far  was  it  owing  to  himself  or 
others? 

We  have  seen  that  up  to  early  manhood  his 
life  was  virtuous,  and  therefore  must  have 
l)een  happy — that  by  magnanimously  enduring 
a  hard  lot,  he  made  it  veritably  a  light  one — 
and  that  though  subject  "to  a  constitutional 
melancholy  k,:  liypochoiulriasm  that  made  him 
fly  to  solitude,"  he  enjoyed  the  society  of  his 
own  humble  splu  'c  with  proportionate  enthu- 
siasm, and  even  then  derived  deep  delight 
from  his  genius.  That  genius  quickly  waxed 
strong,  and  very  suddeidy  he  was  in  full  power 
as  a  poet.  No  sooner  was  passion  indulged 
than  it  prevailed — and  he  who  had  so  often 
felt  during  his  abstinent  sore-toiled  youth  that 
"a  blink  of  rest's  a  sweet  enjoyment,"  luul 
now  often  to  rue  the  self-l)rought  troul)lc  that 
Ijanishes  rest  even  from  the  bed  of  labour, 
whose  .sleep  would  otherwise  be  without  a 
dream.  "I  have  for  some  time  been  pining 
under  secret  wretchedness,  from  causes  which 
you  pretty  well  know — the  pang  of  disappoint- 
ment, the  sting  of  pride,  with  some  wandering 
stabs  of  remorse,  which  never  fail  to  settle  on 
my  vitals  like  vultures,  when  attention  is  not 
called  away  by  the  calls  of  society,  or  the 
vagaries  of  the  mnse.''^  These  agonies  had  a 
well-known  particular  cause,  but  his  errors 
were  frequent,  anil  to  his  own  eyes  flagrant — 
yet  he  was  no  irreligious  person — and  ex- 
claimed—  "0,  thou  great  unknown  Power! — 
thou  Almighty  God !  who  hast  lighted  up  rea- 
son in  my  breast,  and  blest  me  with  immor- 
tality!— I  have  frequently  wandered  from  that 
order  and  regularity  necessary  for  the  perfec- 
tion of  thy  works,  yet  thou  hast  never  left  me 
nor  forsaken  me!"^  What  signified  it  to  him 
that  he  was  then  very  poor?  The  worst  evils 
of  poverty  are  moral  evils,  and  them  he  then 
knew  not;  nay  in  that  school  he  was  trained 
to  many  virtues,  which  might  not  have  been 
.so  conspicuous  even  in  his  noble  nature,  but 
for  that  severest  nurture.  Shall  we  ask,  what 
signified  it  to  him  that  he  was  very  poor  to 
the  last?  Alas!  it  signified  much;  for  when 
a  poor  man  becomes  a  husband  and  a  father, 
a  new  heart  is  created  within  him,  and  he 
»  Letter  to  Kobt.  Aiken,  October,  1780.    =  Ihe  same. 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


07 


often  finds  himself  trcmliling  in  fits  of  unen- 
(luialile,  because  unaviiiling  fears.  Of  such 
anxieties  IJurns  sufl'eied  mucii;  yet  better  men 
tJKiu  Burns — better  because  solier  and  more 
relitfious — have  wutlcred  far  more;  nor  in  their 
humility  and  resiffiiation  did  they  say  even 
unto  themselves  "that  God  had  jjiven  their 
share."  His  worst  suttcriniis  hail  their  source 
in  a  region  impenetrable  to  the  visitations  of 
mere  worldly  calamities;  and  might  have  been 
even  more  direful,  had  his  life  ba.sked  in  the 
beams  of  fortune,  in  place  of  being  chilled  in 
its  shade.  "My  mind  my  kingdom  is" — few 
men  have  had  better  title  to  make  that  boast 
than  iJurns;  but  sometimes  raged  there  :  'hh 
qudin  cicU'in  hcltit — and  on  the  rebellious  pas- 
sions, no  longer  subjects,  at  times  it  seemed  as 
if  he  cured  not  to  impose  peace. 

Why,  then,  such  clamour  about  his  condition 
— such  outcry  aliout  his  circumstances — such 
horror  of  his  E.xcisemanship?  Why  sliould 
Scotland,  on  whose  "brow  shame  is  ashamed 
to  sit,"  hang  down  her  head  when  bethinking 
her  of  how  she  treated  him?  Hers  the  glory 
of  having  y^ro(/«cef/  hbn;  wiierc  lies  the  blame 
of  his  penury,  his  soul's  trouble,  his  living 
body's  emaciation,  its  untimely  death? 

His  country  cried,  "All  hail,  mine  own  in- 
spired Hard!"  and  his  heart  was  in  heaven. 
But  heaven  on  earth  is  a  mid-region  not  un- 
visited  by  storms.  Divine  indeed  must  be  the 
descending  light,  but  the  ascending  gloom 
may  be  dismal;  in  imagination's  airy  realms 
the  I'oet  cannot  forget  he  is  a  Man — his  pas- 
sions j)ursue  him  thither — and  "  tiiat  mystical 
roof  fretted  with  golden  fire,  why  it  appears  no 
other  thing  to  them  than  a  foul  and  pestilent 
consrregation  of  vapours."  The  primeval  curse 
is  felt  through  all  the  regions  of  being;  and 
he  who  in  the  desire  of  fame  having  merged 
all  other  desires,  finds  himself  on  a  sudden  in 
its  blaze,  is  disappointed  of  his  spirit's  corre- 
spoiuling  transport,  without  which  it  is  but  a 
glare;  and  remembering  the  sweet  calm  of  his 
obscurity,  when  it  was  enlivened  not  aisturbcd 
by  soaring  aspirations,  would  fain  fly  back  to 
its  secluded  shades,  and  be  again  his  own 
lowly  natural  self  in  the  privacy  of  his  owti 
humble  birth-place.  Something  of  this  kind 
liappened  to  Burns.  He  was  soon  sick  of  the 
dust  and  din  that  attended  him  on  his  illumined 
path;  and  felt  that  he  had  been  happier  at 


Mossgicl  than  he  ever  was  in  the  Metropolis — 
when  but  to  relieve  his  heart  o»'  Hs  pathos,  he 
sung  in  the  solitary  field  to  uic  mountain 
daisy,  than  when  to  win  applause  on  the 
crowded  street  he  chauuted  in  ambitious 
strains — 

Edinn !  Scotia's  ilnrlinK  sunt ! 

All  hail  tliy  jmliicus  nnil  towurs, 
Whuru  uiiL'b  beiiuitth  ii  iiiuniircirs  feet 

.Sat  Lt'({lslnti(in's  sovieiga  powt'i's! 
From  niiu'kiii);  wihlly-sciittci'd  Howurs, 

As  on  the  Imnks  of  Ayr  I  stray'd, 
And  sinitliiK,  lone,  tliu  ling'HiiK  hours, 

I  shelter  in  thy  hunuui'il  shade. 

He  returned  to  liis  natural  condition  when 
he  settled  at  EUisland.  Nor  can  we  see  what 
some  have  seen,  any  strong  desire  in  him  after 
preferment  to  a  higher  sphere.  Such  thoughts 
sometimes  must  have  entered  his  mind,  but 
found  no  permanent  dwelling  there;  and  he 
fell  back,  not  only  without  pain,  but  with 
more  than  pleasure,  on  all  the  remembrances 
of  his  humble  life.  He  resolved  to  pursue  it 
in  the  same  scenes,  and  the  same  occupations, 
and  to  continue  to  be  what  he  had  always  been 
— a  Farmer. 

And  why  should  the  Caledonian  Hunt  have 
wished  to  divert  or  prevent  him?  Why  should 
Scotland  ?  What  patronage,  pray  tell  us,  ought 
the  Million  and  Two  Thirds  to  have  bestowed 
on  their  poet?  With  five  hundred  pounds  in 
the  pockets  of  his  buckskin  breeches,  perhaps 
he  was  about  as  rich  as  yourself — and  then  he 
had  a  mine — wliieh  we  hope  you  have  too — 
in  his  brain.  Something  no  doubt  miijht  have 
been  done  for  him, — and  if  you  insist  that 
something  should,  we  are  not  in  the  humour 
of  argumentation,  and  shall  merely  observe 
that  the  opportunities  to  serve  him  were  some- 
what narrowed  by  the  want  of  special  prepa- 
ration for  any  profession;  but  supposing  that 
nobody  thought  of  promoting  him,  it  was 
simply  because  every  body  was  tiiinking  of 
getting  promoted  himself;  and  though  selfish- 
ness is  very  odious,  not  more  so  surely  in 
Scotsmen  than  in  other  people,  except  indeed 
that  more  is  expected  from  them  on  account 
of  their  superior  intelligence  and  virtue. 

Burns's  great  calling  here  below  was  to  illus- 
trate the  peasant  life  of  Scotland.  Ages  may 
pass  without  another  arising  fit  for  that  task; 
meanwhile  the  whole  pageant  of  Scottish  life 
has  passed  away  without  a  record.     Let  him 


98 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OP  BURNS. 


!  m 


remain,  therefore,  in  the  pluoe  wliich  best  fits 
liini  for  tiio  tasii,  tliouKli  it  nmy  not  l)e  tlic 
l)ust  for  his  pcrsoniil  comfort.  If  an  individual 
can  servo  liin  country  at  tiie  cxjienso  of  his 
comfort,  he  must,  and  otiierssiiouid  not  hinder 
liini;  if  >clf-sacri(icu  is  re(|uircd  of  1dm,  they 
must  not  he  Idamed  for  permittini,'  it.  Burns 
followed  his  tailing  to  the  last,  with  more  lets 
and  hindrances  than  the  friends  of  humanity 
could  have  wished;  hut  with  a  power  that 
nii!,'ht  have  been  weakened  by  his  removal 
from  what  he  loved  and  glorictl  in — by  the 
disruption  of  his  heart  from  its  habits,  and  the 
breakini,'  up  of  that  custom  which  with  many 
men  becomes  second  nature,  but  which  with 
him  was  corroboration  and  sanctificalion  of  the 
first,  both  being  but  one  agency — its  products 
how  beautiful!  Like  the  flower  and  fruit  of 
a  tree  that  grows  well  only  in  its  own  soil  and 
by  its  own  river. 

Hut  a  GaiKjer!  What  do  we  .say  to  that? 
Was  it  not  most  unworthy?  We  ask,  unworthy 
what?  You  answer,  his  genius.  But  who 
expects  the  employments  by  which  men  live 
to  be  entirely  worthy  of  their  genius — eon- 
genial  with  their  dispositions — suited  to  the 
Btrueturo  of  their  souls?  It  sometimes  liap- 
pens — but  far  oftener  not — rarely  in  the  case 
Off  poets — and  most  rarely  of  all  in  the  case  of 
such  a  poet  as  Burns.  It  is  a  law  of  nature 
that  the  things  of  the  world  come  by  honest 
industry,  and  that  genius  is  its  own  reward,  in 
the  pleasure  of  its  exertions  and  its  applause. 
But  who  made  Burns  a  ganger?  Himself. 
It  was  his  own  choice.  "  I  have  been  feeling 
all  the  various  rotations  and  movements  within, 
respecting  the  excise,"  lie  writes  to  Aiken  soon 
after  the  Kilmarnock  edition.  "TheiC  are 
many  things  plead  strongly  against  it,"  he 
add.s,  but  these  were  all  connected  with  his 
unfortunate  private  afKiirs — to  the  calling  it- 
self he  had  no  repugnance — what  he  most 
feared  was  "the  uncertainty  of  getting  lOon 
into  busines.s. "  To  Graham  of  Fintry  he  writes, 
a  year  after  the  Edinburgh  edition,  "You  know, 
I  dare  say,  of  an  application  I  lately  made  to 
your  Board  to  be  admitted  an  olfieer  of  Excise. 
I  have,  according  to  form,  been  examined  by 
a  supervisor,  and  to-day  I  gave  in  his  certifi- 
cate, with  a  request  for  an  order  for  instruc- 
tions. In  this  aflfair,  if  I  succeed,  I  am  afraid 
I  shall  but  too  much  need  a  patronizing  friend. 


Propriety  of  conduct  as  a  man,  and  fidelity  and 
att'iition  as  an  otlicer,  I  dare  engage  for;  Imi 
with  luui  t/iliiij  lib  ftit.iiiii'xM,  e.iri'iit  rnuitunl 
liilioin;  I  am  totally  unuc(iuaiuted.  ...  I 
know,  .Sir,  that  to  n>,ed  your  goodness  is  to 
have  a  claim  on  it;  may  1  therefore  beg  your 
patronage  to  forward  nic  in  this  aTair,  till  1 
be  appolntu<l  to  a  division;  where,  by  the  'lelp 
of  rigid  economy,  I  will  try  to  support  the  in- 
dependence so  dear  to  my  soul,  but  which  has 
been  too  often  so  distant  from  my  situation." 
To  Jliss  Chalmers  he  writes,  "You  will  con- 
demn me  for  the  next  step  I  have  taken.  I 
have  entered  into  the  Excise.  ...  1  have  chosen 
this,  my  dear  friend,  after  mature  deliberation. 
The  question  is  not  at  what  door  of  Fortune's 
Palace  shall  we  enter  in;  but  what  doors  does 
she  open  to  us?  ...  I  got  this  without  any 
hanging  on,  or  mortifying  solicitation.  It  is 
immediate  bread,  and,  though  poor  in  compari- 
son of  the  last  eighteen  months  of  my  existence, 
'tis  luxury  in  comparison  of  all  my  preceding 
life:  besides  the  Commissioners  are  some  of 
them  my  acquaintances,  and  all  of  them  my 
firm  friends. "  To  Dr.  Moore  he  writes, ' '  There 
is  still  one  thing  would  make  my  circumstances 
quite  easy:  I  have  an  excise  officer's  commis- 
sion, and  I  live  in  the  midst  of  a  country  divi- 
sion. .  .  .  If  I  were  very  sanguine,  I  might  hope 
that  some  of  my  great  patrons  might  procure 
me  a  treasury  warrant  for  supervisor,  s\irveyor- 
general,  &c."  It  is  needless  to  multiply  quota- 
tions to  the  same  efl'ect.  Burns  with  his  usual 
good  sense  took  into  account,  in  his  own  esti- 
mate of  such  a  calling,  not  his  genius,  which  had 
really  nothing  to  do  with  it,  but  all  his  early 
circumstances,  and  his  present  prospects — nor 
does  it  seem  at  any  time  to  have  been  a  source 
of  much  discomfort  to  himself — on  the  con- 
trary, he  looks  forward  to  an  increa.se  of  his 
emoluments  with  hope  and  satisfaction.  We  are 
not  now  speaking  of  the  disappointment  of  his 
hopes  of  rising  in  the  profession,  but  of  the  pro- 
fession itself — "A  supervisor's  income  varies," 
he  says,  in  a  letter  to  Heron  of  that  ilk,  "from 
about  a  hundred  and  twenty  to  two  hundred  a 
year;  but  the  business  is  an  incessant  drudgery, 
and  would  be  nearly  a  complete  bar  to  every 
species  of  literary  pursuit.  The  moment  I 
am  appointed  supervisor,  in  the  common  rou- 
tine I  may  be  nominated  on  the  collector's 
list;  and  this  is  always  a  business  purely  of 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


9i) 


liolilical  pntronnjre.  v^  CollectorHliip  viiricn 
luiifli,  from  bettor  tlian  two  liiiiKlred  ft  your 
til  mar  a  thoueainl.  They  also  oomc  forward 
1)V  iirooctloiiey  on  tlio  lixl;  and  have,  l)esidos 
n  luindsomo  ineoine,  a  life  of  eoinploto  Ici- 
h\iro.  A  lifo  "f  literary  leisure,  with  u  decent 
c'limpclcni-y,  is  the  siunniit  of  my  wishes." 
With  siK'li  views,  Hums  beeame  a  gaiiner 
ns  well  as  a  farmer — we  can  see  no  dc^rada- 
tidu  in  his  liavinu;  <lono  so — no  reason  why 
wliinipcrin!,'  cockneys  should  continually  cry, 
" Shame!  shame!  on  Scotland"  for  imvinj:f  let 
n|(„„„^" — jis  tliey  pronounce  him — adopt 
his  own  mode  of  life.  Allan  Cunningham 
informs  us  that  the  otHcers  of  c-xeise  on  tiie 
Nith  were  then  a  very  Hupcrior  set  of  men 
iiiiloed  to  tliose  who  now  ply  on  the  Thames. 
IJiiiiis  saw  nothing  to  despise  in  honest  men 
who  dill  their  duty — he  could  pick  and  choose 
among  them — and  you  do  not  imagine  that  he 
was  obliged  to  associate  exclusively  or  inti- 
mately with  usiiers  of  the  rod.  Gangers  are 
gregarious,  but  not  so  gregarious  as  barristers 
ami  bagmen.  The  C'lul)  is  composed  of  ganger, 
siiop-kcepor,  schoolmaster,  surgeon,  retired 
inLMvhant,  minister,  assistant -and -successor, 
cidovant  militia  captain,  one  of  the  heroes  of 
the  I'cninsula  with  a  wooden  leg,  and  Imply  a 
liorse-marine.  These  are  tiie  ordinary  mem- 
bers; but  among  the  honorary  you  find  men  of 
high  degree,  squires  of  some  thousands,  and 
baronets  of  some  liundreds  a  year.  The  rise 
in  tliat  department  has  been  sometimes  so  sud- 
den as  to  astonish  the  nnexcised.  A  gauger. 
of  a  very  few  years'  standing,  has  been  known, 
after  a  quarter's  supervisorship,  to  ascend  the 
collector's — and  ere  this  planet  had  performed 
another  revolution  round  the  sun — the  Comp- 
troller's chair — from  which  he  might  well  look 
down  on  ilie  Chancellor  of  England. 

Let  it  not  be  tiiought  that  we  arc  running 
counter  to  the  common  feeling  in  what  we 
have  now  been  saying,  nor  blame  us  for  speak- 
ing in  a  tone  of  levity  on  a  serious  subject.  We 
cannot  bear  to  hear  people  at  one  hour  scorn- 
ing the  distinctions  of  rank,  and  acknowledging 
none  but  of  worth;  and  at  another  whining 
for  the  sake  of  worth  without  rank,  and  esti- 
Tnating  a  man's  happiness — which  is  some- 
thing more  than  Ids  respectability — by  the 
amount  of  his  income,  or  according  to  the 
calling  from  which  it  is  derived.  Such  persons 


caimot  have  rcail  Burns.  ( »r  do  they  think 
that  such  sentiments  us  "The  rank  is  Imt  the 
guinea's  stamp,  the  man's  the gowd  fura'  that," 
are  all  very  line  in  verse,  but  have  no  place  iu 
the  prose  of  life — no  apjilicaiion  among  men 
of  sense  to  its  concerns'.'  IJut  in  how  many 
departments  have  not  men  to  addict  them- 
selves almost  all  their  lives  to  the  performance 
of  duties,  wliich  merely  as  acts  or  occupations, 
arc  in  themselves  as  unintelloctual  as  poli>hiMg 
a  pin?  Why,  a  pin-polisher  nuiy  be  a  poet  — 
who  rounds  its  iiead  an  orator — who  sharpens 
its  point  a  metaphysician.  Wait  his  time,  and 
you  iiear  the  first  singing  like  a  nightingale 
in  the  autumnal  season;  the  second  roaring 
like  a  bull,  and  no  mistake;  the  third,  in  wan- 
dering mazes  lost,  like  a  prisoner  trying  to 
thread  the  Cretan  labyrinth  without  his  cluo. 
Let  a  man  but  have  something  that  he  must 
do  or  starve,  noi  be  nice  about  its  nature;  ami 
bo  ye  under  no  alarm  about  the  degradation 
of  his  soul.  Let  hi  even  be  a  tailor — nay, 
tliat  is  carrying  the  principle  too  far;  but  any 
other  handicraft  let  him  for  short  hours — ten 
out  of  the  eighteen  (six  he  may  sleep)  for  three 
score  years  and  ten  assiduously  cultivate,  or  if 
fate  have  placed  him  in  a  mpcry,  doggedly 
pursue;  and  if  nature  h^ivc  given  him  genius, 
he  will  find  time  to  instruct  or  enchant  the 
world — if  but  goodnes-,  time  to  benefit  it  liy 
his  example,  "though  nrver  heard  of  half  a 
mile  from  home." 

WIk>  in  this  country,  if  you  except  an  occa- 
sional statesman,  take  their  places  at  once  in 
the  highest  grade  of  their  calling?  In  the 
learned  professions,  what  obscurest  toil  must 
not  the  brightest  go  through!  Under  what 
a  pressure  of  mean  observances  the  proudest 
stoop  their  heads!  The  colour-ensign  in  a  black 
regiment  has  risen  to  be  colonel  in  the  Rifle- 
brigade.  The  middy  in  a  gun-brig  on  the 
African  station  has  commanded  a  three-decker 
at  Trafalgar.  Through  successive  grades  they 
must  all  go — the  armed  and  the  gowned  alike; 
the  great  law  of  advancement  holds  among 
men  of  noble  and  of  ignoble  birth — not  without 
exceptions  indeed  in  favour  of  family,  and  of 
fortune  too,  more  or  less  frequent,  more  or  less 
flagrant — but  talent,  and  integrity,  and  hon- 
our, and  learning,  and  genius,  are  not  often 
heard  complaining  of  foul  play — if  you  deny 
it,  their  triumph  is  the  more  glorious,  for 


■i  I 


100 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  IJURNH. 


.    \l. 


generally  they  win  tlic  day,  nnil  when  tlicy 
have  »(in  it — tiiut  i»,  risen  in  tlieir  prolewion 
— wlmt  beeoniuH  of  tiiem  then?  Soidiern  or 
civiliun^^,  tliey  must  go  wiicre  they  are  ordered 
— in  uiiedienec  to  the  banio  great  law;  tiiey 
appeal  to  tiicir  ttervlceH  when  insiitting  on  being 
Ment— and  in  Home  pnstiiential  clinmto  Hwift 
deatii  lienumbs 

Unnils  tlint  the  rmt  of  empire  miKht  have  sway'd— 
Ur  wnk'tl  tu  ucstacy  tliu  living  lyre. 

It  18  drudgery  to  Hit  nix,  or  eight,  or  ten 
liouri*  a  day  as  a  cleric  in  the  India-houHc;  but 
(.'liarles  hunili  endured  it  for  forty  years,  not 
without  much  headache  and  iieartaclie  too,  we 
dare  say;  but  Klia  shown  us  how  tiie  unwearied 
Hanie  of  genius  can  please  itself  by  playing 
in  tlie  thickest  gloom  —  how  fancy  can  people 
dreariest  vacancy  with  rarest  creatures  holding 
communion  in  quaintest  converse  with  the 
finest  feelings  of  the  tlioughtful  heart — how- 
eyes  dim  with  poring  all  day  on  a  ledger,  can 
glisten  through  the  evening,  and  far  on  into 
the  night,  with  those  alternate  visitings  of 
humour  and  of  pathos  that  for  a  while  come  and 
go  as  if  from  regions  in  the  spirit  separate  and 
ajiart,  but  ere  long  by  their  quiet  blending 
persuade  u-  to  believe  that  their  sources  are 
close  adjao  ..  t,  and  that  the  streams,  when  left 
to  them;<ei\es,  often  love  to  unite  their  courses, 
and  to  flow  on  together  with  merry  or  melan- 
choly music,  just  as  we  choose  to  think  it,  as 
smiles  may  be  the  order  of  the  hour,  or  as  wc 
may  be  commanded  by  the  touch  of  some  un- 
known power  within  us  to  indulge  the  luxury 
of  tears. 

Why,  then,  wc  ask  again,  such  lamentation 
for  the  fate  of  Hums?  Why  should  not  he 
have  been  left  to  make  his  own  way  in  life 
like  other  men  gifted  or  ungifted?  A  man  of 
great  genius  in  the  prime  of  life  is  poor.  But 
his  poverty  did  not  for  any  long  time  neces- 
sarily affect  the  welfare  or  even  comfort  of  the 
poet,  and  therefore  created  no  obligation  on 
his  country  to  interfere  with  his  lot.  He  was 
born  and  bred  in  an  humble  station — but  such 
as  it  was,  it  did  not  impede  his  culture,  fame, 
or  service  to  his  people,  or,  rightly  considered, 
his  own  happiness;  let  him  remain  in  it,  or 
leave  it  as  he  will  and  can,  but  there  was  no 
obligation  on  others  to  take  him  out  of  it.  He 
had  already  risen  superior  to  circumstances — 


and  would  do  so  still;  his  glory  availed  much 
in  having  conquered  them;  give  l\im  betlir, 
and  the  peculiar  s]>ecieH  of  his  glory  will  de- 
part, (live  him  lietler,  and  it  may  l)c,  that  Im 
achieves  no  more  glory  of  any  kind.  For  noili. 
ing  is  more  uncertain  than  the  effects  of  cir- 
cumstances on  character.  Some  men,  we  know, 
are  specially  adapted  to  adverse  circumstances, 
rising  thereby  as  the  kite  rises  to  the  adverse 
breeze,  aiul  falling  when  the  adversity  ceases, 
Such  was  probably  llurns's  nature — his  genius 
being  pi(|ued  to  activity  by  the  contradictions 
of  his  fortune. 

Suppose  that  some  generous  rich  man  had 
accidentally  become  acc|uainted  with  the  liid 
Hobert  Hums,  and  grieving  to  think  thatsiuli 
a  mind  should  continue  boorish  among  bnors, 
had,  much  to  his  credit,  taken  him  from  the 
plough,  sent  him  to  College,  and  given  him  a 
complete  education.  Doubtless  lie  would  have 
excelled;  for  he  was  "quick  to  learn,  and  wise 
to  know."  Hut  he  would  not  have  been  Scoi- 
i.ANi)'.s  HiHNs.  The  prodigy  had  not  been 
exhibited  of  a  poet  of  the  first  order  in  that 
rank  of  life.  It  is  an  instruftive  spectadu 
for  the  world,  and  let  the  instruction  take 
effect  by  the  continuance  of  the  spectacle  fnr 
Its  natural  period.  Let  the  poet  work  at  that 
calling  which  is  clearly  meant  for  him — he  is 
"native  aiul  endued  to  the  element"  of  his 
situation — there  is  im  apjjcarance  of  hi.  beim; 
alien  or  strange  to  it — he  professes  i)ro\idly 
that  his  ambition  is  to  illustrate  the  very  life 
he  exists  in — his  happiest  moments  are  in 
doing  so — and  he  is  reconciled  to  it  liy  its 
being  thus  blended  with  the  happiest  exertions 
of  his  genius.  Wc  must  look  at  his  lot  as  a 
whole — from  beginning  to  end — and  so  looked 
at  it  was  not  unsuital)le— but  the  reverse;  for 
as  to  its  later  afflictions  the^  were  not  such  as 
of  necessity  belonged  to  it,  were  partly  owing 
to  himself,  partly  to  others,  partly  to  evil  in- 
fluences peculiar  not  to  his  calling,  but  to  the 
times. 

If  Hums  had  not  been  prematurely  cut  ntl', 
it  is  not  to  be  doubted  that  he  woubl  have 
got  promotion  either  by  favour,  or  in  the  ordi- 
nary course;  and  had  that  liappeiicd  he  would 
not  have  had  much  cau.sc  for  complaint,  nor 
would  he  have  complained  that  like  other  men 
he  had  to  Avait  events,  and  reach  competence 
or  aflluencc  by  the  itsiial  routine.     He  woulil, 


THE  OKNIUS  AND  WiaTINUM  OF   lUIKNS. 


101 


vnilcil  iniu'li 
him  liettiT, 
lory  will  di'. 
y  i»i',  that  ho 
(I.  For  noth- 
L'rt'ootH  of  cir- 
CM,  we  know, 

ilTUinstUlK'CH, 

0  the  uilvcrw 
ersity  censes. 
c — \nn  KCiiiiis 
;or.tradictions 

rich  nuui  hixl 
with  the  1ml 
link  that  mA\ 
nnioni;  hoois, 
him  from  the 
il  given  him  a 
he  would  Imvc 
earn,  anil  wise 
ive  been  Scot- 
had  not  been 
order  in  tli:il 
■live  niiectade 
struction  take 
e  sjiectaclc  fur 
[t  work  at  that 
for  him — he  is 
;mcnt"  of  his 
of  hi.  beiuL' 
s>cs  proudly 
the  very  life 
ments  are   in 
to  it  by  its 
liost  exertions 
his  lot  as  a 
lid  so  looked 
le  reverse;  for 
e  not  such  as 
partly  owini; 
y  to  evil  in- 
g,  but  to  the 

turely  cut  oil", 
0  would  have 
iir  in  the  ordi- 
ined  he  would 
oniiilaint,  nor 
ike  other  men 
h  competence 
lie  would, 


like  other  men,  have  then  looked  buck  on  hU 
narrow  eirciiniHtaih-es,  and  their  privationx,  ui* 
conditions  which,  from  the  first,  he  knew  miiHt 
iireccde  preferment,  and  wmild  no  nn)re  have 
tliouffht  Huch  hardships  peculiar  to  his  lot, 
than  the  first  lieutenant  of  a  frinate,  the  rouKli 
work  he  had  to  perform,  on  small  pay,  and  no 
delicate  mess  between  »lccks,  when  he  was  a 
male,  thouu'li  then  perhaps  a  better  Kcanian 
than  the  I'ommodore. 

With  these  sentiments  we  do  not  expect  that 
nil  who  honour  this  Memoir  with  a  perusal 
will  entirely  syiii|iathi/.e;  but  imperfect  as  it 
is,  we  have  no  fear  of  its  favourable  reception 
by  (Hir  friends,  on  tiie  score  of  its  pcrvadinsr 
si)iril.  As  to  the  jioor  creatures  who  purse 
up  their  unmeaning  mouths,  tryinu  too  with- 
(ait  the  necessary  feature  to  sport  the  super- 
eilious— and  instead  of  speakiuK  datfjrcrs,  pip 
pins  afrainst  the  "Scotch"-  they  are  just  the 
very  vermin  who  used  to  bite  Hums,  and  (uie 
would  pause  for  a  moment  in  the  middle  of  a 
sentence  to  impale  a  <lo/.en  (d"  them  mi  one's 
pen,  if  they  happened  to  crawl  across  one's 
paper.  Hut  our  Southern  brethren — the  noble 
Ku;rlish— -who  may  not  share  these  sentiments 
(tf  ours — will  think  "more  in  sorrow  than  in 
an,i;er"  of  IJurns's  fate,  and  for  his  sake  will 
lie  loth  to  blame  his  mother  land.  They  must 
think  with  a  sii;h  of  their  own  Hloomfield  and 
Clare!  Our  Burns  indeed  was  a  jrrcater  far; 
but  they  will  call  to  mind  the  calamities  of 
their  men  of  ;,'enius,  of  discoverers  in  science, 
who  ailvanccd  the  wealth  of  nations,  and  died 
of  hunger — of  musicians  who  taught  the  souls 
of  the  peoi)lc  in  angelic  harmonies  to  commerce 
with  heaven,  and  dro|)t  unhonoured  into  a 
hole  of  earth — of  i)ainters  who  glorified  the 
very  sunrise  and  sunset,  and  were  buried  in 
places  for  a  long  time  obscure  as  the  shadow 
of  oblivion — and  surpassing  glory  and  shame 
of  all— 

"OF  MiouTY  Poets  in  their  misekv  dead." 

We  never  think  of  the  closing  years  of 
Burns's  life,  without  feeling  what  not  many  seem 
to  have  felt,  that  much  more  of  their  unhappi- 
ness  is  to  be  attributed  to  the  most  mistaken 
notion  he  had  unfortunately  taken  up,  of  there 
being  .something  degrading  to  genius  in  ivritin;/ 
for  nwiiri/,  than  perhaps  to  all  other  causes 
put  together,  certainly  far  more  than  to  his 

VOL.  V. 


professional  calling,  however  unHuitablo  that 
nmy  have  been  to  u  poet.  By  persisting  in  a 
line  of  conduct  ])ursuant  to  that  persuasion, 
he  kept  himself  in  perpetual  poverty;  and 
though  it  is  iiot  possilile  to  blame  him  severely 
'for  such  a  fault,  originating  as  it  did  in  the 
generous  enthusiasm  of  the  poetical  character, 
a  most  serious  fault  it  was,  and  its  con^e- 
•piences  were  most  lamentalde.  So  far  fropi 
being  an  extravagant  man,  in  the  common 
I'onccriis  of  life  he  observed  a  proper  parsi- 
mony; and  they  must  have  fjcen  careless  readers 
indeed,  both  <d  his  prose  and  verse,  who  have 
taxed  him  with  lending  the  colours  of  his 
genius  to  set  off  with  a  false  lustre  that  [u-otli- 
gate  profiLseness,  habitual  only  with  the  selfish, 
and  irreeoneileable  with  any  steadfast  tlomcstio 
virtue. 

To  catcli  thiiiiu  Kiirtune'M  uohlun  inillc, 

AhmIcIiiiiuh  wait  uiHiii  licr; 
Ami  k'atliir  j:rur  liy  ev'iy  wllu 

'I'liat's  JUHtllli'il  liy  lioMoiii'; 
Nut  fur  to  liiilc  it  in  a  IiliIkc, 

Nor  for  a  Irain-attenilant, 
Hit  foi!  tiik  oloiuoi  s  i'iiivii.f.he 

»»K  MKINi;   IMiEl'KNliKNT. 

Such  was  the  atlvice  he  gave  to  a  young  frieiul 
in  ir.'^ti,  and  in  17x!S,  in  a  letter  to  IJobert 
.Mnslie,  he  says,  "Your  poets,  speiidlhrifts,  and 
other  fools  of  that  kidney,  pretend,  forsooth, 
to  crack  their  Jokes  on  prudence;  but  'tis  a 
s(|ualiil  vagaliond  glorying  in  his  rags.  Still, 
imprudence  respecting  money  matters  is  much 
more  pardonable  than  imprudence  respecting 
character.  1  have  no  objection  to  ]>refer  prodi- 
gality to  avarice,  in  some  few  instances;  but  I 
appeal  to  your  own  ob.servation,  if  yon  have  not 
met,  and  often  met,  with  the  same  disiimenu- 
ousne.ss,  the  .same  hollow-hearted  insincerity 
and  disintegrative  depravity  of  principl.  in 
the  hackneyed  victims  of  profusion,  as  in  the 
unfeeling  children  of  parsimony."  Similar 
sentiments  will  recur  to  every  one  familiar 
with  his  Avritings — all  through  them  till  the 
very  end.  His  very  songs  arc  full  of  them — 
many  of  the  best  impressively  preaching  in 
sweetest  numbers  industry  and  thrift.  So  was 
he  privileged  to  indulge  in  poetic  transports — 
to  picture,  without  reproach,  the  genial  hours 
in  the  poor  man's  life,  alas!  but  too  unfre- 
quent,  and  therefore  to  be  enjoyed  with  p  law- 
ful revelry,  at  once  obedient  to  the  iron-,  Migued 
I  knell  that  commands  it  to  cease.     So  was  he 

73 


fl'i 


S!!i 


102 


THE   GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


justified  in  scorning  the  close-fisted  niggiinlli-  i  suries,  and  conveniences,  and  some  even  of  the 
ness  tliat  forces  up  one  finger  after  another,  as  luxuries  of  life'/  By  the  Kdiuljurj,'h  edition  of 
if  cliirted  by  a  screw,  and  then  shows  to  the  |  his  jioenis,  anil  the  copy-right  to  Creech,  lie 
j.iuper  a  palm  with  a  doit.  "Take  care  of  [  iiad  made  a  little  fortune,  and  we  know  how 
tliu  pennies,  and  the  pounds  will  take  care  of  \  well  lie  used  it.  From  the  day  of  his  final 
themselves,'  is  an  excellent  maxim;  but  we  '  settlement  with  that  money-making,  st(iry- 
do  not  look  for  illustrations  of  it  in  poetry;  j  telling,  magisterial  bibliopole,  who  rejoiced  for 
l)oriiaps  it  is  too  importunate  in  prose.  Full-  '  many  years  in  the  name  of  Provost — to  the 
grown  moralists  and  political  economists,  eager  ,  week  before  his  death,  his  poetry,  aiul  that, 
topromote  the  virtue  and  the  wealth  of  nation.s,  '  too,  sorely  against  his  will,  brought  him  in — 
can  study  it  scientifically  in  Adam  .Smith —  ten  jioitml.t.'  Had  he  tJiereby  annually  earned 
but  the  boy  must  have  two  buttons  to  his  fob  fifty — what  happy  faces  at  that  fire-side!  how 
and  a  ciasp,  Avho  would  seek  for  it  in  Robert  different  that  household  I  comparatively  how 
]5urn>.    The  bias  of  poor  human  nature  .seems    calm  that  troubled  life! 

to  lean  sufficiently  to  self,  and  to  require  ]  All  the  poetry,  by  wliich  he  was  suddenly 
something  to  balance  it  the  other  way;  what  made  so  famous,  had  been  written,  as  you 
more  ettectual  than  the  touch  of  a  poet's  finger?  I  know,  without  the  thought  of  inonen  having 
We  cannot  relieve  every  wretch  we  meet — yet  |  so  much  as  flitted  across  his  mind.  The  de- 
if  we  "  take  care  of  the  pennies,"  how  shall  '  light  of  embodying  in  verse  tiic  visions  of  his 
the  hunger  that  beseeches  us  on  the  street  get  i  in.spired  fancy— of  awakening  the  sympathies 


a  bap?  If  Avo  let  "the  pounds  take  care  of 
themselves,"  how  .shall  we  answer  to  God  at 
the  great  day  of  judgment — remembering  how 
often  we  had  let  "unpitied  want  retire  to 
die — "  the  wliite-faced  widow  pa.ss  us  unre- 
lieved, in  faded  weeds  that  seemed  as  if  they 
were  woven  of  dust? 

In  liis  poetry,  l}urns  taught  love  and  pity; 
in  his  life  lie  practised  them.  Nay,  though 
seldom  free  from  the  pressure  ^,f  poverty,  so 
ignorant  was  he  of  the  science  of  duty,  that  to 
the  very  la.st  he  was  a  notorious  giver  of  alms. 
l\Iany  an  impostor  must  have  preyed  on  his 
meal-girnel  at  Ellisland;  perhaps  the  old  sick 
sailor  was  one,  who  nevertheless  rei)aid  severul 
weeks'  board  and  lodging  with  a  cutter  one- 
foot  keel,  and  six  pound  burden,  wliich  young 
Bobby  Burns — such  is  this  uncertain  world — 
(ji-iit  one  Sabbath  to  see  a  total  wreck  far  oflF 
in  the  mid-eddies  of  the  mighty  Xith.  But 
the  idiot  who  got  his  dole  from  the  poet's  own 
lu.nd,  as  often  as  he  chose  to  come  cliurming 
up  the  Vennol,  he  was  no  impostor,  and  though 
he  had  lost  hi.s  wit.s,  retained  a  sen  ^e  of  grati- 
tude, and  returned  a  blessing  in  such  phrase 
as  they  can  articulate  "whose  lives  arc  hidden 
with  God." 

How  liappencd  it,  then,  that  such  a  man 
was  so  neglectful  of  his  wife  and  family,  as  to 
let  tiieir  hearts  often  ache  while  he  was  in 
possession  of  a  productive  genius  that  might 
80  easily  have  procured  for  them  all  the  neces- 


of  the  few  rustic  auditors  in  his  own  narrow- 
circle,  whose  hearts  he  well  knew  throbbed 
with  the  same  emotions  that  arc  dearest  to 
humanity  all  over  the  wide  world — that  had 
been  at  first  all  in  all  to  him — the  young  poet 
exulting  in  his  power  and  in  the  i)roofof  his 
power — till,  as  the  assurance  of  his  soul  in  its 
divineendowment  waxed  strongerand  st"onger, 
he  beheld  his  country's  mu.se  with  the  holly- 
wreath  in  lier  hand,  and  l)owed  his  head  to 
receive  the  everlasting  halo — "And  wear  thou 
th'iA,  .she  solemn  said" — and  "in  the  auld 
clay  biggin"  he  was  happy  to  the  full  mea- 
sure of  his  large  heart's  desire.  His  poems 
grew  up  like  flowers  before  his  tread — they 
came  out  like  singing  birds  from  the  thickets 
— they  grew  like  clouds  on  the  sky — there 
they  were  in  their  ])eauty,  and  he  hardly  knew 
they  were  his  own — .so  (juiet  had  been  their 
creation,  so  like  tiie  process  of  nature  among 
her  material  loveliness,  in  the  season  of  .spring 
when  life  is  again  evolved  out  of  death,  and 
the  renovation  .seems  as  if  it  would  never  more 
need  the  Almighty  hand,  in  that  immortal 
union  of  eartli  and  heaven. 

Y  n.  will  not  think  these  words  extravagant, 
if  you  have  well  considered  tb "  icMncij  in  which 
the  spirit  of  the  poet  was  '  ';ed  up  aiwve  the 
earking  cares  of  his  toilsimie  life,  by  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  genius  that  had  been  given 
him  to  idealize  it.  "  My  heart  rejoiced  in 
Nature's  joy, "  he  .says,  remembering  the  beau- 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BUKNS. 


103 


tifiil  luipiiincss  of  a  summer  day  rcpo.sing  on 
tlio  wooils;  and  from  that  line  we  know  how 
intimate  had  been  hi«  communion  with  Nature 
liini?  liefore  he  iiad  indited  to  her  a  single  hiy 
of  lovo.  And  still  as  lie  wandered  among  her 
secret  haunts  he  thought  of  her  poets — with  a 
fearful  hope  tliat  he  might  one  day  be  of  the 
number— and  most  of  all  of  Fergusson  and 
Kamsay,  because  they  belonged  to  Scotland, 
were  Scottish  in  all  their  looks,  and  all  their 
languaiie,  in  the  very  habits  of  their  l)odies, 
and  in  the  very  frame  of  their  souls — humble 
names  now  indeed  compared  with  his  own,  but 
to  the  enil  sacred  in  his  generous  and  grateful 
bosom;  for  at  "The  Farmer's  Ingle"  his  ima- 
gination had  kindled  into  the  "Cotter's  Satur- 
day Night;"  in  the  "Gentle  Shepherd"  he 
had  seen  many  a  liappy  sight  that  had  fur- 
nished the  matter,  we  had  almost  said  inspired 
the  emotion,  of  some  of  his  sweetest  and  most 
gladsiinie  sontrs.  In  his  own  every-day  work- 
ing world  he  walked  as  a  man  contented  with 
the  pleasure  arising  in  his  mere  human  heart; 
hut  that  world  the  poet  could  purify  and  ele- 
vate at  will  into  a  celestial  sphere,  still  light- 
ened by  Scottish  skies,  still  melodious  Avith 
Scottish  streams,  still  inhabited  by  Scottish 
life — sweet  as  reality  —  dear  as  truth — yet 
visionary  as  fiction's  dream,  and  felt  to  be  in 
part  the  work  of  his  own  creation.  Proudly, 
tliLiefore,  <in  that  poorest  soil  the  peasant  poet 
i)aile  speed  the  plough — proudly  he  stooped 
his  shoulders  to  the  sack  of  corn,  itself  a  cart- 
load— proudly  he  swept  the  scythe  that  swathed 
tlie  flowery  herbage — proudly  he  grasped  the 
sickle — but  tenderly  too  he  "turned  thewceder- 
clipsasiili.  and  sparril  the  Kifmhol  (Icnr." 

Well  was  he  entitle<l  to  say  to  his  friend 
Aiken,  in  tlio  dedicatory  stanza  of  the  "Cotter's 
Saturday  NiLflit:" 

My  liiv'cl,  my  lionour'd,  niucli  vospecteil  friend  I 
Xo  iiH'ivoiiUji  lai'il  his  lidiiiaKc  pays; 
With  Imiiust  iniilo,  I  sii>ni  each  sclllsh  end, 
My  dealest  iiiccd,  a  friend's  esteem  and  praise. 

All  that  he  liopod  to  make  by  the  Kilmarnock 
eilition  was  twenty  pounds  to  carry  him  to  the 
West  Indies,  heedless  of  the  yellow  fever.  At 
Edinburgii  fciriune  hand  in  hand  with  fame 
descended  on  the  bard  in  a  shower  of  gold; 
hut  he  had  not  courted  "the  smiles  of  the 
fickle  goddess,"  and  she  soon  wheeled  away 
with  scornful  laughter  out  of  his  sight  for  ever 


and  a  day.  His  poetry  had  been  composed  in 
the  fields,  with  not  a  plack  in  the  pocket  of 
the  poet;  and  wc  verily  believe  that  he  thought 
no  more  of  the  circulating  medium  than  did 
the  poor  mouse  in  whose  fate  he  saw  his  own 
I  — but  more  unfortunate! 

!  still  thou  art  hlest,  compar'd  wi'  me! 

I'he  2>rcsciit  only  toucheth  thee: 
But,  och !  I  backward  east  my  oe 

0»  piospeets  drear ! 
An'  forward,  tho'  I  eaiiiia  .see, 

1  guess  mi  /ear. 

'  At  EUisland  his  colley  bore  on  his  collar. 
"l{obert  Hums,  poet;"  and  on  his  removal  to 
Dumfries,  we  know  that  he  indulged  the  dream 
of  devoting  all  his  leisure  time  to  poetry — a 
dream  liow  imperfectly  realized!  Poor  John- 
son, an  old  Edinburgh  frienil,  begged  in  his 
poverty  help  to  his  Jliiseioii,  and  Thomson, 
not  even  an  old  Edinburgh  acquaintance,  in 
his  pride — no  ignoble  pride — solicited  it  for 
his  "Collection;"  and  fired  by  the  thought  of 
embellishing  the  body  of  Scottish  song,  he 
spurned  the  gentle  and  guarded  proffer  of  re- 
muneration in  money,  and  set  to  work  as  he 
had  done  of  yore  in  the  spirit  of  love,  assured 
from  sweet  experience  that  inspiration  was  its 
own  rewanl.  Sell  a  song!  as  well  sell  a  wild- 
flower  plucked  from  a  spring-bank  at  sun-rise. 
The  one  pervading  feeling  docs  indeed  expand 
itself  in  a  song,  like  a  wild-flower  in  the  breath 
and  dew  of  morning,  which  before  was  but  a 
i)ud,  and  we  are  touched  with  a  new  sense  of 
lieauty  at  the  fun  disclosure.  As  a  song  should 
always  be  simple,  the  flower  we  liken  it  to  is 
the  lily  or  the  violet.  The  leaves  of  the  lily 
arc  white,  hut  it  is  not  a  monotonous  white- 
ness— the  leaves  of  the  violet,  sometimes  "dim 
as  the  lids  of  Cythorea's  eyes"— for  Shak.speare 
has  said  so — are,  when  well  and  happy,  blue 
as  her  eyes  themselves,  while  they  looked 
languisliingly  on  Adonis.  Yet  the  ex(inisite 
colour  seems  of  diflcrent  shades  in  its  rarest 
ricimess;  and  even  soaslily  or  violet  shift ingly 
tlie  same,  should  be  a  song  in  its  simplicity, 
variously  tinged  with  fine  distinctions  of  the 
one  colour  of  that  pervading  feeling — now 
brighter,  now  dimmer,  as  open  and  shut  the 
valves  of  that  mystery,  the  heart.  Sell  a  song! 
No — no — said  Hums — "You  shall  have  hun- 
dreds for  nothing — and  we  shall  all  sail  down 
the  stream  of  time  together,  now  to  merry. 


104 


THE  GENIUS  AND   WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


I     iS 


I      1: 


and  now  to  sorrowful  music,  and  the  dwellers 
on  its  banks,  as  we  glide  by,  shall  bless  us  by 
name,  and  call  us  of  the  Immortals." 

It  was  in  this  way  that  Burns  was  beguiled 
by  the  remembrance  of  the  inspirations  of  his 
youthful  prime,  into  the  belief  that  it  would 
be  absolutely  sordid  to  write  songs  for  money; 
and  thus  he  continued  for  years  to  enrich  others 
by  the  choicest  products  of  his  genius,  himself 
remaining  all  the  while,  alas!  too  poor.     The 
richest  man  in  the  town  was  not  more  regular 
in  the  settlement  of  his  accounts,  but  some- 
times on  Saturday  nights  he  had  not  where- 
withal to  pay  the  expenses  of  the  week's  sub- 
sistence, and  had  to  borrow  a  pound  note.    He 
was  more  ready  to  lend  one,  and  you  know 
he  died  out  of  debt.     But  his  family  suftercd 
privations  it  is  sad  to  think  of — though  to  be 
sure  the  children  were  too  young  to  grieve, 
and  soon  fell  asleep,  and  Jean  was  a  dicerful 
creature,  strong  at  heart,  and  proud  of  her 
fiimous  Kobin,  the  Poet  of  Scotland,  whom  the 
whole  world  tadmired,  but  she  alone  loved,  and 
so  far  from  ever  upbraiding  him,  welcomed 
him  at  all  hours  to  her  arms  and  to  her  lieart. 
It  is  all  very  fine  talking  about  the  delight  he 
enjoyed  in  the  composition  of  his  matdiless 
lyrics,  and  the  restoration  of  a'l  those  faded 
and  broken  songs  of  other  ages,  burnished  by 
a  few  touches  of  his  hand  to  surpassing  beauty; 
but  what  we  lament  is,  that  with  the  I'oct  it 
was  not  "No  song,  no  supper,"  but  "No  sup- 
per for  any  song" — that  with  an  infatuation 
singular  even  in  the  history  of  the  poetic  tribe, 
he  adliered  to  what  he  had  resolved,  in  the  face 
of  distress  which,  had  he  chosen  it,  he  could 
have  changed   into  comfort,   and   by  merely 
doing  as  all  others  did,  have  secured  a  comi)e- 
tency  to  his  wife  and  children.     Infatuation  ! 
It  is  too  strong  a  word— therefore  sul)stitutc 
some  other  weaker  in  expression  of  blame — 
nay,  let  it  be — if  so  you  will — .some  gentle 
term  of  praise  and  of  pity;  for  in  this  most 
selfish  world,  'tis  so  rare  to  be  of  self  utterly 
regardless,  that  the  scorn  of  pelf  may  for  a 
moment  be  thought  a  virtue,  even  when  in- 
dulged to  the  lo.ss  of  the  tenderly  beloved. 
Yet  the  great  natural   aftections  have  their 
duties  superior  over  all  others  between  man 
and  man;  and  he  who  sets  them  aside,  in  tiie 
generosity  or  the  joy  of  genius,  must  frequently 
feel  that  by  such  dereliction  he  has  become 


amenable  to  conscience,  and  in  hours  when 
enthusia.sm  is  tamed  by  reflection,  cam  ot 
escape  the  tooth  of  remorse. 

How  it  would  have  kindled  all  his  highest 
powers,  to  have  felt  as.surcd  tiiat  l)y  their 
exercise  in  the  Poet's  own  vocation  he  could 
not  only  keep  want  from  his  door  "with  stern 
alarum  banishing  sweet  sleep,"  Ijut  dotlie, 
lodge,  and  board  "the  wife  and  weans,"  as 
sumptuously  as  if  he  had  been  an  absolute 
supervisor!  In  one  article  alone  was  he  a  nian 
of  expensive  habits — it  was  (juite  a  craze  witli 
him  to  have  his  Jean  dressed  f/ititdlh/ — tor 
slie  had  a  fine  figure,  and  as  she  stepped  along 
the  green,  you  might  have  taken  the  matron 
for  a  maid,  so  ligli'  her  foot,  so  animated  iicr 
bearing,  as  if  care  liud  never  imposed  any  bur- 
den on  her  not  ungraceful  shoulders  heavier 
than  the  milk-pail  she  had  learned  at  ."Mossgid 
to  bear  on  her  Iiead.  'Tis  said  that  she  was 
the  first  in  her  rank  at  Dumfries  to  s])ort  a 
gingham  gown,  and  Burns's  taste  in  ribbons 
had  been  instructed  by  the  rainliow.  To  sucii 
a  pitch  of  extravagance  had  he  carried  his  craze 
that,  when  dressed  for  church,  Mrs.  Burns,  it 
was  conjectured,  could  not  liavo  had  on  her 
person  much  less  than  the  value  of  two  pounds 
sterling  money,  and  the  boys,  from  their  dress 
and  demeanour,  you  might  have  mistaken  for 
a  gentleman's  sons.  Then  he  resolved  they 
should  have  the  best  education  going;  and  the 
Hon.  the  Provost,  the  Bailies,  and  Town  C'oun 
cil,  he  petitioned  thus:  "The  literary  taste 
and  lil)eral  spirit  of  your  goo<l  town  has  so 
ably  filled  the  various  departments  of  your 
scliools,  as  to  make  it  a  very  great  olijcct  for  a 
jiarent  to  ha\e  his  children  educated  in  thoni. 
Still,  to  me,  a  stranger,  with  my  large  family, 
and  very  stinted  income,  to  give  my  yoiinn- 
onts  that  education  I  wish,  at  the  high-school 
fees  which  a  .stranger  pays,  will  bear  hard  upon 
me.  .  .  .  Some  yearsagoyourgood  town  did  me 
the  honour  of  making  me  an  honorary  iJurgcss. 
— Will  you  then  allow  me  to  re()uest  that  this 
mark  of  distinction  may  extend  so  far,  as  to 
put  me  on  a  footing  of  a  real  freeman  of  (he 
town  in  the  .schools'^"  Had  not  ••  his  income 
been  so  stinted,"  we  know  how  he  would  have 
spent  it. 

Then  the  world — the  gracio\is  and  gratefid 
world  —  "wondered  and  of  her  wondering 
found  no  end,"  how  and  why  it  happened  that 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


106 


Burns  was  publishing  no  more  poems.  Wiiat 
was  he  about?  Had  his  ijcnius  deserted  him? 
Was  tlie  vein  wrougiit  out?  of  fine  ore  indeed, 
hut  tliin,  and  now  tliere  was  ))ut  rul)bish. 
His  contributions  to  Johnson  were  not  much 
known,  and  iiut  some  six  of  his  songs  in  the 
first  iialf  part  of  Thomson  appeared  during  his 
life.  Hut  wliat  if  he  had  himself  given  to 
the  world,  through  tiic  channel  of  the  regular 
trailc,  and  for  his  own  l)ehoof,  in  Parts,  or  all 
at  onee,  Those  Two  Hixdkki)  axd  Fifty 
Songs — new  and  old — original  and  restored — 
with  all  those  disfpusitions,  annotations,  and 
ever  so  many  more,  tliemsclves  often  very 
poetry  indeed — what  would  the  world  have 
felt,  thoui;ht,  said,  and  done  then?  She  would 
at  least  not  have  believed  that  the  au»hor  of  the 
"Cotter's  Saturday  Night"  was — a  drunkard. 
And  what  would  iiurns  liave  felt,  thought, 
.said,  and  done  then?  He  would  have  felt  that 
he  was  turning  his  divine  gift  to  a  sacred  pur- 
pose— he  would  have  thought  well  of  himself, 
and  in  that  just  apiireciation  there  would  have 
been  peace  —  he  would  have  said  tliousands 
on  thousands  of  high  and  noble  sentiments  in 
discourses  and  in  letters,  with  an  untroubled 
voice  and  a  steady  pen,  the  sweet  persuasive 
elo(|ueuce  of  the  hapi)y — he  would  have  done 
greater  things  than  it  had  before  entered  into 
his  heart  to  conceive — his  drama  of  the  Rruee 
would  have  come  forth  magnificent  from  an 
imagination  elevated  by  the  Joy  that  was  in 
his  heart — his  .Scottish  (Jeorgics  Avould  have 
written  themselves,  and  would  have  been  pure 
Virgilian — Tale  upon  Tale,  each  a  day's  work 
or  a  week's,  would  have  taken  the  shine  out 
of  '-Tarn  o'  Slianter." 

And  here  it  i.s  incumbent  on  us  to  record 
our  sentiments  regarding  Mr.  Thomson's  con- 
duct towards  Hums  in  his  worst  extremity, 
which  iuis  not  oidy  been  assailed  by  "anony- 
mous scribblers, "  whom  perhajis  he  may  rightly 
regard  with  contempt;  but  as  he  says  in  his 
letter  to  liis  esteemed  friend,  the  ingenious 
and  energetic  Hobert  Chaml)ers,  to  "his  great 
surprise,  by  some  Avriters  who  might  have  been 
exi)ected  to  possess  sufficient  judgment  to  see 
the  matter  in  its  true  light." 

In  the  "melancholy  letter  received  through 
Jlrs.  Hyslop,"as  Mr.  Thomson  well  calls  it, 
dated  April,  Hums  writes,  "Alas!  my  dear 
Tiiomson,  I  fear  it  will  be  some  time  before  I 


tune  my  lyre  again !  '  By  Babel  streams, '  &e. 
Almost  ever  since  I  wrote  you  last  (in  February 
when  he  thanked  Mr.  Thomson  for  'a  hand- 
some elegant  present  to  Jlrs.  H ,'  we  be- 
lieve a  worsted  shawl),  I  have  only  known 
existence  by  the  pressure  of  the  heavy  hand 
of  Sickness,  and  have  counted  time  but  by  the 
repercussions  of  pain!  Kheumatism,  cold,  and 
fever  have  formed  to  me  a  terriljle  Trinity  in 
I'nity,  which  makes  me  close  my  eyes  in 
misery,  and  open  them  without  hope."  In  his 
an.swer  to  that  letter,  dated  4th  of  May,  Mr. 
Thomson  writes,  "I  need  not  tell  you,  my 
good  Sir,  what  concern  the  receipt  of  your  last 
gave  me,  and  how  much  I  sympathize  in  your 
sufFering.s.  But  do  not,  I  beseech  you,  give 
yourself  up  to  despondency,  nor  speak  the  lan- 
guage of  despair.  The  vigour  of  your  constitu- 
tion I  trust  will  soon  set  you  on  your  feet  again; 
awl  then  it  is  to  Ik;  hojwd  you  trill  see  the  wis- 
dom and  necessiti/  of  tckinr/  due  care  of  a  life 
so  valuable  to  your  family,  to  your  friends,  and 
to  the  v-orld.  Trusting  that  your  next  will 
bring  agreeable  accounts  of  your  convalescence 
and  returning  good  spirits,  I  remain,  with  sin- 
cere regard,  yours."  This  is  kind,  as  it  should 
be;  and  the  advice  given  to  Burns  is  good, 
though  perhaps,  under  the  circumstances,  it 
might  just  as  well  have  been  spared.  In  a 
subsequent  letter  without  date.  Burns  writes, 
"  I  have  great  hopes  that  the  genial  influence 
of  the  approaching  summer  will  set  me  to 
rights,  but  as  yet  I  cannot  boast  of  returning 
health.  I  have  now  rea.son  to  l)elieve  that  my 
complaint  is  a  flying  gout:  a  sad  business." 
Then  comes  that  most  heart-rending  letter,  in 
which  the  dying  Burns,  in  terror  of  a  jail  im- 
plores the  loan  o*"  five  pounds — and  the  well- 
known  reply.  ' '  Ever  since  I  received  your 
melancholy  letter  by  ilrs.  Hyslop,  I  have  been 
rumiiuiting  in  what  manner  I  could  endeavour 
to  alleviate  your  sufterings, "and  so  on.  Shorter 
rumination  than  of  three  months  might,  one 
would  think,  have  sufticed  to  mature  some 
plan  for  the  alleviation  of  such  suflferings,  anid 
human  ingenuity  has  been  more  severely  taxed 
than  it  M-ould  have  been  in  devising  means  to 
carry  it  into  eflTect.  The  recollection  of  a  letter 
Avritten  three  years  before,  when  the  Poet  was 
in  high  health  and  spirits,  needed  not  to  have 
stayed  his  hand.  "  The  fear  of  offending  your 
independent  .spirit"  seems  a  bugbear  indeed. 


I 


i 


ft  i 


M 


lOlJ 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


"With  great  pleasure  I  enclose  a  draft  for  t/ie 
very  sum  I  jtrojiostd  semlimjH  Would  I  were 
Chancellou  of  the  Exchequer  but  for  one 
day  for  your  sake  II!" 

Josiah  Walker,  however,  to  whom  Mr.  Thom- 
son gratefully  refers,  says,  "a  few  days  before 
Burns  expired  he  applied  to  Jlr.  Thomson  for 
a  loan  of  £b,  in  a  note  which  showed  the 
irritable  and  distracted  state  of  his  mind,  and 
his  commendable  judgment  instantly  remitted 
the  precise  sum,  foreseeing  that  had  he,  at 
that  moment,  presumed  to  exceed  that  request, 
he  would  have  exasperated  the  irritation  and 
resentment  of  the  haughty  invalid,  and  done 
him  more  injury,  by  agitating  his  passions, 
than  could  be  repaired  by  administering  more 
largely  to  his  wants. "  I  Faughty  invalid  I  Alas  I 
he  was  humble  enough  now.  "After  all  my 
boasted  independence,  stfrn  necessifi/  coyiipels 
me  to  inijilore  you  for  Jive  iiowuh!"  Call  not 
that  a  pang  of  pride.  It  is  the  outcry  of  a 
wounded  spirit  shrinking  from  the  last,  worst 
arrow  of  affliction.  In  one  breath  he  implores 
succour  and  forgiveness  from  the  man  to  whom 
he  had  been  a  benefactor.  "Fonjlre  me  this 
earnestness — but  the  horrors  of  a  jail  have 
made  me  half-distracted.  .  .  .  Fohcuve,  Fok- 
GiVE  me!"  He  asks  no  gift — he  but  begs  to 
borrow — and  trusts  to  the  genius  God  had 
given  him  for  ability  to  repay  the  loan;  nay, 
he  encloses  his  l<ist  son'i,  "Fairest  Maid  on 
Devon's  Banks,"  as  in  part  payment!  But  oh! 
save  Kobert  Burns  from  dying  in  prison.  What 
hauteur!  And  with  so  "haughty  an  invalid" 
how  shall  a  musical  brother  deal,  so  as  not 
"  to  exasperate  his  irritation  and  resentment," 
and  do  him  more  injury  "l)y  agitating  his 
passions,  than  could  be  repaired  by  adminis- 
tering more  largely  to  his  wants?"  More 
larije/i/f  Faugh!  faugh!  Foreseeing  that  he 
who  was  half-mad  at  the  horrors  of  a  jail,  would 
go  wholly  mad  were  ten  pounds  sent  to  him 
instead  of  five,  which  was  all  "the  haughty 
invalid"  had  implored,  "with  commendable 
judgment,"  according  to  Josiah  AValker's  philo- 
sophy of  human  life,  George  Thomson  sent 
"the  precise  sum!"  And  supposing  it  had 
gone  into  the  pocket  of  the  merciless  haber- 
dasher, on  what  did  Josiah  AValkcr  think  would 
"the  haughty  invalid"  have  subsisted  then — 
how  paid  for  lodging  without  board  by  the 
melancholy  Sol  way-side? 


Jlr.  Thomson's  champion  proceeds  to  .siy — 
"Burns  iiad  all  the  unnianageal)le  pride  of 
Samuel  Johnson,  (uu/  if  the  Intti-r  t/ir>ir  (iimi/ 
with  iitdiijnation  the  new  nhoe.i  irhirh  hm/  liua 
2'l((ce(l  at  his  chamber  door,  xecreHi/  nn<l  col. 
leclirih/,  (11/  hii  cotnjxtnlon.i,  the  furnier  Avuuld 
have  iieen  still  more  ready  to  resent  any  pe- 
cuniary donation  with  which  a  .-ingle  indi- 
vidual, after  his  peremptory i)rohilpiti(in.  sli(>u](l 
avowedly  have  dared  to  instdt  him  with."  In 
Boswell  we  read — "ilr.  Batenian's  lectures 
were  so  excellent  that  Johnson  used  to  come 
and  get  them  at  second-hand  from  Taylor,  till 
his  poverty  being  so  extreme,  that  his  shoes 
were  worn  out,  and  his  feet  appeared  through 
them,  he  saw  that  his  humi'iatintr  condition 
was  jierceived  by  the  Christ-Church  men,  and 
he  came  no  more.  He  was  too  proud  to  accept 
of  money,  and  aomehodii  liavui<j  net  a  juiir  of 
mil)  /<hoi'.i  at  hid  iloor,  he  threw  them  away 
with  indignation."  Hall,  blaster  of  I'cmbrokc, 
in  a  note  on  this  passage,  expresses  strong 
doubts  of  Johnson's  poverty  at  cnlleiie  havinu- 
been  extreme;  and  Croker,  with  his  usual 
accuracy,  says,  "authoritatively  and  circum- 
stantially as  this  story  is  told,  there  is  gnud 
reason  for  disbelieving  it  altogether.  Taylor 
was  admitted  Commoner  of  Christ  Cliurch, 
June  27,  1730;  Johnson  left  l>xi'or(l  .-ix  months 
before."  Suppose  it  true.  Had  JohuMin  found 
the  impudent  cub  in  the  act  of  depositing  tiic 
eleemosynary  shoes,  he  infiiilibly  would  have 
knocked  him  down  with  fist  or  folio  as  clean 
as  he  afterwards  did  Osborne.  But  Mr.  Thom- 
son was  no  such  cub,  nor  did  he  >taiiil  rela- 
tively to  Burns  in  the  .same  position  as  such 
cub  to  Johnson.  He  owed  Ikirns  mucli  money, 
though  Hums  wouhl  not  allow  himself  to 
think  so;  and  had  he  exjiostulatcd  with  open 
heart  and  hand  with  the  Bard,  on  his  olistinatc 
— he  might  have  kindly  saiil  foolish  and  worse 
than  foolish — disregard  not  only  of  his  own 
interest,  but  of  the  comfort  of  his  wife  and 
family;  had  he  gone  to  Dumfries  for  the  >ole 
pur|)Ose — who  can  doubt  that  '  ■  his  justice  and 
generosity"  would  have  been  crowned  with 
success?  Who  but  Josiah  Walker  could  have 
said,  that  Burns  would  have  thm  thought  him- 
self insulted?  I'escnt  a  "pecuniary  ilonntinn'' 
indeed!  Wliat  is  a  donation?  Jnhnson  tells 
us  in  the  words  of  South:  "After  donation 
there   is  an  absolute  change  and  alienation 


Si 


THE  GENIUS  AND   WHITINGS  OF  LUKNS. 


107 


made  of  the  property  of  tlic  tliiiiij given;  wliicli 
being  alienated,  a  man  lias  no  mure  to  do  with 
it  than  with  a  thing  hougiit  with  another's 
money."  It  was  Burns  who  made  a  donation 
to  Thomson  of  a  hundred  and  twenty  songs. 

All  mankind  must  agree  wiih  Mr.  Loekliart 
when  he  says — "Why  Hums,  who  was  of  opin- 
ion, when  he  wrote  his  letter  to  .Mr.  C'arl'rae, 
that,  'no  profits  arc  more  honourahlc  than 
tiiose  of  the  lalmurs  of  a  man  of  genius,'  and 
whose  own  notions  nf  independence  had  sus- 
tained no  sliork  in  the  receipt  of  hundreds  (if 
pounds  from  Creech,  r-hould  have  spurned  the 
suggestion  of  pecuniary  recompense  from  Jlr. 
Thomson,  it  is  no  easy  matter  to  explain;  nor 
do  I  profess  to  understand  why  .Mr.  Thomson 
took  so  little  pains  to  argue  the  matter  in 
limine  Avith  the  poet,  and  convince  him,  that 
the  time  which  he  himself  considered  as  fairly 
entitled  to  he  i)aid  for  hy  a  common  hookseller, 
oiiglit  of  right  to  he  valued  ami  acknowledged 
on  similar  terms  hy  the  editor  and  proprietor  of 
a  book  containing  licith  somis  and  music."  We 
are  not  so  much  blaming  tiie  backwardness  of 
Thomson  in  the  mat  tor  of  the  songs,  as  we  are 
exposing  the  lilaf/n  r  ol  Walker  in  the  story  of 
the  shoes.  Yet  something  there  is  in  the 
nature  of  tlie  whole  transaction  that  nobody 
can  stomach.  Wc  think  we  have  in  a  great 
measure  exiilained  how  it  happened  that  Hums 
"spurned  the  sugijcstion  of  pecuniary  recom- 
pense;" and  bearing  our  remarks  in  mind, 
look  for  a  moment  at  the  circumstances  of  the 
ease.  Air.  Thomson,  in  his  first  letter,  Sep- 
tember, 170"2,  says,  " Profit  is  (/uitc  a  sfrondar// 
coii.iidirdlioii  irit/i  uii,  and  we  are  resolved  to 
spare  neither  pains  nor  expense  on  the  publi- 
cation." "We  shall  esteem  your  poetical  as- 
sistance a  particular  favour,  I)csides  paying 
11)11/  reasonaiile  iiricv  you  shall  please  to  de- 
mand for  it."  And  Avoiiid  Itobert  Hums  con- 
descend to  receive  money  for  his  contributions 
to  a  work  in  honour  of  Scotland,  undertaken 
by  men  witii  whom  "profit  was  quite  a  secon- 
dary consideration'/"  Impossible.  In  July, 
170;i,  when  Hums  had  been  fu-  nine  months 
enthusiastically  co-operating  in  a  great  national 
work,  and  had  proved  that  he  would  carry  it 
on  to  a  triumphant  close,  Afr.  Thomson  writes 
—  "I  cannot  express  how  much  I  am  obliged 
to  you  for  the  exipiisite  new  songs  you  arc 
sending  me;  but  tlnnks,  my  friend,  are  a  poor 


return  for  what  you  have  done.  As  I  shall  be 
benefited  by  the  publication,  you  must  sull'cr 
me  to  enclo.sc  a  small  mark  of  my  gratitude, 
and  to  repeat  it  afterwards  iclien  I  jind  it  con- 
renicnt.  Do  not  return  it,  for,  by  Heaven, 
if  you  do,  our  corrti^iiondoice  is  at  (tn  end. '' 
A  bank-note  for  five  pounds!  "  In  the  name 
of  the  prophet — Figs  !"  Hums,  with  a  proper 
feeling,  retained  the  tritle,  but  forbade  the 
repetition  of  it;  and  every  body  must  see,  at 
a  glance,  that  such  a  man  could  not  have  done 
otherwise — for  it  would  have  been  most  de- 
grading indeed  had  he  shown  himself  ready  to 
accept  a  five-pound  note  when  it  might  happen 
to  suit  the  convenience  of  an  editor.  His 
domicile  was  not  in  Grub  Street. 

Mr.  Walker,  St  ill  further  to  soot  lie  Jfr.  Thom- 
son's feelings,  sent  him  an  extract  from  a 
letter  of  Lord  Woodhouselee's — "I  am  glad 
you  have  eml)raeed  the  occasion  which  lay  in 
your  way  of  doing  full  justice  to  Jlr.  George 
Thcnnson,  Avho,  I  agree  with  you  in  thinking, 
was  most  harshly  ami  illiberally  treated  by  an 
anonymous  dull  calumniator.  1  have  alway.s 
regarded  Mr.  Thomson  as  a  man  of  great  worth 
and  most  respectable  character;  and  I  have 
every  reason  to  believe  that  poor  Hums  felt 
/limsel/  (IS  much  indelded  to  /lis  f/ood  connsds 
rind  dctir''  friendsliip  as  a  man,  as  the  pnhlic 
is  sensihle  he  was  to  his  r/ood  taste  and  jud;/- 
mi-nt  as  a  critic."  Mr.  Thomson,  in  now  giv- 
ing, for  the  first  time,  this  extract  to  the 
pul)lic,  says,  "Of  the  unbiassed  opinion  of  such 
a  highly  respectable  gentleman  and  accom- 
plished writer  as  Lord  Woodhouselee,  I  cer- 
tainly feel  not  a  little  proud.  It  is  of  itself 
more  than  suflicient  to  silence  the  calumnies 
l)y  which  I  have  been  assailed,  first  anony- 
n'ously,  and  afterwards,  to  my  great  surprise, 
by  some  writers  who  might  have  been  expected 
to  possess  sufficient  judumcnt  to  see  the  matter 
in  its  true  light."  He  has  reason  to  feel  proud 
of  his  Jjordship's  good  opinion,  aiul  on  the 
gi'ound  of  his  private  character  he  deserved  it. 
Hut  the  assertions  contained  in  the  extract 
have  no  bearing  whatever  on  the  question,  and 
they  are  entirely  untrue.  Lord  Woodhouselee 
could  have  had  no  authority  for  believing, 
"  that  poor  Burns  felt  himself  indebted  to  Mr. 
Thomson's  goo<l  counsels  and  active  friendship 
as  a  man."  Afr.  Thomson,  a  pci*son  of  no  in- 
fluence or  account,  had  it  not  in  hi.s  power  to 


>.  a 


lOS 


THE  GENIUS  AND   WRITINGS  OF  BUKNS. 


exert  any  "active  frioiulship"  for  Hums — and 
as  to  "good  counsels,"  it  is  not  to  bo  believed 
for  a  niouient,  that  a  modest  man  like  him, 
who  had  never  interchanged  a  word  with  Hums, 
would  have  presumed  to  become  his  .Mentor. 
This  is  putting  him  forward  in  the  high  char- 
acter of  Jiuriis's  benefactor,  not  only  in  his 
worldly  concerns,  but  in  his  moral  well-being; 
a  pn.-ition  which  of  himself  he  never  could  have 
dreamt  of  claiming,  and  from  which  he  must, 
on  a  moment's  consideration,  with  i)ain  inex- 
pressible recoil.     Neither  is  "the  i)ublic  .sen- 
sible" tiiat  IJurns  was  "indebted  to  his  gooil 
taste  and  judgment  as  a  critic."    The  public 
kindly  regard  ^Ir.  Thomson,  and  think  that 
in  his  correspondence  with  IJurns  he  makes  a 
respectable  tigure.    Hut  Burns  repudiated  most 
of  his  critical  strictures;  and  the  worthy  Clerk 
of  the  Hoard  of  Trustees  does  indeed  fre(iuently 
fall  into  sad  mistakes,  concerning  alike  poetry, 
music,   and  painting.       Lord  Woodhouselee's 
"unbiassed  opinion,"  then,  so  far  from  being 
of  itself  "suflicient  to  silence  the  calumnies  of 
ignorant  a.s.sailants, "  &c.,  is  not  worth  a  straw. 
Mr.  Thomson,  in  his  five  pound  letter  of  July, 
1796,  asks — "I'ray,  my  good  sir,  is  it  not  pos- 
sible for  you  to  miiMir  a  roliniie  of  jiorlri/.^" 
Why,  with  tlie  assistance  of  Messr.s.  Johnson 
and  Thomson,  it  would  have  been  po.ssiblc;  and 
then  Hums  might  have  called  in  his  "Jolly 
Heggars. "    "  1  f  too  much  trouble  to  you, "  con- 
tinues Mr.  Thomson,  "in  the  present  state  of 
your  health,  some  literary  friend  might  be 
found  here  who  would  select  and  arrange  your 
manuscripts,  and  take  upon  him  the  task  of 
tilitor.     In  the  meantime,  it  could  be  adver- 
tised to  be  published  by  subscription.    Do  not 
shun  this  mode  of  obtaining  the  value  of  your 
labour;  remember  Tope  published  the  '  Iliad' 
by  subscription."     Why,  had  not  Hums  pub- 
lished his  own  poems  by  subscription!     All 
tills  seems  tlie  strangest  mockery  ever  heard 
of;  yet  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  it  was  writ- 
ten not  only  with  a  serious  face,  but  with  a 
kind  heart.  Hut  George  Thomson  at  that  time 
was  almost  as  poor  a  man  as  Robert  Hums. 
Allan  Cunningham,  a  man  of  genius  and  virtue, 
in  his  interesting  Life,  of  Burns,  has  in  his 
characteristic  straight-forward  style,  put  the 
matter — in  so  far  as  it  regards  the  money  re- 
mittance—in its  true  light,  and  all  Mr.  Thom- 
son's friends  should  be  thankful  to  him — 


"  Thomson  instantly  complied  with  the  request 
of  Hums;  lie  borrowed  a  five-pound  note  from 
Cunningham  (a  draft),  and  sent  it  saying,  he 
had  made  up  his  mind  to  inclose  the  identical 
sum  the  poet  had  asked  for,  when  he  received 
his  letter.  For  this  he  has  been  sharply  cen- 
sured; and  his  defence  is,  that  he  was  afraid 
of  sending  more,  lest  he  should  oflciul  the 
pride  of  the  poet,  wlio  was  uncommonly  sen- 
sitive in  [lecuniary  matters.  A  belter  defence 
is  Thomson's  own  jioverty;  only  one  volume 
of  ais  splendid  work  was  then  published;  his 
outlay  had  l)een  beyond  his  means,  and  very 
small  sums  of  money  had  come  in  to  cover  his 
large  expenditure.  Had  he  been  riclier,  his 
defence  would  have  iieen  a  ditlicult  matter. 
When  Hums  made  the  stii)ulati(in,  his  hojjcs 
Averc  high,  and  the  dread  of  hunger  or  of  the 
jail  was  far  from  his  thoughts;  he  imagined 
that  it  became  genius  to  refuse  nionej'  in  a 
work  of  national  imi)ortance.  Hut  his  situ- 
ation grew  gloomier  as  he  wrote;  he  had  lost 
nearly  his  all  in  Kllisland,  and  was  oldiged  to 
borrow  small  sums,  which  he  found  aditliculty 
in  repaying.  Tliat  he  was  in  poor  circum- 
stances was  well  known  to  the  world;  and  had 
money  been  at  Thomson's  disjiosal,  a  way 
might  have  been  found  of  doing  the  poet  good 
by  stealth;  he  sent  live  pounds,  because  he 
could  not  send  ten,  and  it  would  have  saved 
him  from  some  .sarcastic  remarks,  and  some 
pangs  of  heart,  had  he  .said  so  at  once." 

!Mr.  Thomson  has  attempced  a  defence  of 
himself  about  once  every  seven  years,  but  has 
always  made  the  matter  worse,  by  inttting  it 
on  wrong  grounds.  In  a  letter  to  that  other 
Arcadian.  Josiah  Walker,  he  says — many  years 
ago — "Now,  the  fact  is,  that,  notwithstand- 
ing the  i.nited  labours  of  all  the  men  of  genius 
who  have  enriched  my  Collection,  1  am  not 
even  yet  comjicnscttcd  for  tlic  jiredous  time 
consumed  hy  me  in  ])orin<i  over  musty  volumes, 
rind  in  correspondin;/  vit/i  every  amateur  ami 
])oet,  by  irhose  means  I  expected  to  make  any 
valuable  addition  to  our  national  inusic  ami 
somj; — for  the  <\r<'rtion  and  money  it  cost  me 
to  obtain  accompaniments  from  the  greatest 
masters  of  harmony  in  Vienna;  and  for  the 
sums  paid  to  engravers,  printers,  and  other.s. " 
Let  us  separate  the  items  of  this  account. 
The  money  laid  out  by  him  must  stand  by 
itself — and  for  that  outlay,  he  had  then  been 


THE  GENIUS  AND   WHITINGS   OF  BURNS. 


109 


c'omponsated  by  tlie  [irofits  of  tlic  sale  of  tlie 
Colluctioii.  Those  profits,  wc  do  not  doubt, 
had  liLcn  inneli  exaffucratud  by  public  opinion, 
but  tiiev  hail  tlien  been  considcraiile,  and  liavc 
since  l)ccn  Rrcat.  Our  undivided  attention 
iias  liiercforu  to  be  turned  to,  "iiis  precious 
time  consumed,"  ami  to  its  inadequate  com- 
pensation. And  tiie  first  question  that  natu- 
rally occurs  to  every  reader  to  ask  himself  is 

"in  Avhat  sense  arc  we  to  take  the  terms 

'time,' 'precious,' and  'consumed?'"  Inas- 
much as  "time"  is  only  another  word  for  life, 
it  is  e(|ually  "precious"  to  all  men.  Take  it 
then  to  mean  leisure  hours,  in  which  men  seek 
for  relaxation  and  enjoyment.  ^Er.  Thomson 
tells  us  that  he  was  from  early  youth  an  en- 
thusiast in  music  and  in  poetry;  and  it  puzzles 
us  to  conceive  what  he  means  by  talking-  oi 
"his  precious  time  being  consumed"  in  such 
.studies.  To  an  enthusiast,  a  "musty  volume" 
is  a  treasure  beyond  the  wealth  of  Ind — to 
pore  over  "musty  volumes"  sweet  as  to  gaze 
(lu  melting  eyes — he  hugs  them  to  his  heart. 
Tliey  are  their  own  cxceedinn'  great  reward — 
and  we  cannot  listen  to  any  claim  for  pecuniary 
compensation.  Then,  who  over  heard,  before 
or  since,  of  an  enthusiast  in  poetrN  avowing 
before  the  world,  that  he  had  not  been  sufli- 
ciciiily  compensated  in  money,  "for  the  pre- 
cious time  consumed  by  him  in  corresponding 
with  Poets?"  I'oets  are  proverbially  an  irri- 
talile  race;  still  there  is  something  about  them 
that  makes  them  very  engaging — and  we 
cannot  Ijring  ourselves  to  tiiink  that  George 
Thomson's  "precious  time  consumed"  in  cor- 
responding with  Sir  Walter  Scott,  Thomas 
C'am]pbcll,  Joanna  IJaillie,  and  the  Ettrick 
Shepherd,  deserved  "compensation."  As  to 
amateurs,  we  mournfully  grant  they  are  bur- 
tliensime;  yet  even  that  burthen  may  uncom- 
plainingly be  borne  by  an  Editor  who  "expects 
by  their  means  to  make  any  valuable  addition 
to  our  national  music  and  .song;"  and  it  cannot 
be  denied,  that  the  creatures  have  often  good 
ears,  and  turn  ofT  tolerable  verses.  Finally,  if 
by  "precious"  he  means  valuable,  in  a  Politico- 
Kcouomical  sense,  we  do  not  sec  how  ilr. 
Thomson's  time  could  have  been  consumed 
more  productively  to  himself;  nor  indeed  how 
he  could  have  made  any  money  at  all  by  a 
different  employment  of  it.  In  every  sen.sc, 
therefoic,  in  which  the  words  are  construed, 


they  arc  ecpially  absurd;  and  all  who  read 
them  are  forced  to  think  of  one  who.se  "pre- 
cious time  was  indeed  consumed" — to  his  fatal 
lo.ss — the  too  generous,  the  .self-devoted  Burns 
— but  for  whose  "uncompensated  exertions," 
"The  Melodies  of  Scotland"  would  have  been 
to  the  Eilitor  a  ruinous  concern,  in  place  of 
one  which  for  nearly  half  a  century  must  have 
been  yielding  him  a  greater  annual  income 
than  the  Poet  would  have  enjoyed  had  he  been 
even  a  Supervisor. 

]^Ir.  Thomson  has  further  put  forth  in  his 
letter  to  IJobert  Chambers,  and  not  now  for  the 
first  time,  thi.s  most  injudicious  defence.  "Had 
1  been  a  selfish  or  avaricious  man,  I  had  a 
fair  opportunity,  upon  the  death  of  the  poet, 
to  put  money  in  my  pocket;  for  I  might  then 
have  published,  for  my  own  behoof,  all  the 
beautiful  lyrics  he  had  written  for  me,  the 
original  manuscripts  of  which  were  in  my 
possession.  But  instead  of  doing  this,  I  was 
no  sooner  informed  that  the  friends  of  the 
poet's  family  had  come  to  a  resolution  to  collect 
his  works,  and  to  publish  them  for  the  benefit 
of  the  family,  and  that  they  thought  it  of  im- 
liortance  to  include  my  JISS.  as  being  likely, 
from  their  number,  their  novelty,  and  their 
beauty,  to  prove  an  attraction  to  subscribers, 
than  1  felt  it  my  duty  to  put  them  at  once 
in  possession  of  all  the  songs,  and  of  the  cor- 
resjiondenee  between  the  poet  and  my.self;  and 
accordingly,  thi-ough  Jlr.  John  Symc  of  Rye- 
dale,  1  transmitted  the  whole  to  Dr.  Currie, 
who  had  been  prevailed  on,  immensely  to  the 
advantage  of  Jlrs.  IJurns  and  her  children,  to 
take  on  himself  the  ta.sk  of  editor.  For  this 
surrendering  the  manuscripts,  I  received,  both 
verbally  and  in  writing,  the  warm  thank.s  of 
the  trustees  for  the  family — Jlr.  John  Syme 
and  llr.  Gilbert  Burns — who  considered  what 
I  had  done  as  a  fair  return  for  the  poet'.s 
generosity  of  conduct  to  me."  Of  course  he 
retained  the  exclusive  right  of  publishing  the 
.songs  with  the  music  in  his  Collection.  Now, 
what  if  he  had  refused  to  surrender  the  manu- 
scripts ?  The  whole  world  would  have  accused 
him  of  robbing  the  widow  and  orphan,  and 
he  would  have  been  hooted  out  of  Scotland. 
George  Thomson,  rather  than  have  done  so, 
would  have  suffered  himself  to  be  pressed  to 
death  between  two  mill-stones;  and  yet  he 
not  only  instances  his  having  "surrendered 


110 


THE  OKNIUS  AND  WKITINliS  OF  13U11NS. 


[i 


i;     1 


tlic  3ISS."  as  a  proof  of  tlic  calumnious  nature 
of  tlic  abuse  willi  wliii'h  lie  had  liccii  assailed 
l)y  anonymous  scribblers,  but  is  proud  of  the 
thanks  of  "the  trustees  of  the  family,  who 
considered  what  I  had  done  as  a  /air  return 
for  tiie  poet's  generosity  of  conduct  to  nic," 
Setting  aside,  then,  "the  calumnies  of  anony- 
mous scribblers,"  with  one  and  all  of  which  we 
are  unaciiuainted,  we  have  shown  that  ,1'vsiali 
Walker,  in  his  foolish  remarks  on  tlli^,  atl'air, 
whereby  he  outraged  the  common  feelings  of 
aumanity,  left  his  friend  just  where  he  stood 
before — that  Lord  Woodhousclee  kncwnothing 
whatever  about  the  matter,  and  in  his  good 
nature  has  made  assertions  absurdly  untrue — 
that  Mr.  Thomson's  own  defence  of  himself  is 
in  all  respects  an  utter  failure,  and  mainly 
depends  on  the  supposition  of  a  case  uucx- 
ampled  in  a  Christian  land — that  Lockhart 
with  unerring  finger  has  indicated  where  the 
fault  lay — and  that  Cunningham  has  accounted 
for  it  by  a  reason  that  with  candid  judges 
must  serve  to  reduce  it  to  one  of  a  very  pardon- 
able kind;  the  avowal  of  which  from  the  first 
would  have  saved  a  worthy  man  from  some 
unjust  obloquy,  and  at  least  as  much  unde- 
served commendation — the  truth  being  now 
apparent  to  all,  that ' '  his  poverty,  not  his  will 
consented"  to  secure  on  the  terms  of  non-pay- 
ment, a  hundred  and  twenty  songs  from  the 
greatest  lyric  poet  of  his  country,  who  during 
the  years  he  was  thus  lavishing  away  the  eflu- 
sions  of  his  matchless  genius,  without  fee  or 
reward,  was  in  a  state  bordering  on  destitution, 
and  as  the  pen  drop*  from  his  hand,  did  not 
leave  sufficient  to  defray  the  expenses  of  a 
decent  funeral. 

We  come  now  to  contemplate  his  dying  days; 
and  mournful  as  the  contemplation  is,  the 
close  of  many  an  illustrious  life  has  been  far 
more  distressing,  involved  in  far  thicker  dark- 
ness, and  far  heavier  storms.  From  youth  he 
had  been  visited — we  shall  not  say  haunted— 
by  presentiments  of  an  early  death;  he  knew 
well  that  the  profound  melancholy  that  often 
settled  down  upon  his  whole  being,  suddenly 
changing  day  into  night,  arose  from  his  or- 
ganization;—and  it  seems  as  if  the  finest  still 
bordered  on  disease — disease  in  his  case  per- 
haps hereditary — for  his  father  was  often  sadder 
than  even  "the  toil-worn  cotter"  needed  to 
be,  and  looked  like  a  man  subject  to  inward 


trouble.  His  character  was  somewhat  stcni, 
and  we  can  believe  that  in  his  austerity  he 
found  a  safeguard  against  passion,  that  never- 
theless may  shake  the  life  it  cannot  wreck. 
Hut  the  son  wanted  the  father's  firmness;  and 
in  his  veins  there  coursed  inniv  impetuous 
blood.  The  very  fire  of  genius  consumed  him, 
coming  and  going  in  fitful  flaslic>;  his  genius 
itself  may  almost  be  called  a  passion,  so  vehe- 
ment was  it,  and  so  turbulent — though  it  had 
its  scenes  of  blissful  quietude;  his  heart  \u» 
seldom  suffered  itself  to  be  at  rest;  many  a 
fever  travelled  through  his  veins;  his  ealuiot 
nights  were  liable  to  be  broken  in  ui)ou  iiy 
the  worst  of  dreams — waking  <lrcams  from 
which  there  is  no  deliverance  in  a  suilden  start 
— of  wh'jh  the  misery  is  felt  •  •  lie  no  delusion 
— which  are  not  dispelled  by  the  morning 
light,  but  accompany  their  victim  as  he  walks 
out  into  the  day,  and  among  the  dew,  and, 
surrounded  as  he  is  with  the  beauty  of  rejoicing 
nature,  tempt  him  to  curse  the  day  lie  was 
born. 

Yet  let  u.s  not  call  the  life  of  Hnnis  un- 
happy— nor  at  its  close  shut  our  eyes  to  the 
manifold  blessings  showered  by  heaven  on  the 
Poet's  lot.  Many  of  the  mental  sufferings 
that  helped  most  to  wear  him  out,  originated 
in  his  own  restless  nature  —  "by  iirudent, 
cautious,  self-control"  he  might  have  subdued 
some  and  tempered  others — better  regulatimi 
was  within  his  power— and,  like  all  n-.cn,  he 
jiaid  the  pciuilty  of  neglect  of  duty,  v  of  its 
violation.  Hut  what  loss  is  liar(Ie>..  to  bear? 
The  loss  of  the  beloved.  All  other  wounds 
arc  slight  to  those  of  the  affections.  Let  For- 
tune do  her  worst — so  that  Death  be  merciful. 
Hums  went  to  his  own  grave  without  having 
been  commanded  to  look  down  into  another's 
where  all  was  buried.  "I  have  lately  drunk 
deep  of  the  cup  of  afliiction.  The  autumn 
robbed  me  of  my  only  daughter  and  darling 
child,  and  that  at  a  distance  too,  and  so  rap- 
idly, as  to  put  it  out  of  my  jiower  to  pay  the 
last  duties  to  her."'  The  flower  withered,  and 
he  wept — but  his  four  pretty  boys  were  soon 
dancing  again  in  their  glee — their  mother's 
heart  was  soon  composed  again  to  cheerfulness 
— and  her  face  without  a  shadow.  An.xiety 
for  their  sakes  did  indeed  keep  preying  on  his 
heart; — but  what  would  that  anxiety  have 
1  Letter  to  Mrs.  Dunloj),  31st  Jauuiuy,  1790. 


THK  GENIUS  AND  WUITINGS  OF  BURNS. 


Ill 


seemed  to  him,  Imd  he  l)cen  called  upon  to  look 
baek  upon  it  in  an.mii.sh  lucdii.^f  t/ni/  inrc  not.'' 
Hums  had  not  been  well  lor  a  twelvemonth; 
and  tliiiiiy;li  nobody  secnis  even  then  to  have 
(liouuiit  iiini  dyini,',  on  the  return  of  spring, 
wliieli  i)rought  him  no  sirengtii,  lie  knew  that 
hi.^  days  were  numbered.  Intense  thought,  so 
it  lie  calm,  is  salutary  to  life.  It  is  emotion 
that  shortens  our  days  by  hur>-ying  life's  p>il- 
witions — till  the  heart  can  no  more,  and  runs 
down  like  a  disordered  time-piece.  We  said 
nobody  seems  to  have  thought  him  dying; — 
yet,  after  the  event,  every  body,  on  looking 
back  on  it,  remembered  seeing  death  in  his 
face.  It  is  when  thinking  of  those  many  nuinths 
of  decline  and  decay,  that  we  fool  pity  aiul 
sorrow  for  his  fate,  and  that  along  with  them 
other  enioti"iis  will  arise,  without  our  well 
knowing  towards  whom,  or  by  what  name  they 
should  be  called,  but  partaking  of  indigiuvtion, 
and  shame,  and  reproach,  as  if  some  great 
wrong  had  been  done,  and  might  have  been 
rectified  before  death  came  to  close  the  account. 
Not  without  blame  somewhere  could  such  a 
man  have  been  so  neglected — .so  forgotten — 
so  left  alone  to  sicken  ami  die. 

0  .Scotial  my  ilenr,  my  native  soil ! 

Fill-  whom  my  warmest  wisli  to  heavun  is  sent ! 
hung  mny  thy  hardy  soiia  of  rustic  toil, 

lie  liless'il  witli  liealtli,  ami  jieace,  ami  sweet  content  1 

No  son  of  Scotland  did  ever  regard  her  with 
more  filial  afiection — did  ever  in  strains  so 
sweet  sing  of  the  scenes  "  that  made  her  loved 
at  home,  revered  abroad" — and  yet  his  mother 
stretches  not  out  her  hand  to  sustain — wiien 
it  was  too  late  to  save — her  own  I'oct  as  he 
was  sinking  into  an  untimely  grave.  But  the 
dying  man  complained  not  of  her  ingratitude 
— lie  loved  her  too  well  to  the  last  to  suspect 
her  of  such  sin — there  was  nothing  for  him  to 
forgive — and  he  knew  that  he  would  for  ever 
have  a  place  in  her  memory.  Her  rulers  were 
occupied  with  great  concerns — in  which  all 
llioii'jltfn  of  aeJf  were  nii'ruci! .'  and  therefore 
well  might  she  forget  her  I'oct,  who  was  but  a 
cotter's  son  and  a  ganger.  In  such  forgetful- 
ncss  they  were  what  other  rulers  have  been, 
and  will  be, — and  Coleridge  lived  to  know 
that  the  great  ones  of  his  own  land  could  be 
as  heartles.s  in  his  own  case  as  the  "Scotch 
nobility"  in  that  of  Hurns,  for  whose  Inwvs  his 
youthful  genius  wove  a  wreath  of  scorn.   ' '  The 


wrapt  one  of  the  godlike  forehead,  the  heaven- 
eyed  creature  sleeps  in  earth" — but  who  among 
them  all  cared  for  the  long  self-seclusion  of 
the  white-headed  .«agc — for  his  sick  bed,  or 
his  grave? 

Turn  we  then  from  the  Impersonation  named 
Scotland — from  her  rulers — from  her  nobility 
and  gentry — to  the  personal  friends  of  Ikirns. 
Could  they  have  served  him  in  his  straitM? 
And  howV  If  they  could,  then  were  they  bound 
to  do  so  by  a  stricter  obligation  tlum  lay  upon 
any  other  party;  and  if  they  had  the  will  as 
well  as  the  power,  'twould  have  been  easy  to 
find  a  way.  The  duties  of  friendship  are  plain, 
simple,  sacred — and  to  perform  them  is  de- 
lightful; yet  so  far  as  wc  can  see,  they  were 
not  performed  here — if  they  were,  let  us  have 
the  names  of  the  beneficent  who  visited  Burns 
every  other  day  during  the  months  disease 
had  deprived  him  of  all  power  to  follow  his 
calling?  Who  insisted  on  helping  to  keep  the 
fanuly  in  comfort  till  his  strength  might  be 
restored?  For  example,  to  pay  his  hou.se  rent 
for  a  year?  Jlr.  Syme  of  Kyedale  told  Dr. 
Curric,  that  Burns  had  "many  firm  friends  in 
Dumfries,"  who  would  not  have  .suffered  the 
haberdasher  to  i)ut  him  into  jail,  and  that  his 
were  the  fears  of  a  man  in  delirium.  Did  not 
those  "firm  friends"  know  that  he  was  of 
necessity  very  poor?  And  did  any  one  of  them 
otter  to  lend  him  thirty  shillings  to  pay  for  his 
three  weeks'  lodgings  at  the  Brow?  He  Avas 
not  in  delirium — till  within  two  days  of  his 
death.  Small  sums  he  had  occasionally  bor- 
rowed and  repaid — but  from  people  as  poor  as 
himself — such  as  kind  Craig,  the  schoolmaster, 
to  whom,  at  Jiis  death,  he  owed  a  pound — 
never  from  the  more  opulent  townfolk  or  the 
gentry  in  the  neiirhbourhood,  of  not  one  of 
whom  is  it  recorded  that  he  or  .she  accommo- 
dated the  dying  Poet  with  a  loan  sufticicnt  to 
jiay  for  a  week's  porridge  and  milk.'  Let  us 
have  no  more  disgusting  palaver  about  his 
pride.  His  heart  would  have  mchod  within 
him  at  any  act  of  considerate  friendship  done 
to  his  family;  and  so  far  from  feeling  that  by 
accepting  it  he  had  become  a  pauper,  he  would 

1  [Clarke,  the  schoolmaster  (not  Cw';7  as  in  the 
text),  was  Bnrns's  debtor,  not  his  creditor.  Wlint 
Wilson  iniderstands  to  he  the  borrowini;  of  a  pound 
from  Clarke  is  a  rc(iuest  for  part  payment  of  a  deht 
wliich  had  been  standinR  for  some  time.  .See  letter 
20th  June,  179C.1 


I  ;?ii 


ri  1 


112 


THE  GKXIL'S  AND  WHITIXCIS  OF  BUKNS. 


i  i: 


1  i 


I'!     II- 


I 


f'  i 


4    i 


Imvc  rocoynizcd  in  the  doer  of  it  a  bioiiicr, 
and  taiien  him  into  his  iioart.  And  iiiul  lie 
not  in  all  the  earth,  one  single  such  Friend? 
His  Iirother  (jilliert  was  struggling  with  severe 
dillii'ulties  at  Mossgiel,  and  was  then  unahle 
to  assist  him;  and  his  exeellent  eousin  at  Mon- 
trose had  enough  to  do  to  maintain  his  own 
family;  hut  as  soon  as  he  knew  how  matters 
wtood,  he  showed  that  the  true  Ihirns's  Idood 
was  in  his  heart,  and  after  the  Poet's  death, 
was  as  kiiul  as  man  eould  he  to  his  widow  anil 
children. 

What  had  come  over  Mrs.  Duidop  that  she 
should  have  seemed  to  have  forgotten  or  for- 
saken him?  "■  Tlii'Ke  niKiiii  motithn  you  have 
been  two  packets  in  my  debt — what  sin  of 
ignorance  1  have  committed  against  so  highly 
valued  a  friend  I  am  utterly  at  a  loss  to  guess. 
Alas!  iladam,  ill  can  1  ad'ord,  at  this  time,  to 
be  deprived  of  any  of  the  small  remnant  of 
my  pleasures.  ...  I  had  .scarcely  begun  to 
recover  from  that  shock  (the  death  of  his  little 
daughter),  when  1  became  myself  the  victim 
of  a  most  severe  rheumatic  fever,  and  long  the 
die  spun  doubtful;  until,  after  many  weeks  of 
a  sick  bed,  it  seems  to  have  turned  up  life, 
and  I  am  beginning  to  crawl  across  my  room, 
and  once,  indeed,  have  been  before  my  own 
door  in  the  street."'  No  answer  came;  and 
three  [six]  months  after  he  wrote  from  the 
Brow:  "Madam — I  have  written  you  so  often 
without  receiving  any  answer,  that  I  would 
not  trouble  you  again  but  for  the  circum- 
stances in  which  I  am.  An  illness  which  has 
long  hung  about  me,  in  all  probability  will 
speedily  send  me  beyond  that  hoiirne  ichencc 
no  traveller  retnrm.  Your  friendship,  with 
which  for  many  years  you  honoured  me,  was  a 
friendship  dearest  to  my  soul.  Your  conver- 
sation, and  especially  your  correspondence,  were 
at  once  highly  entertaining  and  instructive. 
With  what  plersure  did  I  use  to  break  up  the 
seal  I  The  remembrance  yet  adds  one  pulse 
more  to  my  poor  palpitating  heart.  Farewell ! ! ! 
R.  B."  Curric  says,  "  Burns  had  the  pleasure 
of  receiving  a  satisfactory  explanation  of  his 
friend's  silence,  and  .in  assurance  of  the  con- 
tinuance of  her  'riendship  to  his  widow  and 
children;  an  assurance  that  has  been  amply 
fulfilled."  That  "satisfactory  explanation" 
should  have  been  given  to  the  world — it  should 
1  Letter,  31st  January,  1796. 


1)0  given  yet — for  without  it  Hueh  incompre- 
hensible silence  must  continue  to  seem  cnul; 
and  it  is  due  to  the  memory  of  one  whom 
liurns  loved  and  honoured  to  the  last  to  vindi- 
cate on  her  part  the  faithfulness  of  the  frieiiil. 
ship  which  preserves  her  luunc. 

Maria  Itidilell,  a  lady  of  tine  talents  and  m-- 
complishments,  and  tliough  somcwluu  capii- 
cious  in  the  con^ciousness  of  her  mental  and 
personal  attractions,  yet  of  most  amiable  dis- 
positions, and  of  an  aircctionate  and  temlcr 
heart,  was  so  little  aware  of  the  condition  uf 
the  I'oet,  whose  genius  she  could  so  well  appre- 
ciate, that  only  a  few  weeks  before  his  death, 
when  he  could  hardly  crawl,  he  had  by  letter 
to  decline  acceding  to  her  "desire,  that  he 
W'  id  go  to  the  birth-day  assembly,  on  the  4tli 
of  June,  to  nhoin  his  hii/ulti/.'"  .Vlas!  he  was 
fast  "wearin'  awa  to  the  land  o'  the  leal;"  and 
after  the  lapse  of  a  few  weeks,  that  lady  gay, 
herself  in  poor  health,  an<l  saddened  out  of 
such  vanities  by  sincerest  sorrow  —as  struck 
with  his  api  \irance  on  entering  the  room. 
"The  stamj)  of  death  was  imprinted  on  his 
features.  He  seemed  already  touching  the 
brink  of  eternity.  His  (irst  salutation  was — 
'Well,  Madam,  have  you  any  commands  for 
the  next  world?' "  The  best  men  have  indulged 
in  such  sallies  on  the  brink  of  the  grave.  Nor 
has  the  utterance  of  words  like  these,  as  life's 
taper  was  flickering  in  the  socket,  been  felt  to 
denote  a  mood  of  levity  unbecoming  a  crea- 
ture about  to  go  to  his  account.  On  the  con- 
trary, there  is  something  very  aflecting  in  tiie 
application  of  such  formulas  of  speech  as  had 
been  of  familiar  u.se  all  his  days,  on  his  passage 
through  the  shadow  of  time,  now  that  his  be- 
ing is  about  to  bo  liberated  into  the  light  of 
eternity,  where  our  mortal  language  is  heard 
not, and  .spirit  communicates  with  spirit  through 
organs  not  made  of  clay,  having  dropt  the 
body  like  a  garment. 

In  that  interview,  the  last  recorded,  and  it 
is  recorded  well — pity  so  much  should  have 
been  suppressed — "  he  spoke  of  his  death  with- 
out any  of  the  ostentation  of  philosophy,  but 
with  firmness  as  well  as  feeling,  as  an  event 
likely  to  happen  very  soon,  and  which  gave 
him  concern  chiefly  from  leaving  his  four  chil- 
dren 80  young  and  unprotected,  and  his  wife 
in  80  Interesting  a  situation,  in  hourly  expec- 
tation of  lying  in  of  a  fifth. "     Yet,  during  the 


THE  GENIUS  AND  WniTINCiS  OF  BURNS. 


113 


whole  afternoon,  he  wan  diccrfiil,  even  gay, 
ami  disposed  for  i)leiisaiitry;  Hiioli  is  the  power 
of  the  liiiman  voiee  and  the  human  eye  over 
the  iiinnaii  lieart,  aiiuosl  to  the  resuseltation 
of  drowned  In  ;•%  wiien  tliey  are  hoth  sud'uHed 
with  afleetion,  w'.eu  tonen  are  an  tender  as 
tears,  yet  ean  lietter  liide  tlie  jiity  that  ever 
and  anon  will  lie  giishing  from  the  lidn  of  grief. 
He  exjireHscd  deep  eontrition  for  having  been 
liflniyed  hy  his  inferior  nature  and  vieions 
Kyniiiatliy  with  the  dissidute,  into  impurities 
in  verse,  wiiich  he  knew  were  floating  about 
among  pcojile  of  loose  lives,  and  might  on  his 
deatli  lie  eolleeled  to  the  hurt  of  his  moral 
cliaraeter.  Never  had  Burns  been  "hired  min- 
strel of  voluptuous  blandishment,"  nor  by  such 
unguarded  freedom  of  speeeh  hail  he  ever 
sought  to  eorrupt;  but  in  emulating  the  ribald 
wit  and  eoarsc  humour  of  some  of  the  worst 
old  ballads  eurrcnt  among  the  lower  orders  of 
the  peojile,  of  whom  the  moral  and  religious 
are  often  tolerant  of  indeeeneies  to  f.  strange 
degree,  he  felt  that  he  had  sinucd  against  his 
genius.  A  misereant.  aware  of  his  jioverty, 
hal  made  him  an  oiler  of  fifty  pounds  for  ft 
eolleetion,  which  he  repelled  with  the  horror 
of  remorse.  Such  things  eau  hardly  be  said 
to  have  e.xistenee — the  polluted  ]icrishes — or 
shovelled  aside  from  the  socialities  of  mirthful 
men,  are  nearly  obsolete,  except  among  those 
Avhose  thoughtlessness  is  so  great  as  to  be  sin- 
ful, aniouu'  whom  thedistinction  ceases  between 
the  weak  and  the  wicked.  From  such  painful 
thoughts  he  turned  to  his  poetry,  that  had 
every  year  been  becoming  dearer  and  dearer  to 
the  jieople,  and  he  had  comfort  in  the  assur- 
ance that  it  was  pure  and  good;  and  he  wished 
to  live  a  little  longer  that  he  might  amend 
his  Songs,  for  through  them  he  felt  he  would 
survive  in  the  hearts  of  the  dwellers  in  cot- 
tage-homes all  over  .'-Scotland — and  in  tlic  fond 
imagination  of  his  iieart  Scotland  to  him  was 
all  the  world. 

"  He  spoke  of  his  death  witliout  any  of  the 
ostentation  of  philosophy, "  and  perhaps  with- 
out any  reference  to  religion;  for  dying  men 
often  keep  their  profoundest  thoughts  to  them- 
selves, except  in  the  chamber  in  which  they 
believe  they  are  about  to  have  their  la?t  look 
of  the  objects  of  their  earthly  lovo,  and  there 
they  give  them  utterance  in  a  few  words  of 
hope  and  trust.     While  yet  walking  about  in 


the  open  air,  and  visiting  their  friends,  they 
continue  to  converse  about  the  things  of  this 
life  in  language  so  full  of  aninuition,  that  you 
might  think,  butforsomething about  thcireyes, 
that  they  are  unconscious  of  their  doom — and 
BO  at  times  they  arc;  for  the  customary  plea- 
sure of  social  intercourse  does  not  desert  them; 
the  sight  of  others  well  and  hapi)y  beguiles 
them  of  the  mournful  knowledge  that  their 
own  term  has  nearly  expired,  and  in  that 
obliviim  they  are  cheerful  as  the  jjcrsons  seem 
to  be  who  for  their  sakes  assume  a  smiling 
aspect,  in  spite  of  struggling  tears.  So  was  it 
with  Hnrns  at  the  Mrow.  IJut  he  had  his 
Bible  with  him  in  his  lodgings,  and  he  read  it 
almost  continiuilly — often  when  seated  on  a 
bank,  from  Avliich  he  had  dilliculty  in  rising 
without  assistance,  for  his  weakness  was  c:;- 
treme,  and  in  his  emaciation  he  was  like  a 
ghost.  The  fire  of  his  eyes  was  not  dimmed — 
indeed  fever  had  lighted  it  up  beyond  even 
its  natural  brighUiess;  and  though  his  voiee, 
once  so  variou.s,  was  now  hollow,  his  discourse 
was  still  that  of  a  I'oet.  To  the  last  he  loved 
the  sunshine,  the  grass,  and  the  ilowers — to 
the  last  he  had  a  kind  look  and  word  for  the 
passers-by,  who  all  knew  it  was  Burns.  Labour- 
ing men,  on  their  way  from  work,  would  ^tep 
aside  to  the  two  or  three  houses  called  the 
Brow,  to  know  if  there  was  any  hope  of  his 
life;  and  it  is  not  to  be  doulited  that  de\out 
people  remembered  him  wlio  had  written  the 
"Cotter's  .Saturday  Night"  in  their  jirayers. 
His  .sceptical  doubts  no  longer  troubled  him — 
they  had  never  been  more  than  shadows — and 
ho  had  at  last  tlie  faith  of  a  confiding  Christian. 
We  are  not  even  to  suppose  that  his  heart  was 
always  disquieted  within  him  because  of  the 
helpless  condition  of  his  Avidow  and  orjihans. 
That  must  have  been  indeed  with  him  a  dismal 
day  on  which  he  wrote  three  letters  about 
them  so  full  of  anguish;  but  to  give  vent  to 
grief  in  passionate  outcries  usually  assuages 
it,  and  tranquillity  sometimes  steals  upon  des- 
pair. His  belief  that  he  was  so  sunk  in  debt 
was  a  delusion — not  of  delirium — but  of  the 
fear  that  is  in  love.  And  comfort  must  have 
come  to  liim  in  the  conviction  that  his  country 
would  not  suffer  the  fiimily  of  her  Poet  to  bo 
in  want.  As  long  as  he  had  health  they  were 
happy,  though  poor — as  long  as  he  was  alive, 
they  were  not  utterly  destitute.     That  on  his 


I 


'  i! 


lit 


THK  CKNirS  ANT)  WHITI\(iS  OK  lHliXH. 


r 


k 


i 


I'l'. 


(kiilli  liny  woiilil  l)i.'  iiaiiiiorx,  wii.h  u  ilmul  lliiit 
ciiiilil  liavu  Imil  III)  uliiiliiii;  |iliicu  in  ii  hcurl 
that  kill'"-  how  it  Und  lual  lor  Scotlaiiil,  iiiul 
in  the  power  of  jieniiis  had  poiirt'il  out  all  it?* 
liivo  on  I LT  fic'hls  ami  lier  pL'o|ilt'.  ilis  heart 
was  pierced  with  the  .same  wounds  that  extort 
lameulations  from  the  deiith-lied.s  of  ordinary 
men,  thinkin.i?  of  what  will  heeomu  of  wife  iind 
cliildren;  init  like  the  ponrinK'  of  oil  upon 
them  \>\  .-ome  i^raeious  hand,  mii.st  have  lieen 
the  fre(|ucnt  recurrence  of  the  belief— "<tn 
n»y  death  people  will  pity  them,  ami  care  for 
them  for  my  name's  nnke."  Sinue  little  matter 
of  money  he  knew  he  should  leave  hchind  him 
— the  two  hundred  po\inds  he  had  lent  to  his 
brother;  and  it  sorely  grieved  him  to  think 
that  tiilbcrt  miKlit  be  ruined  by  Imviiij,'  to 
return  it.  What  brotherly  alleotion  was  there! 
They  liad  not  met  for  a  good  many  years;  but 
personal  intercourse  was  not  rei|uirc<l  to  sus- 
tain their  friendship.  At  the  Hrow  often  must 
the  dying  I'oet  have  remembered  Mossgiel. 

On  the  near  approach  of  death  he  returned 
to  his  own  house,  in  a  spring-cart — and  having 
left  it  at  the  foot  of  the  street,  he  could  just 
totter  up  to  his  door.  The  last  words  his  hand 
had  streiigth  to  put  on  paper  were  to  his  wife's 
father,  and  were  written  probaljly  within  an 
hour  of  his  return  home.  "  My  dear  Sir, — 
Uo,  for  heaven's  sake,  send  .Mrs.  Armour  here 
immediately.  My  wife  is  hourly  expected  to 
be  put  to  bed.  (lood  (iodi  what  a  situation 
for  her  to  be  in,  p>)or  girl,  without  a  frieiul ! 
I  returned  from  sea-bathing  (piarters  to-day; 
and  my  medical  friends  would  almost  persuade 
me  that  I  am  better;  but  I  think  and  feel 
that  my  strength  is  so  gone,  that  the  disorder 
will  prove  fatal  to  me.  Your  son-in-law,  1{.  15." 
That  is  not  the  letter  of  a  man  in  delirium — 
nor  was  the  letter  written  a  few  days  before 
from  the  Hrow  to  "my  dearest  love."  Hut 
next  day  he  was  delirious,  anil  tiie  day  after 
too,  though  on  being  spoken  to  he  roused  him- 
seu"  into  collected  and  composed  thought,  and 
was,  ever  and  anon,  for  a  few  miiuites  himself 
— I'obert  IJurns.  In  his  delirium  there  was 
nothing  to  distress  the  listeners  and  the  lookers 
on — words  were  heard  that  to  them  had  no 
meaning — mistakings  made  by  the  parting 
Bpirit  among  its  language  now  in  confusion 
breaking  up — and  sometimes  words  of  trifling 
import  about  trifling  things — about  incidents 


and  events  unnoticed  in  their  happening,  Inn 
now  strangely  eared  for  in  their  final  rciiaxjui,' 
bet'oie  the  closed  eyes  just  ere  the  disMilutiun 
of  the  dream  of  a  dream.  .Nor  did  his  death- 
bed want  for  aU'ectionate  and  faithful  service. 
The  few  who  were  i)rivileged  to  tend  it  did  no 
tenderly  and  reverently  imw  by  the  side  of 
the  sick  wife,  and  now  by  that  of  the  dying 
husband.  Maxwell,  a  kind  physician,  eaiin' 
often  to  gaze  in  sadness  where  no  ^kill  eoiiiil 
relieve.  Kiiidlaler—  supervisor  of  exi'ise — sat 
by  his  bedside  the  night  before  he  died;  and 
Jessie  Lewars — daughter  and  sister  of  a  gaiiuer 
— was  his  sick  nurse.  Had  ho  been  her  own 
father  she  could  not  have  done  her  duty  with 
a  more  perfect  devotion  of  her  whole  filial 
heart— and  her  name  will  never  die,  "here 
eteridzed  on  earth"  by  the  gi'iiius  nf  the  Poet 
who  for  all  her  C'liri.<<tian  kindness  to  him  and 
his  had  long  cherished  towards  her  the  teiider- 
est  gratitude.  Mis  ebildreii  had  been  taken 
care  of  by  frieiuls,  and  were  led  in  to  be  near 
him  now  that  his  hour  was  come.  His  wife 
in  her  own  bed  knew  it,  as  soon  as  her  I'obert 
was  taken  from  her;  and  the  great  I'oet  of  the 
Scottish  people,  who  had  been  born  "in  the 
auld  clay  biggin"  on  a  stormy  winter  night, 
died  in  an  humble  tenement  on  a  bright  sum- 
mer morning,  among  humble  folk,  who  com- 
posed his  body,  and  according  to  custom 
strewed  around  it  flowers  brought  from  their 
own  gardens. 

Clreat  was  the  grief  of  the  people  for  their 
I'oet's  <leath.  They  felt  that  they  had  lost 
their  greatest  man;  ami  it  is  no  exaggeration 
to  say  that  Scotlaiul  was  saddened  on  the  day 
of  his  funeral.  It  is  seldom  that  tears  are  shed 
even  close  to  the  grave  beyond  the  inner  circle 
that  narrows  round  it;  but  that  day  there 
were  tears  in  the  eyes  of  many  far  off  at  their 
work,  and  that  night  there  was  silence  in 
thousands  of  cottages  that  liad  so  often  lieard 
his  songs — how  sweeter  far  than  any  other, 
whether  mournfully  or  merrily  to  old  accordant 
melodies  they  won  their  way  into  the  heart! 
The  people  had  alway.s  loved  him;  they  best 
nnderslood  his  character,  its  strength  and  its 
weakness.  Xot  among  them  at  any  time  had 
it  been  harshly  judged,  and  they  allowed  liim 
now  the  sacred  privileges  of  the  grave.  The 
religious  have  done  so  ever  since,  pitying  more 
than  condemning,  nor  afraid   to   praise;  for 


TIIK   (lllN'irS   AM)   WI!ITI\(;S   oK    Hl'liNS. 


ii; 


lliiv  liiive  i'oiife*.He(l  to  tlioiiiKflvo.,  <hut  liiul 
tliiTi'  lii'iii  II  winilow  ill  llit'lr  liri'iiKlM  iih  iIutu 
wuH  ill  iliiii  'if  liiinis,  wiii-c  ^il•||t.■(  iiii.ttlil  Imvi' 
lii'i'ii  .tocn— IV  (lai'kor  rovcliitimi.  1 1  in  foumry 
(•ii;ir::t'(l  lur-clt' wilii  tiici'iiro  of  tliciii  iio  Imil 
IdViil  HO  well,  mill  liio  H|iiiit  in  wliirli  hIu- 
iicrloriiu'il  liiT  "liity  is  tliu  lu-^t  in-ool'  limt,  liir 
,n,„lL.,.t  — if  iK'.u'loi't  at  aii.v  time  tlicru  woro — 
(if  Iilt  I'oi-t'H  W(.!l-iK'iiiK'  liail  not  iii'cii  wiifiil, 
lull  in  to  1)0  nnnilicrod  witli  lliose  oiiii.-isions 
iiiciik'iit  to  all  linniaii  alliiirs  more  to  he  la- 
iiit'iiti'il  than  ItlaiiK'il,  ami  if  not  to  lie  forgotten, 
HUi't'ly  to  lie  foi'uivi'ii,  even  Ity  the  nations 
who  may  have  notjiiiv,'  to  n-proaeii  thcmsulvos 
with  in  their  comluct  towanis  any  of  liieir 
jfivat  iiocis.  F.iiirlanil,  "tlie  foremost  laml  of  all 
tiiin  woiM,"  was  not  slaek  to  join  in  her  sister's 
Horrow,  ami  proved  the  Kinoerity  of  her  own,  not 
liv  liarrtii  wonls,  lint  fruitful  tlocds,  and  liest 
of  all  liv  fervent  love  ami  admiration  of  the 
poetry  thai  iiail  opened  up  so  many  delightful 
views  into  the  eliaraeter  and  eondition  of  our 
'•lidld  peasantry,  tlieireountry's  pride,"  worthy 
eiiiiipatriots  with  her  own,  and  exhiliitini;  in 
ditlereut  Manners  the  same  national  Virtues. 

No  doiilit  wonder  at  a  proiliiry  had  mingled 
ill  many  minds  with  admiration  of  the  ploimli- 
man's  ]poetry;  and  when  they  of  their  wondcr- 
inu'  foiiiiil  an  end,  siieli  persons  Itcsan  to  talk 
with  alialed  enthiisiasin  of  his  renins,  and  in- 
creased severiiyof  his  eliaraeter,  so  that.durinu: 
intervals  of  sileneo,  an  under  eurrent  of  de- 
tnii'tioii  w;is  freipiently  heard  hrawlinu:  with 
an  iii;ly  iioi>e.  15iit  the  main  -'ream  soon  ran 
itself  I'kar:  and  IJiirns  has  no  almsers  now  out 
of  the  sii[ier;iiiniiated  list;  out  of  it  — liettcr 
still — he  lias  no  patrons.      In  our  youth  we 


have  heard  him  Hpoken  of  hy  the  liig-win'* 
with  exiTediiii,'  coudeseeiiHion;  no.v  the  tallest 
men  know  that  to  ,*ee  Jiin  features  riv;litly  they 
must  look  up.  Shakspeare,  Spenser,  and  Mil- 
ton, are  iinappi'oaehalile;  liiit  the  ]iivsent  er.i 
is  the  most  splendid  in  the  hi-tory  of  our 
poetry  ill  I'.imland  lieuinniin,'  with  Cowper, 
in  Seotland  with  lliinis,  ( hiirinal  and  raey, 
eaeli  in  his  own  land  is  yet  unexcelledj  ini- 
movealily  they  liotli  keep  Mieir  plaees-  their 
inheritaiiee  is  sure.  Chanifes  wide  and  deep, 
for  Itetter  ami  for  worse,  have  been  huiK  Koimi 
on  in  town  ami  eomitry.  There  is  now  aiiioiit; 
the  people  more  edneiit ion -more  know-led^e 
than  in  any  former  thiy.  Their  worldly  eon- 
dition is  more  jn'osperoiis,  while  there  is  still 
amont^  them  a  deep  reli^^ioiis  spirit.  Hy  that 
spirit  alone  enn  they  he  sceurcd  in  the  lu'ood, 
and  saved  from  the  evil  of  knowledue;  lint  the 
spirit  of  poetry  is  akin  to  that  of  religion,  and 
the  nnion  of  the  two  is  in  no  human  eompo- 
■^ition  more  powerful  than  in  "The  Cotter's 
Saturday  Niirht."  "Let  who  may  have  the 
ma.kini;  of  the  laws,  uive  mc  the  makim;  of 
the  hall.ads  of  a  people,"  is  a  i>rofoiind  sayinti'; 
and  the  truth  it  .somewlmt  paratloxieally  ex- 
]irosses  is  in  mueh  as  apidiealde  to  a  eiiltivatt'd 
iind  intelleetual  a.s  to  a  rude  and  imauinative 
ai,'e.  From  our  old  traditional  liallads  we 
know  what  was  dearest  to  the  hearts  and  .souls 
of  the  people.  How  mueh  deeper  must  lie  the 
power  over  them  of  the  poems  and  sonps  of 
such  a  man  as  Hnriis,  of  himself  alone  siijierior 
in  renins  to  all  those  nameless  minstrels,  ami 
of  a  nolder  nature;  an<l  yet  more  cndcaroil  to 
them  hy  jiity  for  the  sorrows  that  eloiuled  the 
close  of  his  life. 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  GEORGE  THOMSON 

REOARDIXG   THE   SONGS   CONTRIBUTED 
TO    HIS    COLLECTION    OF    SCOTTISH    MELODIES. 


NOTICE  OF  GEORGE  TH03IS0X, 

ASP  UIS  CONNECTION  WITH  BUKNS. 

In  1792  Mr.  Gcoi-l;  ■  Thomson,  Clerk  to  the 
Honourable  Board  of  Trustees  for  the  En- 
couragement of  Art  and  Manufactures  in  Scot- 
land, and  distinguished  in  Edinburgh  as  a 
musical  amateur,  projected  a  work,  entitled, 
"A  Select  Collection  of  Original  Scottish  Airs 
for  the  Voice:  to  which  are  added  Introductory 
and  Concluding  Symphonies  and  Accompani- 
ments for  the  Pianoforte  and  Violin,  by  rieyel 
and  Kozeluch,  nith  Select  and  Characteristic 
Verses  by  the  most  admired  Scottish  Poets. "  ^ 
Although  personally  unacquainted  with  Hums, 
Mr.  Thomson's  thoughts  naturally  turned  to 
the  great  living  master  of  Scottish  Song,  and 
he  applied  to  him,  by  letter,  explaining  the 
nature  of  his  publication,  and  begging  to 
know  if  he  could  furnish  him  with  "twenty  or 
twenty-five  songs"  suited  to  "  particular  melo- 
dies," and  otherwise  assist  in  improving  the 
words  usually  appended  to  many  favourite 
Scottish  airs.  "  Profit,"  Mr.  Thomson  avowed 
to  be  'quite  a  secondary  consideration"  in  his 
projected  work,  but  he  was  willing  to  pay  the 
poet  "any  reasonable  price"  he  should  "please 
to  demand."  Burns,  although  contributing  at 
the  time  to  Johnson's  Mmiad  Museum  entered 
with  promptitude,  and  even  enthusiasm,  into 

1  Mr.  Thomson's  work  was  completed  in  five  folio 
volumes,  issue.l  at  the  following  dates :— first  Imlf- 
volume,  1793  (the  only  instalment  the  poet  lived  to 
see);  second  half-volume,  August,  1798;  volume 
second,  .July,  1799;  volume  third,  December,  18(11 
(preface  date);  volume  fourth,  IslKI;  volume  fifth, 
1818.  An  octavo  edition,  in  six  volumes,  was  pub- 
lished, 1822-2,5.  A  reprinted  and  re-sngraved  edition 
of  the  f"lio  collection  (with  title  somewhat  altered) 
was  sulic  ently  issued  in  six  volumes,  bearing  a  de- 
dicat'   .1    .  Queen  Adelaide,  dated  3Uth  March,  1831. 


Mr.  Thomson's  views;  and  from  the  above 
period  till  within  a  week  of  his  death,  he  con- 
tinuedazealouscorrespondent  of  the  musician's, 
furnishing  him  Avith,  in  all,  one  hlndked  .\nu 
TWENTY  soNG.s,  more  than  one  half  of  Avhich 
were  wholly  original,  and  the  rest  improve- 
ments on  old  vcr.scs  or  verses  of  his  own  whicli 
had  previously  appeared  in  the  Jlii.ii'um.  '-As 
to  any  remuneration,  ".said  the  poet  in  his  first 
letter,  "you  may  think  my  songs  cither  «//o/'f; 
or  hclow  price;  for  they  shall  absolutel.-  !ic 
die  one  or  the  other,  in  the  honest  enthu- 
siasm with  which  I  embark  in  your  under- 
taking, to  talk  of  money,  wages,  fee,  hire,  &c., 
would  be  downright  sodomy  of  soul !" 

It  has  surprised  many  how  Burns,  who  liad 
no  hesitation  in  accepting  the  profits  accruing 
from  the  early  editions  of  his  poems,  should 
have  taken  up  this  generous  crotchet  of  giving 
his  .services  gratis,  especially  to  an  individual 
with  whom  he  was  personally  unac(|uaintod; 
but  the  two  cases  were  evidently  viewed  in 
very  different  lights  by  the  poet.  AlthouL^li 
he  had  received  a  large  sum  of  money  from  the 
Edinl)urgh  edition  of  his  works,  he  had  never 
penned  a  .single  line  with  the  object  of  gain 
in  view;  all  his  pieces  were  written  from  the 
genuine  impulses  of  his  heart,  withcuit  the 
shadow  of  remuneration  ever  for  a  moment 
flitting  across  his  page  ;  and  nothing  was  more 
repulsive  to  him  than  the  idea  that  his  nni.-c 
should  be  considered  as  either  a  fawning  or 
a  mercenary  one.  Thomson's  work  was  one 
which  in  an  essential  manner  roused  the  p:itri- 
otic  feelings  of  the  poet;  it  was  a  speculation 
professedly  entered  into  from  no  pecuniary 
motives  on  the  part  f)f  the  proprietors;  ami 
the  services  at  first  rc(|uired  of  him  were  doubt- 
less held  by  himself  to  be  of  very  light  import, 


>MSOX 


)m  the  aljovo 
ileath,  he  con- 
he  musiciiMi's, 

HLNUKED  AND 

half  of  which 
rest  improve- 
liis  own  wiiirli 
[usi'ion.  '"As 
oet  in  his  first 
fs  c'nhcr<il>ore 
absolutel,"  !ic 
honest  cntiui- 
1  your  under- 

fee,  hire,  &c., 
loul!" 

irns,  who  had 
rofits  aceruinii; 
locms,  sliould 
chct  of  givintc 
an  individual 
inai.'(iuaintod ; 
tly  viewed  in 

t.  Altiiouirh 
oncy  from  the 

he  had  never 
al)jeet  of  icaiu 
tten  from  tlie 
witliout  the 
or  a  moment 
lint;  was  more 
that  his  mu>c 

I  fawning'  or 
ivork  was  one 
jscd  the  patri- 

a  spccuhition 

no  pecuniary 
)prietors ;  ami 
m  were  doubt - 

light  import. 


I ' 


<Z- M 01 3i^. © S   "Jr J8[ Q' M.£y&: 


Al'THOR     OK    THP      Mtl.uLlKo      ..V     ci  C  CT 1.  AN  1, 


blAcklo      *      Son     t,-r<ln.      /■U^ipw     %      K-l-nl.urgS 


:'  m: 


II 


!    I 
t 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


117 


as  well  as  of  a  very  agreeable  nature.  From 
these  considerations,  we  do  not  wonder  that 
|},,rii.s — who  never  was,  or  dreamt  of  being,  a 
professional  author,  or  dependent  on  the  pen 
for  his  bread — should  refuse  to  receive  re- 
compense:— the  labour,  if  labour  at  all,  Avas 
one  of  love ;  and  he  felt  that  the  very  idea  of 
"  pay "  for  embarking  in  a  cause  so  sacred  in 
his  eyes  as  the  restoration  of  Scottish  song, 
would  tame  his  fancy  and  chill  his  heart.  In 
."ihort,  the  conduct  of  Burns  on  this  point, 
though  much  to  be  lamented,  can  scarcely  be 
pronounced  unaccountable  or  extraordinary: 
it  was,  at  least,  in  perfect  keeping  with  the 
whole  character  of  the  man. 

Hut  the  conduct  of  Thomson  on  the  same 
point  is  less  easy  of  solution,  and  has  been 
the  subject  of  much  cavil.  It  has  been  ob- 
jected to  him,  that  he  too  readily  acquiesced 
in  the  generous  self-sacrifice  of  the  poet,  and 
tliat  when  the  latter,  on  his  death-bed,  with 
tiie  fear  of  a  jail,  real  or  imaginary,  before 
his  eyes,  implored  the  loan  of  five  pounds, 
Thomson  sent  him  the  exact  sum,  and  no 
more.  These  five  pounds,  with  other  five 
forwarded  at  an  early  stage  of  the  correspon- 
dence, together  with  some  presents  of  books, 
a  sliawl  for  Jlrs.  Burns,  and  a  drawing  by 
David  Allan,  representing  the  family-worship 
scene  in  the  "Cotter's  Saturday  Night,"  were 
all  that  the  poet  ever  received  for  his  invalu- 
al)le  services ;  and  certainly,  looking  back  to 
the  past,  with  our  whole  feelings  roused  in 
favour  of  the  unhappy  bard,  the  transaction 
beai-s  on  the  face  of  it  a  very  questionable 
aspect.  But  it  is  quite  unfair  to  judge  of 
what  should  have  been  done,  after  an  event, 
which  could  not  have  been  anticipated,  has 
taken  place : — to  arrive  at  a  just  conclusion, 
it  is  necessary  to  bear  in  mind  the  circum- 
stances of  the  case  ag  theif  eu-iited  at  the  time 
before  death  had  for  ever  put  his  seal  on  the 
fate  of  the  poet,  and  awakened  the  sympathies 
of  the  world  to  a  contemplation  of  his  brilliant 
yet  sad  career.  When  Thomson  projected 
his  musical  collection,  he  was  without  capital, 
and  living  on  a  salary  from  the  Board  of 
Trustees,  little  better,  we  believe,  than  Burns 
was  receiving  from  the  Board  of  K.xcisc.  His 
work  was  of  a  nature  which  involved  much 
"utlay  for  the  mere  mechanical  department  of 
it,  and  any  pecuniary  returns  which  it  pro- 

VOL.   V. 


miscd  were,  at  the  best,  in  the  far  perspective. 
It  is  not,  therefore,  greatly  to  be  wondered 
at,  that  he  should  at  first  have  silently  received 
the  poet's  offer  of  gratuitous  services;  and 
when,  notwithstanding,  he  did,  on  one  occa- 
sion, some  time  afterwards,  inclose  a  five- 
pound  note  witli  the  first  half-volume  of  his 
Collection,  it  is  still  less  to  be  wondered  at, 
that  the  manner  in  which  the  money  was 
taken  should  have  frightened  him  from  rashly 
repeating  a  similar  offence.  ' '  As  to  any  more 
traffic  of  that  debtor  and  creditor  kind,"  says 
the  Poet,  "I  swear  by  that  Honouk  which 
crowns  the  upright  statue  of  Robekt  Burns's 
Integkity, — on  the  least  motion  of  it,  I  will 
indignantly  .spurn  the  by-past  transaction,  and 
from  that  moment  commence  entire  stranger 
to  you!"  This  objuration  of  course  put  a 
veto  on  any  further  pecuniary  remittance, 
but  it  did  not  prevent  Thomson  from  forward- 
ing, now  and  then,  some  little  present,  such 
as  those  already  referred  to.  At  length,  ill- 
health  drove  the  poet  to  look  with  despair  on 
his  circumstances,  and  in  agony  of  mind  he 
besought  an  advance  of  five  pounds.  Thomson 
promptly  answered  the  request,  but  he  sent 
no  more  than  the  sum  asked.  Six  days  after- 
wards, the  Poet  was  beyond  all  earthly  help, 
hope,  or  care !  It  has  been  urged  in  Thomson's 
defence,  that  had  he  sent  more  than  the  sum 
.specified,  he  would  have  run  the  risk  of 
offending  the  feelings  of  the  poet;  but  this 
view  of  the  matter  is  not  borne  out  by  the 
letter  .accompanying  the  remittance,  in  which 
the  writer  acknowledges  that  the  sum  re- 
(luested  was  just  the  reri/  amount  which  ho 
had  been  long  intending  to  .send.  When  it 
is  known  that  Thomson  was,  at  the  best,  far 
from  being  rich — that,  up  to  the  period  of 
Burns's  death,  only  six  of  his  songs  had  been 
published  in  the  Collection,  the  six,  namely, 
which  appeared  in  the  first  half-volume — and 
that  no  profits  as  yet  luul  been  realized  from 
the  work  —  we  are  di.sposed  to  consider  it 
rather  the  misfortune  than  the  fault  of  the 
musician  that  he  was  not  more  munificent 
in  his  pecuniary  dealings  with  the  poet. 

The  following  autobiographical  communica- 
tion from  the  pen  of  Mr.  Thomson,  in  which 
the  nature  of  his  connection  with  the  poet  is 
dwelt  on  at  large,  originally  appeared  in 
The  Land  of  Burns.     We  reprint   it  here, 

74 


:  i 


t ; 


118 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH   THOMSON. 


without  comment,  merely  referring  to  what 
Professor  Wilson  has  said  reganlini,'  it,  towards 
the  close  of  the  essay  "  On  the  (Jenius,  Charac- 
ter, and  AVritings  of  the  Poet,"  which  graces 
the  present  publication — an  essay  not  more 
distinguished  for  its  eloquence  and  humour, 
than  for  the  soundness  of  judgment  and  gene- 
rosity of  sentiment  which  it  displays  from  be- 
ginning to  end.  The  communication  was  ad- 
dressed to  Robert  Chambers,  as  editor  of  The 
Laiitl  of  Bunts,  published  by  Messrs.  Blackie 
&  Son. 

"Trustees'  Office,  Edinburgh,  20th  March,  1838. 
"  DEAR  Sir, 

"I  have  been  favoured  Avith  your  note,  in 
regard  to  a  work  which  you  tell  mc  is  about 
to  appear,  relative  to  The  Lam!  of  Burns,  in 
which  it  is  proposed  to  give  some  memoirs  of 
the  poet's  friends,  and  of  me  among  the  rest. 
To  your  request,  that  1  should  furnish  you 
with  a  few  particulars  respecting  my  personal 
history,  I  really  know  not  well  what  to  say, 
because  my  life  has  been  too  unimportant  to 
merit  much  notice.  It  is  in  connection  with 
national  music  and  song,  and  my  correspon- 
dence on  that  subject  with  Burns,  chiefly,  that 
1  can  have  any  reasonable  hope  of  being  occa- 
sionally spoken  of;  and  I  presume  it  is  chiefly 
on  my  connection  with  the  poet,  that  you  wish 
me  to  speak.  I  shall  therefore  content  myself 
with  a  brief  sketch  of  what  belongs  to  my  per- 
sonal history,  and  then  proceed  to  the  subject 
of  Scottish  music  and  Burns. 

"I  was  born  at  Limekilns,  in  Fife,  about 
the  year  1759,  as  I  was  informed,  for  I  can 
scarce  believe  I  am  so  old.  My  father  taught 
a  school  there,  and  having  been  invited  in  that 
capacity  to  the  town  of  Banff,  he  carried  me 
thither  in  my  very  early  years,  im  r  icted  me 
in  the  elementary  branches  of  knowledge,  and 
sent  me  to  learn  the  dead  languages  at  what 
was  called  the  grammar  school.  He  had  a 
hard  struggle  to  maintain  an  increasing  family, 
and,  after  trying  some  mercantile  means  of 
enlarging  his  income,  without  success,  he 
moved  with  his  family  to  Edinburgh,  when  I 
was  about  seventeen.  In  a  short  time  1  got 
into  a  writer  to  the  signet's  oftice  as  a  clerk, 
and  remained  in  that  capacity  with  him  and 
another  W.  S.,  till  the  year  17S0,  when, 
through  the  influence  of  Mr.   John   Home, 


author  of  Douijlui^,  with  one  of  the  members  of 
the  honourable  Board  of  Trustees,  I  was  re- 
commended to  that  board,  and  I)ecaine  their 
junior  clerk.  Not  long  after,  upou  the  death 
of  their  principal  clerk,  I  succeeded  to  his  situ- 
ation, Mr.  Bobert  Arbuthnot  being  then  their 
secretary ;  under  whom,  and  afterwards  under 
Sir  William,  his  son  and  successor,  J  have 
served  the  board  for  half  a  century;  enjoying 
their  fullest  confidence,  and  the  entire  appro- 
bation  of  both  secretaries,  whose  gentlemanly 
manners  and  kind  dispositions  were  such,  (for 
I  never  saw  a  frown  on  their  brows,  or  heard 
an  angry  word  escape  from  their  lips,)  that  I 
can  saj',  with  heartfelt  gratitude  to  their 
memory,  and  to  all  my  superior.s,  in  this  the 
58th  year  of  my  clerkship,  that  I  never  have 
felt  the  word  servitude  to  mean  anything  in 
the  least  mortifying  or  unpleasant,  but  quite 
the  reverse. 

"In  my  25th  year  I  married  Jliss  Miller, 
whose  father  was  a  lieutenant  in  the  50th 
regiment,  and  lier  mother  the  daughter  of  a 
most  respectable  gentleman  in  Berwickshire, 
(leorge  Peter,  Esq.  of  Chapel ;  and  this  was 
the  wi.scst  act  of  my  life.  She  is  happily  still 
living,  and  has  presented  me  with  sixdaughters, 
and  two  sons,  the  elder  of  the  two  being  now 
a  Lieutenant-colonel  of  Engineers,  and  the 
other  an  Assistant  Commissary-general. 

"  From  my  boj'hood  I  had  a  passion  for  the 
sister  arts  of  Music  and  Painting,  which  I  have 
ever  since  continued  to  cherish,  in  the  society 
of  the  ablest  professors  of  both  arts.  Having 
studied  tlie  violin,  it  was  my  custom,  after  the 
hours  of  business,  to  con  over  our  Scotch 
melodies,  and  to  devour  the  choruses  of  Han- 
del's oratorios;  in  which,  when  performed  at 
St.  Cecilia's  hall,  I  generally  took  a  part,  along 
with  a  few  other  gentlemen,  5Ir.  Alexander 
Wight,  one  of  the  most  eminent  counsel  at  the 
bar,  Mr.  Gilbert  Innes  of  Stow,  Mr.  John 
Russel,  W.  S.,  Mr.  John  Hutton,  &c.,  it  being 
then  not  uncommon  for  grave  amateurs  to 
assist  at  the  St.  Cecilia  concerts,  one  of  the 
most  interesting  and  liberal  musical  institu- 
tions that  ever  existed  in  Scotland,  or  indeed 
in  any  countrj'.  I  had  so  much  delight  in 
singing  those  matchless  choruses,  and  in 
practising  the  violin  quartettes  of  Pleyel  and 
Haydn,  that  it  was  with  joy  I  hailed  the  hour 
when,  like  the  young  amateur  in  the  good  old 


COllKESPONDENCE   WITH  THOMSON. 


119 


Scotch  song,  I  could  hie  me  home  to  my  Cre- 
mona, and  enjoy  Haydn's  admirable  fancies. 

I  still  wii3  plcas'd  where'er  I  went,  anil  when  I  was 

iiliine 
I  surcwd  my  pegs  and  pleas'd  niyaelf  with  John  o' 

Hadenyon. 

"At  the  .St.  Cecilia  concerts  I  heard  Scottish 
sonns  sung  in  a  style  of  excellence  far  surpa.ss- 
inn'  any  idea  which  I  previously  had  of  their 
heauty,  and  that  too  from  Italians,  Signor 
Tenduoci  the  one,  and  Signora  Domenica  Corri 
the  other.  Tenducci'a  '  I'll  never  leave  thee,' 
and  '  Hraes  of  Hallenden,'  and  the  Signora's 
'  Kwe  Imghts,  JIarion,'  and  'Waly,  waly,'  so 
delighted  every  hearer,  that  in  the  most 
crowded  room  not  a  Avhisper  was  to  be  heard, 
go  entirely  did  they  rivet  the  attention  and 
admiration  of  the  audience.  Tenducci's  sing- 
ing was  full  of  passion,  feeling,  and  taste;  and, 
what  we  hear  very  rarely  from  singers,  liis 
articulation  of  the  words  was  no  less  perfect 
than  his  expression  of  the  music.  It  was  in 
consequence  of  my  hearing  him  and  Signora 
Corri  sing  a  number  of  our  songs  so  charmingly, 
that  I  conceived  the  idea  of  collecting  all  our 
best  melodies  and  songs,  and  of  obtaining  ac- 
companiments to  them  worthy  of  their  merit. 

"On  examining  with  great  attention  the 
various  collections  on  which  I  could  by  any 
means  lay  my  hand,  I  found  them  all  more  or 
less  exceptionable,  a  sad  mixture  of  good  and 
evil,  the  pure  and  the  impure.  The  melodies 
in  general  were  without  any  symphonies  to 
introduce  and  conclude  them;  and  the  accom- 
paniments (for  the  piano  only)  meagre  and 
commonplace; — while  the  verses  united  with 
the  melodies  were  in  a  great  many  instances 
coarse  and  vulgar,  the  productions  of  a  rude 
age,  and  such  as  could  not  be  tolerated  or  sung 
in  good  society. 

"  Many  copies  of  the  .same  melody,  both  in 
print  and  manuscript,  difl'eringmoreorless  from 
each  other,  came  under  my  view ;  and  after  a 
minute  comparison  of  copies,  and  hearing 
tlicm  sung  over  and  over  l)y  such  of  my  fair 
friends  as  1  knew  to  be  most  conversant  with 
tiiem,  I  ciiose  that  set  or  copy  of  each  air 
which  1  found  the  most  simple  and  beautiful. 

"For  obtaining  accompaniments  to  the  airs, 
and  also  symphonies  to  introduce  and  con- 
clude each  air — a  most  interesting  appendage 
to  the  airs  that  had  not  before  graced  any  of 


the  collections — I  turned  my  eyes  first  on 
IMeyel,  whose  compositions  were  remarkably 
popular  and  pleasing :  and  afterwards,  when  I 
had  resolved  to  extend  my  work  into  a  com- 
plete collection  of  all  the  airs  that  were  worthy 
of  preservation,  I  divided  them  in  different 
portions,  and  sent  them,  from  time  to  time,  to 
Haydn,  to  iJeethoven,  to  Weber,  Hummel,  &c., 
the  greatest  musicians  then  flourishing  in 
Europe.  These  artists,  to  my  inexpressi!)le 
.satisfaction,  proceeded  con  omore  with  their 
respective  portions  of  the  work;  and  in  the 
symphonies,  which  are  original  and  charactir- 
idic  creations  of  their  own,  as  well  as  in  their 
judicious  and  delicate  accompaniments  for  the 
pianoforte,  and  for  the  violin,  flute,  and  violon- 
cello, they  exceeded  my  most  .sanguine  ex- 
pectations, and  obtained  the  decided  approval 
of  the  best  judges.  Their  compositions  have 
been  pronounced  by  the  Edinhurijh  lifvicn'  to 
be  wholly  unrivalled  for  originality  and  beauty. 

"  The  poetry  became  next  the  subject  of  my 
anxious  consideration,  and  engaged  me  in  a 
far  more  extensive  correspondence  than  I  had 
ever  anticipated,  which  occupied  nearly  the 
whole  of  my  leisure  for  many  years.  For  al- 
though a  small  portion  of  the  melodies  had 
long  been  united  with  excellent  songs,  yet  a 
much  greater  number  stood  matched  with  such 
unworthy  associates  as  to  render  a  divorce,  and 
a  new  union,  absolutely  necessary. 

"Fortunately  for  the  melodies,  I  turned 
my  eyes  towards  Robert  Burns,  who  no  sooner 
was  informed  of  my  plan  and  wishes,  than, 
with  all  the  frankness,  generosity,  and  en- 
thusiasm which  marked  his  character,  he  un- 
dertook to  write  whatever  songs  I  wanted  for 
my  work ;  but  in  answer  to  my  promise  of  re- 
muneration, he  declared,  in  the  most  emphatic 
terms,  that  he  would  receive  nothing  of  the 
kind !  He  proceeded  with  the  utmost  alacrity 
to  execute  what  he  had  undertaken,  and  from 
the  year  1792,  till  the  time  of  his  death  in 
1796,  I  continued  to  receive  his  exquisitely 
beautiful  compositions  for  the  melodies  I  had 
sent  him  from  time  to  time:  and,  ;n  order 
that  nothing  should  be  wanting  which  might 
suit  my  work,  he  empowered  me  to  make  use 
of  all  the  other  songs  that  he  had  written  for 
Johnson's  Scots  Musical  Museum,  &c.  My 
work  thus  contains  above  120  of  his  inimitable 
songs ;  besides  many  of  uncommon  beauty  that 


120 


COKRESrONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


■  i  ! 


ii 


i:  • 


I  obtained  from  Tliomas  Campbell,  Trofessor 
Smyth,  Sir  Walter  Scott,  Joanna  Haillie,  anil 
other  admired  Poets :  together  with  the  best 
songs  of  the  olden  time. 

"  Upon  my  publishing  the  first  25  melodies, 
with  I'leyel's  symphonies  and  accompaniments, 
and  songs  by  different  authors,  six  of  Burns' 
songs  being  of  the  number,  (and  those  six  were 
all  I  published  in  his  life  time,)  I,  of  course, 
sent  a  copy  of  this  half  volume  to  the  poet ; 
and,  as  a  mark  of  my  gratitude  for  his  exces- 
sive kindness,  I  ventured,  with  all  possible 
delicacy,  to  send  him  a  small  pecuniary  pre- 
sent, notwithstanding  what  he  had  said  on 
that  subject.  He  retained  it  after  much  hesi- 
tation, but  wrote  me  (July,  1793)  that  if  I 
presumed  to  repeat  it,  he  would,  on  the  least 
motion  of  it,  indignantly  spurn  what  was  past, 
and  commence  entire  stranger  to  me. 

"Who  that  reads  the  letter  above  referred 
to,  and  the  first  one  which  the  Poet  sent  me, 
can  think  1  have  deserved  the  abuse  which 
anonymous  scribblers  have  poured  upon  me 
for  not  endeavouring  to  remunerate  the  Poet? 
If  I  had  dared  to  go  farther  than  I  did,  in 
sending  him  money,  is  it  not  perfectly  clear 
that  he  would  have  deemed  it  an  insult,  and 
ceased  to  write  another  song  for  me? 

"  Had  I  been  a  selfish  or  avaricious  man,  I 
had  a  fair  opportunity,  upon  the  death  of  the 
Poet,  to  put  money  in  my  pocket ;  for  I  might 
then  have  published,  for  my  own  behoof,  all  the 
beautiful  Lyrics  he  had  written  for  me,  the 
original  manuscripts  of  which  were  in  my  pos- 
session. But  instead  of  doing  this,  I  was  no 
sooner  informed  that  the  friends  of  the  Poet's 
family  had  come  to  a  resolution  to  collect  his 
works,  and  to  publish  them  for  the  benefit  of 
the  family,  and  that  they  thought  it  of  impor- 
tance to  include  my  MSS.,  as  being  likely  from 
their  number,  their  novelty,  and  beauty,  to 
prove  an  attraction  to  subscribers,  than  I  felt 
it  my  duty  to  put  them  at  once  in  possession 
of  all  the  songs  and  of  the  correspondence  be- 
tween the  Poet  and  myself;  and  accordingly, 
through  Mr.  John  Syme  of  Eyedale,  I  trans- 
mitted the  whole  to  Dr.  Currie,  who  had  been 
prevailed  on,  immensely  for  the  advantage  of 
Mrs.  Burns  and  her  children,  to  take  on  him- 
self the  task  of  editor. 

"For  thus  surrendering  the  manuscripts,  I 
received,   both  verbally  and  in  writing    the 


warm  thanks  cf  the  trustees  for  the  family, 
Mr.  John  Syme,  and  ^Ir.  liilbert  Ikuns;  who 
considered  what  1  liad  done  as  a  fair  return  for 
the  Poet's  generosity  of  conduct  to  nie. 

"  If  anything  more  were  wanting  to  set  me 
right  with  respect  to  the  anonymous  calumnies 
circulated  to  my  prejudice,  in  regard  to  the 
Poet,  1  have  it  in  my  jjower  to  refer  to  a  most 
respectable  testimonial,  which,  to  my  very 
agreeable  surprise,  was  sent  me  by  iirufe>sur 
Josiah  Walker,  one  of  the  Poet's  biourapiiers: 
and  had  I  not  been  reluctant  to  obtrude  myself 
on  the  public,  I  should  long  since  have  given 
it  publicity. — The  Professor  wrote  me  as  ful- 
lows:  'VaitH,  llfth  April, ISll.  De.vuSik,— 
Before  I  left  Edinburgh  1  sent  a  copy  of  my 
account  of  Burns  to  Lord  Wootl/ioiisilw ;  and 
since  my  return,  I  have  had  a  letter  from  his 
Lordship,  which,  among  other  passages,  con- 
tains one  that  I  cannot  withhold  from  you. 
He  writes  thus,  —  "I  am  glad  tlu't  you  liave 
embraced  the  occasion  which  lay  in  your  way 
of  doing  full  justice  to  Mr.  Gecrge  Thomson, 
who,  I  agree  with  you  '.n  thinking,  was  most 
harshly  and  illiberally  treated  by  dm  anony- 
mous dull  calumniator.  1  have  always  re- 
garded Mr.  Tliomson  as  a  man  of  great  worth 
and  most  respectable  character :  and  1  have 
every  reason  to  believe  that  poor  Burns  felt 
himself  as  much  indebted  to  his  good  counsels 
and  active  friendship  as  a  man,  as  the  public 
is  sensible  he  was  to  his  good  taste  and  judg- 
ment as  a  critic." '  Of  the  unbiassed  opinion 
of  such  a  highly  respectable  gentleman  and 
acconiplished  scholar  as  Lord  Woodhouselee,  I 
certainly  feel  not  a  little  proud :  it  is  of  itself 
more  than  sufiicient  to  silence  the  calumnies  by 
which  I  have  been  assailed,  first  anonymously, 
and  afterwards,  to  my  great  surprise,  by  some 
writers  who  might  have  been  expected  to  pos- 
sess  sufficient  judgment  to  see  the  matter  in 
its  true  light. 

"To  Robert  Chambers,  Esq.,  Waterloo  Place." 

We  may  supplement  the  above  autobiogra- 
phical sketch  with  a  few  notes.  In  1814 
Georgina,  one  of  Mr.  Thomson's  daughters,  mar- 
ried George  Hogarth,  W.  S. ,  a  daughter  of  which 
marriage  became  the  wife  of  Charles  Dickens. 
In  1839  Mr.  Thomson  resigned  his  clerkship, 
a  post  he  had  held  for  nearly  sixty  years.  On 
the  3d  of  March,  1847,  he  was  presented  with 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


121 


rloo  Place." 


ii  liiiii(l>omc  wilvcr  vase,  suhscribocl  for  by  one 
liuiulreil  of  liis  fellow-oitizciw,  in  testimony 
of  tlicir  e>tocni  for  lii.s  honourable  character, 
ill  a  siicccii  ilclivcred  on  tliat  occasion,  l.,ortl 
C'Dckburn  made  an  elociuent  defence  of  Mr. 
Tlioinsiiii's  transactions  witii  IJurns: — "As  to 
tlie  iuii>iiiations  on  Mr.  Tliomson  in  con- 
nection witii  tlic  liistory  of  Hums,  I  liave  long 
ago  studied  tlie  matter  witli  as  mucli  candour 
as  any  man  could  ai)i)ly  to  a  suiiject  in  wliich 
he  liad  no  personal  interest,  and  my  clear 
conviction  is,  not  only  that  all  those  impu- 
tatioiis  are  groundless,  l)ut  that,  if  Mr.  Thom- 
son were  now  placed  in  the  same  situation  in 
which  he  was  tlinn,  nothing  ditterent  or  better 
could  be  done." — Mr.  Thomson  died  on  the 
11th  February  IS.^il,  liaving  thus,  according 
to  his  own  statement,  reached  the  great  age  of 
ninety-two. 


SIR, 


THOMSON  TO   BL'RNS. 

Edinburgh,  Sept.  1702. 


For  some  years  past,  I  have,  with  a  friend 
or  two,'  employed  many  lei.surc  houra  in 
Bclectiiig  and  collating  the  most  favourite  of 
our  national  melodies  for  publication.  We 
have  engaged  rieyel,  the  most  agreeable  com- 
poser living,  to  put  accompaniments  to  these, 
and  also  to  compose  an  instrumental  prelude 
and  conclusion  to  each  air,  the  better  to  fit 
them  for  concerts,  both  public  and  private. 
To  render  this  work  perfect,  we  are  desirou.s 
to  have  the  poetry  improved,  wherever  it 
seems  unworthy  of  the  music;  and  that  it  is 
so  in  many  instances,  is  allowed  by  every  one 
conversant  with  our  musical  collections.  The 
editors  of  these  seem  in  general  to  have  de- 
pended on  the  music  proving  an  excuse  for 
the  verses;  and  hence,  some  charrr.!"^  nielo- 
dies  are  united  to  mere  nonsense  and  doggerel, 
while  others  are  accommodated  with  rhymes 
so  loose  and  indelicate,  as  cannot  be  sung  in 
decent  company.  To  remove  this  reproach 
would  be  an  easy  task  to  the  author  of  "The 

'  We  lielieve  one  of  the  friends  was  the  Honourable 
Aiiilrew  Eiskine,  ))rother  of  the  Earl  of  Kelly,  also 
a  musical  enthusiast.  Ten  months  later  we  find 
Thomson  writing  to  Burns  that  the  business  of  se- 
lectins,  &c.,  f(ir  publication  now  rested  entirely  on 
himself,  "tlie  gentlemen  who  originally  agreed  to 
join  the  speculation  having  requested  to  be  olf." 


Cotter's  Saturday  Night ;"  and,  for  the  honour 
of  Caledonia,  I  would  fain  hope  he  may  be 
induced  to  take  np  the  pen.  If  so,  we  shall 
be  enabled  to  present  the  public  with  a  collec- 
tion infinitely  more  interesting  than  any  that 
has  yet  appeared,  and  acceptable  to  all  persons 
of  taste,  whether  they  wish  for  correct  melo- 
dies, delicate  accompaniments,  or  characteristic 
verses. 

We  shall  esteem  your  poetical  assistance  a 
particular  favour,  besides  paying  any  reason- 
able price  you  shall  please  to  demand  for  it. 
Profit  is  quite  a  secondary  consideration  with 
Hs,  and  we  are  resolved  to  spare  neither  pains 
nor  expense  on  the  publication.  Tell  me 
frankly  then,  whether  you  will  devote  your 
leisnre  to  writing  twenty  or  twenty-five  songs 
suitable  to  the  particular  melodies  which  I 
am  prepared  to  send  you.  A  few  songs,  ex- 
ceptionable only  in  some  of  their  venscs,  1 
will  likewise  submit  to  your  consideration ; 
leaving  it  to  you,  cither  to  mend  these,  or 
make  new  songs  in  their  stead.  It  is  super- 
fluous to  assure  you,  that  I  have  no  intention 
to  displace  any  of  the  sterling  old  .songs ;  those 
only  will  be  removed,  which  appear  quite 
silly,  or  absolutely  indecent.  Even  these  shall 
all  be  examined  by  Mr.  Burns,  and  if  he  is  of 
opinion  that  any  of  them  are  deserving  of  the 
music,  in  such  cases  no  divorce  shall  take 
place. 

Relying  on  the  letter  accompanying  this,^ 
to  be  forgiven  for  the  liberty  I  have  taken  in 
addressing  you,  I  am,  with  great  esteem.  Sir, 
your  most  obedient  humble  servant, 

G.  Thomson. 


BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

Dumfries,  I6th  Sept.  1792. 
Sir, 

I  have  just  this  moment  got  your  letter. 
As  the  request  you  make  to  me  will  positively 
add  to  my  enjoyments  in  complying  with  it, 
I  shall  enter  into  j'our  undertaking  with  all 
the  small  portion  of  abilities  I  have,  strained 
to  their  utmost  exertion  by  the  impulse  of  en- 
thusiasm.    Only,  don't  hurry  me:  "Deil  tak 

-  Alexander  Cunningham,  an  Edinburgh  friend  of 
Burns,  had  giv^n  Thomson  a  letter  of  introduction 
to  the  poet. 


122 


rOHRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


Nit  I 


the  hindmost,"  is  by  no  means  the  crl  tie  niieire 
of  my  muse.  Will  you,  as  I  am  inferior  to 
none  of  you  in  enthusiastic  attachment  to  the 
poetry  and  music  of  old  Caledonia,  and,  since 
you  request  it,  have  cheerfully  promised  my 
mite  of  assistance — will  you  let  me  have  a  list 
of  your  airs,  with  the  first  line  of  the  i)rintcd 
verses  you  intend  for  them,  that  I  may  have  an 
opportunity  of  suggesting  any  alteration  that 
may  occur  to  me?  You  know  'tis  in  the  way 
of  my  trade ;  still  leaving  you  gentlemen  the 
undoubted  right  of  publishers,  to  approve,  or 
reject,  at  your  pleasure,  for  your  own  publica- 
tion. A  propos !  if  you  are  for  English  verses, 
there  is,  on  my  part,  an  end  of  the  matter. 
Whether  in  the  simplicity  of  the  ballad,  or  the 
pathos  of  the  song,  I  can  only  hope  to  please 
myself  in  being  allowed  at  least  a  sprinkling  of 
our  native  tongue.  English  verses,  particularly 
the  works  of  Scotsmen,  that  have  merit,  are 
certainly  very  eligible.  "Twecdside;"  "Ah! 
the  poor  shepherd's  mournful  fate!"  "Ah I 
Chloris,  could  I  now  but  sit,"  except  (excuse 
my  vanity)  you  should  to  Ciilderoy  prefer  my 
own  song,  "  From  thee,  Eliza,  I  must  go,"&c. 
you  cannot  mend ;  but  such  insipid  stuff  as, 
"  To  Fanny  fair  could  I  impart,"  &c.  usually 
set  to  "The  Mill,  Mill  0,"  is  a  disgrace  to 
the  collections  in  which  it  has  already  ap- 
peared, and  would  doubly  disgrace  a  collection 
that  will  have  the  very  superior  merit  of  yours. 
But  more  of  this  in  the  farther  prosecution  of 
the  business,  if  I  am  called  on  for  my  strictures 
and  amendments — I  say,  amendments;  for  I 
will  not  alter  except  where  I  my.self  at  least 
think  that  I  iimeml. 

As  to  any  remuneration,  you  may  think  my 
songs  either  above  or  below  price;  for  they 
shall  absolutely  be  the  one  or  the  other.  In 
the  honest  enthusiasm  with  which  I  embark 
in  your  undertaking,  to  talk  of  money,  wages, 
fee,  hire,  &c.,  would  be  downright  sodomy ' 
of  soul !  A  proof  of  each  of  the  songs  that  I 
compose  or  amend,  I  shall  receive  as  a  favour. 
In  the  rustic  phrase  of  the  season,  "God 
speed  the  wark!" 

I  am,  Sir,  your  very  humble  servant, 

li.    UUKNS. 

P.  S.  I  have  some  particular  reasons  for 
wishing  my  interference  to  be  known  as  little 
as  possible. 

1  Currie  softened  down  this  to  "  prostitution." 


THOMSON  TO  BURNS, 

EDINBUKOH,  mil  <tct.  UDj. 

Deah  Hill, 

I  received  with  much  satisfacti')n  ymir 
pleasant  and  obliging  letter,  anil  now  retina 
my  M-armest  acknowlcilgnicnts  for  the  cutlni- 
siusm  with  which  you  have  entered  into  our 
undertaking.  We  have  now  no  doubt  of  Ijiim,' 
able  to  produce  a  collection  highly  deserving 
of  public  attention  in  all  respects. 

1  agree  with  you  in  thinking  English  verses, 
that  have  merit,  very  elii;ible,  wherever  new 
verses  are  necessary ;  because  the  English  lie- 
eomes  every  year  more  and  more  the  hmguau'e 
of  Scotland;  but  if  you  mean  that  no  Eng]i>h 
verses,  except  those  by  Scottish  authors,  ouelit 
to  be  admitted,  I  am  half  inclined  to  dill'cr 
from  you.  I  should  consider  it  uiipanlonalilo 
to  sacrifice  one  good  song  in  the  Scottish  dia- 
leet,  to  make  room  for  English  verses;  but,  if 
we  can  select  a  few  excellent  ones  suited  to 
the  unprovided  or  ill-provided  airs,  would  it 
not  be  the  very  bigotry  of  literary  patriotism 
to  reject  such,  merely  because  the  authors 
were  born  south  of  the  Tweed?  Our  sweet 
air,  ".My  Nannie  t>,"  which  in  the  collcciidiis 
is  joined  to  tlie  poorest  stufi'that  Allan  Eanisay 
ever  wrote,  beginning,  ■'  While  some  for  jiKa- 
sure  pawn  their  health,"  answers  so  finely  to 
])r.  Percy's  beautiful  song,  "O  Nancy  wilt 
thou  go  with  me,"  that  one  would  think  he 
wrote  it  on  purpose  for  the  air.  However,  it 
is  not  at  all  our  wish  to  confine  you  to  Eiigli-h 
verses;  you  shall  freely  be  allowed  a  sprinkling 
of  your  native  tongue,  as  you  elegantly  express 
it;  and  moreover,  we  will  patiently  wait  your 
own  time.  One  thing  only  I  beg,  which  is, 
that,  however  gay  and  sportive  the  muse  may 
be,  she  may  always  be  decent.  Let  her  not 
write  what  beauty  would  blush  to  speak,  nor 
wound  that  charming  delicacy  which  forms 
the  most  precious  dowry  of  our  daughters.  1 
do  not  conceis-e  the  .song  to  be  the  most  proper 
vehicle  for  witty  and  brilliant  conceits;  sim- 
plicity, 1  believe,  .should  be  its  prominent 
feature;  but,  in  some  of  our  songs,  the  writers 
have  confounded  simplicity  with  coarseness 
and  vulgarity;  although  between  the  one  anil 
the  other,  as  Dr.  Beattie  well  observes,  there 
is  as  great  a  difference,  as  between  a  plain 
suit  of  clothes  and  a  bundle  of  rags.     The 


CORllESrONDENCK   WITH  THOMSON. 


123 


liiiraorouH  ballad,  or  pnthctic  complaint,  Ih 
best  suited  to  o>ir  artless  melodies ;  and  more 
interesting,  indeed,  in  all  songs,  than  the  most 
pointed  wit,  daz/.ling  descriptions,  and  llo'very 
t'an'.'ies. 

With  these  trite  observations,  I  send  you 
eleven  of  the  sonifs,  for  which  it  is  my  wish 
to  substitute  others  of  your  writing.  1  shall 
rioon  transmit  the  rest,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
a  prospectus  of  the  whole  collection :  and  you 
niiiy  believe  we  will  receive  any  hints  that 
you  arc  so  kin<l  as  to  give  for  improving  the 
work,  with  the  greatest  pleasure  and  thank- 
fulness. 

1  remain,  dear  Sir,  &c. 


BL'RNS  TO  THOMSON. 

Ul'MFniES,  20th  Oct.  1702. 

Mv  DEAR  Sir, 

Let  mo  tell  you  that  you  are  too  fastidious 
in  your  ideas  of  songs  and  ballads.  I  own 
tiiat  your  criticisms  arc  just;  the  songs  you 
specify  in  your  list'  have,  all  but  one,  the 
faults  you  remark  in  them ;  but  who  Khali 
mciul  the  matter?  Who  shall  rise  up  and  say 
— Go  to,  I  will  make  a  better?  For  instance, 
on  reading  over  the  "  Lea-rig,"  I  immediately 
.set  about  trying  my  hand  on  it,  and,  after  all, 
1  could  make  nothing  more  of  it  than  the  fol- 
lowing, which,  Heavenknows,  ispoorenough: — 

MY  AIX  KIXD  DEARIE,  O. 

When  o'er  the  hill  the  eastern  star, 
Tells  hunhtin'-tiiiie  is  near,  my  jo; 

And  "wsuii  fnie  the  furrow' J  flelil, 
Keturii  sae  ilowf  anil  weary,  <>.  Ac. 

IVol.  iU.  p.  130. 

Your  observation,  as  to  the  aptitude  of  Dr. 
Percy's  ballad  to  the  air  "Nannie  O,"  is  just. 
It  is  besides,  perhaps,  the  most  beautiful  ballad 
in  the  Knglish  langiiagc.  liut  let  me  remark 
to  you,  that,  in  the  sentiment  and  style  of  our 
Scottish  airs,  there  is  a  pastoral  simplicity,  a 
something  that  one  may  call  the  Doric  style 
and  dialect  of  vocal  music,  to  wiiich  a  dash  of 
our  native  tongue  and  manners  is  particularly, 
nay  peculiarly,  apposite.  For  this  reason,  and, 
upon  my  honour,  for  this  reason  alone,  I  am  of 

1  This  list,  (Ir.iwii  up  by  Thomson,  with  his  notes, 
lias  never  been  found. 


opinion  (but,  as  I  told  you  before,  my  oi)inion 
is  yours,  freely  yours,  to  approve,  or  reject,  as 
you  please)  that  my  ballad  of  "Nannie  (J" 
might,  perhaps,  do  for  one  set  of  verses  to  the 
tune.  Now  don't  let  it  enter  into  yinir  head 
that  you  arc  under  any  necessity  of  taking  my 
verses.  1  have  long  ago  made  up  my  mind  as 
to  my  own  reputation  in  the  business  of  author- 
ship; and  have  nothing  to  be  pleased  or  ofFcnded 
at  in  your  adoption  or  rejection  of  my  verses. 
Though  you  hIkiuM  reject  one  half  of  what  1 
give  you,  1  shr.ll  be  pleased  w  ith  your  adopting 
t'other  half,  and  shall  continue  to  servo  you 
with  the  same  assiduity. 

In  the  printed  copy  of  my  "  Nannie  O,"  the 
name  of  the  nver  is  horridly  prosaic.'^  I  will 
alter  it, 

Bchiml  yon  hills  where  •{  ",',"„","}  Hows. 

"CJirvan"  is  the  name  of  the  river  that  suits 
the  idea  of  the  stanza  best,  but  "  Lugar"  is 
the  most  agreeable  modulation  of  syllaliles. 

I  intended  to  have  given  you,  and  will  soon 
give  you  a  great  many  more  remarks  on  this 
business;  but  I  have  just  now  an  opportunity 
of  con'-oyiug  you  this  scrawl,  free  of  postage, 
an  exponse  that  it  is  ill  able  to  pay:  so,  Avith 
my  best  compliments  to  honest  Allan-',  Good 
bye  to  you,  &c. 

Friday  Xight. 

Remember  me  to  the  first  and  dearest  of  ny 
friends,  Alex.  Cunningham,  who,  I  under- 
stand, is  a  coadjutor  in  this  busincs.s. 

Saturday  Mnrninj;. 

1  find  that  I  have  still  an  hour  to  spare  this 
morning  before  my  convej'ance  goes  away:  I 
will  give  you  "Nannie  O,"  at  length,  [See 
vol.  i.  p.  216.] 

Your  remarks  on  "Ewc-bughts,  Clarion," 
arc  just:  still  it  has  ol'»  'ncd  a  place  among 
our  more  classical  Scot  .sh  songs;  and,  what 
with  many  beauties  in  its  composition,  and 
more  prejudices  in  its  favour,  you  will  not  find 
it  ea.sy  to  supplant  it. 

In  my  very  early  years,  when  I  was  thinking 
of  going  to  the  West  Indies,  I  took  the  follow- 
ing farewell  of  a  dear  girl.    It  is  quite  trifling, 

2  "  .Stinchar  "  was  the  name  originally  used. 

3  No  doubt  Allan  Masterton  of  the  Edinburgh  High 
School,  Bunis's  friend,  and,  being  a  musician,  proliably 
a  friend  of  Thomson's  too.  Burns  calls  him  "honest 
Allan  "  in  a  note  to  "  Willie  brew'd  a  peck  o'  maut.  " 


• 


■  i 


' 


\  i 


1:: 


I 


124 


I'OlUlKSl'ONDKXf'K  WnU   THOMSON. 


niul  hill*  notliiiiKof  the  meriti*of "  Kwe-biiRlili*;" 
hut  It  will  nil  up  this  i.age.  Vou  must  kn.)vv, 
that  ail  uiy  earlier  lovt'-HDiig.s  were  the  hruath. 
iiiKs  of  anloMt  passion,  and  tliough  it  mi^'iit 
imve  hueii  easy  in  al'ler-timcs  to  have  y;\vm 
them  a  polish,  yet  that  polish  to  ine,  whose 
tiiey  were,  ami  who  perhaps  alone  carotl  for 
them,  would  have  defaced  the  legend  of  the 
lieart,  which  was  so  faitiifully  inscribed  on 
them.  Their  uncouth  simplicity  wus,  as  they 
say  of  wines,  their  race. 
WILL   YE  (i»)  TO  THE  IMUES,   .MV   MARY.i 

Will  ye  K"  to  tlio  Imlli's,  my  Miiry, 
Ami  Ifiive  nulil  ^SL•l)till'(l  sliore'.' 

Will  yi-  u<>  to  tliu  Imllun,  my  -Maiy, 
Across  tir  Atlantic '»  roiu? <&c. 

ISi-e  p.  145,  vol  II. 

"Oala  Water,"  and  "  Auld  Hob  .Morris,"  I 
think,  will  most  jjrobably  be  the  next  subject 
of  my  musings.  However,  even  on  my  verses, 
speak  out  your  criticisms  witli  equal  frankness, 
ily  wish  is,  not  to  stand  aloof,  t!ie  uncomply- 
ing bigot  of  opiiiitltretd,  but  cordially  to  join 
issue-  with  you  in  the  furtherance  of  the  work ! 
G'lde  speed  the  wark !    Amen. 


BL'UNS  TO  THOMSON. 

DUMPKIES,  Nov.  8tli,  1792. 
If  you  mean,  my  dear  Sir,  that  all  the  songs 
in  your  collection  sliall  be  poetry  of  the  first 
merit,  I  am  afraid  you  will  find  ditficulty  in 
the  undertaking  more  than  you  are  aware  of. 
There  is  a  peculiar  rhythmu.s  in  many  of  our 
airs,  a  necessity  of  adapting  syllables  to  the 
emphasis,  or  what  I  would  call  the  feature- 
notes  of  the  tune,  that  cramps  the  poet,  and 
lays  him  under  almost  insuperable  difficulties. 
For  instance,  in  the  air,  "  My  wife's  a  wanton 
wee  thing,"  if  a  few  lines,  smooth  and  pretty, 
can  be  adapted  to  it,  it  is  all  that  you  can  ex- 
pect. The  following  I  made  extempore  to  it; 
and  though,  on  further  study,  I  might  give 
you  something  more  profound,  yet  it  might 
not  suit  the  light-horse  gallop  of  the  air  so 
well  as  this  r<i>idom  clink. 

1  The  "  ilary  "  of  this  song  Is  Mary  Campbell  (High- 
land Mary).  See  Life,  chapter  ill.,  and  Appendix  to 
Life. 

^  This  is  an  inaccurate  use  of  a  legal  term ;  to  join 
issue  is  for  one  of  the  parties  to  take  a  positive  and 
the  other  the  negative  position  on  a  question  in  de- 
)>ate.    Burns  means  simply  "join." 


MV   WlhEs   A   WIN.SOME  WEE  TniNO. 

.Hill'  Ih  a  wiiiNiime  swv  thing, 
Hlie  is  II  liiiinlsniiii^  Hi'c  tiling, 
Hlie  i.s  a  ill  I'Hiiiiie'i  wio  tiling, 
Tills  ilcar  wte  wife  o'  iiiliie,  Ac. 

[.Hee  p.  mil,  vol.  Hi. 

I  have  just  liecn  looking  over  the  "Collier's 

bonny  Dociitcrj"  ami  if  the  following  rhup.Mnly, 

which  I  composed  the  other  day,  on  a  eharni- 

ing  Ayrshire  girl,  .Miss  Lesley  Haillie,  as  she 

pas.sed  through   this   place  to   Kngland,   will 

suit  your  taste  l)etter  than  the  "Collier  Lassie," 

—  fall  on  and  welcome: — 

O  .SAW   YE  llOXNIE   LE.SLEY.* 

O  saw  yii  lionnie  Lesley, 

As  bIio  giieil  o  er  the  border? 

She's  giine,  lilie  Ak'.xaiiiler, 
To  spread  her  eoiic|  nests  farther.  Ac, 
l.see  p.  liiS,  vol.  ill. 

Every  seventh  line  ends  with  three  syllables, 
in  place  of  tlio  two  in  the  other  lines;  but  you 
will  see  in  the  sixth  bar  of  the  second  part,  the 
place  where  these  three  .syl!al)les  will  always 
recur,  and  that  the  four  semiquavers  usually 
sung  as  one  .syllable  will,  with  the  greatest 
propriety,  divide  into  two,  thus: — 


ture  mnile  her     wliiit 


For 


Na 


■hu    ia,   Ami, 


I  have  hitherto  deferred  the  sublimer,  more 
pathetic  airs,  until  more  leisure,  as  they  will 
take,  and  deserve,  a  greater  cfTort.  However, 
they  are  all  put  into  thy  hands,  as  clay  into 
the  hands  of  the  potter,  to  make  one  vessel  to 
honour,  and  another  to  dishonour.  Farewell, 
&c. 

BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

HIGHLAND  MARY'.s 

Ye  banks,  and  braes,  and  streams  aroiuid 

The  castle  o'  Montgomery, 
Green  be  yonr  woods,  and  fair  your  flowers. 

Your  waters  never  drumlic !  Ac. 

(.See  p.  131,  vol.  iii. 

14th  Nov.  179-2. 
Dear  Sir, 

I  agree  with  you  that  the  song.  A'.  Oijir,  is 

very  poor  stuff",  and  unworthy,  altogether  un- 

3 Voriations  in  the  MSS.,  "  bonnie" and  "winsome," 
for  "lo'csome;"  "sweet"  for  "deor." 

*  Burns  has  elsewhere  described  the  circumstances 
attending  the  composition  of  this  song.  See  letter  to 
Mrs.  Dunlop,  22d  August,  1792. 

°  Particulars  regarding  Highland  Mary  will  be  found 
elsewhere.    See  Life,  cliapter  iil.,  and  Appendix. 


C'onUKSroXDKNCK    WITH   THOMSON'. 


1: 


wiii'iliv,  "I'"!*  lioiiiitifiil  an  air.  1  tried  to  iiiciui 
It,  liiit  ihu  awitward  Hotiml  "OkIo"  m-urrinj,' 
HI)  nil''!!  ill  lliL'  rliyme,  r<\nt[U  every  ntleiniit  at 
iiilriiilut'ini;  miiliinint  into  tlu;  piece.  Tiio 
fore^'iilni;  Hoiig  pleattCM  tnyHclf;  I  tliink  it  m 
ill  my  liappiest  inaniieri  you  will  hoc  at  first 
({liiiuv  lliat  it  Huit-*  (lie  air.  'IMio  Mulijeel  of 
the  winj?  in  one  of  tiie  most  interest ini;  i)assaKcs 
of  my  ymitliful  ilays;  ami  1  own  that  1  wouiil 
he  miifii  ll:iilere(l  to  see  tiie  verses  sot  to  un  uir 
wliieii  woulil  insure  ceielirity.  Perliups,  after 
ail,  'tis  the  still  ,1,'lowiiii,^  iirejudice  of  my  heart, 
that  throws  a  liorrowed  lustre  over  the  meritti 
of  the  I'oinposition. 

I  have  partly  taken  your  idea  of  "  Auld  IJob 
Morris."  1  have  adopted  the  two  first  verses, 
iind  iiin  coini,'  on  with  the  soiit;  on  a  new  plan, 
wiiieli  promises  pretty  well.  I  take  \\\>  one  or 
another,  just  as  the  bee  of  the  moment  buzzcn 
in  my  honnet-lmr ;  and  do  you,  niiii.t  rcrcinonie, 
make  what  use  you  choose  ot  the  produetionii. 
.Ulicu,  &c. 


TIIOMSOy   TO   BURNS. 

EPiNncROU,  Nov.,  1702. 
Dear  Sin, 

I  was  Just  going  to  write  to  you,  that  on 
meeting  with  your  Nannie,  I  had  fallen  vio- 
lently in  love  with  licr.  I  thank  you,  there- 
fore, for  sending  the  charming  rustic  to  me, 
in  the  dress  you  wish  her  to  appear  before  the 
puhlie.  She  does  you  great  credit,  and  will 
soon  be  admitted  into  the  best  company.' 

1  regret  that  your  song  for  the  "  Lea-rig"  is 
80  short;  the  air  is  easy,  soon  sung,  and  very 
pleasing;  .so  that,  if  the  singer  stops  at  the  end 
of  two  stanzas,  it  is  a  pleasure  lost  ere  it  is  well 
possessed. 

Although  a  dash  of  our  native  tongue  and 
manners  is  doubtless  peculiarly  congenial  and 
appropriate  to  our  melodies,  yet  I  shall  be  able 
to  present  a  considerable  number  of  the  very 
flowers  of  English  song,  well  adapted  to  those 
melodies,  which,  in  England  at  least,  will  be 
theraeansof  recommending  them  to  still  greater 
attention  than  they  have  procured  there.    But 

I  The  SOUR  alluded  to,  "  My  Nannie,  O,"  had,  how- 
ever, 1)0611  introduced  to  very  good  company  before, 
viz.,  in  the  £diiil)iirgh  edition  of  the  poet's  works 
(1787).  and  liefore  tlie  date  of  tliis  letter  had  been  an 
established  favourite  among  the  singers  of  Scotland. 


you  will  observe,  my  plan  is,  that  every  air 
NJiall,  in  the  first  place,  hi.ve  ver»en  wholly  by 
Scottish  poets;  and  that  th(i<e  of  Eni,'li-h 
writers  shall  f(»llow  us  additional  songs,  for  the 
choice  of  the  singer. 

What  you  say  of  the  "  Ewc-bnghts"  is  just ; 
I  admire  it,  and  never  meant  to  supplant  it. 
.Vll  1  requested  was,  that  you  would  try  your 
hand  on  some  of  the  inferior  stanzas,  which 
are  npi»arently  no  part  of  the  original  song: 
but  this  I  do  not  urge,  because  the  song  is  of 
sutUcient  length,  though  those  il'erior  stanzas 
be  omitted,  us  they  will  be  by  the  singer  of 
taste.  You  must  not  think  I  expect  all  the 
songs  to  be  of  superlative  merit:  that  were  un 
unreasonable  expectation.  I  am  sensible  that 
no  poet  can  sit  down  doggedly  to  pen  verses, 
and  succeed  well  at  ull  times. 

1  am  highly  pleased  with  your  humorous 
and  amorous  rhapsoily  on  "Bonnie  Lesley:" 
it  is  a  thousand  times  better  than  the  "Collier's 
Lassie !"  "  The  deil  he  couldna  scaith  thee," 
&c.  is  an  eccentric  and  happy  thought.  Do  you 
not  think,  however,  that  the  names  of  such 
"Id  heroes  as  Alexander  sound  rather  queer, 
unless  in  pompous  or  mere  burlesque  verse? 
I  nstead  of  the  line,  "  And  never  made  unither, " 
I  would  humbly  suggest,  "And  ne'er  made  sic 
unither;"  and  I  would  fain  have  you  substitute 
some  other  line  for  "  lieturn  to  Caledonie,"  in 
the  last  verse,  becau.se  I  think  this  alteration 
of  the  orthography,  and  of  the  sound  of  Cale- 
donia, disfigures  the  word,  and  renders  it  Hu- 
dibraatic. 

Of  the  other  .song,  "ily  wife's  a  winsome 
wee  thing,"  I  think  the  first  eight  lines  very 
good,  but  I  do  not  admire  the  other  eight,  be- 
cause four  of  them  are  a  bare  repetition  of  the 
first  verse.  I  have  been  trying  to  spin  a  stanza, 
but  could  make  nothing  better  than  the  follow- 
ing: do  you  mend  it,  or  as  Yorick  did  with 
the  love-letter,  whip  it  up  in  your  own  way. 

O  leeze  nie  on  my  wee  thing, 
lly  Ixmnie  Idythesome  wee  thing; 
Sae  lang's  I  hac  my  wee  thing, 
I'll  thinit  my  lot  divine. 

Tho'  warld's  care  we  share  o't, 
And  may  see  nieikle  ninir  o't : 
Wi'  her  111  hlytliely  l>ear  it, 
And  ne'er  a  word  repine.- 

2  The  complete  song  as  it  is  usually  sung  is  Burns's 
version  without  these  mendings,  and  will  he  found 
at  p.  loO,  vol.  iii. 


.; 


126 


COKRESPONDEXCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


ill 


You  perceive,  my  dear  Sir,  I  avail  myself 
of  the  liberty  which  you  condescend  to  allow 
me,  by  speaking  freely  what  1  think.  He  as- 
sured it  is  not  my  disposition  to  pick  out  the 
faults  of  any  poem  or  picture  I  see :  my  first 
and  chief  object  is  to  discover  and  be  delighted 
with  the  beauties  of  the  piece.  If  I  sit  down 
to  examine  critically,  and  at  leisure,  what  p-,;" 
haps  you  have  written  in  haste,  I  may  hap- 
pen to  observe  careless  lines,  the  re-perusal  of 
which  miglit  lead  you  to  improve  them.  The 
wren  will  often  see  what  has  been  overlooked 
by  the  eagle. 

I  remain  yours  faithfully,  &c. 

P.S.  Your  verses  upon  Highland  JIary  are 
just  come  to  hand :  they  breathe  the  genuine 
spirit  of  poetry,  and,  like  the  music,  will  last 
for  ever.  Such  verses  united  to  such  an  air, 
with  the  delicate  harmony  of  Pleyel  super- 
added, might  form  a  treat  worthy  of  being  pre- 
sented to  Apollo  himself.  1  I  have  heard  tiie 
sad  story  of  your  .Mary ;  you  always  seem  in- 
spired when  you  write  of  her. 


BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

DuMFIiiFS,  1st  Dec.  1792. 
Your  alterations  of  my  "  Nannie  O"  are  per- 
fectly right.  So  are  those  of  'Oly  wife's  a 
wanton  wee  thing."  Your  alteration  of  tlie 
second  stanza  is  a  positive  improvement.  Now, 
my  dear  Sir,  with  the  freedom  which  charac- 
terises our  correspondence,  I  must  not,  cannot 
alter  "Bonnie  Lesley."  You  are  right,  tiie 
word  "  Alexander, "  makes  the  line  a  little  im- 
couth,  but  I  think  the  thought  is  pretty.  Of 
Alexander,  beyond  all  other  heroes,  it  ma^  'le 
said  in  the  sublime  language  of  Scripture,  that 
"he  went  forth  conquering  and  to  conquer." 

For  Xatiiro  iiiade  her  vhnt  slw  is, 

Ami  never  made  aiiitlier;  (such  a  person  as  she  is.) 

This  is,  in  my  opinion,  more  poetical  tlian 
"Ne'er  made  sic  anither. "  However  it  is  im- 
material:  make   t  either  way.-    "Caledonie," 

1  III  Tlmmsdn's  cdllectioii  if  elf,  however,  tlie  music 
is  anaiiKed  as  a  iluet  witli  iui  aecompanimeiit  liy 
Kozelucli. 

-  .Mr.  Tliomson  ilecided  on  "\e'er  made  sic  anither." 
Tlie  (iiitrinal  reading  has,  however,  been  restored  in 
the  te-;t. 


I  agree  with  you,  is  not  so  good  a  word  as 
could  be  wished,  though  it  is  sanctioned  in 
three  or  four  instances  by  Allan  Kamsay ;  but 
1  cannoi  help  it.  In  short,  that  species  orsianza 
is  the  most  ditlicult  that  I  have  ever  tried. 

The  "  Lea-rig"  is  as  follows :  [Here  are  in- 
troduced the  complete  version  of  "31y  Ain  Kind 
Denne,"  the  first  two  stanzas  of  which  bad 
been  given  in  letter  of  2Gth  Oct.  See  vol.  ill. 
p.  130.] 

I  am  interrupted. 

Y'ours,  &c. 


BURNS  TO  THO.AISON. 

AULD  ROB  ilORRIS. 

There's  anld  Rnh  Morris  that  woiis  in  yon  gloii. 
He's  tlie  Iviiig  o'  guid  fellows  and  wale  of  anld  nun. 
&c.  [See  p.  ia4,  vol.  iii. 

DIXC.\N"  GRAY. 

Duncan  Oray  cam  here  to  woo, 

lla,  ha,  tlie  wooiiij;  o't, 
On  blythe  Yule-niglit  when  we  were  fon, 

Ha,  ha,  tlie  wooing  o't.     iVc. 

|8ee  II.  ll'i,  VipI.  iii. 

4tli  Dee.  IT'.i:;. 
The  foregoing  I  submit,  my  dear  Sir.  to 
your  judgment.  Acquit  them  or  condcnin 
them,  as  seemeth  good  in  your  sight.  1  linuaii 
ciray  is  that  kind  of  light-horse  gallop  of  an 
air,  which  precludes  sentiment.  The  ludicrous 
is  its  ruling  feature. 


BL'RNS  TO  THOJISON. 

O  roORTITH   CAILD  AND  RESTLE.'^S  I.OVE. 

0  poortith  canld  and  restless  love. 
Ye  wieek  my  peare  between  ye; 

Yet  iHioitith  a'  I  could  forgive, 
An  'twere  na  for  my  Jeanie.    Ac. 

l.See  p.  l;JS,  vol.  iii. 

(iALA  WATER. 

Braw,  liraw  lads  on  Yarrow  liraes, 
They  rove  amaiig  the  Idcjoming  heather; 

But  Yarrow  hraes,  nor  Ettrick  sliaws, 
Can  match  the  lads  o'  Gala  Water.    &c. 

(.See  1).  13i»,  vol.  iii. 

DlMFIilES,  Jan.  1703. 

JIany  returns  of  the  season  to  you,  my  dear 

Sir.     How  comes  on  your  publication?  will 

these  two  foregoing  be  of  any  service  to  yuii? 

Di.spo.se  of  them  as  seemeth  good  in  thy  sight. 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


1: 


If  you  are  begun  with  the  work,  I  could  like 
to  see  one  of  your  proofs,  merely  from  curiosity, 
and,  perliaps,  to  try  to  get  you  a  subscriber  or 
two.  I  should  like  to  ki;ow  what  other  songs 
you  print  to  each  tune,  besides  the  verses  to 
which  it  is  set.  In  short,  I  would  wisli  to  give 
you  my  opinion  on  all  the  poetry  you  publish. 
You  know  it  is  my  trade,  and  a  man  in  the 
way  of  his  trade  may  suggest  useful  hints  that 
escape  men  of  much  superior  parts  and  endow- 
ments in  other  things. 

If  you  meet  witii  my  dear  and  much-valued 
Cuiiningliam,  greet  him  in  my  name,  with  tlic 
compliments  of  the  season. 

Yours,  &c. 


THOMSON   TO   HUHNS. 

ElUNliLKO}!,  20th  J.an.  1793. 

You  make  me  iiappy,  my  dear  Sir,  and 
thousands  will  be  happy  to  sie  the  charming 
songs  you  have  sent  me.  JIany  merry  returns 
of  the  season  to  you,  and  may  you  long  con- 
tinue, among  the  sons  and  daughters  of  Cale- 
donia, to  delight  them  and  to  honour  yourself. 

Tiie  four  last  songs  with  which  you  favoured 
me,  viz.  "Auld  IJob  Jlorris,"  "Duncan  Gray," 
"Gala  Water,"  and  "Cauld  Kail,"  are  admir- 
able. Duncan  is  indeed  a  lad  of  grace,  and 
his  humour  Avill  endear  him  to  everybody. 
The  distracted  lover  in  "Auld  l{ob,"  and  the 
happy  shepherdess  in  "Gala  Water,"  exhibit 
an  excellent  contrast:  they  speak  from  genuine 
feeling,  and  powerfully  touch  the  heart. 

The  number  of  songs  which  I  had  originally 
in  view,  was  limited;  but  I  now  resolve  to 
include  every  Scotch  air  and  song  worth  sing- 
ing, leaving  none  i)ehind  but  mere  gleanings, 
it  which  the  publishers  of  omuajnthcriim  arc 
welcome.  I  would  rather  be  the  editor  of  a 
collection  from  which  nothing  could  be  taken 
away,  than  of  one  to  which  nothing  could  be 
added.  We  intend  presenting  the  subscribers 
with  two  beautiful  stroke  engravings;  the  one 
characteristic  of  the  plaintive,  and  the  other 
of  the  lively  songs ;  and  I  have  Dr.  Beattic's 
promise  of  an  essay  upon  the  subject  of  our 
national  music,  if  his  health  will  permit  him 
to  write  it.  As  a  number  of  our  songs  have 
doubtless  l)ccn  called  forth  by  particular  events, 
or  by  the  charms  of  peerless  damsels,  there 


must  be  many  curious  anecdotes  relating  to 
them. 

The  late  Mr.  Tytler  of  Woodhouselee,  I  be- 
lieve, knew  more  of  this  than  anybody,  for  he 
joined  to  the  pursuits  of  an  antiquary,  a  taste 
for  poetry,  besides  being  a  niiin  of  the  world, 
and  pos.sessing  an  enthusiasm  for  music  beyond 
most  of  his  contemporaries.  He  was  quite 
pleased  with  this  plan  of  mine,  for  I  may  say 
it  has  been  solely  managed  by  me,  and  we  had 
several  long  conversations  about  it  when  it 
was  in  embryo.  If  1  could  simply  mention 
the  name  of  the  heroine  of  each  song,  and  the 
incident  which  occasioned  the  verses,  it  would 
be  gratifying.  Pray,  will  you  send  me  any 
information  of  this  sort,  as  well  with  regard 
to  your  own  songs,  as  the  old  ones? 

To  all  the  favourite  songs  of  the  plaintive  or 
pastoral  kind,  will  be  joined  the  delicate  ac- 
companiments, &c.  of  Pleyel.  To  those  of  the 
comic  and  humorous  class,  I  think  accompani- 
ments scarcely  necessary;  they  are  chiefly  fitted 
for  the  conviviality  of  the  festive  board,  and  a 
tuneful  voice,  with  a  proper  delivery  of  the 
words,  renders  them  perfect.  Nevertheless, 
to  these  I  propose  adding  bass  accompaniments, 
because  then  they  are  fitted  either  for  singing, 
or  for  instrumental  performance,  when  there 
happens  to  be  no  singer.  I  mean  to  employ 
our  right  trusty  friend  Mr.  Clarke,  to  set  the 
bass  to  these,  which  he  assures  me  he  will  do 
con  amove,  and  with  much  greater  attention 
than  he  ever  bestowed  on  anything  of  the  kind.i 
Hut  for  this  last  class  of  airs  1  will  not  at- 
tempt to  find  more  than  one  set  of  verses. 

That  eccentric  bard,  Peter  Pindar,  has 
started  1  know  not  how  many  difficulties, 
about  writing  for  the  airs  I  sent  to  him,  be- 
cause of  the  peculiarity  of  their  measure,  and 
the  trammels  they  impose  on  his  flying  Pegasus. 
I  subjoin  for  your  peru.sal  the  only  one  I  have 
yet  got  from  him,  being  for  the  fine  air  "Lord 
Gregory."  The  Scots  verses,  printed  with 
that  air,  arc  taken  from  the  middle  of  an  old 
ballad,  called  "The  Lass  of  Lochryan,"  which 
I  do  not  admire.-     1  have  set  down  the  air, 

1  Clarke's  name  is  not,  however,  nttnchcd  to  any  of 
the  anaiiKciiionts  in  the  work.  Ali'int  half  of  them 
were  coniposeil  by  Hayilii,  while  a  rooiI  nunilier  of 
the  reniainiler  came  from  the  hands  of  Leethovcii, 
Wehcr,  Hunnncl,  Pleyel,  Kozeluch,  Ac. 

-  "The  Lass  of  Lochryan"  is  generally  allowed  to 
be  one  of  our  very  finest  ballads. 


I  i: 


i: 


I 


128 


COERESPOXDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


therefore,  as  a  creditor  of  yours.  JIany  of  the 
Jacobite  songs  are  replete  with  wit  and  hu- 
mour; might  not  the  best  of  these  be  included 
ill  our  volume  of  comic  songs  ? 

Postscript,  from  the  Hox.  A.  Erskise.i 
— Mr.  Tiiomson  has  been  so  obliging  as  to 
give  me  a  perusal  of  your  songs.  "  Highland 
Mary"  is  most  enchantingly  pathetic,  and 
"Duncan  Gray"  possesses  native  genuine 
humour:  "Spak  o'  lowpin  o'er  a  linn,"  is  a 
line  of  itself  that  should  make  you  immortal. 
I  sometimes  hear  of  you  from  our  mutual 
friend  Cunningham,  who  is  a  most  excellent 
fellow,  and  possesses,  above  all  men  I  know, 
the  charm  of  a  most  obliging  disposition. 
You  kindly  promised  me,  about  a  year  ago,  a 
collection  of  your  unpublished  productions, 
religious  and  amorous :  -  I  know  from  experi- 
ence how  irksome  it  is  to  copy.  If  you  will 
get  any  trusty  person  in  Dumfries  to  write 
them  over  fair,  I  will  give  Peter  Hill  whatever 
money  he  asks  for  his  trouble,  and  I  certainly 
shall  not  betray  your  confidence.  I  am,  your 
liearty  admirer, 

Andrew  Erskine. 


BURXS  TO  THOMSON. 

2Gth  Jan.  1793. 
I  approve  greatly,  my  dear  Sir,  of  your  plans. 
Dr.  Beattie's  essay  will  of  itself  be  a  treasure. 
On  my  part,  I  mean  to  draw  up  an  appendix 
to  the  Doctor's  essay,  containing  my  stock  of 
anecdotes,  &c.  of  our  Scots  airs  and  songs.  All 
the  late  Mr.  Tytler's  anecdotes  I  have  by  me, 
taken  down  in  the  course  of  my  acquaintance 
with  him  from  his  own  mouth.  I  am  such  an 
enthusiast,  that,  in  the  course  of  my  several 

1  The  Hon.  Andrew  Erskine  was  a  younger  l)rother 
of  "the  musical  Earl  of  Kellie,"  and  was  originally 
in  the  army.  He  was  one  of  tlie  contriliutors  to 
Donaldson's  Collection  of  Original  Poems  bij  Scottish 
Oentlemen,  and  tlie  autlior  in  part  of  a  curious  and 
rare  volume,  entitled,  Letters  between  the  Hon. 
Andrew  Erskine  and  James  Bosicell,  i'iv/.— Joluisons 
Boswell.  He  wrote  one  or  two  pieces  for  the  Edin- 
burgh stage,  and  was  autlior  of  a  satirical  production 
called  Town  Eclogues.  Mr.  Ersliiiie  was  found 
drowned  in  the  Fortli  in  tlie  autumn  of  tliis  year, 
1793— a  victim  to  his  fondness  for  play.  He  figures 
among  Kay's  portraits. 

2 These  "religious  and  amorous"  pieces  would  be 
sucli  as  *ere  fitted  for  a  place  in  the  collection  men- 
tioned in  note  to  p.  228,  vol.  iv. 


peregrinations  through  Scotland,  I  made  a  \v]. 
grimage  to  the  individual  spot  from  whidi 
every  song  took  its  rise;  '•  Lochaber"  and  the 
"Hraes  of  Ballenden,"  excepted.  So  fur  as 
the  locality,  either  from  the  title  of  the  air,  or 
tiie  tenor  of  the  song,  could  be  ascertained,  I 
have  paid  my  devotions  at  the  particular  shrine 
of  every  Scots  muse. 

I  don't  doubt  but  you  might  make  a  very 
valuable  collection  of  Jacobite  .songs;  but  would 
it  give  no  offence?  In  the  mean  time,  do  not 
you  think  that  some  of  them,  particularly  ' '  Tlie 
Sow's  Tail  to  Geordie,"  as  an  air,  with  other 
words,  might  be  well  worth  a  place  in  your 
collection  of  lively  songs  ? 

If  it  were  possible  to  procure  .songs  of  merit, 
it  would  be  proper  to  have  one  set  of  Scots 
words  to  every  air,  and  that  the  set  of  words 
to  which  the  notes  ought  to  be  set.  There  is 
a  naivete,  a  pastoral  simplicity,  in  a  slight  in- 
termixture  of  Scots  words  and  phraseology, 
which  is  more  in  unison  (at  least  to  my  taste, 
and  I  will  add  to  every  genuine  Caledonian 
taste)  with  the  simple  pathos,  or  rustic  spright- 
liness  of  our  native  music,  than  any  English 
verses  whatever.  For  instance,  in  my  "  Auld 
Uob  Morris"  you  propose  instead  of  the  word 
"descriving"  to  substitute  the  word  "all- 
telling,"  which  would  spoil  the  rusticity— the 
pastoral  of  the  stanza. 

The  very  name  of  Peter  Pindar  is  an  acqui- 
sition to  your  work.  His  "  Gregory"  is  lieau- 
tiful.  I  have  tried  to  give  you  a  set  of  stanzas 
in  Scots,  on  the  .same  subject,  wliioh  are  at  your 
service.  Not  that  I  intend  to  enter  the  lists 
with  Peter;  that  would  be  presumption  in- 
deed, ily  song,  though  much  inferior  in 
poetic  merit,  has,  I  think,  more  of  the  ballad 
simplicity  in  it. 

LORD  GEEGORY. 

O  mirk,  inirlc  is  tliis  midnight  Iiour, 

And  loud  the  tempest's  roar; 
A  waefit'  wanderer  seelis  tliy  tow'r, 

Lord  Gregory,  ope  thy  door.    &c. 

(See  p.  140,  vol.  iii. 

Your  remark  on  the  first  stanza  of  my 
"Highland  JIary"  is  just;  but  I  cannot  alter 
it  without  injuring  the  poetry,  in  proporti(ui 
as  I  mend  the  perspicuity;  so,  if  you  please 
we  will  let  it  stand  as  it  is.  Jly  other  songs — 
you  will  see  what  alterations  I  have  made  in 
them. 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


129 


If  you  think  that  my  name  can  be  of  any 
service  to  your  advertisement,  you  are  welcome. 
My  most  respectable  compliments  to  the  hon- 
ourable gentleman  who  favoured  me  with  a 
postscript  in  your  last.  He  shall  hear  from 
me  and  receive  his  MSS.  soon. 


BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

20th  March,  1793. 
MARY  MORISON. 

0  Mary,  at  thy  window  be. 
It  is  the  wisli'il,  the  trysted  hour ! 

Those  smiles  and  glances  let  me  see, 
That  make  the  miser's  treasure  poor !    &c. 
[.See  p.  200,  vol.  i. 

My  pear  Sir, 

The  song  prefixed  is  one  of  my  juvenile 
works.  I  leave  it  among  your  hands.  I  do 
not  think  it  very  remarkable,  either  for  its 
merits  or  demerits.  It  is  impossible  (at  least 
I  feel  it  so  in  my  stinted  powers)  to  be  always 
original,  entertaining,  and  witty. 

AVhat  is  become  of  the  list,  &c.  of  your 
songs?  I  shall  be  out  of  all  temper  with  you 
by-and-by.  I  have  always  looked  upon  my- 
self as  the  prince  of  indolent  correspondents, 
and  valued  myself  accordingly;  and  I  will  not, 
cannot  bear  rivalship  from  you,  nor  any  body 
else.  I  wish  much  to  have  the  list,  and  to 
hear  how  you  come  on. 


BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

(March,  1703.] 
WAXDERINC,  WILLIE. 

Here  awa',  there  awa',  wandering  Willie, 
-Viiw  tired  with  wandering,  hand  awa'  hame! 

Come  to  my  bosom,  my  ae  (inly  dearie, 
And  tell  me  thou  bring'st  me  my  Willie  the  same.  &c. 

[See  p.  141,  vol.  iii. 

I  leave  it  to  you,  my  <lear  Sir,  to  determine 
wlietlicr  the  above,  or  the  old  "Thro'  the 
i-ang  Muir,"  be  the  best. 

OI'EX  THE  DOOR  TO  ME,  Oil. 
(WITH  ALTERATIONS.) 

Oh,  open  the  door,  some  pity  to  show, 

If  love  it  may  not  be,  Oh  ! 
Tlio'  thou  hast  been  false,  I'll  ever  prove  true. 

Oh,  open  the  door  to  me,  (»h  1    Ac. 

[See  vol.  iii.  p.  143. 


I  do  not  know  whether  this  song  be  really 
mended. 


THOMSON   TO  BURNS. 

EWNBURGH,  2nd  April,  1793. 

I  will  not  recognise  the  title  you  give  your- 
self, "the  Prince  of  indolent  correspondents;" 
but  if  the  adjective  were  taken  away,  I  think 
the  title  would  fit  you  exactly.  It  gives  me 
pleasure  to  find  you  can  furnish  anecdotes  with 
respect  to  most  of  the  songs :  these  will  be  a 
literary  curiosity. 

I  now  send  you  my  list  of  the  songs,  which 
I  believe  will  be  found  nearly  complete.  I 
have  put  down  the  first  lines  of  all  the  English 
songs  which  I  piopose  giving  in  addition  to 
the  Scotch  verses.  If  any  others  occur  to  you, 
better  adapted  to  the  character  of  the  airs, 
pray  mention  them,  when  you  favour  me  with 
your  strictures  upon  every  thing  else  reladng 
to  the  work. 

Pleyel  has  lately  sent  me  a  number  of  the 
songs,  with  his  symphonies  and  accompani- 
ments added  to  them.  I  wish  you  were  here, 
that  I  might  serve  up  some  of  them  to  you 
with  your  own  verses,  by  way  of  dessert  after 
dinner.  There  is  so  much  delightful  fancy  in 
the  symphonies,  and  such  a  delicate  simplicity 
in  the  accompaniments — they  are,  indeed,  be- 
yond all  praise. 

I  am  very  much  pleased  with  the  several 
last  productions  of  your  muse:  your  "Lord 
Gregory,"  in  my  estimation,  is  more  interest- 
ing than  Peter's,  beautiful  as  his  is!  Your 
"Here  awa,  Willie,"  must  undergo  some  al- 
terations to  suit  the  air.  Mr.  Erskine  and  I 
have  been  conning  it  over;  he  'vvill  suggest 
what  is  ncces.sary  to  make  them  a  fit  match.  ^ 

The  gentleman  I  have  mentioned,  whose 
fine  taste  you  are  no  stranger  to,  is  so  well- 
pleased  both  with  the  musical  and  poetical 
part  of  our  work,  that  he  has  volunteered  his 
assistance,  and  has  already  written  four  song.s 
for  it,  which  by  his  own  desire  I  send  for  your 
peru.sal. 

1  See  the  three  versions  of  the  song  given  at  pp.  141, 
142,  vol.  iii. 


130 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

7th  April,  1703. 

Thank  you,  my  dear  Sir,  for  your  packet. 
You  cannot  imagine  how  much  this*  bu-sinc^s 
of  composing  for  your  publication  has  added 
to  my  enjoyments.  What  with  my  early  at- 
tachment to  ballads,  your  book,  &c.,  ballad- 
making  is  now  as  completely  my  hobby-horse 
as  ever  fortification  was  L'ncle  Toby's;  so  I'll 
e'en  canter  it  away  till  I  come  to  the  limit  of 
my  race,  (God  grant  that  I  may  take  the  right 
8ide  of  the  winning-post!)  and  then  cheerfully 
looking  back  on  the  honest  folks  with  whom 
I  have  been  happy,  I  shall  say  or  sing,  "Sac 
merry  as  we  a'  hae  been ! "  and  raising  my  last 
looks  to  the  whole  human  race,  the  last  words 
of  the  voice  of  "Coila,"  shall  be,  "Good  night, 
and  joy  be  wi'  you  a' ! "  So  much  for  my  last 
words ;  now  for  a  few  present  remarks,  as  they 
have  occurred  at  random  on  looking  over  your 
list. 

The  first  lines  of  "  The  last  time  I  came  o'er 
the  moor,"  and  several  other  lines  in  it,  arc 
beautiful;  but  in  my  opinion — pardon  me, 
revered  shade  of  Ramsay! — the  song  is  un- 
worthy of  the  divine  air.  I  shall  try  to  make 
or  mend.  "For  ever.  Fortune,  wilt  thou 
prove."  is  a  charming  song,  but  "Logan  burn 
and  Logan  braes,"  is  sweetly  susceptible  of 
rural  imagery:  I'll  try  that  likewise,  and,  if  I 
succeed,  the  other  song  may  class  among  the 
English  ones.  I  remember  two  ending  lines 
of  a  verse  in  some  of  the  old  songs  of  ' '  Logan 
Water"  (for  I  know  a  good  many  different 
ones)  which  I  think  pretty: — 

Now  my  <lear  lad  maun  lace  his  faes, 
Far,  far  frae  uie  and  Logan  braes. 

"My  Patie  is  a  lover  gay,"  is  unequal. 
"His  mind  is  never  muddy,"  is  a  muddy  ex- 
pression indeed. 

Then  I'll  resign  and  marry  Pate, 
And  syne  my  cockernony.   &c. 

This  is  surely  far  unworthy  of  Ramsay,  or 
your  book.  My  song,  "Rigs  of  Barley,"  to 
the  .same  tune  does  not  altogether  please  me; 
but  if  I  can  mend  it,  and  thrash  a  few  loose 
sentiments  out  of  it,  I  will  submit  it  to  your 
consideration.  I  need  not  here  repeat  that  I 
leave  you,  without  the  smallest  partiality  or 
constraint,  to  reject  or  approve  anything  of 
mine. 


"The  Lass  o'  Patie'.s  Mill,"  is  one  of  Ramsay's 
best  songs ;  but  there  is  one  loose  sentiment  in 
it,  which  my  much-valued  friend  Mr.  Erskine, 
who  has  so  well  improved  "Down  the  l)uri), 
Davie,  lad,"  will  take  into  his  critical  care 
and  consideration.  In  Sir  J.  Sinclair's  statis- 
tical volumes,  are  two  claims,  one,  I  think, 
from  Aberdeenshire,  and  the  other  from  Ayr- 
shire, for  the  honour  of  this  song.  The  fol- 
lowing anecdote,  which  I  had  from  the  present 
Sir  William  Cunningham  of  Robertland,  who 
had  it  of  the  late  John,  Earl  of  Loudoun,  I  can, 
on  such  authorities,  believe: — 

Allan  Ramsay  was  residing  at  Loudoun  Castle 
with  the  then  Earl,  father  to  Earl  John;  and 
one  forenoon,  riding,  or  walking  out  together, 
his  Lordship  and  Allan  passed  a  sweet  romantic 
spot  on  Irvine  Water,  still  called  "Patio's 
Mill,"  where  a  bonnie  lass  was  "tedding  hay, 
bare-headed  on  the  green. "  My  Lord  observed 
to  Allan,  that  it  would  be  a  fine  theme  for  a 
song.  Ramsay  took  the  hint,  and  lingering 
behind,  he  composed  the  first  sketch  of  it, 
which  he  produced  at  dinner. 

"The  Yellow-haired  Laddie "  deserves  the 
best  verses  that  were  ever  composed,  but  I 
dare  not  venture  on  it.  The  verses  you  intend, 
though  good,  are  not  quite  worthy  of  it. 

"I  wish  I  were  where  Helen  lies."  The 
only  tolerable  set  of  this  song  that  I  know  is 
in  Pinkerton's  collection. 

"One  day  I  heard  Mary  say,"  is  a  fine  song; 
but  for  consistency's  sake,  alter  the  name 
"Adonis."  Was  there  ever  such  banns  pub- 
lished, as  a  purpose  of  marriage  between  Adonis 
and  Mary?  I  agree  with  you  that  my  soui:, 
"There's  nought  but  care  on  every  hand,"  is 
much  superior  to  "  Poortith  cauld."  The  ori- 
ginal song,  "The  Mill,  Mill,  O,"  though  ex- 
cellent, is,  on  account  of  delicacy,  inadmissible: 
still  I  like  the  title,  and  think  a  Scottish  song 
would  suit  the  notes  best;  and  let  your  chosen 
song,  'vhich  is  very  pretty,  follow  as  an  English 
set. 

Though  I  gave  Johnson  one  edition  of  my 
songs,  that  does  not  give  away  the  copyright, 
so  you  may  take  "Thou  lingering  star,  with 
less'ning  ray, "  to  the  tune  of ' '  Ilughie  ( jraham, " 
or  other  songs  of  mine.  "  Ye  gallants  liright, 
I  rede  ye  right,"  &c.  is  my  composition. 

"  Banks  of  the  Dee,"  is,  you  know,  literally 
"Laugolee,"  to  slow  time.     The  song  is  well 


i  1 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


131 


enougli,  but  has  some  false  imagery  in  it:  for 
instance, 
And  sweetly  the  nightingale  sung  from  the  tree. 

Ill  the  first  place,  the  nightingale  sings  in 
ii  \ow  hush,  but  never  from  a  tree ;  and  in  the 
second  place,  there  never  was  a  nightingale 
seen,  or  heard,  on  the  l)anks  of  the  Dee,  or 
any  otlier  river  in  Scotland.  Exotic  rural  ima- 
gery is  always  comparatively  flat.  I  f  I  could 
hit  on  another  stanza,  equal  to  "The  small 
birds  rejoice,"  &c.,  I  do  myself  honestly  avow, 
that  I  think  it  a  superior  song.i 

"  Jolni  Anderson,  my  Jo  " — the  song  to  this 
tune  in  Johnson's  Museum,  is  my  composition, 
and  I  think  it  not  my  worst ;  if  it  suit  you, 
take  it  and  welcome.  Your  collection  of  sen- 
timental and  pathetic  songs,  is,  In  my  opinion, 
very  complete ;  but  not  so  your  comic  ones. 
Where  are  "Tullochgorum,"  "Lumps  o'  pud- 
din',"  "Tibbie  Fowler,"  "Up,  and  warn  a', 
Willie,"  and  several  others,  which,  in  my 
humble  opini'^n,  are  well  worth  preservation? 
There  is  also  one  sentimental  .song  of  mine, 
tiie  first  in  the  4th  Vol.  of  the  Mu-tcum,  which 
never  was  known  out  of  the  immediate  neigh- 
bouriiood,  until  1  got  it  taken  down  from  a 
country  girl's  singing.  It  is  called  "  Craigic- 
burn  Wood;"  and  in  the  opinion  of  ]Mr.  Clarke, 
is  one  of  our  sweetest  Scottish  songs.  He  is 
quite  an  enthusiast  about  it:  and  I  would  take 
his  taste  in  Scottish  music  against  the  taste  of 
most  connoisseurs. 

You  are  (luite  right  in  inserting  the  last  five 
in  your  list,  though  they  are  certainly  Irish. 
"Shepherds,  I  have  lost  my  love!"  is  tome 
a  heavenly  air — what  would  you  think  of  a 
set  of  Scottish  verses  to  it?  I  have  made  one 
to  it  a  good  while  ago,  which  I  think  is  the 
best  love  song  I  ever  composed  in  my  life, 
but  in  its  original  state  is  not  quite  a  lady's 
song.  I  enclose  the  original,  which  please 
present  with  my  best  compliments  to  Mr. 
Krskine,  and  I  also  enclose  an  nKert'il,  not 
(imciided  copy  for  you,  if  you  choose  to  set  the 
tune  to  it,  and  let  the  Irish  verses  follow. ^ 

'  "  Tt  will  \k  fdinitl,  in  the  course  of  this  correspon- 
(Itnuu,  tliat  the  biinl  pnidueed  a  second  stanza  of 
the  "CliuvHlier's  Lament," (to  which  he  here  alludes,) 
woithy  of  tlie  first."— ruitltlE. 

-  Mr.  Thomson,  it  appears,  did  not  approve  of  this 
8onK  ("Yestreen  I  had  a  pint  of  wine '),  even  in  its 
altered  state,  no  copy  of  which  is  known  to  exist. 
The  original  will  be  found  in  vol.  iii.  p.  68. 


You  shall  hear  from  me  again,  and  have 
your  songs.  Jlr.  Erskine's  are  all  pretty,  but 
his  "  Lone  Vale  "  is  divine.  I  have  one  criti- 
cism to  make  on  a  line  in  his  song  to  "  I  wish 
my  love  were  in  a  mire,"  Ijut  more  of  this 
when  I  return  your  parcel. 

Yours,  &e. 

Let  me  know  just  how  you  like  these  random 
hints. 


THOMSON  TO  BURNS. 

Edinburgh,  April,  1703. 

I  rejoice  to  find,  my  dear  Sir,  that  ballad- 
making  continues  to  be  your  hobby-horse. 
(Jreat  pity  'twould  be  were  it  otherwise.  I 
hope  you  will  amble  it  away  for  many  a  year, 
and  "witch  the  world  with  your  horseman- 
ship." 

I  know  there  are  a  good  many  lively  songs 
of  merit  that  I  have  not  put  down  in  the  list 
sent  you;  but  I  have  them  all  in  my  eye. 
"My  Patie  is  a  lover  gpy,"  though  a  little  un- 
equal, is  a  natural  and  very  pleasing  song,  and 
I  humbly  think  we  ought  not  to  displace  or 
alter  it,  except  the  last  stanza.     .     .     .  •* 


BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

April,  1793. 
I  have  yours,  my  dear  Sir,  this  moment.  1 
shall  answer  it  and  your  former  letter,  in  my 
desultory  way  of  saying  whatever  comes  upper- 
most. I  am  decidedly  against  setting  ' '  The 
gloomy  night  is  gathering  fast,"  to  the  air, 
"My  Nannie,  O."  Musical  expression  is,  as 
you  said  in  one  of  your  late  letters,  very  am- 
biguous ;  but,  whatever  a  few  cognoscenti  may 
think,  you  will  find  that  eight  out  of  ten  of 
your  Scots  subscribers  would  prefer  for  that 
air,  my  own  "My  Nannie,  O,"  though  an  in- 
ferior composition  to  "  The  gloomy  night,"  &c. 
Besides,  "The  Banks  of  Ayr"  has  been  .-jet 
by  a  Jlr.  Dasti  to  an  original  melody,  and 
being  a  favourite  song  with  Sutherland's  com- 

3  "The  orir;inal  letter  from  'Mr.  Thomson  contains 
many  observations  on  Scottish  sonps,  and  on  the  man- 
ner of  adapting  the  words  to  the  nuisic,  which,  at  his 
desire,  are  suppressed.  Tlie  subsequent  letter  of 
liin'ns  refers  to  several  of  these  observations."  — 

CUKKIE. 


M 


132 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


pany  of  strolling  comedians,  it  is  now  a  well- 
known  popular  air  over  the  West  and  South 
of  Scotland. 

That  business  of  many  of  our  tunes  wanting, 
at  the  beginning,  what  fiddlers  call  the  starting- 
note,  is  often  a  rub  to  us  poor  rhymers. 

There's  hmw,  braw  lads  on  Yarrow  braes, 
That  wander  thro'  the  blooming  heather, 

you  may  alter  to 

Braw,  braw  lads  on  Yarrow  braes. 
They  rove  anmng  the  blooming  heather. 

My  Bong,  "Here  awa',  there  awa',"  as 
amended  by  ilr.  Erskine  I  entirely  approve 
of,  and  return  you.'  The  " Yellow -hair'd 
Laddie"  I  would  dispose  of  thus: — I  would 
set  the  air  to  the  oldest  of  the  songs  to  that 
tune: — 

The  jellow-hair'd  laddie  sat  on  yon  burn  ))rae. 

and  place  in  Icfter-press  after  it,  as  an  English 
set. 

In  April  when  primroses  paint  the  sweet  plain. 

Give  me  leave  to  criticise  your  taste  in  the 
only  thing  in  which  it  is,  in  my  opinion  repre- 
hensible. You  know  I  ought  to  know  some- 
thing of  my  own  trade.  Of  pathos,  sentiment, 
and  point,  you  are  a  complete  judge;  but  there 
is  a  quality  more  necessary  than  either  in  a 
song,  and  which  is  the  verj-  essence  of  a  ballad, 
1  mean  simplicity:  now,  if  I  mistake  not,  this 
last  feature  you  are  a  little  apt  to  sacrifice  to 
the  foregoing. 

Ramsay,  like  every  other  poet,  has  not  been 
always  equally  happy  in  his  pieces;  still  I  can- 
not approve  of  taking  such  liberties  with  an 
author  as  Jlr.  Walker  proposes  doing  with 
"The  last  time  I  came  o'er  the  moor."  Let 
a  poet,  if  he  chooses,  take  up  the  idea  of  an- 
other, and  work  it  into  a  piece  of  his  own ; 
but  to  mangle  the  works  of  the  poor  bard, 
whose  tuneful  tongue  is  now  mute  for  ever  in 
the  dark  and  narrow  house,  by  Heaven,  'twould 
be  sacrilege !  I  grant  that  Mr.  Walker's  ver- 
sion is  an  improvement;  but  I  know  Mr. 
AValker  well  and  esteem  him  much ;  let  him 
mend  the  song- as  the  Highlander  mended  his 
gun : — he  gave  it  a  new  stock,  a  new  lock,  au^v 
a  new  barrel. 

>  "The  reader  has  already  seen  that  Burns  did 
not  finally  adopt  all  of  Mr.  Erskine's  alterations."— 
Clrrie. 


I  do  not,  by  this,  object  to  leaving  out  im- 
proper  stanzas,  where  that  can  be  done  with- 
out  spoiling  the  whole.  One  stanza  in  "The 
lass  o'  Patie's  Mill,"  must  be  left  out:  the 
song  will  be  nothing  worse  for  it.  I  am  not 
sure  if  we  can  take  the  same  liberty  with 
"Corn  rigs  are  bonnie."  Perhaps  it  might 
want  the  last  stanza,  and  be  the  better  for  it. 
I  shall  be  extremely  sorry  if  you  set  any  other 
song  to  the  air  "She  rose  and  loot  me  in," 
except  the  song  of  that  title.  It  would  he 
cruel  to  spoil  the  allusion  in  poor,  unfortunate 
M 'Donald's  pretty  ode. 

Could  you  spare  me  for  a  while  "  ily  Lodg- 
ing is  on  the  Cold  Ground?" — I  mean,  could 
you  defer  it  until  the  latest  period  of  your 
publication,  and  I  will  try  to  make  a  new 
song  to  it. 

I  would  be  happy  to  be  favoured  with  a  list 
of  the  twenty-five  you  mean  to  publish  first. 
Remember  that  on  these  will,  in  a  great 
measure,  depend  the  fate  of  your  work  with 
the  public;  for  that  reason  it  will  be  net'cs- 
sary  to  select  and  arrange  them  with  double 
circum-spection.  "Cauld  kail  in  Aberdeen," 
you  must  leave  with  me  yet  a  while.  I  have 
vowed  to  have  a  song  to  that  air,  on  the  lady 
whom  I  attempted  to  celebrate  in  the  verses, 
"Poortith  cauld  and  restless  love.''  At  any 
rate,  my  other  song,  "  Green  grow  the  rashes," 
will  never  suit.  The  song  is  current  in  Scot- 
land under  the  old  title,  and  to  the  merrj'  old 
tune  of  that  name,  which  of  course  would  mar 
the  progress  of  your  song  to  celebrity.  Your 
book  will  be  the  standard  of  Scots  songs  for 
the  future :  let  this  idea  ever  keep  your  judg- 
ment on  the  alarm. 

I  send  you  a  song  on  a  celebrated  fashionable 
toast  in  this  country,  to  suit  "  Bonnie  Dundee. " 
These  verses  suit  the  tune  exactly  as  it  is  in  the 
Mmfum.  There  is  a  syllabic  wanting  at  the 
beginning  of  the  first  line  of  the  second  .staii/.a, 
but  I  suppose  it  will  make  little  odds.  There 
is  so  little  of  the  Scots  language  in  the  com- 
position that  the  mere  English  singer  will  find 
no  difficulty  in  the  song. 

YOi'NG  JES.SIE. 

True  hearted  was  he,  the  sad  swain  o'  the  Yarrow, 
And  fair  are  the  maids  on  tlie  l)anks  o'  the  Ayr, 

li'it  l>y  the  swct't  side  of  tlie  Nitli's  windinj,'  river, 
Are  lovers  as  faithful,  and  maidens  as  fair.    Ac. 

tSee  p.  144,  vol.  iii. 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


133 


I  send  you  also  a  ballad  to  the  "  Mill,  Mill, 
0." 

THE  SOLDIERS  RETURN. 

Wlieii  wild  war's  deadly  blast  was  blawn, 

And  t'l-'iitle  peace  returninif, 
\Vi'  iiioiiy  a  sweet  babe  fatherless, 

Aud  niony  a  widow  mourning.    &c. 

[See  p.  145,  vol.  iii. 

"The  last  time  I  came  o'er  the  moor,"  I 
would  fain  attempt  to  make  a  Scots  song  for, 
and  let  Kamsay's  be  the  English  set.  You 
shall  hear  from  me  soon.  AVhen  you  go  to 
London  on  this  business,  can  you  come  by 
Dumfries?  I  have  still  several  MS.  Scots  airs 
by  me,  which  I  have  picked  up,  mostly  from 
the  singing  of  country  lassies.  They  please 
me  vastly ;  but  your  learned  lugs  would  per- 
haps be  displeased  with  the  very  feature  for 
which  I  like  them.  I  call  them  simple ;  you 
would  pronounce  them  silly.  Do  you  know  a 
fine  air  called  "Jackie  Hume's  Lament?"  I 
have  a  song  of  considerable  merit  to  that  air 
beginning : 

"O  ken  ye  what  Meg  o'  the  Mill  has  gotten?" 

I'll  inclose  you  both  the  song  and  tune,  as  I 
had  them  ready  to  send  to  Johnson's  Museum. 
I  send  you  likewise,  to  me,  a  beautiful  little 
air,  which  I  had  taken  down  from  viva  voce. 
On  the  other  page  1  will  give  you  a  stanza  or 
two  of  the  ballad  to  it. 

BONNIE  JEAN. 

There  was  a  lass,  and  she  was  fair. 
At  kirk  and  market  to  be  seen, 

When  a'  the  fairest  maids  were  met. 
The  fairest  maid  was  bonnie  .Tean.    &c. 

[See  p.  130,  below. 

MEG  0'  THE  MILL. 

0  ken  ye  what  Mep  o'  the  Mill  has  gotten? 
An'  ken  ye  what  Meg  o'  the  Mill  has  gotten? 
She  lias  gotten  a  coof  wi'  a  claut  o'  siller. 
And  broken  the  heart  o'  the  ))arley  Miller. 

[See  p.  144,  vol.  iii. 

I  know  these  songs  are  not  to  have  the  luck 
to  please  you,  else  you  might  be  welcome  to 
them.  Preserve  them  carefully  and  return 
them  to  me,  as  I  have  no  other  copy. 

Adieu. 


BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

April,  1703. 
THE  LAST  TIME  I  CAME  O'ER  THE  MOOR. 

The  last  time  I  came  o'er  the  moor, 

And  left  Maria's  dwelling, 
What  tlu'oes,  what  tortures  passing  cure, 

Were  in  my  bosom  swelling.    &c. 

[See  p.  149,  vol.  iii. 

My  DEAR  Sir, 

I  had  scarcely  put  my  last  letter  into  the 
post  office,  when  I  took  up  the  subject  of 
"The  last  time  I  came  o'er  the  moor,"  and 
ere  I  slept,  drew  the  outlines  of  the  foregoing. 
How  far  I  have  succeeded,  I  leave  on  this,  as 
on  every  other  occasion,  to  you  to  decide  on. 
I  own  my  vanity  is  flattered,  when  you  give 
my  songs  a  place  in  your  elegant  and  superb 
collection ;  but  to  be  of  service  to  the  work  is 
my  first  wish.  As  I  have  often  told  you,  I  do 
not  in  a  single  instance  wish  you,  out  of  com- 
pliment to  me,  to  insert  any  thing  of  mine. 
If  you  can  send  me,  as  I  said  in  my  last  hotch- 
potch epistle,  a  list  of  your  twenty-five  songs, 
I  will  add  the  authors'  names,  and  return  you 
the  list.  One  hint  only  let  me  give  you, 
where  you  have,  as  in  "Katharine  Ogie,"  set 
another  song  to  the  air,  it  will  be  proper  also 
to  prefix  the  old  name  of  the  tune  thus : — 

HIGHLAND  MARY. 
Tune,  Katharine  Ogie. 

Another  hint  you  will  forgive — whatever  Mr. 
I'leyel  does,  let  him  not  alter  one  iota  of  the 
original  Scots  air — I  mean  in  the  song  depart- 
ment ;  our  friend  Clarke,  than  whom  you  know 
there  is  not  a  better  judge  of  the  subject,  com- 
plains that  in  the  air  "Lea  Rig"  the  accent 
is  altered.  But  let  our  national  music  preserve 
its  native  features.  They  are,  I  own,  fre- 
quently wild,  and  irreducible  to  the  modern 
rule;  but  on  that  very  eccentricity,  perhaps, 
depends  a  great  part  of  their  effect. 


VOL.  V. 


THOMSON  TO  BURNS. 

Edinburgh,  2Cth  April,  1793. 
I  heartily  thank  you,  my  dear  Sir,  for  your 
Inst  two  letters,  and  the  songs  which  accom- 
panied them.     I  am  always  both  instructed 
and  entertained  by  your  observations ;  and  the 

75 


134 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


frankness  with  which  you  speak  out  your  mind, 
is  to  me  liiglily  agreeable.  It  is  very  possil)le 
I  may  not  have  h  fuc  idea  of  simplicity  in 
composition.  T  confess  there  are  several  songs, 
of  All.an  Ikumsay's  for  example,  that  I  think 
silly  enough,  which  another  person  more  con- 
vcr  Mit  than  I  have  been  with  country  people, 
wov  '(rh.  lis  call  simple  and  natural.  But 
the  J  .est  scenes  of  simple  nature  will  not 
plcnse  generally,  if  copied  precisely  as  they 
arc  The  poet,  like  the  painter,  must  select 
what  will  form  an  agreeable  as  well  as  a 
n!i*'nal  picture.  On  this  subject  it  were  easy 
to  enlarge;  but,  at  present,  suflice  it  to  say, 
that  I  consider  simplicity,  rightly  understood, 
as  a  most  essential  quality  in  composition,  and 
thv:  groundwork  of  beauty  in  all  the  arts.  I 
wi!i  gladly  appropriate  your  most  interesting 
new  ballad,  "When  wild  war's  deadly  bLst,  " 
&c.  to  the  "Mill,  Mill,  0,"  as  well  as  the  two 
othc  songs  to  their  respective  airs;  but  the 
third  and  fourth  lines  of  the  first  verse  must 
undergo  some  little  alteration  in  order  to  suit 
the  music.  Plcyel  doe.)  not  alter  a  single  note 
of  the  songs.  That  would  be  absurd  indeed ! 
With  the  airs  which  he  introduces  into  the  sona- 
tas, I  allow  him  to  take  such  liberties  as  he 
pleases;  but  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
fcongs.     .     .     . 

J'.S. — I  wish  you  would  do  as  you  proposed 
with  your  "  Rigs  o'  Barley. "  If  the  loose  sen- 
timents are  thrashed  out  of  it,  I  will  find  an 
air  for  it ;  but  as  to  this  there  is  no  hurry. 


BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

[.Tune,  1703.] 
When  I  toll  you,  my  dear  Sir,  that  a  friend 
of  mine,  in  whom  I  am  much  interested,  has 
fallen  a  sacrifice  to  these  accursed  times,  you 
will  easily  allow  that  it  might  unhinge  mc  for 
doing  any  good  among  ballads.  My  own  loss, 
as  to  pecuniary  matters,  is  trifling;  but  the 
total  ruin  of  a  much-loved  friend,  is  a  loss  in- 
deed. Pardon  my  seeming  inattention  to  your 
last  commands. 

I  cannot  alter  the  disputed  lines  in   the 
"  Mill,  Mill,  O."  1    What  you  think  a  defect, 
I  "  The  lines  were  the  third  and  fourth,— 

■Wi'  mony  a  st  e  t  'uabe  fatherless, 
And  mony  a  widiw  mourning. 

"  As  our  poet  had  maintained  a  long  silence,  and  the 


I  esteem  as  a  positive  beauty:  so  you  see  how 
doctors  difi'er.  I  shall  now,  with  as  mudi 
alacrity  as  I  can  muster,  go  on  with  your  eoui- 
mands. 

You  know  Eraser,  the  hautboy-player  ui 
Edinburgh — lie  is  here,  instructing  a  band  of 
music  tor  a  foncible  corps  quartered  in  this 
country.  Among  many  of  his  airs  that  jilcuse 
mc,  there  is  one  well  known  as  a  reel  by  the 
name  of  "The  Quaker's  Wife,"  and  which  I 
remember  a  grand-aunt  of  mine  used  to  sing 
by  the  name  of  "  Liggeram  Co.^Ii  my  b  innie 
wee  lass."  Mr.  iraser  plays  it  slow,  and  witii 
an  expression  that  ([uite  charms  me.  1  ijot 
such  an  enthusiast  in  it,  that  I  made  a  sons 
for  it,  which  I  her:  subjoin,  and  inclose  Eraser's 
set  of  the  tune.  If  they  hit  your  fancy,  they 
are  at  your  service ;  if  not,  return  me  the  tune, 
and  I  will  put  it  in  Johnson's  Mitsnou.  1 
think  the  song  is  not  in  my  worst  manner. 

BLYTHE  HAE  I  BEEN. 

Blythe  hae  I  been  on  yon  hill, 

As  the  Ianil)s  before  nie ; 
Careless  ilka  thouKht  and  free, 

As  the  breeze  Hew  o'er  nic.    ifcc. 

[.See  p.  140,  vol.  lii, 

1  should  wish  to  hear  how  this  pleases  you. 
Yours, 


BURNS  TO  THOJISON. 

25th  June,  1703. 
Have  you  ever,  my  dear  Sir,  felt  your  bosom 
ready  to  burst  with  indignation  on  reading  of 
those  mighty  villains  who  diviile  kingi!  mi 
against  kingdom,  desolate  provinces,  and  lay 
nations  waste,  out  of  the  wantonness  of  aml)i- 
tion,  or  often  Troni  till  more  ignoble  passions' 
In  a  mood  of  ihi^  !:ind  to-day,  1  rccollcc'el  the 
air  of  "Logan  Wa'.er;"  and  it  occurred  ;o  nic 
that  its  querulouf,  melody  probably  had  its 
origin  from  the  plaintive  indignation  of  some 
swelling,  suffering  heart,  fired  at  the  tyrannic 

first  number  of  Mr.  Thonson's  musical  work  was  in 
the  press,  this  gentleman  ventured,  by  Mr.  Er.skine's 
alvice,  to  substitute  for  them,  in  that  publication, 

And  eyes  ag.iin  with  pleasure  heani'd 
Tliat  had  been  bleared  witli  moumiuR. 

Thouph  bjtter  suited  to  tie  music  these  lines  are  in- 
icrior  to  the  oriKinal.  "— CURKIE.  In  the  last  editinn 
of  Thomsoi  's  CoUection,  the  poet's  own  lines  were 
restored. 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


135 


strides  of  Home  Public  Destroyer,  and  over- 
wlielmcdwitli  private  diatress — tiic  consequence 
nf  a  country's  ruin.  If  I  have  done  any  thing 
at  ill  liicc  justice  to  my  feelings,  the  following 
soncT,  composed  in  three  quarters  of  an  hour's 
liiinibrations  in  my  elbow-chair,  ought  to  have 
some  merit : — 

LOGAN  BRAES. 

(» I.Dgaii,  sweetly  didst  thou  glide, 
Tliiit  ilay  I  was  my  Willie's  hridu ! 
And  years  siiisyne  liae  o'er  us  run, 
Lilve  Lngaii  to  tlie  simmer  sun.    &ti. 

[Sue  J).  150,  vol.  iii. 

Do  you  know  the  following  beautiful  little 
fragment,  in  Wither.«poon's  collection  of  Scots 
songs  ^ 

Time— " Uughie  Graham." 

0  pin  my  love  were  yon  red  rose, 
Tliat  ),'rows  upon  the  castlu  w.i' : 

And  I  niysel'  a  drap  o'  dew, 
Into  her  lionnie  breast  to  fa'! 

Oil,  there  lieyond  expression  blest, 
I'd  feast  on  beauty  a'  the  night; 

Seal'il  on  her  silk-saft  faulds  to  rest, 
Till  tiey'd  awa  by  Plusbus'  light. 

This  thouglit  i.'  inexpressibly  beautiful ;  and 
quite,  so  far  as  I  know,  original.  It  is  too 
short  for  a  song,  else  1  would  forswear  you 
altogether  unless  ynu  gave  it  a  place.  I  have 
often  tried  to  eke  a  .stanza  to  it,  but  in  vain. 
After  balancing  i  yself  for  a  musing  five  min- 
utes, or.  the  hinn-legs  'f  my  elbow-chair,  I 
proihu'cd  tlic  following. 

The  verses  are  far  inferior  to  the  foregoing, 
I  frankly  confess ;  but  if  worthy  of  insertion 
at  all,  tl'oN  mii;ht  be  first  in  place:'  as  every 
poet,  who  k  '^  vvs  any  thing  of  his  trade,  will 
luislianu  his  best  thoughts  for  u  foncluding 
stroke. 

0  were  my  love  yon  lilac  fair, 
\Vi'  puri)le  blossoms  to  the  spring; 

And  I,  a  liiril  to  shelter  tl\ere, 
Wlien  weary  on  my  little  winy ! 

llow  I  wad  mourn,  when  it  was  torn, 
l'.y  aiitUMin  wild,  and  winter  rude! 

l!iu  '  .  ouM  sin;;  on  wanton  wing, 
When  yoiithfu'  May  its  bloom  renew'd." 

'  W  '  pive  the  lyric  printed  as  IJurns  suggestb  among 
the  Sonu's  Altered. 

■-  Tlif  fras:inent  which  Burns  thus  eked  out  will  be 
fDuml  in  Hiid'.s collection, of  which .iohnWitherspooii 
allmled  to  in  the  letter  was  the  printer. 


THOMSON   TO   IJL'RNS. 


Mo.NDAY,  1st  July,  1793. 

I  am  extremely  sorry,  my  good  Sir,  that 
any  thing  should  happen  to  unhinge  you.  The 
times  are  terribly  out  of  tune ;  and  when  har- 
mony will  be  restored,  Heaven  knows. 

My  first  book  of  songs,  just  published,  will 
be  despatched  to  you  along  with  this.  Let 
me  be  favoured  with  your  opinion  of  it  frankly 
and  freely. 

I  .shall  certainly  give  a  place  to  the  song  you 
have  written  for  the  "Quaker's  Wife;"  it  is 
([uite  enchanting.  Pray  will  you  return  the 
li.st  of  songs,  with  such  airs  added  to  it  as 
you  think  ought  to  be  included.  The  business 
now  rests  entirely  on  myself,  the  gentlemen 
who  originally  ajgreed  to  join  the  speculation 
having  requested  to  be  oflT.  No  matter,  a  loser 
I  cannot  be.  The  superior  excellence  of  the 
work  will  create  a  general  demand  for  it  as 
soon  as  it  is  properly  known.  And  were  the 
sale  even  slower  than  it  promises  to  be,  I 
should  be  somewhat  compensated  for  my  la- 
bour, by  the  pleasure  I  shall  receive  from  the 
music.  I  cannot  express  how  much  I  am 
obliged  to  you  for  the  exquisite  new  songs  you 
are  sending  me ;  but  thanks,  my  friend,  are  a 
poor  return  for  what  you  have  done :  as  I  will 
be  benefited  by  the  publication,  you  must 
suffer  me  to  inclose  a  small  mark  of  my  grati- 
tude,'* and  to  repeat  it  afterwards  when  I  find 
it  convenient.  Do  not  return  it,  for,  by  Heaven, 
if  you  do,  our  correspondence  is  at  an  end : 
and  though  this  would  be  no  lo.ss  to  you,  it 
would  mar  the  publication,  which  under  your 
auspices  cannot  fail  to  be  respectable  and  in- 
teresting.    .     .     . 

\Vei)Sesi)Av  Mousing. 
1  thank  you  for  your  delicate  additional 
ver.'^es  to  the  old  fragment,  and  for  your  excel- 
lent song  to  "  Logan  Water;"  Thomson's  truly 
elegant  one  will  follow  for  the  l^nglLsh  singer. 
Your  apostrophe  to  statesmen  is  admirable ; 
but  I  am  not  sure  if  it  is  quite  sritiible  to  the 
supposed  gentle  character  of  the  ^\ir  mourner 
^vho  Hpeaks  it. 

3  A  five-pound  hank-note. 


136 


C0RI5ESP0NDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


DLTiNS  TO  THOMSON. 

2(1  July,  1793. 

MY  DEAR  Sm, 

I  have  just  finished  the  following  balhvd, 
ami,  as  I  do  think  it  in  my  best  style,  1  send 
it  you  (you  had  the  tune  with  a  verse  or  two 
of  the  song  from  me  a  while  ago).  Jlr.  Clarke, 
Avho  wrote  down  the  air  from  Jlrs.  Hums'  wood- 
note  wild,  is  very  fond  of  it,  and  has  given  it 
a  celebrity  by  teaching  it  to  some  young  ladies 
of  the  first  fashion  here.  If  you  do  not  like 
the  air  enough  to  give  it  a  place  in  your  col- 
lection, please  return  me  the  music'  The 
song  you  may  keep,  as  I  remember  it. 

BOXXIE  JEAN. 

There  was  a  Insa,  iiiid  she  wna  fair. 

At  kirk  or  iiiiuki't  ti>  lio  sefii, 
When  u'  our  fairost  iirnida  were  met. 

The  fairest  iiiaiU  was  buiinie  .feaii.    &c. 

[See  Vdl.  iii.  p.  151. 

I  have  some  thoughts  of  inserting  in  your 
index,  or  in  my  notes,  the  names  of  the  fair 
ones,  the  themes  of  my  songs.  I  do  not  moan 
the  name  at  full ;  but  dashes  or  asterisks,  so 
as  ingenuity  may  find  them  out. 


1  1 


BUTiNS  TO  THOMSON. 

July,  1703. 

I  assure  you,  my  dear  Sir,  that  you  truly 
hurt  me  with  your  pecuniary  parcel.  It  de- 
grades me  in  my  own  eyes.  However,  to  return 
it  would  savour  of  bombast  affectation ;  but  as 
to  any  more  traffic  of  that  debtor  and  creditor 
kind,  I  swear  by  that  Hoxouu  which  crowns 
the  upright  statue  of  Uobeut  Huuxs's  Integ- 
rity— on  the  least  motion  of  it,  I  will  indig- 
nantly spurn  the  by-past  transaction,  and  from 
that  moment  commence  entire  stranger  to  you ! 
BuRXs'.s  character  for  generosity  of  sentiment 
and  independence  of  mind,  will,  I  trust,  long 
outlive  any  of  his  wants  which  the  cold  unfeel- 
ing ore  can  supply;  at  least,  I  will  take  care 
that  such  a  character  he  shall  deserve. 

Thank  you  for  my  copy  of  your  publication. 
Never  did  my  eyes  behold,   in  any  musical 

I  Thomson,  however,  did  not  set  tlie  ballad  to  the 
air  sent,  whicli  has  been  lost,  and  held  liack  the  puli- 
lication  of  the  song  till  his  4th  volume,  where  it  ap- 
peared set  to  the  tune  of  "  Willie  was  a  Wanton  Wag," 
twenty  years  after  Burna's  death. 


work,  such  elegance  and  correctness.  Your 
preface,  too,  is  admirably  written ;  only  your 
partiality  to  mo  has  made  you  say  too  much: 
however,  it  will  bind  me  down  to  douiile  every 
eflbrt  in  the  future  progress  of  the  work.  Now 
for  business — must  I  return  you  the  list?  The 
following  arc  a  few  remarks  on  it.  1  never 
copy  what  I  write  to  you,  so  I  nuiy  be  oticn 
tautological,  or  perhaps  contradictory. 

"The  Flowers  of  the  Forest"  is  charming 
as  a  poem,  and  should  be,  and  must  i)e,  set  to 
the  notes ;  but,  though  out  of  your  rule,  the 
three  stanzas,  beginning, 

I  hac  seen  the  smiling  o  fortune  bc^'ulllng, 

arc  worthy  of  a  place,  were  it  but  to  immor- 
talize the  author  of  them,  who  is  an  old  lady 
of  my  aecpiaintance,  and  at  this  moment  living 
in  Edinburgh.  She  is  a  Mrs.  C'ockbuni ;  1 
forget  of  what  place;  but  from  Ho.vburglishire.^ 
What  a  charming  apostrophe  is 

()  tickle  fortune,  why  this  cruel  sporting, 
Wliy,  why  torment  us— i)oor  sons  of  a  day ! 

The  old  ballad,  ' '  I  with  I  were  where  Helen 
lies,"  is  silly  to  contemptibility.^  My  alter- 
ation in  Jo/nisoii  is  not  much  better.  Mr. 
I'inkerton,  in  his,  what  he  calls,  ancient 
ballads,  (many  of  them  notori(Uis,  thougli 
beautiful  enough,  forgeries,)  ha»  the  best  set. 
It  is  full  of  his  own  interpolations, — liut  no 
matter. 

In  the  "  Lea  liig"  I  have  altered  my  mind 
as  to  the  first  line,  and  will,  if  you  plea.se, 
have  it  as  at  first : — 

When  o'er  the  hills  the  eastern  star. 

It  is  much  more  poetical. 

-  Mrs.  Alison  or  Alice  Cockburn  was  daughter  to 
Robert  Rutherford,  E8(|.,  of  Fernielee  in  .Selkirkshire. 
iSlie  died  in  17!U,  at  an  advanced  age.  A  turret  in  tlie 
old  house  of  Fernielee  is  said  to  have  lieen  tlie  plate 
where  the  poem  was  written.  .Mrs.  Cockburn  .so  suf- 
cessfuUy  inutated  tlie  style  of  the  (dd  ballad  in  the 
poem  here  referred  to,  that  .Sir  Walter  Scott  (wlmse 
mother  was  a  relation  of  Mrs.  Cockburn)  declares  it 
re(|uired  the  most  direct  evidence  to  convince  liiiii  il 
was  a  modern  composition. 

"  "  There  is  a  copy  of  this  li.iUad  given  in  the  ac- 
count of  the  I'arish  of  Kirkpatrick-Kleenung,  (wliii  h 
contains  the  tomb  of  fair  Helen  Irvine.)  in  the  Statis- 
tics of  Sir  John  Sinclair,  vol.  xiii.  p.  2'i't,  to  wliioli  tliis 
character  is  certainly  not  applicable.  "—('imilK- 
VarioHs  versions  of  this  ballad,  however,  were  float- 
ing about  the  south  country,  some  of  them  containing 
very  indifferent  verses. 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


137 


The  vcMCs  of  the  "  Boniiio  Driickct  liUMHio" 
are  poor.  Tliey,  I  believe,  iiro  tlie  production 
of  Hint  Olid  being  "  Balloon  Tytler."  Tiio  air 
deserves  fine  verses. 

Tlic  nieasuro  of  "  Hughic  Graham"  will 
answer  e.Mictly  to  my  favourite  fragment,  "(), 
if  my  Love  were  yon  red  Hose."  Will  the  ex- 
pression suit? 

Tlie  .Facobitc  vcrscw,  "There'll  never  be 
Peace  till  Jamie  comes  Hamc,"  are  mine,  made 
on  liic  idea  suggested  by  the  title  of  the  air. 
If  you  object  to  their  sentiments  there  is  an- 
other song  of  mine  (J/i(.'<''«/h,  vol.  iv.  Xo.  331) 
which  will  suit  the  measure.  It  is  a  little  ir- 
reyular  in  the  flow  of  the  lines,  but  where  two 
short  syllables,  that  is  to  .say,  one  syllabic  more 
than  regular  feet — if  these  two  syllables  fall  to 
the  space  of  one,  crochet  time,  composed  of 
two  (iiflbrcnt  quavers  under  a  slur;  it  has,  I 
think,  no  t)ad  elt'cct  to  divide  them.  Thus  it 
may  flow : — 

"Villi  wild  iiiiissy  mountains,"  &c. 

"That  muse,"  Ac, 
"Wliuie  the  u'ldiisu  thruugh  the  heath  lead  their 
I'oveys  to  feed. 
Ami  the  shejiherd,"  &c. 

After  all  pcrliaps  the  expression  of  this  air  re- 
quires something  more  solemn. 

If  you  look  into  the  ^fus<■um,  vol.  iv.  No.  311, 
you  will  see  an  altered  set  of  the  ballad,  "O 
let  me  in  this  ac  night."  Apropos,  in  Oswald, 
under  the  name  of  ' '  Will  ye  lend  mo  your 
Locun,  Lass,"  you  will  meet  with  a  difTcrent 
set,  and  perhaps  a  better  one  than  in  Johnson's 
MiiKi'um. 

In  my  next  I  will  suggest  to  your  considera- 
tion a  few  songs  which  may  have  escaped  your 
hurried  notice.  In  the  mean  time,  allow  me 
to  congratulate  you  now,  as  a  brother  of  the 
quill.  Vou  have  C07nmittc(l  your  character  and 
fame;  which  will  now  be  tried,  for  ages  to 
conic,  by  the  illustrious  jury  of  the  Sons  and 
Daightkus  of  Tastk — all  whom  poesy  can 
please,  or  music  charm.  Being  a  bard  of  na- 
ture, I  have  some  pretensions  to  second  sight; 
and  I  am  warranted  by  the  spirit  to  foretell 
and  affirm,  that  your  great-grand  child  will 
hold  up  your  volumes,  and  .say  with  honest 
pride,  ' '  This  so  much  admired  selection  was 
the  work  of  my  ancestor." 

P.S.  Kobt.  IJiddell,  E.sq.  of  Glenriddell, 
subscribed  to  me  for  the  songs ;  send  him  a  copy 


to  my  care  the  first  opportunity.  Walter  Kid- 
dell,  of  Woodley  I'ark,  is  a  subscriber  for  the 
whole  work,  but  he  is  at  present  out  of  the  coun- 
try. John  M'Murdo,  Esq.  of  Drumlanrig,  is,  1 
believe  another  subscribed  for  the  whole  work; 
and  also,  I  think  Patrick  Miller  of  Dalswinton; 
but  Mr.  Clarke,  our  friend  who  is  at  present 
teaching  in  both  families — I  will  write  or  speak 
to  him  about  it.  However,  all  your  subscribers 
here  are  determined  to  transmit  you  the  full 
price  without  the  intervention  of  those  harpies, 
the  booksellers. 
Do  not  forget  Glenriddell's  copy  of  the  songs. 


THOMSON  TO   BURNS. 

Edin.,  1st  August,  1V03. 
Dear  Sir, 

I  had  the  pleasure  of  receiving  your  last 
two  letters,  and  am  happy  to  find  yon  are  quite 
pleased  with  the  appearance  of  the  first  book. 
When  you  come  to  hear  the  songs  sung  and 
accompanied,  you  will  be  charmed  with  them. 

"The  bonnie  brucket  Lassie,"  certainly  de- 
serves better  verses,  and  I  hope  you  will  match 
her.  "CauldKail  in  Aberdeen," — "  Let  me 
in  this  ac  night,"  and  several  of  the  livelier 
airs,  wait  the  JIuse's  pleasure:  these  are  pe- 
culiarly worthy  of  her  choice  gifts:  besides, 
you'll  notice,  that  in  airs  of  this  sort,  the  sing- 
er can  always  do  greater  justice  to  the  poet, 
than  in  the  slower  airs  of  "The  bush  aboon 
Traquair,"  "  Lord  Gregory,"  and  the  like;  for 
in  the  manner  the  latter  were  frequently  sung, 
you  must  be  contented  with  the  sound,  with- 
out the  sense.  Indeed  both  the  airs  and  words 
are  disguised  by  the  very  slow,  languid,  psalm- 
singing  style  in  which  they  are  too  often  per- 
formed :  they  lose  animation  and  expn: vsion 
altogether,  and  instead  of  speaking  to  the 
mind,  or  touching  the  heart,  they  cloy  upon 
the  car,  and  set  us  a-yawning! 

Your  ballad,  "There  was  a  lass,  and  she  was 
fair,"  is  simple  and  beautiful,  and  shall  un- 
doubtedly grace  my  collection. 


R 


138 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


liL'UNS  TO  TIIoMSftN. 


AilKillt,  1703. 
MV  I>KAR  THOMSON, 

I  liold  the  lien  for  your  friend  Clarke,'  who 
ivt  prcHcnt  In  Htudying  tlic  munie  of  tlic  wphcrea 
lit  my  elbow.  The  (ieorKi'ini  Sidus  he  thiiiku 
is  rather  out  of  tune;  ho  until  lie  rectify  thut 
mutter,  lie  eanimt  -^tooii  to  terrestrial  ailUirH. 

Me  nendrt  you  six  of  the  Itoiulo  Hulijccts,  and 
if  more  are  wanted,  he  ways  you  shall  have 
them, 

1) — n  your  long  stairs! 

S.   CLARKE. 


BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

Aiiunst,  1703. 

Your  objection,  my  dear  Sir,  to  the  passages 
in  my  song  of  "  Logan  Water,"  is  right  in  one 
instance;  the  phrase  "eniel  joys"  is  there  im- 
])roper;  but  it  is  diflieult  to  mend  it:  if  I  can 
1  will.  The  other  pa.s.sage  you  object  to  does 
not  appear  in  the  same  light  to  me. 

The  phrase  "mammy's  wark"  universally 
among  the  peasantry,  signifies  "mother's 
work :"  if  you  think  this  last  better  you  may 
adopt  it.  Your  other  objection  to  this  song 
will  vanish,  when  you  consider  that  I  have  not 
painted  Jliss  M' —  in  the  rank  which  she  holds 
in  life,  but  in  the  dress  and  character  of  a 
cottager;  consequently  the  utmost  simplicity 
of  thought  and  expression  was  necessary. 

Had  you  not  better  send  me  a  list  of  the 
next  parcel  of  songs  which  you  intend  to  pub- 
lish?  As  to  the  large  list  you  sent  me,  it  is  so 
iilurred  and  blotted  that  nobody  besides  my- 
self could  make  any  better  of  it. 

I  have  looked  over  "There'll  never  be  peace 
till  Jamie,"  &c.,  but  I  cannot  make  any  better 
of  it. 

I  was  yesterday  night  in  a  composing  hu- 
mour, and  behold  the  fruits  of  it: — 

SOXO-LET  ME  IX  THIS  AE  MGHT.2 

1  Stephen  Clarke,  ortjanist  iif  the  Episcopal  churcli, 
Cdwyate,  Edinliui'Kli,  teaelii'i'aiul  composer  of  iiiusio. 
lie  suiierintemleil  the  uuisu.il  ilepartiiieiit  of  John- 
son's Mum'tiiii, 

-  Here  followed  a  lyric  of  six  stanzas  founded  on  nil 
old  Sony  liaviiiK'  the  same  title.  Tliis  composite  pro- 
duction was  tlionuht  so  indifferently  of  by  Currie  that 
lie  did  not  print  it,  and  succeeding  editors  have  fol- 
lowed hia  example. 


I  need  not  hint  to  you  that  the  chorus  goes  to 
the  high  ])art  of  the  tunc. 

I  likewise  tried  my  hand  on  "  lioliin  .Vdair, " 
and  you  will  proiiably  think,  with  little  mic- 
ecHfl ;  but  it  is  Huch  a.  damned,  cramp,  out-of. 
the-way  measure,  that  1  despair  of  doing  any 
thing  belter  to  it. 

I'DILLIH  THE  FAIK. 

While  liirica  will'  Mtlu  v/inti,  fann'il  tlic  pine  air, 
TiistiiiK  tlie  l)i'eatliiiiK  spring;,  forth  I  did  (are; 

Ouy  tlie  sun's  golden  eye, 

i'eep'd  o'er  the  moiiiitaliiH  liigli ; 
Such  thy  niurnl  diil  I  ury,  I'hillis  the  fair. 

[Seep.  l.V),  Vol,  111. 

Ho  much  for  namby-pamby.  1  may,  after 
oil,  try  my  liand  on  it,  in  Scots  verse.  There 
1  always  find  myself  most  at  home. 

I  have  just  put  the  last  hand  to  the  song  I 
meant  for  "Cauld  kail  in  Aberdeen."^  If  it 
suits  you  to  insert  it,  I  shall  be  pleased,  as  the 
heroine  is  a  favourite  of  mine;  if  not,  I  shall 
also  be  pleased;  because  I  wish,  and  will  he 
glad,  to  see  you  act  decidedly  on  the  Imsincss. 
'Tis  a,  tribute  ar,  a  man  of  taste,  and  as  an 
editor,  which  you  owe  yourself. 

Among  your  subscribers  is,  for  the  songs, 
the  Hon.  John  Gordon  of  Keiimore;  send  his 
to  my  care.  For  the  songs  and  sonatas  both, 
Walter  l{iddcll,  Ksc].  of  Woodley  I'ark,  send 
to  the  care  of  Mrs.  Riddell,  Dumfries. 


THOMSON   TO  Bl'RNS. 

August,  17'ja. 
Mv  aodi)  Sir, 

I  consider  it  one  of  the  most  agreeable  cir- 
cumstances attending  this  publication  of  mine, 
that  it  has  procured  mc  so  many  of  your  much- 
valued  epi.stles.  Pray  make  my  acknowlcdi;- 
ments  to  St.  Stephen  '  for  the  tunes;  tell  him 
I  admit  the  justness  of  his  complaint  on  my 
stair-case,  conveyed  in  his  laconic  postscrijit 
toycurji'ii  d'csjiril,  which  1  jicrused  more  than 
once,  without  discovering  exactly  whether  your 
di.scussion  was  music,  astronomy,  or  politics; 
though  a  .sagacious  friend,  aciiuaintcd  with  the 
convivial  habits  of  the  poet  and  the  musieiaii, 
offered  mc  a  bet  of  two  to  one,  you  were  just 

3  The  song  alluded  to  is  "O  pooititli  canld.  " 
*  Steplien  I'larkv",  the  musician,  mentioned  in  a 
previous  letter. 


COUKESrONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


130 


lorux  goes  to 


(InnvniiiK  caro  toKctlier;  that  an  empty  bowl 
HUH  tliu  only  tiling  that  would  ducjily  allcct 
yon,  anil  the  only  matter  you  eould  then  ntudy 
how  to  runiedy ! 

1  hliall  l)e  j;''"'  '"  "'^^  you  f?ivo  "  Robin 
A<lair"  a  Scottish  dre.HH.  I'ctcr  in  fiirni«hinjj; 
him  with  an  KnKli!<li  Huit  for  a  oliungc,  and 
yon  arc  well  matched  tofjellicr,  Hobin'H  air  in 
excellent,  though  lie  certainly  hiw  an  out-of- 
the-way  measure  aH  ever  poor  l'arna«.Hian 
wi^jht  wan  idagued  with.  1  wish  you  would 
invoke  the  muse  for  a  Hinj,'le  elegant  Htanza  to 
he  Hui)stituted  for  the  concluding  objectionable 
verses  of  "Down  the  burn,  Davie,"  so  that 
this  most  cx(|uisitu  song  may  no  longer  be 
excluded  from  good  company. 

Mr.  Allan  has  made  an  inimitable  drawing 
from  your  "John  Anderson,  my  Jo,"  which  I 
am  to  have  engraved  as  a  frontispiece  to  the 
hiimurous  class  of  songs;  you  will  be  quite 
ciiarmed  with  it,  I  promise  you.  The  old 
ciMipleare  seated  by  the  fireside.  Mrs.  Ander- 
suii  in  great  good  humour  is  dapping  John's 
shoulders,  while  he  smiles  and  looks  at  her 
with  such  glee,  as  to  show  that  he  fully  recol- 
lects the  pleasant  days  and  nights  when  they 
were  "first  acijuent."  The  <lrawing  would  do 
honour  to  the  pencil  of  Teniers.  * 


Bl'UNS  TO  THOMSON. 

AiiBUSt,  1793. 
That  crinkum-crankum  tune,  "Robin  Adair," 
has  run  so  in  my  head,  and  I  succeeded  so  ill 
in  ny  last  attempt,  that  1  have  ventured  in 
i.i'.i.  morning's  walk,  one  essay  more.  You, 
my  dear  Sir,  will  remember  an  unfortunate 
jiart  of  our  worthy  friend  Cunningham's  story, 
which  happened  about  three  years  ago. "    That 

'  This  praisf  of  David  Allan,  the  painter,  appears 
iKnv  ixlravaKant  ami  uiinierited.  He  was  the  Willcie 
(if  Ills  (lay,  hut  so  in)inuasural)ly  diil  the  latter  artist 
siu-i)ass  him  in  the  illustration  of  Scottish  characters, 
that  the;  pniductions  of  Allan  appear  to  modern  eyes 
tame,  inelfective,  and  ?)i>ac;r.— Allan  was  a  native 
of  Alloa,  and  horn  in  17-14.  lie  was  for  matiy  years 
master  and  director  of  the  academy  estahlislied  hy 
the  Hoard  of  Trustees  at  Edinhuruli  for  manufactures 
and  improvements,  lie  illustrated  the  "Gentle 
Shepherd,"  and  left  a  series  of  sketches  designed  for 
the  poems  of  Unrns.  He  died  on  the  Gtli  Annust, 
17'J(i.  just  a  fortnight  after  the  poet's  own  decease. 

■  More  correctly  sijcakinn,  over  four  and  a  lialf 
years  ago.  See  letter  to  Alex.  Cunningham,  dated 
'.ilth  January,  1789. 


Htruck  ray  fancy,  and  1  endeavoured  to  do  the 
idea  justice  us  follows: — 

1IAI»  I  A  t'AVE. 

Had  I  a  cavu  on  Home  wild,  distant  shore, 

Where  the  wlntU  howl  to  the  waves'  dashing  roar: 

There  would  I  weep  uiy  woes, 

There  luek  my  luit  repose,  ilce. 

(.See  p.  165,  vol.  III. 

By  the  way,  I  have  met  with  a  musical 
IHghlander  in  Rreadalbanc's  Fencil)les,  which 
are  (piartered  here,  who  assures  me  that  he  well 
remembers  his  mother's  singing  (Jaelie  songn 
to  both  "Robin  Adair,"  and  "(iramachree." 
They  certainly  have  more  of  the  Scotch  than 
Irish  taste  in  them. 

This  man  comes  from  the  vicinity  of  Inver- 
ness:  so  it  could  not  be  any  intercourse  with 
Ireland  that  could  bring  them: — except  what, 
I  shrewdly  suspect  to  be  the  case,  the  waiuler- 
ing  minstrels,  harpers,  or  pipers,  used  to  go 
frequently  errant  through  the  wilds  both  of 
Scotland  and  Irelaiul,  and  so  some  favourite 
airs  might  be  common  to  both.  A  case  in 
point — they  have  lately,  in  Ireland,  with  great 
pomp,  published  an  Irish  air,  as  they  say, 
called  "Caun  du  dclish."  The  fact  is,  in  a 
publication  of  Corri's,  a  great  while  ago,  you 
will  iiiul  the  same  air,  called  a  Highland  one, 
with  a  Gaelic  song  set  to  it.  Its  name  there, 
I  think,  is  "Oran  CJaoil,"  and  a  fine  air  it  is. 
Do  ask  honest  Allan, ^  or  the  Rev.  Gaelic 
parson,'*  about  the,-'^  matters. 


BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

August,  1793. 

;  •    I'KAR  SlH, 

''  Let  me  in  thi.sae  night,"  I  shall  overlook. 
I  am  glad  that  you  arc  pleased  with  my  song, 
"  Had  1  a  cave,"  &c.  as  I  liked  it  myself. 

I  walked  out  yesterday  evening  with  a  vol- 
ume of  the  Jlltmi'um  in  my  hand,  when,  turn- 
ing up  "Allan  Water,"  "  What  numbers  shall 
the  muse  repeat,"  &c.  it  appeared  to  me  rather 

3  Prohahly  Allan  Masterton.  See  note  to  letter  of 
2(!tlHtct.,  179'2. 

*  TTie  Oaelic  parson  here  referred  to,  was  the  Rev. 
Joseph  Rohertson  ilacgregor,  the  first  minister  of 
the  lirst  Gaelic  chapel  in  Edinhurgh,  which  was 
erected  on  the  Castlehill  in  1709.  He  died  in  1801. 
A  portrait  and  account  of  him  will  be  found  in  Kay'g 
Portraits. 


•  i 


a  i 


II 


il 


140 


COKKESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


unworthy  of  so  fine  an  air,  and  recollecting 
that  it  i.s  on  your  list,  I  stit  and  raved  under 
the  shade  of  an  old  thorn,  till  1  M-rote  one  to 
suit  the  measure.  I  may  be  wrons,';  but  I 
Uiink  it  not  in  my  worst  style.  You  must 
know,  that  in  Ramsay's  Tea-table,  where  the 
modern  song  first  appeared,  the  ancient  name 
of  the  tune,  Allan  says,  is  "Allan  Water,"  or 
"My  love  Annie's  very  bonnie."  This  last 
has  certainly  been  a  line  of  the  original  song: 
so  I  took  up  the  idea,  and,  as  you  will  see, 
have  introduced  the  line  in  its  place,  which  1 
presume  it  formerly  occupied:  though  I  like- 
wise give  you  a  choosing  line,  if  it  should  not 
hit  the  cut  of  your  fancy: — 

B^  ALLAX  STREAM. 

By  Allan  stream  I  clianc'il  to  rove, 
While  PluL'bus  sank  beyond  Beiiledi ; 

The  winds  were  whisperiii),'  thro'  the  grove, 
The  yellow  corn  was  waving  ready.    &c. 

[See  p.  15C,  vol.  iii. 

Bravo!  .say  I;  1*  is  a  good  song.  Should 
you  think  so  too,  (not  else,)  you  can  set  the 
music  to  it,  and  let  the  other  follow  as  English 
verses. 

I  cannot  touch  "Down  the  Bum,  Davie." — 
"  The  last  time  I  came  o'er  the  muir"  I  shall 
have  in  my  eye. 

Autumn  is  my  propitious  season.  I  make 
more  verses  in  it  than  all  the  year   Ise. 

God  bless  you ! 


THOMSON  TO  BURNS,  i 

Edinburgh,  20th  August,  1793. 
Bravissimo !  I  say.  It  is  an  excellent  .song, 
There  is  not  a  single  line  that  could  be  altered. 
Of  the  two  lines — "O  my  love  Annie's  very 
bonnio!"  and  "  0  dearly  do  I  love  thee,  Annie!" 
I  prefer  the  lat'er  decidedly.  Till  I  received 
this  song  I  had  half  resolved  not  to  include 
"  Allan  Water  "  in  the  collection,  and  for  this 
reiison,  that  it  bears  such  a  near  resemblance 
to  u  much  finer  air — at  least,  a  grea'er  favour- 
ite of  mine — Galashiels,  or  "Ah,  the  poor  shep- 
herd's mournful  fate;"  the  beginning  is  almost 
quite  the  same. 

1  The  above  lotter  was  published  for  the  first  time 
In  Paterson's  Library  Edition  of  Burns  (Edin.  1879), 
boing  printed  fn)m  a  holograph  in  the  possession  of 
the  publisher.  It  is  the  only  oridnal  of  Thomson's 
letters  to  Burns  that  is  known  to  exist. 


I  have  made  up  a  correct  list  of  my  100  airs, 
of  which  I  shall  send  yi  u  a  copy  in  the  course 
of  a  few  weeks.  It  is  my  fixed  intention  not 
to  exceed  that  number;  by  going  fiirtiier,  1 
should  only  be  induced  to  take  a  number  of 
trifling  airs,  and  .so  swell  both  the  size  and 
price  of  the  book  beyond  bounds.  A  nd  I  find 
my  list  contains  every  fine  air  that  is  known 
of  the  serious  and  pastoral  kind,  besides  two 
or  three  never  before  published — all  diamonds 
of  the  first  water. 

I  stand  pledged  to  furnish  English  verses 
along  with  every  Scottish  song,  and  I  must 
fulfil  what  I  have  promised;  but  I  certainly 
have  got  into  a  scrape  if  you  do  not  stand  my 
friend.  A  couple  of  stanzas  to  each  air  will  do 
as  well  as  half  a  dozen;  and  to  an  imagination 
so  infinitely  fruitful  as  yours  this  will  not  be 
a  Herculean  lai)our.  The  airs  too  are  all  so 
perfectly  familiar  to  you,  and  the  original 
verses  so  much  your  favourites,  that  no  poet 
living  is  qualified  to  add  congenial  stanzas, 
even  in  English,  so  much  as  you  are. 

I  am  very  glad  that  you  are  to  revise  ' '  Let 
me  in  this  ae  night."  I  put  a  much  greater 
value  upon  this  beautiful  air  than  citiier"Allan 
Water,"  or  "  Logan  Water."  So  it  is  also 
with  "Cauld  Kail  in  Aberdeen,"  I  havealrtuys 
considered  it  among  the  most  pleasing  of  our 
melodies.  When  you  first  sent  me  "()  Too;, 
tith  cauld,''  I  took  the  liberty  to  obser'-o  that 
I  thought  it  too  querulous  and  despondent  for 
the  air.  I  would  very  fain  have  something  in 
your  best  ma*,  ner  for  it.  There  is  not  an  air 
existing  better  calculated  for  telling  a  pretty 
tale  of  love;  and  therefore  I  hope  that  in  tliis 
propitious  .season  you  will  think  of  it  some 
c'-ening  under  the  thorn  tree  that  witnessed 
the  birth  of  your  "  Allan  Water."  Remember 
also,  when  the  JIuse  and  you  are  "in  fit 
retreats  for  wooing,"  that  fine  ballad  tune, 
"  Laddie,  lie  near  me." 

I  am  sorry  you  cannot  think  of  furnishing 
a  sweet  concluding  stanza  or  two  for  "Down 
the  burn,  Davie;"  you  will  surely  allow  that 
however  pleasing  the  description  beginning 
"Till  baith  at  length  impatient  grown"  is 
altogether  improper  for  publication;  more  par- 
ticularly in  a  collection  that  assumes  to  itself 
the  merit  of  purification. 

I  have  sent  by  the  Dumfries  carrier  (carriage 
paid)  a  parcel  addressed  to  you  containing  a 


my  100  airs, 
n  the  course 
itention  not 
g  ftirther,  ] 
I  number  of 
he  size  and 
^  nd  I  find 
it  is  known 
besides  tAvo 
ill  diamonds 

glisli  verses 
xiul  I  must 
I  certainly 
)t  stand  my 
h  air  Avill  do 
imagination 
will  not  be 

0  are  all  so 
he  original 
liat  no  poet 
ial  stanzas, 
re. 

revise  ' '  Let 
uch  greater 
t  her  "Allan 

1  it  is  also 
have  al  rt'ays 
asing  of  our 
e  "0  Too;. 
)bseri-o  that 
pondent  for 
)mothing  in 
s  not  an  air 
ng  a  pretty 
that  in  this 
of  it  some 
t  witnessed 

Rememl)cr 
ire  "in  fit 
allad   tune, 

furnishing 
for  "Down 
allow  that 
beginning 
grown  "  is 
;  more  par- 
le.s  to  itself 

or  (carriage 
)ntaining  a 


j 

t 
tH 

kt 

nu 

of 
««■ 

ha 

BO 

ha 

P« 
wij 
hi< 


] 
yot 

mu 
vei 

] 
"1 
haA 

i 
mo 


Mi: 


I 

Th€ 

Of 

bon 

I  pi 

this 

"A 

reas 

to  a 

itec 

herd 

quit 

i-r 
in  Pi 
beini 
the  I 
lettei 


set  of  the  sonc 
of  Woodley  I'l 
ffho  wrote  som 
them;  a  set  of 
a  set  of  both  fo 
you  give  these 
first-named)  an 
vcnience. 

Your 

P.S.— I  thii 
is  a  beautiful  t 
and  propose  a 
verses,  "Since 
dear." 


BUPv 


You  may  re 
any  exertion  ii 
service.  But  i 
the  very  name 
vice  to  your  p 
him  now  and  tl 
as  well  as  1  c; 
business. 

Is  "Whistle 
one  of  your  air 
terday  I  set  the 
whom  I  have 
me,  as  he  adi 
understand  thi 
eye  on  your  w( 
However,  if  tli 
I  may  possibl 
nom,  a  narroi 
pings  so  delig] 
duces  at  your 
celebrity.  Th 
my  eye  is  in  J 

O  WHISTLl 

O  whistle,  ai 
O  whistle,  a: 
Tho'  fatlier  i 
0  whistle,  a 

Another  fa 
Muckin'  o'  Ge 

iThe  tune  to 
more  popular)  i 
sung. 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


141 


get  of  the  isonatas  and  songs  for  Mr.  KiddcU 
of  Woodley  Park;  tlie  same  for  a  Mr.  Boyd 
B-ho  wrote  some  weeks  ago  to  Mr.  Hill  about 
them;  a  set  of  the  songs  to  Mr.  Gordon,  and 
a  set  of  both  for  our  friend  ^Ir.  Clarke.  Will 
vou  give  these  to  a  porter  (I  mean  the  two 
first-named)  and  send  the  others  at  your  con- 
venience. 

Yours  cordially,  &e. 

P.S. — I  think  as  you  do,  that  Oran  gaoil 
is  a  beautiful  tune.  I  have  put  it  in  my  list, 
ami  propose  attaching  it  to  I)r.  blacklock's 
verses,   "Since  robbed  of  all  my  soul  holds 

dear." 


BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

August,  1793. 

You  may  readily  trust,  my  dear  Sir,  that 
any  exertion  in  my  power  is  heartily  at  your 
service.  But  one  thing  I  must  hint  to  you: 
the  very  name  of  Peter  Pindar  is  of  great  ser- 
vice to  your  publication ;  so  get  a  verse  from 
him  now  and  then,  though  I  have  no  objection, 
as  well  as  I  can,  to  bear  the  burden  of  the 
business. 

Is  "  Whistle  and  I'll  come  to  you,  my  lad," 
one  of  your  airs?  I  admire  it  much;  and  yes- 
terday I  set  the  following  verses  to  it.  Urbani, 
whom  I  have  met  with  hero,  begged  them  of 
me,  as  he  admires  the  air  much;  but  as  I 
understand  that  he  looks  with  rather  an  evil 
eye  on  your  work,  I  did  not  choose  to  comply. 
However,  if  the  song  does  not  suit  your  taste, 
I  may  possibly  send  it  him.  He  is,  oitre 
lions,  a  narrow  contracted  creature;  but  he 
sings  80  delightfully  that  whatever  he  intro- 
duces at  your  concert  must  have  immediate 
celelmty.  The  set  of  the  air  which  I  had  in 
my  eye  is  in  Johnson's  Museum,  No.  106. 

0  WHISTLE,   AXD  ILL  COME  TO  YOU. 

0  whistle,  and  I'll  come  to  you,  my  lad, 
0  whistle,  and  I'll  come  to  you,  my  hid ; 
Tho'  fatlier  and  mother  and  a'  should  fjae  mad, 
0  whistle,  and  I'll  come  to  you,  my  lad. 

[See  p.  15G,  vol.  iii. 

Another  favourite  air  of  mine  is,  "The 
Muckin'  o'  Geordie's  Byre. "  ^  When  sung  slow 

iThe  tune  to  which  "Tarn  Glen,"  another  (and 
more  popular)  of  Burns's  songs,  is  now  universally 

suns. 


with  expression,  I  have  wished  that  it  had 
better  poetry:  that  I  have  endeavoured  to 
supply  as  follows: — 

ADOWN  WINDING  XITH.2 

Adown  winding  Xith  I  did  wander. 
To  mark  the  sweet  flowers  as  they  spring; 

Adown  winding  Nith  I  did  wander, 
Of  Phillis  to  muse  and  to  sing.    &c. 

[Vol.  iii.  p.  157. 

Mr.  Clarke  begs  you  to  give  Jiliss  Phillis  a 
corner  in  your  book,  as  she  is  a  particular 
flame  of  his.  She  is  a  Miss  Phillis  M'Murdo, 
sister  to  "Bonnie  Jean."  They  are  both 
pupils  of  his.  Clarke  begs  compts.  to  you,  and 
will  send  you  some  more  airs  in  a  few  days. 
You  shall  hear  from  me,  the  very  first  grist  I 
get  from  my  rhyming-mill. 


BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

[28th]  August,  1793. 
That  tune,  "  Cauld  Kail,"  is  such  a  favourite 
of  yours  that  I  once  more  roved  out  yester- 
evening  for  a  gloamin  shot  at  the  Muses;^  when 
the  Muse  that  presides  o'er  the  shores  of  Nith, 
or  rather  my  old  inspiring  dearest  nymph, 
Coila,  whispered  me  the  following.  I  have  two 
reasons  for  thinking  that  it  was  my  early, 
sweet  simple  inspirer  that  was  by  my  elbow, 
"smooth  gliding  without  step,"  and  pouring 
the  song  on  my  glowing  fancy.  In  the  first 
place,  since  I  left  Coila's  native  haunts,  not  a 
fragment  of  a  poet  has  arisen  to  cheer  her  soli- 
tary musings,  by  catching  inspiration  from  her; 
so  I  more  than  suspect  that  she  has  followed 
mc  hither,  or  at  least  makes  me  occasional 
visits;  secondly,  the  last  stanza  of  this  song  I 
send  you,  is  the  very  words  that  Coila  taught 

3  We  give  a  view  on  this  river  which  is  celebrated 
by  Burns  in  several  of  his  poems.  The  objects  here 
presented  are  not,  as  it  happens,  referred  to  by  name 
in  the  poet's  lays,  but  they  combine  to  form  one  of 
the  finest  views  which  the  vale  anywhere  presents, 
and  one  which  is,  In  some  measure,  characteristic  of 
the  whole.  The  spectator  stands  on  the  north  bank 
of  the  river ;  the  bridge  shown  is  Auldgirth  Bridge 
(erected  1784),  and  not  far  from  it  is  Blackwood  House, 
with  Blackwood  Hill  rising  above  it  and  commanding 
a  fine  view  both  up  and  down  the  Isith.  Another 
view  on  this  river  is  given  in  connection  with  the 
poem  beginning,  "The  Thames  flows  proudly." 

3  Gloamin  shot.  "A  twilight  Interval  which  work- 
men within  doors  take  before  using  lights."— Jamie- 
son. 


I';' 


m 


ifl 


142 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


me  many  years  ago,  and  which  I  set  to  an  old 
Scots  reel  in  Johnson's  Miu^rum. 

COME,  LET  ME  TAKE  THEE. 

Come,  let  me  take  thee  to  my  breast. 
Ami  pledge  we  ne'er  shall  sunder; 

And  I  shall  spurn  as  vilest  dust 
The  warld's  wealth  and  ^sraudeur.  &c. 

[See  p.  158,  vol.  iii. 

If  you  think  the  above  will  suit  your  idea 
of  your  favourite  air,  I  shall  be  liighly  pleased. 
"The  last  time  I  came  o'er  the  moor,"  I  can- 
not  meddle  with,  as  to  mending  it;  and  the 
musical  world  have  been  so  long  accustomed 
to  Ramsay's  words,  that  a  different  song, 
though  positively  superior,  would  not  be  so 
well  received.  I  am  not  fond  of  choruses  to 
songs,  so  I  have  not  made  one  for  the  fore- 
going. 

Apropos  there  is  a  song  of  mine  in  the  3rd 
vol.  of  the  Museum  M'hich  would  suit  "Dainty 
Davie."  Tell  me  how  it  will  suit.  It  begins, 
"0  were  I  on  Parnassus  Hill." 

Let  me  have  the  list  of  your  first  hundred 
songs  as  soon  as  possible.  I  am  ever,  my  dear 
sir,  yours  sincerely. 


BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

I28th]  August,  1793. 
My  dear  Sir, 

I  have  written  you  already  by  to-day's  post, 

wliere  I  hinted  at  a  song  of  mine  which  might 

suit  "Dainty  Davie."     I  have  been  looking 

over  another  and  a  better  song  of  mine  in  the 

MuiiPiim,  which  I  have  altered  as  follows,  and 

which,  1  am  persuaded,  will  please  you.     The 

words  "Dainty  Davie  "  glide  .so  sweetly  in  the 

air,  that,  to  a  Scots  ear,  any  song  to  it,  without 

JJavle  being  the  hero,  would  have  a  lame 

effect. 

DAINTY  DAVIE. 

Xi)w  rosy  ilay  conies  in  wi'  Howurs, 
To  deck  lier  (.'ay,  grecn-sprcadin.i;  bowers; 
And  now  conies  in  my  hapjiy  lioiirs, 
To  wander  wi'  my  Davie.    Arc. 

[See  p.  IfiO,  V(,'l.  iii. 

So  much  for  Davie.  The  chorus,  you  know, 
is  to  tlie  low  part  of  the  tunc.  See  Clarke's 
set  of  it  in  the  Museum. 

N.  B.  In  the  Mumum  they  have  drawled 
out  the  tunc  to  twelve  lines  of  jmclry,  which 
is  d — d  nonsense.  Four  lines  of  song,  and 
four  of  chorus,  is  the  way. 


BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

3l8t  Aug.  17U3. 

I  dare  say,  my  dear  Sir,  that  you  will  beiilu 
to  think  my  correspondence  is  persecution. 
No  matter,  I  can't  help  it;  a  ballad  is  my 
hobby-liorse;  which,  though  otherwise  a  simple 
sort  of  harmless  idiotical  beast  enough,  has  yet 
this  blessed  headstrong  property,  that  when 
once  it  has  fairly  made  otf  with  a  hapless  wight, 
it  gets  so  enamoured  with  the  tinkle-gingle, 
tinkle-gingle  of  its  own  bells,  that  it  is  sure 
to  run  poor  pilgarlic,  the  bedlam -jockey,  (piite 
beyond  any  useful  point  or  post  in  the  common 
race  of  men. 

The  following  song  I  have  composed  for 
"Oran-gaoil,"the  Highland  air,  that,  you  tell 
me  in  your  last,  you  have  resolved  to  give  a 
place  to  in  your  book.  I  have  this  moment 
finished  the  song,  so  you  have  it  glowing  from 
the  mint.  If  it  suit  you,  well ! — if  not,  'tis 
also  well ! 

BEHOLD  THE  HOUR. 

Behold  the  hour,  the  Imnt  arrive; 

Tliou  goest,  thou  darling  of  my  heart! 
Sever'd  from  thee  can  I  .survive':' 

But  Fate  has  will'd,  and  we  mu.st  part.   iVc. 
|See  p.  204,  vul.  iii. 


THOMSON   TO   BURNS. 

EmsBUnoH,  1st  .Sept.  1793. 
Mv  DKAu  Sir, 

Since  writing  you  last,  I  have  received  half 
a  dozen  songs,  witii  wliich  I  am  delightcu  be- 
yond expression.  The  humour  and  fancy  of 
"Whistle,  and  I'll  come  to  you,  my  lad,''  will 
render  it  nearly  as  groat  a  favourite  us  ' '  Duncan 
Gray."  "Come,  let  me  take  thee  to  my 
breast," — "Adown  winding  Nitli,"  uiul  "  ISv 
Allan  stream,"  &c.,  are  full  of  iniauination 
and  feeling,  and  sAveetly  suit  the  airs  for  which 
they  are  intended.  "Had  I  a  cave  on  some 
wild  distant  shore,"  is  a  striking  an<l  utrectiiii; 
composition.  Our  friend,  to  whose  story  it 
refers,  read  it  with  a  swelling  heart,  1  a>>nio 
you.  The  union  we  are  now  forming,  1  think, 
can  never  be  broken;  these  songs  of  yours  will 
descend  with  the  music  to  the  latest  posterity, 
and  will  he  fondly  cherished  so  long  as  genius, 
taste,  and  sensibility  exist  in  our  island. 

While  the  muse  seems  so  propitious,  1  think 


X. 

it  Aug.  179a. 
lu  will  boirin 
persecution, 
lallad  is  my 
ivise  a  simiilc 
)ugli,  bus  yet 
,  that  when 
ipless  wiirht, 
inkle-gingle, 
at  it  is  sure 
jockey,  iiuite 
the  common 

omposed  for 
:hat,  you  tell 
0(1  to  give  a 
tills  moment 
liowing  from 
— if  not,  'tis 


y  heart  I 

> 

ust  part.   ite. 
254,  Vol.  iii. 


S'S. 

it  Sept.  1703. 

receivccl  half 
lolighteu  Ijc- 
and  fancy  of 
ny  la<l,"  will 
as  ' '  J  )uiican 
thee  to  my 
I,"  ami  "iiy 
imauinatiou 
irs  for  which 
ave  on  sonic 
mil  atl'ccting 
lose  story  it 
art,  I  a»ure 
inir,  1  think, 
of  yours  will 
.'st  posterity, 
iig  as  geniuij, 
island, 
ious,  1  think 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


143 


it  right  to  inclose  a  list  of  all  the  favours  I 
have  to  a.sk  of  her, — no  fewer  than  twenty 
and  three!  I  have  burdened  the  plea.sant 
Peter  with  as  many  as  it  is  probable  he  will 
attend  to :  most  of  the  remaining  airs  would 
puzzle  the  English  poet  not  a  little ;  they  are 
of  that  peculiar  measure  and  rhythm,  that 
they  must  be  familiar  to  him  who  writes  for 
them.  

BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

list  Sept.  1703.] 
You  know  that  my  pretensions  to  musical 
taste  are  merely  a  few  of  Nature's  instinct.*, 
untaught  and  untutored  by  art.  For  this  reason, 
many  musical  compositions,  particularly  where 
much  of  the  merit  lies  in  counterpoint,  how- 
ever they  may  transport  and  ravish  the  ears 
of  you  connoisseurs,  affect  my  simple  lug  no 
otherwise  than  merely  as  melodious  din.  On 
the  other  hand,  by  way  of  amends,  I  am  de- 
lighted with  many  little  melodies  which  the 
learned  musician  despises  as  silly  and  insipid. 
I  do  not  know  whether  the  old  air,  "Hey, 
tuttic  taitie, "  may  rank  among  this  number  ; 
hut  well  I  know  that,  with  Eraser's  hautboy, 
it  has  often  filled  my  eyes  with  tears.  There 
is  a  tradition,  which  I  have  met  with  in  many 
places  in  Scotland,  that  it  was  Kobert  Brace's 
march  at  the  battle  of  Bannockburn.  This 
thought,  in  my  yesternight's  evening  walk,i 
warmed  me  to  a  pitch  of  enthusiasm  on  the 
theme  of  liberty  and  independence,  which  I 
threw  into  a  kind  of  Scottish  ode,  fitted  to 
the  air,  that  one  might  suppose  to  be  the  gal- 
lant IJoyal  Scot's  address  to  his  heroic  fol- 
lowers on  that  eventful  morning. 

BRITE'.S  ADDRESS  TO  ni.S  ARMY  AT 
lUXXOCKBlRX. 

Scots,  wli.i  liao  wi'  WixUace  liled, 
Scots,  wliani  liruce  lias  aften  led ; 
Welcome  to  your  yiry  lied, 
Or  to  victorie  1 

IVdl.  iii.  p.  ICO. 

•  C'uiTio  altered  "yestcrnlirlit's  eveiiiii!.'  walk,"  to 
"solitary  waii(loviii<.'s,"  in  onlur,  it  is  pivsunail,  to 
make  it  lianiioiiize  with  Mr.  Synies  narrative  reiiar- 
<liiif;  the  eoinpiisltioii  of  this  ode,  wherein  it  is  said 
that  r.uiiis  made  it  dining  a  stoiiii  of  tliuiuler  and 
rniii  anioiiK  tlie Olenkeiis  in  G.illuway.  In  the  "Essay 
on  the  Genius  aiul  Character  of  liunis,"  liy  I'rofessor 
Wilson,  prefixed  t(j  the  i)i'eseiit  volume,  tlie  iioiiit  as 
to  the  period  of  the  eomposition  of  the  ode  is  handled 
by  the  professor  with  his  usual  humour  and  acumen. 


So  may  God  ever  defend  the  cause  of  truth 
and  liberty,  as  he  did  that  day! — Amen. 

P.S.  I  showed  the  air  to  Urbani,  who  was 
highly  pleased  with  it,  and  begged  me  to  make 
soft  verses  for  it ;  but  I  had  no  idea  of  giving 
myself  any  trouble  on  the  subject,  till  the  acci- 
dental recollection  of  that  glorious  struggle  for 
freedom,  associated  with  the  glowing  ideas  of 
some  other  struggles  of  the  same  nature,  itot 
quite  so  ancient,'^  roused  my  rhyming  mania. 
Clarke's  set  of  the  tune,  with  his  ba.ss,  you  will 
find  in  the  Mmeiivi;  though  I  am  afraid  that 
the  air  is  not  what  will  entitle  it  to  a  place  in 
your  elegant  selection. 


THOMSON  TO  BURNS. 

EniNBi'KOH,  5tli  Sept.  1793. 
I  believe  it  is  generally  allowed  that  the 
greatest  modesty  is  the  sure  attendant  of  the 
greatest  merit.  While  you  are  sending  me 
verses  that  even  Shakspcare  might  be  proud 
to  own,  you  speak  of  them  as  if  they  were 
ordinary  productions !  Your  heroic  ode  is  to 
me  the  noblest  composition  of  the  kind  in  the 
Scottish  language.  I  happened  to  dine  yes- 
terday with  a  party  of  your  friends,  to  whom 
I  read  it.  They  were  all  charmed  with  it; 
entreated  me  to  find  out  a  suitable  air  for  it, 
and  reprobated  the  idea  of  giving  it  a  tune  so 
totally  devoid  of  interest  or  grandeur  as  "  Hey, 
tuttie  taitie."  Assuredly  your  partiality  for 
this  tune  must  arise  from  the  ideas  associated 
in  your  mind  by  the  tradition  concerning  it, 
for  I  never  heard  any  person,  and  I  have  con- 
versed again  and  again  with  the  greatest  en- 
thusiasts for  Scottish  airs,  I  say,  I  never  heard 
any  one  speak  of  it  as  worthy  of  notice. 

I  have  been  running  over  the  whole  hundred 
airs,  of  which  1  lately  sent  you  the  list;  and  I 
think  "  Lewie  Gordon"  is  most  happily  adapted 
to  your  oilc  :  at  least  with  a  very  slight  varia- 
tion of  the  fourth  line,  which  1  shall  presently 
submit  to  you.  There  is  in  "  Ijcwie  Gordon" 
more  of  the  grand  than  the  plaintive,  partic- 
ularly when  it  is  sung  with  a  degree  of  spirit, 
which  your  words  would  oblige  the  singer  to 
I  give  it.  I  would  have  no  scruple  about  snb- 
i  stituting  your  ode  in  the  room  of  "  Lewie  Gor- 

I     *  No  doubt  the  struggles  of  the  French  republicans. 


|v>;|il 


•   ' 


<i 


' 

it  , 

>    \     1 

1 

■   si 

1  ' 

i    ■  ! 

1     , 

!  i 

;  I  j 

S     ; 

M 

t 

'<i 

i 

d 

III 

144 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


don,"  which  has  neither  the  -^rest,  the  gran- 
deur, nor  the  poetry  that  characterize  your 
verses.  Now  the  variation  I  liave  to  suggest 
upon  the  last  line  of  each  verse,  the  only  line 
too  short  for  the  air,  is  as  follows : 

Verse  lat,  Or  to  glorioua  victoria. 

'2il,  CAai'/iK— cliniiia  ami  slavcrie. 
3(1,  Let  him,  let  him  tuni  am'  tiee. 
4tli,  Let  him  bravelij  follow  me. 
fith,  But  they  shall,  they  shall  be  free. 
0th,  Let  U9,  let  us  do,  or  die. 

If  you  connect  each  line  with  its  own  verse, 
I  do  not  think  you  will  find  that  cither  the 
sentiment  or  the  expression  loses  any  of  its 
energy.  The  only  line  which  I  dislike  in  the 
whole  of  the  .song  is,  "  Welcome  to  your  gory 
bed."  Would  not  another  word  be  preferable 
to  "  welcome?"  In  your  next  I  will  expect  to 
be  informed  whether  you  agree  to  what  I  have 
proposed.  The  little  alterations  I  submit  with 
the  greatest  deference.  * 

The  beauty  of  the  verses  you.  have  made  for 
"Oran-gaoil"  will  ensure  celebrity  to  the  air. 


BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

Sept.  1793. 

I  have  received  your  list,  my  dear  Sir,  and 
here  go  my  observation.*  on  it. 

No.  1.  "An  thou  wert  my  ain."  I  have 
not  Pinkerton,-  but  before  me  is  Withcrspoon's 
first  vol.  (entitled  "Ancient  and  Modern  Scot- 
tisii  Songs  and  Heroic  Ballads").  I  have  three 
songs  to  this  air  and  with  the  same  chorus: — 

1st,  "  Of  race  divine  thou  needst  must  be." 
2nd.  "  Like  bees  that  suck  tlie  morning  dew." 
3rd.  "  As  romid  the  elm  th'  eiianiour'd  vine." 

Of  these,  all  of  them  good,  the  first,  in  my 
opinion,  is  the  best.  The  English  song,  "Ah, 
Dear  ilarcella,"  &c.  is  not  in  my  copy  of  the 
"Charmer." 

No.  2.  "Down  the  burn  Davie."  I  have 
this  moment  tried  an  alteration,  leaving  out 

•  The  reader  is  referred  to  wliat  is  said  I)y  Professor 
Wilson,  in  his  Essay,  on  the  sul)ject  of  Burns  s  Ode 
and  Tliomsons  criticisms  on  it.  Tlie  acute  and  lucid 
judfiment  wliich  the  professor  displays  on  this  point, 
is  only  eciualled  l)y  the  exul)erant  and  irresistible 
humour  which  he  intermingles  witli  the  discussion. 

•^Seh-ct  Sottish  Halladu,  i  vids.  17!>3,  edited  by 
John  Pinkerton  the  historian  and  antiquary. 


the  ln"t  half  of  tiiu  tli'i'J  r/wtnya,  and  the  first 
ha.f  of  the  lai^  r^tiiuu,  thtm; 

As  do''  '  the  '•  i"s  i!"'..  r  ;*•  their  way. 

And  vnro'  tK>  .   •    cry  >lii!-  : 
His  check  to  hern  lie  aft  did  ,     . 

And  love  was  aye  the  tale , 
Witli  "  Mary,  when  shall  we  return, 

.Hie  pleasure  to  renew?" 
Quoth  Mary,  "  Love,  I  like  the  burn, 

And  aye  shall  follow  you. "» 

No.  3.  Nothing  to  remark. 

No.  4.  "  Katherine  Ogie. "  I  should  like  to 
see  this  in  your  next  number. 

No.  5.  "Low  down  in  the  Broom,"  in  my 
opinion  deserves  more  properly  a  place  uniong 
your  lively  and  humorous  songs.  I  shall  by 
and  by  point  out  some  in  this  last  list  which 
rather  belong  to  the  first. 

No.  6.  "  Lewie  Gordon."  "Jamie  Dawson" 
is  a  beautiful  ballad,  but  is  of  great  length; 
cannot  you,  for  sake  of  economy  in  the  press- 
work,  substitute  a  short  one? 

No.  7.  Nothing. 

No.  8.  "Cowdcn-knowes."  Remember  in 
your  index  that  the  song  in  pure  English  to 
this  tune,  beginning, 

"  When  summer  comes,  the  swains  on  Tweed," 

is  the  production  of  Crawford.  Robert  was  hia 
Christian  name. 

No.s.  9  and  10.  Nothing. 

No.  11.  "  Bonnie  Dundee."  Your  objection 
of  the  stiff  line  is  just ;  but  mending  my  col- 
ouring would  spoil  the  likeness ;  .so  the  picture 
must  stand  as  it  is.  [See  song  beginning  True 
hearted  was  he,  vol.  iii.  p.  144.] 

No.  12.  "The  last  time  I  came  o'er  the 
moor."  Why  encumber  yourself  with  another 
English  song  to  this  tune?  Ramsay's  is  English 
already  to  your  hand. 

No.' 13.  "Flowers  of  the  Forest."  The 
verses,  "  I've  seen  the  smiling,"  &c.,  with  a 
few  trifling  alterations,  putting  "no  more"  for 
"  nac  mair,"  and  the  word  "  turbid"  in  a  note 
at  the  bottom  of  the  page,  to  show  the  meaning 
of  the  word  "  drumly,"  the  song  will  serve  you 
foran  Engli.sh  set.  Asmal! sprinklingof  Scotti- 
cisms is  no  objection  to  an  English  reader. 

No.  14.  Nothing,  except  that  "Despairing 

'  The  concluding  eight  lines  of  Crawford's  sons;, 
"  Down  the  burn,"  were  considered  ol)]ecti()nal)U>  on 
tlie  point  of  delicacy,  and  the  above  alteration  li.\ 
Burns  is  now  substituted  for  them  in  all  collections  uf 
Scottish  songs  where  the  piece  appears. 


and  the  Jirst 
ii'  wnj , 


urn, 
)urn, 


ihould  like  to 

oom,"  in  my 

place  among 

I  shall  by 

1st  list  whicli 

mio  Dawson" 
jrcat  length; 
in  the  prcss- 


{emember  in 
•e  English  to 

on  Twpt'd, " 
pbert  was  his 


our  objection 
ling  my  col- 
0  the  picture 
ginning  True 

.mc  o'er  the 
with  another 
y's  is  English 

brest."  The 
&c.,  with  a 
no  more  "for 
d"  in  a  note 
the  meaning 
ill  serve  you 
ingofScotti- 
h  reader. 
Despairing 

.wford's  scing, 
jectionnlile  on 
alteration  l)y 
i  collections  of 


COELESPONDENCE  WITF    TH   MSON. 


145 


beside  a  clear  stream,"  is  a  popular  song  to  its 
own  tune.  Would  it  not  be  better  to  have 
another  in  the  same  measure  (there  are  plenty 
of  them)  which  has  never  been  set  to  music? 

No.  15.  Nothing. 

No.  16.  "Thro'  the  wood,  laddie."  I  am 
decidedly  of  opinion  that  both  in  this,  and 
"There'll  never  be  peace  till  Jamie  comes 
hamc,"  the  second  or  high  part  of  the  tune, 
being  a  repetition  of  the  first  part  an  octave 
higher,  is  only  for  in.strumentjvl  music,  and 
would  be  much  better  omitted  in  singing. 

No.  17.  "Lord  Gregory."  Please  insert 
mine  in  your  next  number ;  two  or  tiiree  copies 
of  the  song  have  got  into  the  world,  and  1  am 
afraid  lest  they  find  their  way  to  some  pilfer- 
ers. 

No.  18."  Thou  are  gane  awa'  frac  me,  Mary. " 
See  the  best  .set  of  this  song  in  the  Museum. 

Nos.  lit,  20,  21.  Nothing. 

No.  22.  '  Peggy,  I  must  love  thee."  Please 
let  rac  take  this  into  consideration.  It  will  do 
for  your  third  number. 

No.  24,  "  Logan  Water"  shall  wait  my  rc- 
visiU;  only  one  pas.sagc  I  think  faulty,  "Cruel 
joys"  is  a  d — d  .stupid  expression. 

Nos.  25,  20,  27.  Nothing. 

No.  28.  "My  Lodging  is  on  the  cold  ground. " 
Please  let  it  wait  your  third  number  to  gain 
time. 

No.  29,  30.  Nothing. 

No.  31.  "Fair  Helen"  is  not  an  air  that 
charms  me. 

No.  32.  "  Bonnie  Jean  [of  Aberdeen,"  a  song 
by  Allan  IJamsay].     Nothing. 

No.  33.  "Honnie  Jean, "the second.  Change 
the  name  to  "There  was  a  lass,  and  she  was 
fair, "  which,  by  the  by,  is  the  old  name  of  the 
air.  Do  make  a  point  of  publishing  this  song 
to  its  own  tune,  and  in  your  next  number,  you 
will  highly  oblige  mc  by  it.  Plea.se,  likewise, 
insert  No.  11  ("Bonnie  Dundee")  in  your  next 
number. 

No.  34.  "Gil  Jlorrice,"  I  am  unalterably 
for  leaving  out  altogether.  It  is  a  plagucy 
length,  which  will  put  yon  to  great  press  ex- 
pense ;  the  air  itself  is  never  sung,  and  its 
place  can  well  be  supplied  with  one  of  two  fine 
songs  which  are  not  at  all  in  your  list,  "Craigie- 
burn  Wood,"  and  "  l!oy's  Wife."  The  first, 
besides  its  intrinsic  merit,  has  novelty ;  and 
the  last  has  high  merit  as  well  as  great  celeb- 


rity; of  the  last  I  have  the  original,  set  as 
well  as  written  by  the  lady  who  composed  it,' 
and  it  is  superior  to  any  edition  of  the  song 
which  the  public  has  yet  seen. 


No. 


35.  Nothing. 


No.  36.  Isthcrealtuncof  "lIughicGraham," 
as  sung  in  some  places ;  in  others  it  is  sung 
to  a  different  and  very  pleasing  little  air,  yet 
unknown  to  the  world.  I  neglected  to  take 
down  the  notes  when  1  met  with  it,  and  now 
it  is  out  of  my  power.  This  air  you  will  find 
in  Oswald's  Collection,  Book  8th,  under  the 
title  "DrimenDuff." 

No.  37.  "  Laddie,  lie  near  me,"  must  lie  by 
me  for  some  time.  I  do  not  know  the  air; 
and  until  I  am  complete  master  of  a  tune,  in 
my  own  singing  (such  as  it  is,)  I  can  never 
compose  for  it.  !My  way  is:  I  consider  the 
poetic  sentiment  correspondent  to  my  idea  of 
the  musical  expression ;  then  choose  my  theme ; 
begin  one  stanza;  when  that  is  composed, 
which  is  generally  the  most  difficult  part  of  the 
business,  I  walk  out,  sit  down  now  and  then, 
look  out  for  objects  in  nature  around  me  that 
are  in  unison  and  harmony  with  the  cogitations 
of  my  fancy,  and  workings  of  my  bosom;  hum- 
ming every  now  and  then  the  air  with  the 
verses  I  have  framed.  When  I  feel  mv  muse 
beginning  to  jade,  1  retire  to  the  .solitary  fire- 
side of  my  study,  and  there  commit  my  eft'u- 
sions  to  paper;  swinging  at  intervals  on  the 
hind  legs  of  my  elbow-chair,  by  way  of  calling 
forth  my  own  critical  strictures,  as  my  pen 
goes  on.  Seriouslj',  this,  at  home,  is  almost 
invariably  my  way.     What  damn'd  egotism ! 

No.  38.  Nothing. 

No.  39.  "Highland. laddie."  The  old  set 
will  plea.se  a  mere  Scots  ear  best;  and  the 
new  an  Italianized  one.  There  is  a  third,  and 
what  Oswald  calls  the  old  "Highland-laddie," 
which  pleases  me  more  than  cither  of  them. 
It  is  sometimes  called  "Jinglin  Johnnie;"  it 
being  the  air  of  an  old  humorous  bawdy  song 
of  that  name.  You  will  find  it  in  the  Museum, 
"I  hae  been  at  Crookieden,"  &c.  I  would 
advise  you,  in  this  musical  quandary,  to  offer 
up  your  prayers  to  the  muses  for  inspiring 
direction ;  and  in  the  meantime,  waiting  for 
this  direction,  bestow  a  libation  to  Bacchus; 
and  there  is  not  a  doubt  but  you  will  hit  on  a 
judicious  choice.     Prohatnm  est. 

1  Mrs.  C :     '  •  '  CaiTou,  Strathspey. 


146 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


No.  40.  Nothing. 

No.  41.  "<»  l)onnie  Lass  will  ye  iie  in  u 
Ilarrucic  "  must  intiillii)!}'  Imvc  .Scots  versest. 

No.  4'2.   I'niciiown. 

No.  43.  "  Wiic'.-*  my  licart  that  wo  Hhould 
sunder."  Do  you  know  a  song  in  tiie  Mit.fiinii 
"Go  fetcli  to  mc  a  pint  o'  wine,  and  fill  it  in 
a  silver  tassie?"  It  is  a  .sonu;  of  mine,  and  1 
think  not  a  bad  one.  It  precisely  suits  the 
measure  of  this  air  [No.  131  in  the  MuKdim]; 
you  mi.nht  set  it  I'l  this,  and  for  an  Knglish 
•song  take  cither  "With  broken  words,"  &c., 
or  "Speak  on,  speak  thus,"  &c'. :  this  last  is 
the  l)est;  but  re'  imber  1  am  no  dietator;  ad 
lihltum  is  the  won  . 

No.  44  to  TjO.   Nothing. 

No.  51.  "The  Uonnic  Hrueket  Lassie."  I 
enclose  you  a  song  to  it,  as  I  think  it  should 
be  set,  and  with  a  better  efTect  than  the  modu- 
lation in  the  Mmiitm  where  it  first  appeared, 
and  whence  everybody  else  ban  borrowed  it. 
The  tune  is  a  very  early  acquaintance  if  mine. 
The  verses  if  they  deserve  the  name  (in  the 
Museum)  are  the  work  of  a  gentleman,  known 
by  the  name  of  "  IJalloon  Tytler." 

No.  52.  Nothing. 

No.  53.  "Hanks  of  the  Dee."  Leave  it  out 
entirely;  'tis  rank  Irish;  every  otlier  Irish  air 
you  have  adopted  is  in  the  Scots  taste;  but, 
Langolee ! — wliy,  it  is  no  more  like  a  Scots  air 
than  Lunardi's  balloon  is  like  Dinnr"""-'  ui\y^ 
I  grant  you  that  it  is  pretty;  but  why  don't 
you  take  also  the  "  Humours  of  (ilcn,"  "Cap- 
tain O'Kean,"  "Coolim,"  and  many  other 
Irish  air.s  much  more  beautiful  than  it.  Let 
me  recommend  to  you,  in  place  of  this  black- 
guard Irish  jig,  our  beautiful  Scots  air  "Saw 
ye  na  my  I'eggy,"  a  tune  Avortli  ten  tliousand 
of  it;  or  "Fy!  let  us  a"  to  the  Bridal" 
worth  twenty  tliousand  of  it. 

No.  54.   Nothing. 

No.  55.  "White  Cockade."  I  have  forgot- 
ten the  Cantata  you  allude  to  ["The  Jolly 
Beggars"],  as  I  kept  no  copy,  and  indeed  did 
not  know  that  it  was  in  existence;  however,  I 
remember  that  none  of  the  songs  pleased  my- 
self, except  the  last — something  about: — 

Courts  for  cow.irds  were  erected, 
Churches  built  to  please  the  priests. 

But  there  is  another  song  of  mine,  a  composi- 
tion of  early  life,  in  the  Museum,  beginuinjj, 


"Nae  gentle  dames,  tho'  e'er  Hae  fair,"  which 
suits  the  measure  an<l  has  tolerable  merit. 

No.  .''lO.   It  .-.uits  licst  to  make  it  '•  Whistle 
and  I'll  come  t'yc,  my  lad." 

No.  57.  "  Auld  Sir  Simon,"  I  must  beu'ymi 
to  keep  out,  and  put  in  its  place  "The  (iuakur'H 
Wife." 

Noi  5i».  "Dainty  Davie,"  I  have  hoard miuj; 
nineteen  thousand  nine  hundred  and  ninety- 
nine  times,  and  always  with  the  chorus  to  the 
low  part  of  the  tune;  and  nothing  (since  a 
Highland  wench  in  the  Cowgate  once  bore  me 
three  bastards  at  a  birth)  has  surprised  nie  so 
much  as  your  opinion  on  this  subject.  If  it 
will  not  suit  as  1  proposed,  we  will  lay  two  of 
the  stanzas  together,  and  then  make  the  choruii 
follow. 

No.  60.  "Fee  him.  Father" — I  inclose  you 
Fraser's  set  of  this  tunc;  when  he  plays  it 
slow,  in  fact,  he  makes  it  the  language  of  de- 
spair.' I  shall  here  give  you  two  stanzas,  in 
that  style;  merely  to  try  if  it  will  be  any  im- 
provement. Were  it  possible,  in  singing,  to 
give  it  half  the  pathos  which  Fraser  gives  it 
in  playimr,  it  would  make  an  admirably 
pathetic  song.  I  do  not  give  these  verses  for 
any  merit  they  have.  I  composed  them  ;it 
the  time  in  which  "Patie  Allen's  mither  doe'd 
— that  was  about  the  back  o'  midnight,"  and 
by  the  lee-side  of  a  Itowl  of  punch,  which  had 
overset  every  mortal  in  company  except  the 
JIauthois  and  the  Muse. 

THOr   HAST   LEFT  ME  EVER. 

Tliou  liiist  left  me  ever,  Jamie! 
Tliuu  liast  left  me  ever.    &c. 

(.See  p.  159,  vol.  iii. 

No.  61.  "Jockieand  Jenny"  I  would  dis- 
card, and  in  its  place  would  put  "There's  uae 
luck  about  the  house,"  which  Ims  a  very  plea- 
.sant  air,  and  which  is  positively  the  finest 
love-ballad  in  that  style  in  tho  Scots  or  per- 
haps in  any  other  language.  "When  she 
came  ben  she  bobbit,"  as  an  air,  is  more  beau- 
tiful than  either,  and  in  the  andante  way  would 
unite  with  a  charming  sentimental  ballad. 

1  "  I  had  the  pleasure  of  he.iring  llr.  Fraser  pi"y 
'Fee  liim,  Fatlier,'  in  tlie  ex<aiisite  style  «l)()ve  >  • 
seril)ed,  at  his  ))eliefit  in  the  tlieatre-royai;  EdiulmrL'li. 
\iiii.  After  liavinj;  for  many  years  occupied  the 
station  of  hautbois  player  at  the  orchestra  of  tliat 
place  of  annisement,  he  died  in  IS-i.'i,  with  tlie  clia- 
racter  of  havinir  lieen  the  very  l)est  performer  .  .  . 
of  his  time  iu  Scotland."— Kobeut  Cuambers. 


('OUllKSl'ONDENCE   WITH   THOMSON. 


147 


fair,"  wliieli 
le  morii. 
it  "  Whistle, 

mist  IfCiryou 
riieljiuiiiur's 

e  iiourd  Mini; 
and  nini'ty. 
•liorus  1(1  tiie 
iiii?  (siiK'u  a 
)nec  liore  me 
prised  nie  so 
lycct.  If  it 
11  lay  two  uf 
tc  the  cliunw 

I  inclose  yoii 

he  plays  it 

isuaire  of  de- 

i>  stanzas,  in 

1  1)0  any  iin- 

i  Hingini:,  to 

aser  gives  it 

1    admirably 

!90  verses  for 

m\   thorn  at 

niither  doe'd 

Inight,"  and 

,  whieh  had 

except  the 

ER. 


15i),  vol.  lii. 

would  dis- 
There's  nae 
a  very  \)ha- 

the  finest 

cots  or  per- 

When    slie 

more  lieaii- 

c  way  would 

)allad. 

•.  Fraser  pi"y 
le  iitiiive  I  ■ 
V,  KiliiitmrL'li, 
icciipieil  the 
■stni  of  that 
itli  tlio  clia- 
foniier  .  .  . 
MBERS. 


Xo.  ti-2.  Xothing, 

No,  t;:l.  "Maggie  Lauder"  is  a  good  tune; 
lull  tliero  is — 1  ilon't  know  what,  of  vulgarism 
iiliout  it ;  at  least  to  me  it  lias  always  tliateflbct. 
Tiiore  is  an  Knglish  song  to  it  wliieli  is  sot  in 
tiie  Mii-i'idii.     (No.  ll«.) 

Nos.  til,  tifi,  and  66.  Nothing. 

No.  t>7.  "  f^aw  yc  my  Father?"  is  one  of  my 
greatest  favouritcn.  The  evening  hefore  last 
i  ivaiulcretl  out,  and  began  a  tender  wong  in 
wl.at  1  lliink  i.s  its  native  style.  1  must  pre- 
mise, that  the  old  way,  and  the  way  to  give 
most  cttbet,  is  to  iuvve  no  starting  note,  as  the 
tiddlers  call  it.  Imt  to  burst  at  once  into  the 
(latiios.  Kvcry  country  girl  sings — "Saw  yc 
my  fatlicrV"  &c.  So  also  in  line  third,  "/ 
saw  not  your,"  &c.  Tliis  last,  to  be  Rurc, 
hurts  tiie  poetry  ("/  saw,"  instead  of  "1 
.sKic"),  l)ut  I  am  speaking  of  the  air.  My  song 
is  hut  just  begun;  and  I  should  like,  before  I 
jiroeeed,  to  know  yo\ir  opinion  of  it.  I  have 
sprinkled  it  with  the  Scots  dialect,  but  it  may 
1)0  easily  turned  into  correct  Knglish.' 

No,  68.  Nothing. 

No.  ()!<.  "Todliii  hame."  rrl)ani  mentioned 
an  idea  of  his,  which  lias  long  been  mine,  that 
this  air  is  highly  su.sceptible  of  pathos:  accor- 
dingly, you  will  soon  hear  him  at  your  concert 
try  it  to  a  song  of  mine  in  the  Miiwiiin ;  '  Yc 
banks  and  braes  o'  bonnic  Doon."  Clarke  has 
told  mo  what  a  creature  he  is;  but  if  ho  will 
liring  any  more  of  our  tunes  from  darkness 
into  light,  I  will  be  pleased. 

No.  70.  Nothing. 

No.  71.  "Gcordie's  Byre."  Call  the  tune 
so,  for  decency's  sake.  I  agree  with  you  that 
the  song  will  be  better  to  want  the  stanza 
"Tlie  primiose  is  oer  for  the  season."  I'll 
rather  write  i,  new  song  altogether  than  make 
this  English  The  sprinkling  of  Scotch  in  it, 
while  it  is  but  a  sprinkling,  gives  it  an  air  of 
rustic  iiitirrte  which  time  will  rather  increase 
than  dimini.sh. 

Nos.  72,  73.  Nothing. 

No.  74,  and  last.  "Tranent  Jloor"  I  am 
altoireiher  averse  to.  The  song  is  fine,  and 
eke  tlic  tune;  but  it  is  not  of  a  piece  with  the 

'  Tliis  song  is  alluded  to  in  a  succeeding  page,  the 
poet  hi.ving  then  completed  it  by  giving  it  a  fifth 
verse,  and  leaving  out  the  few  Scotticisms  it  con- 
t.iined.    It  begins: 

Where  are  tlie  juj s  I  have  mot  ia  the  morning. 


rcHt  of  your  pieces.  Instead  of  it,  allow  me 
to  mention  a  particular  favourite  of  mine 
which  you  will  find  in  the  ^fH.^^eulll:  "1  had  i. 
horse  and  1  had  na  mair."  It  is  a  charming 
song,  ami  I  know  the  story  of  the  ballad. 
One  song  more  ami  I  have  done:  "  Auld  lang 
syne."  The  air  is  but  mediocre;  but  the  fol- 
lowin"  song,  the  old  song  of  the  olden  times, 
and  whieh  lias  never  been  in  print,  nor  even  in 
manuscript,  until  I  took  it  down  from  an  old 
man's  singing,  is  enough  to  recommend  any 
air,''^ 

Al'LU   LANG   .SYNE. 

Should  auld  aeiiualutr.nee  bo  forgot, 

And  never  brought  to  iiiiu'V 
Should  uiilil  iu'(|uaiiitancu  'oe  forgot, 

And  auld  lang  Hyiie?    Ac. 

I.Seu  p.  11,  vol.  111. 

Now,  I  suppose  I  have  tired  your  patience 
fairly.  You  must,  after  all  is  over,  have  a  nuni- 
berof  ballads,  properly  so  called,  "(iil  Morice, " 
"Tranent  Muir,"  "MTherson's  Farewell," 
"Battle  of  Sheritr  Muir,"  or  "We  ran  and 
they  ran,"  (I  know  the  author  of  this  charm- 
ing ballad,  and  his  history,)  "  llardiknute," 
"  Bart)ara  Allan,"  (I  can  furnish  a  finer  set  of 
this  tune  tlum  any  that  has  yet  appei.  jd ;)  and 
besides,  do  you  know  that  I  really  have  tlie  old 
tune  to  which  "  The  Cherry  and  the  Slac"  was 
sung,  and  which  is  mentioned  as  a  well-known 
air  in  Scothmd's  Coiniilaiiit,  a  book  published 

2  Notwitlistamliiig  what  the  poet  says  here,  and  a 
similar  statement  to  .Mis.  Dunlop,  the  song  "Auld 
lang  syne,"  with  the  exception  of  the  title  and  tlist 
line,  is  generally  regarded  as  his  own.  See  note  to 
the  song  in  vid.  iii. 

We  subjoin  two  stanzas  of  an  "Auld  lang  .Syne" 
frimi  a  broadside  printed  before  17(iO.  Tliis  song, 
however,  bears  no  relation,  beyond  the  title  and  re- 
frain, to  the  production  of  Hums. 

AULD  LAXa  SYNE. 

Shoi\M  auld  acquiiintance  ))0  f'>rgot, 

.\iii  never  tlii>n):;ht  upon, 
Tliu  H:une8  of  lovu  extiuyuisheil. 

And  freely  niiat  ami  uone; 
Is  thy  kiml  heart,  ui>w  urown  so  cnhl. 

In  that  loviuK  Iireast  "f  thine. 
That  thciu  can'st  never  .juee  retioct 

Onaulillaugsyue? 

Wliere  are  tliy  protestatious— 

Tliy  vdws  ami  oaths,     y  dear. 
Thou  made  to  me,  and  1  to  tliee, 

hi  re;<ister  yet  clear: 
Is  faith  and  truth  so  violate 

To  tlie  immortal  Rods  divine. 
That  thou  can'st  never  onee  reflect 

On  auUl  lang  syne? 

In  Uamsay's  Tea-table  Miscellawj  there  is  an  "Auld 
Lang  .Syne  '  whieh  also  resembles  Burns's  only  In  the 
first  and  last  line  of  each  stanza. 


ii 

■  i 

1 

'  i 

ft 

I 


14S 


CURRKSl'ONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


l)cfi)rc  poor  .\[nry'''  davH.  It  wiih  then  called 
"The  Hanks  o'  Helicon:"  an  old  poem  whiih 
rinkerton  lian  l)roui,'ht  to  light.  You  will  hoc 
all  tills  in  T.vtier's  liintory  of  Scotn  muHlf.  The 
tiuie,  to  a  itarncd  oar,  may  have  no  unMl 
merit:  Imt  it  is  a  great  curiosity.  I  have  a 
good  many  original  things  of  this  kind.  CJood 
bye  to  ye ! 


BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

[Sept.  1703.] 
I  am  happy,  my  dear  Sir,  that  my  ode  pleases 
you  so  much.  Your  idea,  "honour's  bed,"  ■  is, 
thougli  a  beautiful,  a  hackneyed  idea;  so,  if 
you  please,  we  will  let  the  line  stand  as  it  is. 
1  have  altered  the  song  as  follows: 

imrCEH   AUUUErtf*. 

Scots,  wlia  luic  \vl'  Wallacu  lilcd; 
Hcots,  wliiini  Knicc  lias  iiftuu  led; 
Welcimiu  to  yipiu'  nmy  licil, 
Or  to  glorLais  vlctoriu  I    &v.- 

[Sue  ji.  100,  vol.  iii 

X.  H.  — I  have  borrowed  the  last  stanza  from 
the  common  stall  edition  of  Wallace: — 

A  false  usurper  sinks  in  every  foe. 
Anil  liberty  returns  witli  every  blow. 

A  couplet  worthy  of  Homer.  Yesterday  you 
had  enough  of  my  correspondence.^  The  post 
goes,  and  my  head  oches  miserably.  One  com- 
fort !  I  suft'er  so  much,  just  now,  in  thi.s  world, 
for  last  night's  debauch,  that  I  shall  escape 
scot-free  for  it  in  the  world  to  come.     Ameu. 


THOMSON   TO   BL'IINI^. 

12tli  Sept.  1793. 
A  thousand  thanks  to  you,  my  dear  Sir,  for 
your  observations  on  the  list  of  my  songs.     I 
am  happy  to  find  your  ideas  so  much  in  unison 

1  Tills  "Idea  "  of  Thomson's  lins  not  as  yet  appeared 
in  the  correspondence,  though  we  find  it  in  liis  ne.\t 
letter,  to  wliieli  the  present  should  perhaps  be  re- 
garded as  an  answer,  lint  it  is  <ioubtful  if  we  jxtssess 
all  tlmt  passed  between  Thomson  and  the  poet  in 
regard  to  this  poem. 

-  This  new  version  differed  from  the  original  only 
in  the  lenpitliening  of  tlie  last  line  of  each  stanza.  See 
p.  1(J0,  vol.  iii. 

s  I'robably  referring  to  the  preceding  long  eoni- 
niunieatinn,  which,  liowever,  would  not  be  written 
all  at  once. 


with  my  own  rei  pceting  the  generality  of  tlio 
airs,  as  well  as  the  verses.  About  some  of  thcia 
we  ditl'cr,  but  there  is  no  disputing  .ii)out  lioh- 
by-horses.  I  shall  not  fail  to  profit  by  ihe  re- 
marks you  make,  and  to  reconsider  llic  wIidIo 
with  attention. 

"  Dainty  Davie"  must  l>e  sung,  two  stanzas 
together,  and  then  the  chorus :  'tis  the  ]iro|nT 
way.  i  agree  wiili  you,  tliat  there  may  lie 
something  of  pathos,  or  tenderness  at  Ica^t,  in 
the  air  of  "  Fee  him,  Father,"  when  iicrlurnieil 
with  feeling:  but  a  tender  cast  may  lie  given 
almost  to  any  lively  air,  if  you  sing  it  very 
slowly,  expressively,  and  with  serious  words. 
I  am,  however,  clearly  and  invariably  for  re- 
taining the  cheerful  tunes  joined  to  tiicir  own 
humorous  verses,  wherever  the  verses  arc 
passable.  Hut  the  sweet  song  for  "Fee  him, 
Father,"  which  you  began  about  tlie  back 
of  midnight,  I  will  jmblish  ns  an  additional 
one.  Mr.  James  Halfour,  the  king  of  good- 
fellows,  and  the  best  singer  of  the  lively  Scot- 
tish ballads  that  ever  existed,  has  ciianncd 
thousands  of  companies  with  "Fee  him, 
Father,"  and  with  "Todlin  hame"al>o,  to  the 
old  words,  which  never  should  lie  disunited 
from  either  of  these  airs. — Some  bacchanals  I 
would  wish  to  discard.  "Fy,  let  us  a'  to  the 
Hridal,"  for  instance,  is  so  coarse  and  vulgar, 
that  I  thing  it  fit  only  to  be  sung  in  a  company 
of  drunken  colliers :  and  "Saw  ye  my  Father?" 
appears  to  me  both  indelicate  and  silly. 

One  word  more  with  regard  to  your  heroic 
ode.  I  think,  with  great  deference  to  the  poet, 
that  a  prudent  general  would  avoid  saying  any 
thing  to  his  soldiers  which  might  tend  to  make 
death  more  frightful  than  it  is.  "(iory  "  pre- 
sents a  disagreeable  image  to  the  miiul ;  and 
to  tell  them  "Welcome  to  your  gory  bed," 
.seems  rather  a  di.scoura'_'ing  ad<lress,  notwith- 
standing the  alternative  which  follows.  1  have 
shown  the  song  to  three  friends  of  excellent 
taste,  and  each  of  them  objected  to  this  line, 
which  emboldens  me  to  use  the  freedom  of 
bringing  it  again  under  your  notice.''  1  would 
suggest, 

Now  prepare  for  iKJiiours  bed, 
Or  for  glorious  victorie. 

■*  "That four  Scotsmen,  taken  f:vrHttim  ft separatbn 
— in  tlie  martial  ardnur  of  their  jiatriutic  souls  sIkiuM 
object  to  '  Welcome  to  your  gory  be<l,'  from  iiu  nil- 
communicated  apprehension  common  to  the  n.itiire 
of  all  and  operating  like  an  instinct,  that  it  was  fitted 


: 


omlity  uf  tlio 
soinodfilii'm 
ii«  .iImhU  liol). 
I'tii  liy  lliu  n. 
tier  tlic  whc.lo 

.',  two  siaiiziH 
tirt  the  |in)iuT 
Jiore  may  lie 
;ss  lit  Ic'ii^i,  in 
icu  iifrlormcd 
iniiy  be  given 

Hiiig  it  very 
ei'idus  words. 
riul)iy  for  re- 
I  to  tlieir  own 
c  ver>es  are 
iir  "Fee  him, 
)(it  tlio  liai'k 
iiii  additional 
villi,'  of  good- 
ie lively  Seot- 

lias  eliarined 

"Fee  him, 
e"  also,  to  the 

lie  disunited 
:  liacehaiials  I 
;t  us  a'  to  the 
!C  and  vulgar, 

in  a  company 
'.  my  Father?" 
d  silly, 
J  your  lieroie 

0  to  the  poet, 
lid  saying  any 

tend  to  make 

"(iory  '  pre- 
ic  mind ;  and 
gory  bed," 
rcss,  notwitli- 

lows.     1  have 

i  of  excellent 

to  this  line, 

c  freedom  of 
lec*    I  would 

bed, 


ill)  et  scparalim 
tic  souls  sliiiiild 
1,'  from  iin  un- 
I  to  the  nature 
lat  ii  was  fitted 


COllRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


14» 


IJL'UNS  TO  THOMSON', 

Hi'pt.  1703. 

"  Who  nhall  decide  when  doctors  disagree?" 
My  ode  pleases  me  so  iniuli  that  I  cannot  alter 
it,  Voiir  [troposed  alterations  wouhl,  in  my 
opinion,  niake  It  tame.  I  am  exceedingly 
(lidiged  to  you  for  putting  mo  ou  reconsidering 
it;  as  1  think  1  have  m,.ch  improved  it.  In- 
stead of  "Niger!  hero!"  1  will  have  it  "Cale- 
donian! on  wi'  mc!" 

1  have  scrutinized  it  over  and  over;  and  to 
the  world,  some  way  or  other,  it  shall  go  as  it 
is,i  At  the  same  time  it  will  not  in  the  least 
liurl  me,  should  you  leave  it  out  altogether, 
and  adhere  to  your  first  intention  of  adopting 
Logan's  verses. 

tn  fri(.'liten  Iloliert  Ilruce's  nrniy,  and  make  it  take  to 
its  IriIs,  IiavliiK  tlie  (■/•■I'-i' nf  Lilicrty  and  Iiuleipen- 
lit  Ike  t"  shift  fur  itself,  i>  ;i  (iiiiieitUiice  that  sets  at 
ilillaiiie  the  iliiitrine  of  chamis,  in'ovcs  history  to  lie 
iiiili'i'il  an  old  aliiiaiiack,  ami  iiatimial  character  an 
iiiipty  naiiiel  —  I'lioKKssmi  Wilson.    (.sv«'  AVwij/.) 

1"  The  leaiiir  will  iiaveoliscrveil,  that  Ihirns  adopted 
tlienltiratiiins  piiipiisi'd  liy  his  fririul  ami  eorresiioii- 
ili'iit  ill  fi.riiier  iiisliiufs,  with  nieat  readiness;  per- 
Imps,  indeed,  on  all  imiilfeivnt  oecasidiis.  In  this 
|iitsint  iiistanee,  ImweviT,  he  rejected  them,  though 
repeatedly  iiijied,  with  determined  resolnticm.  With 
tveiy  resjieet  fur  the  jildtiineiit  of  Mr.  'I'lionison  iind 
his  friends,  we  may  he  satislled  tliiit  he  did  so.  lie 
wliii  ill  inepariii).'  for  an  eiiyiiKemeiit,  attempts  to 
witlidraw  his  iiiiak'inatinii  fi'imi  images  of  di  iith,  will 
pruhiiliiy  have  Imt  imperfect  success,  and  is  nut  fitted 
tip  stand  ill  tlie  ranks  of  liattle,  where  the  lilierties  of 
a  kinnduiii  are  at  issue.  <if  such  men  the  coii(|iier- 
Ills  (if  lianiioeklinrn  were  not  comjiosed.  lirnce's 
ti'iiiips  were  inured  to  war,  and  familiar  with  all  its 
sulferiiiKS  imd  dangers.  On  the  eve  of  that  meiiior- 
iilile  day,  their  sjiirits  were  withuut  dmiht  wiiiiml 
up  toll  pitch  (if  enthusiasm  suited  to  the  occasion, 
—a  iiiteli  of  eiitliusiasm  at  which  danger  hocomes 
iittractive  an  '  ♦he  most  territlc  forms  of  deatli  are  no 
Iiiiii-'er  terrihle.  Such  a  strain  of  sentiment,  this 
lieroic  'welciiine'  may  he  supjiosed  well  calculated 
to  elevate, —to  raise  their  hearts  liit.'h  aliove  fear,  and 
to  nerve  their  arms  to  the  utmost  ]iitch  uf  moral  e.\- 
ertiiin."— t'lltniK. 

Mr.  Tliomsim  afterwards,  in  the  third  volume  of 
Ills  cdllection,  adojited  tile  pint's  original  suggestion, 
iif  iniiting  the  ode  to  the  old  tune  of  "  Hey,  Tutti 

Taitie. I'liu  jMiet,"  he  says,  "  originally  intended 

tills  nohle  strain  fur  the  air  of  'Hey,  Tutti  Taitie;' 
lint  nil  a  suggestion  from  the  edit(U',  who  then  thought 
'  Lewie  (liifdon '  a  lietter  tune  for  the  words,  they  were 
united  tngctlier,  and  iiuhlished  in  the  preceding  V(d- 
inne.  The  editor,  however,  having  since  examined 
the  air,  '  lley,  Tutti  Taitie,'  with  more  particular 
attention,  frankly  owns  that  he  has  changed  his 
iiliinion;  and  that  he  thinks  it  much  hetter  adapted 
for  Kiviiig  energy  to  the  poetry  than  the  air  of  '  Lewie 
(iordoii.'  fie  therefore  sent  it  to  Haydn,  who  has 
entered  into  the  spirit  of  it  with  a  felicity  peculiar 
VOL.  V. 


I  have  finished  my  song  to  "Saw  ye  my 
Father?"  and  in  Knglish,  as  you  will  see. 
That  there  is  a  syllable  too  much  for  the  ex- 
pression of  the  air,  is  true;  but  allow  mo  to 
say,  that  the  mere  dividing  of  a  dotted  eroteliot 
into  a  crotchet  and  a  (|iiaver,  is  not  a  great 
matter  :  however,  in  that  I  have  no  preteiisioim 
to  cope  in  judgniont  with  you.  of  the  poetry 
I  speak  with  eonlidence;  but  the  music  is  a 
business  where  I  hint  my  ideas  with  the  ut. 
most  ditlidence. 

The  old  verses  have  merit,  though  unequal, 
and  are  popular:  my  advice  is  to  set  the  air  to 
the  old  words,  and  lot  inlne  follow  ixi  Engli.'^U 
verses.     Hero  they  arc : — 

FAIR  .TENNY. 

Where  are  the  joys  I  have  met  In  the  morning, 
That  dime  (I  to  the  lark  s  early  song? 

Where  is  the  peace  that  awaited  my  wand  ring, 
At  evening  the  wild  woods  aiiKmi.' '.'    Ac. 

[See  p.  Wl,  vol.  111. 

Adieu,  my  dear  .'^irl  The  post  goes,  so  I 
shall  defer  some  other  remarks  until  moro 
leisure. 


BL'KNS  TO  THOMSON. 

September,  IT'J.'i. 
I  have  beer  'urning  over  some  volumes  of 
English  songs,  tind  verses  whose  measures 
would  suit  the  air  for  Avhicli  you  have  allotted 
mc  to  find  Kiigli-li  songs.  The  following  I 
picked  lip  in  an  oUl  . dllection,  which  will  suit 
very  well  for ' '  Nancy's  to  t  he  Greenwood  gane. " 
You  must  not,  my  dear  Sir,  expect  all  your 
English  songs  to  have  superlative  merit;  'ti.s 
enough  if  they  are  pas.sable! 

The  other  iiiKlit,  with  all  her  charms. 

My  ardent  passion  crowning, 
My  (.'elia  sank  within  my  arms, 

An  eijual  traiispmt  owning,    &c.- 

As  for  the  air  "Whistle  and  I'll  come  to 
you,  my  lad,"  there  is  a  fine  English  song  in 
I'amsay's  Tin-tahlc Ml^cilhauj,  beginning "',h 
Chloe!  thou  treasure,  thou  joy  of  iny  breast." 

to  himself;  his  inimitable  symphonies  and  n<;com- 
paniments  render  it  completely  martial  and  highly 
characteriistic  of  the  heroic  verses.  "  This  appears  to 
be  among  the  (ddest  .Scottish  airs. 

•  The  rest  of  this  rather  luxurious  ditty  is  to  be 
found  in  DTrf rcy  s  I'ills  tn  Pu  njc  Mela  nchati/.  Thom- 
son noted  the  piece  as  "  I'npublishable  surely ! " 

76 


150 


COKRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


11 


h  1 


'  r 


For  "  Joliii  Anderson,  my  jo"  you  have  also 
in  liamsay'H  Mixcc  lanij  an  excellent  song  be- 
ginning, "What  means  this  niccne.ss  now  of 
late."  In  the  same  MUcelkiny  is  not  a  bad 
song  by  Crawford  to  ' '  Peggy,  I  must  love 
thee,"  beginning,  "  Beneath  a  beeeh'.s  grateful 
shade."  As  for  English  verses  to  "  Geordie's 
byre,"  take  the  following,  altered  a  little  from 
Kiimsay: — 

0  Mary,  thy  praci's  nnil  glances, 
'J'liy  smiles  so  ciiclmntiiiHly  gay, 

And  cdiiveiso  liewitcliingly  clianniiig, 
Bright  wit  ami  gooil  huinuur  display.    &c. 

Since  I  am  in  the  way  of  amending  and 
abridging,  let  me  recommend  the  following 
abridgment  of  a  beautiful  jioem  of  Hamilton's, 
to  suit  "  Tak  your  auld  cloak  al)out  ye :" 

Alas !  the  sunny  lioiu's  are  past, 
The  cheating  .scene  it  will  not  last; 
Let  not  the  llatt'rer  Hope  persuade; 
Ah,  must  I  say,  that  it  will  fade.    &c. 

For  "Willie  Avas  a  wanton  wag,"  you  have 
a  .song  made  on  purpose,  also  by  Hamilton, 
which  you  will  find  in  Kamsay's  Mhcdktiui, 
beginning,  "Willy,  ne'er  entiuire  what  end." 
English  verses  for  "Tlie  tither  morn,  as  1  for- 
lorn," you  have  in  my  song: — 

The  last  time  I  came  o'er  the  moor, 
And  left  -Maria's  dwelling. 

For  "Toddlin  Hame,"  take  the  following 
old  Engli.sh  song,  which  I  daresay  is  but  little 
known  : — 

THE  rum  ROSE. 

Dost  ask  me  why  I  send  thee  here, 
This  firstling  of    :  e  infant  year— 
This  lovely  native  of  tlie  vale, 
Tliat  hangs  so  pensive  and  so  pale? 

L(iok  on  its  hending  stalk  so  weak, 
Tliat,  eadi  way  yielding,  doth  not  lireak, 
Ami  see  Ikjw  aptly  it  reveals 
The  doul)ts  and  fears  a  lover  feels. 

Look  on  its  leaves  of  yellow  hue, 

l!ei)earrd  thus  with  morning  dew, 

And  these  will  whisper  in  thine  ears, 

"  Tilt  swi'ets  of  love  are  wash'd  with  tears.  " 

N.  B.   I  have  altered  it  a  little. 

For  "Muirland  Willie,"  you  have,  in  IJam- 
say's  Ten-tnhle,  an  excellent  song,  beginning, 
"Ah,  why  those  tears  in  Nelly's  eyes?"  As 
for  the  "Collier's  dochter,"  take  the  following 
old  Bacchanal : 


DEU'DED  SWAIN,  THE  PLEASURE 

Deluded  swain,  the  pleasure 

The  tickle  fair  can  give  tliee. 
Is  hut  a  fairy  treasure,— 

Thy  hopes  will  soon  deceive  thee. 

The  billows  on  the  ocean. 

The  lireezes  idly  roanung. 
The  clouds'  uncertain  motion,— 

They  are  lint  types  of  wonuui. 

(»!  art  thou  not  ashamed. 

To  doat  upon  a  feature'/ 
If  man  thou  wouldst  lie  mimed. 

Despise  the  silly  creature. 

l!o,  tind  an  honest  fellow; 

(iood  claret  set  liefore  thee; 
Hohl  on  till  thou  art  mellow, 

And  then  to  Ited  in  glory. 

The  faulty  line  in  liOgan-Water  I  mend 
thus: 

How  tan  your  flinty  hearts  enjoy. 
The  widow's  tears,  the  orphan's  cry';' 

The  song  otherwise  will  pass.  As  to  "  .M'tiro- 
goiva  l!ua-liuth,"  you  will  see  a  song  of  uiiiie 
to  it,  with  a  set  of  the  air  superior  to  yours,  in 
ilicMmi'um,  Vol.  ii.  p.  181.  Thesong begins:— 

Having  winds  aroiuid  her  blowing. 

Your  Irish  airs  are  pretty,  but  llicy  arc 
downright  Irish.  If  they  were  like  the  "  Hunks 
of  Banna,"  for  instance,  though  really  Irish, 
yet  in  the  Scottish  taste,  you  might  adopt  iliein. 
Since  you  arc  .so  fond  of  Irish  music,  what,  say 
you  to  twenty-five  of  tiicm  in  an  additional 
number?  We  could  easily  find  this  quantity 
of  charming  airs;  I  will  take  care  that  \oii 
shall  not  want  songs;  and  1  assure  you  tluit 
you  would  find  it  the  most  saloalile  of  the 
whole.  If  you  do  not  approve  of  "  Uuy's  Wife," 
for  the  music's  .sake,  we  shall  not  insert  it. 
"Deil  tak'  the  war.-,"  is  a  charming  song:  ni 
is  "Saw  ye  my  Peggy?"  "There's  nac  luck 
about  the  house,"  well  deserves  a  place.  I 
cannot  say  that  "O'er  the  hills  and  fin-  awa', " 
.strikes  me  as  equal  to  your  selection.  "This 
is  no  my  ain  house,"  is  a  great  favourite  air  of 
mine;  and  if  you  will  .send  me  a  set  of  it.  I 
will  task  my  muse  to  her  highest  effort.  What 
is  your  opinion  of  "  I  hae  laid  a  herrin'  in 
•saut?"  I  like  it  much.  Y''our  .lacobitc  airs 
are  pretty:  and  there  are  many  others  of  tlie 
same  kind,  pretty:  but  you  have  not  room  for 
them.  You  cannot,  I  think,  insert  "  Fie.  let 
us  a'  to  the  bridal,"  to  any  other  words  than 
its  own. 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


151 


EASURE 


3  thee. 


il, 


atcr    I    mend 

Ill's  cry? 

As  to" M '(ire- 
I  sonti;  of  luiiie 
or  to  yours,  in 
soii,u;ljCL;iiis: — 

Imviii^'. 

but   tlu'v  are 
ke the  "  Hanks 
1  really  Irisli, 
lit  adoi'ttiicni. 
usie,  what  say 
III  jultlitioiial 
tlii.s  i|uaiitity 
arc  that  you 
ure  you  that 
iloablc  of  tlic 
toy's  Wife," 
not  insert  it. 
iiing  song:  so 
re'.s  nae  luek 
s  a  jilaee.     1 
ml  far  awa'," 
tion.     "This 
ivourito  air  nf 
a  set  of  it.  I 
ctlbrt.    What 
a  herriu'  in 
Jacobite  airs 
others  of  (he 
:  not  room  for 
scrt  "  Kie,  let 
er  words  than 


What  pleases  me  as  simple  and  naiiv,  dis- 
gusts you  as  ludicrous  and  low.  For  this  rca- 
.sou,  "Fie,  .gic  me  my  coggie,  Sirs,"  "Fie, 
let  us  a'  to  the  bridal,"  with  several  others  of 
that  cast,  are  to  me  highly  pleasing;  while 
"Saw  ye  my  father,  or  saw  yc  my  mother?" 
delights  me  with  its  descriptive  simple  pathcs. 
Thus  my  song,  "  Ken  yc  what  Meg  o'  the  mill 
iias  gotten?  "  [ilcases  my.self  so  much,  that  I 
cannot  try  my  hand  at  another  song  to  the 
air;  so  I  shall  not  attempt  it.  1  know  you 
will  laugh  at  all  tliis:  but,  "ilka  man  wears 
his  belt  his  ain  gait." 


BL'IJNS  T(J  THOMSON. 

(ictolier,  1793. 

Your  last  letter,  my  dear  Tliomson,  was 
inilci'd  hulcn  witli  heavy  news.  Alas,  poor 
Krskiiie. '  The  recollection  that  he  was  a  coad- 
judir  in  your  publication,  has,  till  now,  scared 
nic  from  wriiiim'  to  you,  or  turning  my  thoughts 
on  composing  for  you. 

I  am  pleased  that  you  arc  reconciled  to  the 
air  of  (he  ""Juaker's  wife;"  (hough,  by  (he 
hyc,  an  old  lliuhland  gentlemen,  and  a  deep 
anti(|uarian.  tolls  nie  it  is  a  liaelic  air,  and 
known  by  the  iianie  of  "  Lciger'm  choss,"  which 
name,  you  may.  if  you  think  tit,  prefix  as  the 
name  of  tlio  tunc.  It  boars  that  name  in  (he 
west  country,  where  there  is  still  half  a  sUmza 
of  the  song  preserved,  which  1  take  to  have 
heen  the  chorus.  The  (laclic  phrase  they  have 
corrupted  into  ••l.iggeram  Coss:" 

Luiiicr  111  ehdss,  my  iKiniiio  wee  hiss, 

LcijifV  ill  eluiss,  my  ileavie; 
A  the  lee-lan;;  wiiitor-iiinlit, 

[.eijier  ill  elio.ss,  my  dearie. 

The  following  verses  I  hope  will  please  you, 
s.^  an  Kiigli>]i  song  to  the  air: — 

LOVELY   .\.\NCV. 

Tliiiie  am  I,  my  faitliful  fair,'- 

Tliiiio,  iiiv  lovely  Nancy; 
r.v  ly  ]iulse  aliPiin  my  veins, 

Every  lovinj,'  tiiiicy.  Ac. 

[Sec  It.  103,  vol.  iii. 

'  "Tile  lioiioiiiii)ile  .\.  Erskinu,  limtlier  to  Lord 
KiUy,  whose  iiiilaiuholy  iluatli  Mr.  'riiomson  had 
toininiiMicated  in  an  excellent  letter,  wliieli  lie  lias 
siipiircsseil.' -ClKiilK.    (See]).  VIS.) 

■Ill  .Vmriist.  17'.),"i,  Hums  recine.steil  Thomson  to 
alti'r  tliis  Ihie  to 

Tliiue  am  I,  my  Chloria  fair. 


Your  objection  to  the  English  song  I  pro- 
posed for  "John  Anderson,  my  jo,"  is  certainly 
just.  The  following  is  by  an  old  acquaintance 
of  mine,  and  1  think  has  merit.  You  will  .see 
that  each  fifth  line  is  made  to  suit  the  peculiar 
note  you  mention.  The  .song  was  nevtr  in 
print,  which  I  think  is  so  much  in  your  favour. 
The  more  original  good  poetry  your  Collection 
contains,  it  certainly  has  so  much  the  more 
merit. 

SflMt. 
UV  GAVIN  TUUNBlI.L.'i 

0  conde.seend,  dear  eharminj;  maid, 
.My  wretched  state  to  view: 

A  tender  .swain  to  love  betray 'd, 
And  sad  despair,  by  you. 

While  here  .111  melancholy, 

My  jiassion  I  dejilore. 
Vet,  ui'K'd  l)y  stern  resistless  fatf, 

I  love  thee  more  and  more. 

1  beard  of  Love,  and  with  disdain, 
The  nrehin's  power  denied  ; 

I  lau!,'h'd  at  ivery  lover s  pain, 
And  nioek'd  them  when  they  sijili  d, 

H  I'  how  my  state  is  alterd  ! 

Those  liappy  days  are  o'er; 
Kor  all  thy  nnrflentiiin  hate, 

I  love  thee  nicne  and  more. 

The  following  address  of  TiirnbuU's  to  tlie 
Nightingale,  will  suit  as  an  English  .song  to 
the  air,  "  There  was  a  lass  and  she  was  fair." 
Hy  the  liye,  Turnbull  has  a  groat  many  <ongs 
in  MS.  which  1  could  comniaml,  if  you  like 
his  manner.  Possibly,  as  he  is  mi  old  friend 
of  mine,  I  may  bo  prejudiced  in  liis  favour: 
but  1  like  some  of  his  pieces  very  much. 

THE  MGII  riXGALE. 

Thou  sweetest  minstrel  nf  the  prove, 
That  ever  tried  the  plaintive  strain, 

Awake  thy  tender  tale  of  lo\ ,-, 
And  soothe  a  jMHjr  forsaken  swain. 

For  tho'  the  niuse^  deiRn  to  aid, 
Ami  tiaih  him  -iioothly  to  emiiplain; 

Vet  Delia,  eliarmint;,  eruel  maid. 
Is  deaf  to  her  fm'saken  swain. 


3  Turnbull  was  a  native  of  Kilmarnoek,  and  born 
in  liumlilo  eircumstaiirt's.  Little  is  known  of  Ins  life, 
except  that  he  took  to  the  stage,  and  was  nicmbor  of 
a  company  that  pcifonued  in  the  theatre  of  Dumfries 
while  Burns  resided  there.  A  volume  of  poems  by 
him  was  published  at  Glasgow  in  17S8.  .ononii  the 
contents  being  a  piece  of  some  length  calU'l  '-The 
Hard,"  and  inscribed  to  "  Mi.  K.  li., "  that  is,  Kobert 
Uurus. 


152 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


I'   i: 


ri  I 


I  shall  just  transcribe  another  of  TurnbuU's, 
■B-hieh  would  gocharmiiigly  to ' '  Lewie  Gordon. " 

lAl'RA. 

Let  me  wander  where  I  will, 
Uy  shady  wood,  or  winding  rill; 
Where  the  sweetest  May-born  tlowers 
faint  the  meadows,  deck  the  bowers, 
Where  the  linnet's  early  song 
Eehoes  sweet  the  woods  among; 
Let  me  wander  where  I  will, 
Lavu'a  haunts  my  fancy  still. 

The  rest  of  your  letter  I  shall  answer  at 
some  other  opportunity. 


THOMSON   TO  BUIJNS. 

7tli  Xov.  1703. 
.Mv  GOOD  Sir, 

After  so  long  a  silence,  it  gave  me  peculiar 
l>lea.sure  to  recognize  your  well-known  hand, 
for  I  had  begun  to  be  apprehensive  that  all 
was  not  well  with  you.  I  am  happy  to  find, 
however,  that  your  silence  did  not  proceed 
from  that  cause,  and  that  you  have  got  among 
the  ballads  once  more. 

I  have  to  thank,  you  for  your  English  song 
to  "Leiger'm  choss,"  which  I  think  extremely 
good,  although  the  colouring  is  warm.  Your 
friend  31  r.  TurnbuU's  songs  juive  doubtless 
considerable  merit;  and  as  you  have  the  com- 
mand of  his  manuscripts,  I  hope  you  may  find 
out  some  that  will  answer,  as  English  songs, 
to  the  airs  yet  iinprovidc<l. 


BCENS  TO  THOMSON. 

December,  1793. 
Tell  me  how  you  like  the  follouing  verses 
to  the  tune  of  "My  Jo  Janei?"i 

MY  SPOr.SE,   -VAXCY. 

Ilusljand,  husband,  cease  your  strife, 

No.'  longer  idly  rave,  sir; 
'I'lio'  I  am  yom-  wedded  wife. 

Vet  I  am  not  y<iur  slave,  sir.    &c. 

[See  p.  l(jt,  vrd.  iii. 

'  Jo  Janet  is  a  humorous  (dd  .Scottish  sonir,  in 
which  a  jirudent  and  parsimonious  husliand  answers 
tlie  reinicsts  of  his  wife  in  a  style  which  few  husbands 
venture  to  adopt.     We  give  two  verses:— 

Swpct  sir,  for  your  courtesie, 
■\V1r'U  }ou  cume  l>y  tlii;  liuss,  tlien. 


THOMSON  TO   BURNS. 

Edinburgh,  I7th  April,  1794. 
Mv  DEAR  Sir, 

Owing  to  the  distress  of  our  friend  Cunning- 
ham for  the  loss  of  his  child,  at  the  time  of 
his  receiving  your  admirable  but  melanciioly 
letter,  I  had  not  an  opportunity,  till  lately,  of 
perusing  it.-  How  sorry  I  am  to  find  Burns 
saying;  "Canst  thou  not  miiuster  to  a  mind 
diseased?"  "while  he  is  delighting  others  from 
one  end  of  the  island  to  the  other.  Like  the 
hypochondriac  who  went  to  con>uli  a  physician 
upon  his  case — "({o,"say.s  the  doctor,  '-and 
see  the  famous  Carlini,  who  kccjis  all  Paris  in 
good  humour."  ".Mas!  sir,"  replied  the  ini- 
ticnt,  "  I  am  that  uidiappy  Carlini.'" 

Your  plan  for  our  meeting  toizcther  pleases 
me  greatly,  and  I  trust  that  \>y  >ome  means  or 
other  it  will  soon  take  place;  but  your  liac- 
chanaliau  challenge  almost  frightens  me,  fiir  I 
am  a  miserably  weak  drinkerl  ■• 

Allan  is  m\ich  gratified  by  your  good  opinion 
of  his  talents.  He  has  just  Ijcgiiii  a  sketch 
from  your  "Cotter's  Saturday  Nighf,'  iukI,  if 
it  pleases  hinisclf  in  the  design,  lie  will  jiro- 
bably  etch  or  engrave  it.  In  sulijects  of  the 
))astoral  and  humorous  kind,  he  i-.  perhaps,  un- 
rivalled by  any  artist  liviuL;-.  IK'  tails  a  little 
in  giving  bcauiy  and  grace  to  lii.-~  females,  and 
his  colourimr  is  somlirc,  otiierwise  his  paint- 
ings and  drawinu's  would  be  in  greater  rei|ucst. 

I  like  the  music  of  the  "Sutor'>  dochtcr,  ' 
and  will  consider  whether  it  shall  be  added  to 
the  last  volume:  your  verses  to  it  are  pretty; 
but  your  humorous  Knglish  sonu'.  to  suit  ".Jo 
Janet,"  is  inimitable.  AVliai  think  you  of  the 
air,  "AVithin  a  mile  of  Ediidturgh';  '  It  lias 
always  struck  me  as  a  modern  Englir-h  iniita- 

For  ttie  love  ye  liear  to  me, 

liuy  me  a  ki'el<iir  kIuhs,  then.  l0"king 

Keek  into  lln-  'Iniw  wtll, 
Janif,  J>nu:t; 
Thtre  i/ou'll  mi  ijimr  Imnnie  set'. 
My  Jit  Jittuit. 

Kind  sir,  f"r  your  courtesie. 

Wlieii  ye  K.ie  to  tlie  Cross,  tliou. 
For  tlie  love  ye  Ijeiir  to  me. 

liuy  me  !i  paciu'  Imrse,  tloti. 
I'ltrt  upiin  i/iiiw  Hjiinniit'U'hii-l, 

Jtimt,  Jinut; 

I'Hce  upon  ititur  Hiiinnin'-whcel, 

My  Jii  Jinwt.' 

-A  Utter  to  luiiiiingham,  dated  i.'.th  February, 
1704.  included  in  the  (biieral  Coiiespondcnce, 

3  See  letter  from  liurns  to  <..'uniiii)glium  dated  'iA 
llarch,  1704. 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


153 


i>  April,  1794. 

;nd  Cunning, 
the  time  of 
t  mclanclioly 
till  lately,  of 
0  find  IJurns 
LT  to  a  mind 
r  others  from 
;r.  Like  the 
It  a  piiysieian 
doetor,  '-and 
>  all  I'aris  in 
I'lied  the  pa- 

iii :" 

el  her  pleases 
mie  means  or 
lit  yonr  liac- 
en<  me,  fur  1 

uood  opinion 

run  a  sketch 

iiiht,"  and,  if 

he  will  pro- 

lijeets  of  the 

IKM-Jiaps,  im- 

fails  a  little 

females,  and 

-e  his  p,-iint- 

•ater  re(piest. 

r'>  doehter," 

bo  added  to 

arc  pretty; 

to  suit  "Jo 

ik  you  of  the 

h?"     It  has 

m:ii.-h  imita- 

l.)..kiDg 


tion,  hut  it  is  said  to  be  Oswald'.s,  and  is  so 
mueh  liked,  tiiat  I  believe  I  must  include  it.^ 
The  verses  arc  little  better  than  namby  pamby. 
Do  you  consider  it  worth  a  stanza  or  two? 


ir.th  February, 

iiiU'iiee. 

Ii:llil  (luteil  oil 


BURNS  TO  THOMSOX. 

June,  1794. 
yi\-  DEAR  .'^IPx, 

I  return  you  the  plates,  with  which  I  am 
hiddy  pleased,  your  criticism  on  the  grouping 
of  the  young  lad  being  introduced  to  the 
mother  oidy  excepted.  There  I  entirely  as^rec 
vith  you.  I  would  huml)ly  propose  that  in- 
Htcad  of  the  younker  knitting,  the  artist  would 
(in  preference  to  your  "trump"),  put  a  stock 
and  lioni  into  his  hands  as  if  he  were  screwing 
and  ailjustint:'  it.  I  would  have  returned  them 
sooner,  Imi  I  waited  the  ojdnion  of  a  friend  of 
mine,  who  is  ]iositively  the  ablest  Judge  on  the 
subject  1  have  ever  met  with,  and  though  an 
unknown,  is  yet  a  superior  artist  with  the 
hurin,  and  he  is  (|uite  charmed  with  Allan's 
maimer.  I  g'lt  him  a  i>ecp  of  the  "(Jentlc 
Slie|dier(l:"  ;iiid  lie  ]iron()unees  Allaa  a  most 
(iri<!'inal  arii>i  of  great  excellence. 

For  my  iiart,  I  look  on  Mv.  Allan's  clioosing 
my  favourite  poem  for  his  subject,  to  be  one 
of  tiie  highe>t  compliments  I  huNC  ever  re- 
eoiveil. 

1  am  (|nite  vexed  at  IMcyel's  being  cooped 
up  in  France,  as  it  will  put  an  entire  stop  to 
(uir  woik.  Now,  and  for  six  or  .seven  months, 
I  shall  be  quite  in  song,  as  you  shall  see  by 
and  by.  I  know  you  value  a  composition, 
because  it  is  made  by  one  of  the  great  ones,  as 
little  as  I  do.  However.  I  got  an  :.ir,  pretty 
enough,  composed  by  Lady  J^li/.abeth  Heron, 
of  Heron,  which  she  calls  "The  bank.s  of  Crec." 
(.'roe  is  a  beautiful  romantic  stream,  and  as 
lier  Ladyship  is  a  particular  friend  of  mine,  I 
liave  written  the  following  song  to  it: — 

lir:KE  IS  THE  fiLEN' 

litre  is  the  !.;lcii,  and  lierc  tlie  liower, 
All  uiKU'rufiith  the  liirclicii  shiKle; 

The  village  hell  ha.s  tollU  the  lioin-,— 
U  what  eau  i-tay  my  lovely  iiiiiiil'.'    *e. 
tSee  p.  Ittt,  vol.  iii. 

The  air,  1  fear,  is  not  worth  your  while;  else 

'The  air  was  eoinjioseil  by  .rallies  Hook,  a  clever 
niiisieian,  ami  father  of  Tliemlore  Hook,  the  novelist. 


I  would  send  it  you.  I  am  hurried;  .so  fare- 
well until  next  post.  Jly  seal  is  all  well,  ex- 
cept that  my  lioUy  must  be  a  hush,  not  a  tree, 
as  in  the  present  shield.  I  also  enclose  it,  and 
will  send  the  pebble  by  the  first  opportunity. 


BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

[July,  1794.1 
Is  there  no  new.s  yet  of  Pleyel?  Or  is  your 
work  to  be  at  a  dead  stop,  until  these  glorious 
Crusaders,  the  allies,  set  our  modern  Orpheus 
at  liberty  from  the  savage  thraldom  of  demo- 
cratic discords?  Alas  the  day!  And  woo  is 
me!  That  auspicious  period,  pregnant  with 
the  happiness  of  millions — that  golden  ago, 
spotless  with  monarchical  innocence  and  des- 
potic purity — that  ^lillennium,  of  which  the 
earliest  dawn  will  enlighten  even  licpublican 
turbulence,  and  show  the  swinish  multitude 
that  they  are  but  beasts,  mu.st  be  led  by  the 
nose,  and  goaded  in  the  backside — those  days 
of  sweet  chords  and  concords  seem  by  no  means 
near. 

Oh  that  mine  eyes  were  fountains  of  waters 
for  thy  rueful  .sake,  poor  Prussia!  that  as  thy 
ire  has  deluged  the  plains  of  Flanders,  so  might 
my  grief  inundate  the  regions  of  Gallovidia. 
Ye  children  of  success,  ye  sons  of  prosiierity, 
ye  who  never  shed  the  tear  of  sorrow,  or  felt  a 
wish  unsatisiied,  spare  your  reproaches  on  the 
left-handed  shifts  and  .snulHing  of  unhappy 
Brandenburg!  ( )ncc  was  his  rectitude  straight 
as  the  shafts  of  the  Archers  of  Edina,  and 
stubborn  as  the  granite  of  Gallovidian  Hills 
— the  Hatavian  witnessed  his  bowels  of  com- 
passion, and  Sarmatia  rejoiced  in  his  truth. 
But,  alas!  The  needy  man  who  has  known 
better  times  can  only  console  himself  with  a 
song,  thus: — 

When  Princes  ami  Prelates,  and  hot-headed  zealots, 
A'  Europe  had  set  in  a  lowe,  a  Imve,  ctt. 

[Sec  page  130,  V(d.  iii. 

So  much  for  nonsense!  I  have  sent  you  by  my 
much  valued  friend,  Mr  Syme,  of  this  jHaee, 
the  pebble  for  my  seal.  Vcu  will  please  re- 
member that  my  holly  h  a  bii.sh,  not  a  tree. 

-  Respecting  the  seal,  see  the  poet'«  letter  to  Cun- 
ningham of  od  Mareh,  1794.  Cun.  im;liam  had  got  a 
sketch  of  the  design  prepared  and  seal  It  to  his  friend 
through  Thoinsjii,  which  sketch  is  eomnieiited  on  as 
above. 


154 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH   THOMSON. 


I  have  three  or  four  songs  on  the  way  for 
you;  but  I  liave  not  yet  put  the  last  hand  to 
them.  Pray  are  you  going  to  insert  "  Ikn- 
nookburn,"  or  "  Wilt  thou  be  my  dearie,"  in 
your  collection?  If  you  are  not,  let  me  know, 
as  in  that  case  I  will  give  them  to  Johnson's 
MitHrum.  I  told  you  that  our  friend  Clarke 
is  quite  an  enthusiast  in  the  idea  that  the  air 
"  Nancy's  to  the  greenwood  gane,"  is  capable 
of  sentiment  and  pathos  in  a  high  degiee.  In 
this,  if  I  remember  right,  you  did  not  agree 
Avith  him.  I  intend  setting  my  verses  which 
1  wrote  and  sent  you  for  "The  last  time  I  came 
o'er  the  moor,"  to  this  air.  I  have  made  an 
alteration  in  the  beginning  of  the  song,  which 
you  will  find  on  the  new  page. 

Farewell  thou  stream  tluit  winding  flows 

Around  Klizn's  dwelling  1 
0  niciH  ry  1  spare  the  criiul  throes 

Within  my  bosom  swellin).'.i   &c. 

[Sue  p.  191,  vol.  iii. 

I  have  presented  a  copy  of  your  songs  to  the 
daughter  of  a  much-valued  and  much-honoured 
friend  of  mine,  Jlr.  (iraliam  of  Fintry.  I 
wrote  on  the  blank  side  of  the  title-page  the 
following  address  to  the  young  lady: — 

Hi'Vf,  where  the  Scottish  nuise  immortal  lives, 
III  .siicied  strains  and  tuiiefiil  members  join'd, 

Aeiejit  the  fiift;  tho'  humble  he  who  ijives, 
Kieh  is  the  tribute  of  the  grateful  mind.    &e. 
ISee  p.  183,  vol.  iii. 

1  have  also  promised  the  young  lady  a  copy 
of  your  Sonatas:  you  will  have  the  goodness 
to  .send  a  copy  directed  to  Miss  Graham  of 
Fintry. 

Another  friend  of  mine  goes  to  town  in  a 
week  or  so,  when  you  shall  again  h;  >■  .mother 
packet  of  nonsense  from  yours,  &c. 


visits  you,  I  trust  I  shall,  as  formerly,  be  fre- 
quently gratified  with  the  result  of  your  amor- 
ous and  tender  interviews! 


THOMSON   TO    BURXf^. 

EiiiNiiiitini,  lOth  Au>:ii  r,  i::'l^ 
MV  IiEAH  Sii;, 

I  owe  you  an  apology  for  having  .>o  !oi  | 
(lelayed  to  acknowledw  the  favour  of  your  lu.-U 
I  fear  it  will  be  as  you  say,  1  sliall  ha',  c  n*. 
more  songs  from  i'lcyel  till  France  and  we  ur 
friends;  but  nevertheless,  1  am  very  desirous 
to  be  prepared  Avith  the  poetry;  and  as  the 
season  approaches  in  wliicli  your  Mus('ofCoila 

1  See  a  subsequent  letter,  p  102. 


BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

130th  AuyUBt,  17',)4.] 

The  last  evening,  as  I  was  straying  out  and 
thinking  of  "O'er  the  Hills  nud  far  away,"  I 
spun  the  following  stanzas  for  it;  but  wliolher 
my  spinning  will  deserve  to  be  laid  \\\i  in  store, 
like  the  precious  thread  of  the  silk-worm,  or 
brushed  to  the  devil,  like  the  vile  manufacture 
of  the  spider,  ]  leave,  my  dear  Sir,  to  your 
usual  candid  criticism.  I  was  pleased  with 
several  line.^  in  it  at  first,  but  I  own  that  now 
it  appears  rather  a  flimsy  business. 

This isjustahasty  sketch, until  I  sec  wliotlier 
it  be  worth  a  critique.  We  have  many  sailor 
songs,  but  as  far  as  I  at  present  recoiled,  tlicy 
arc  mostly  the  effusions  of  the  jovial  sailor,  not 
the  wailings  of  his  love-lorn  mistress.  I  must 
here  make  one  sweet  exception — "Sweet  An- 
nie frae  the  sea-beach  came'  Now  for  tlic 
very  sonir. 

ox   '['HE  SEA.S   AM)   KAi;   AWAV. 

How  can  my  pocir  heart  lie  ulad. 
When  alisent  from  my  sailor  lad',' 
ITdW  can  I  the  tlmujiht  f(ire!.'ii— 
He's  on  the  seas  to  meet  the  foe?    Ac. 
(.See  p.  1U4,  Vol.  ill. 

I  give  you  leave  to  abuse  this  song,  Init  do 
it  in  the  spirit  of  Christian  meekness. 


THOMSON    To    iiriiXS. 

Ei.'lNlil    r.u.  n;tU  Srpt.  IT'.H. 
,         Mv  i;K.\i;  SiK, 

I       You  iiiivc  .mticipali  I.  my  ui'inion  ol'  "On 
the  ."c.-  .md  far  away."    1  do  not  iliink  it  one 

,  of  yoHi  very  iiappy  pr.  i  uction~.  thiiriL.'li  it  irr- 

I  tair.ly  c  nitaMH  stanzas  thai  arc  worthy  of  :ill 

I  a:v*(|i;xiion. 

Th'  second  is  tlie  least  to  my  likiu'j'.  jiarti- 
.lii.rly,  "  liullets,  spare  my  only  joy.  "  t'on- 
i'ound  the  bullets!  It  might,  perhaps,  be  ol)- 
jected  to  the  third  verse,  ".\t  the  stark^s 
midnight  hour,"  that  it  has  loo  much  LTaiulciir 
of  imagery,    and   that  greater  sinijiliijiy  'ii' 


HwnnrutsaaauKUM* 


:-morly,  be  fre- 
ol'  your  amor- 


Auyiist,  171)4.] 
aying  out  and 

I  far  away,"  I 
;  but  wliother 
i<l  ui)  in  siure, 
silk-wonu,  or 
i  uiamifacture 
•  Sir,  to  your 

pleased  with 
own  that  now 

I I  see  wild  her 
c  many  siihjr 
reeolleet,  (hoy 
■ial  sailor,  not 
ress.  1  must 
-"Sweet  An- 

Now  for  the 


A  WAV. 

■A:\i\. 

.rhul? 

go— 

t  foe?    Ai). 

I.  104,  V..1.  iii. 

soiiir,  l)Ut  do 
ne~s. 


XS. 

:h  Sejit.  ITHt. 

lion  of  '-On 

lliink  it  one 

iiou^ii  it  cer- 

wortliy  of  ail 

likini:-,  jiarii- 
joy."  t'oii- 
rliaps,  he  oh- 
tlie  starless 
leh  trrandeiir 
implieiiy  of 


CORRESrONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


155 


thought  would  have  better  suited  the  charac- 
ter of  a  sailor's  sweet-heart.  The  tune,  it  must 
be  rcmumbcreil,  is  of  the  bri.sk,  cheerful  kind. 
Upon  the  whjle,  therefore,  in  my  humble 
opinion,  the  song  would  be  better  adapted  to 
the  tune,  if  it  consisted  only  of  the  first  and 
]a.st  verses,  with  the  choruses. 


BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

Sept.  1794. 

Little  do  the  Trustee.^  for  our  JIanufactures, 
when  they  frank  my  letters  to  you — little  do 
they  consider  what  kind  of  manufacture  they 
are  encouraging.  The  manufacture  of  nonsense 
was  certainly  not  in  idea  Avhen  the  Act  of  Par- 
liament was  framed,  and  yet,  uiKlcr  my  hands 
and  your  cover,  it  thrives  amazingly.  Well, 
there  are  more  pernicious  manufactures,  that 
is  certain ! 

I  shall  withdraw  my  "On  the  seas  and  far 
away, "altogether;  it  is  unequal  and  unworthy 
of  the  work.  Making  a  poem  is  like  begetting 
a  son:  you  cannot  know  whether  you  have  a 
wise  man  or  a  fool,  until  you  produce  him  to 
the  world  to  try  him. 

For  that  reason  I  send  you  the  offspring  of 
my  brain,  abortions  and  all ;  and,  as  such,  pray 
look  over  them  and  forgive  them,  and  burn 
them.  I  am  flattered  at  your  adopting  "Ca' 
the  yowos  to  the;  knowcs,"  as  it  was  owing  to 
me  that  ever  it  saw  the  light.  About  seven 
years  ago  I  was  well  acquainted  with  a  worthy 
little  fellow  of  a  clergyman,  a  ^Ir.  Clunie,^ 
who  sung  it  charmingly;  and,  at  my  rccjucst, 
-Mr.  Clarke  took  it  down  from  his  singing. 
Wlien  I  gave  it  to  Johnson,  I  added  some 
stanzas  to  the  song,  and  mended  otiiers,  but 
still  it  will  not  do  for  ijoil  In  a  solitary  stroll 
which  I  took  to-day,  1  tried  my  hand  on  a  few 
pastoral  lines,  followin<r  up  the  idea  of  the 
chorus,  which  I  would  preserve.  Here  it  is, 
witli  all  its  cruditi(!s  and  imperfections  on  its 
head. 

'  Mr.  Cluiiic  was  niinistiM-  of  the  pari.sh  of  Itortli- 
wick,  rMlJnlnirgli.sliiic.  lie  was  so  fiitlmsia.stically 
fi'iicl  (if  singiiiK  Sciittisli  soiimi,  that  ho  used  to  liang 
liis  wat(,'h  round  the  caiiille  mi  .Sunday  uveninns, 
"iiitin),'  an.viously  till  tht'  arrival  of  twelve  o't-lock 
luiinittcil  liiiii  to  lireak  out  in  mif  of  his  favourite 
ihttiis.  Jlr.  I'luuie  latterly  hecainu  deranged  in  liis 
intellect,  and  died  in  a  luadhmise. 


CA'  THE  YOWES. 


Ca'  the  yowes  to  the  knowes, 
Ca'  them  whare  tlie  heatlier  grows, 
Ca'  them  whare  the  hurnie  ruwes - 
My  bonnie  dearie !   &c. 

[.See  p.  183,  vol.  iii. 

I  shall  give  you  my  opinion  of  your  other 
newly  adopted  .songs  my  first  .scribbling  fit. 
Adieu ! 


BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

Sept.  1794. 

Do  you  know  a  blackguard  Irif*h  song  called 
"Oonagh's  Water-Fall?"  Our  friend  Cunning. 
ham  sings  it  delightfully.  The  air  is  charming, 
and  I  have  often  regretted  the  want  of  decent 
verses  to  it.  It  is  too  much,  at  least  for  nty 
humble  rustic  Muse,  to  expect  that  every  eflbrt 
of  hers  must  have  merit;  still  1  think  it  in 
better  to  have  mediocre  verses  to  a  favourite 
air,  than  none  at  all.  On  this  principle  I  have 
all  along  proceeded  in  the  Scots  Musical  Jfii- 
scum,  and  as  that  publication  is  at  its  last 
volume,  I  intend  the  following  song,  to  the 
air  above-mentioned,  for  that  work. 

If  it  does  not  suit  you  as  an  editor,  you  may 
be  pleased  to  have  verses  to  it  that  you  can 
«ing  before  ladies. 

SHE  SAYS  SHE  LO'E.S  ME  BEST  OF  A'. 

Sae  tla.xen  were  her  ringlets. 
Her  eyel)row,s  of  a  darker  hue, 

Bewitehingly  o'er-arehing 
Twa  laughing  een  o'  lioiinie  blue.   &c, 

(See  p.  180,  vol.  iii. 

Not  to  compare  .small  things  with  great,  my 
taste  in  music  is  like  the  mighty  Frederick  of 
Prussia's  taste  in  painting:  we  are  told  that 
he  frequently  admired  what  the  connoisseurs 
decried,  and  always  without  any  hypocrisy  con- 
fessed his  admiration.  T  am  sensible  that  my 
taste  in  music  must  be  inelegai.t  and  vulgar, 
because  people  of  undisputed  and  cultivated 
taste  can  find  no  merit  in  my  favourite  tunes. 
Still,  because  I  am  cheaply  pleased,  is  that  any 
reason  why  I  should  deny  myself  that  pleasure? 
Jlany  of  our  strathspeys,  ancient  and  modern, 
give  me  most  cxciuisite  enjoyment,  where  you 
and  other  judges  would  probaLiV  be  showing 
disgust.  For  instance,  [  am  just  now  making 
rerses  for  "llothenuircbe's  Rant,"  an  air  which 
putt,  me  in  raptures;  and  in  fact,  unless  I  be 


II 

1 

•A 

1 

Ji 

1 

llll 

m 

t  %,  Ijii 


I  i  .  !■! 


15G 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


lilM 


i'ii'i: 


il: 


pleased  with  tlic  tunc,  I  never  can  make  verses 
to  it.  Here  1  iiavc  Clarke  on  my  side,  who  i.s 
a  judse  that  I  will  pit  against  any  of  you. 
"  Hothemurche,"  lie  saya,  is  an  air  "both  ori- 
ginal and  beautiful ;"  and  on  his  recommenda- 
tion [  have  taken  the  first  part  of  the  tune  for 
a  chorus,  and  the  fourth  or  last  part  for  the 
Bong.  I  am  but  two  stanzas  deep  in  the  work, 
and  possibly  you  may  think,  and  Justly,  that 
the  poetry  is  as  little  worth  your  attention  as 
the  music.  ^ 

1  have  begun  anew,  "Let  me  in  this  ae 
night."  Do  you  think  that  wo  ought  to  retain 
the  old  chorus  ?  I  think  wc  must  retain  both 
the  old  chorus  and  the  first  stanza  of  the  old 
song.  1  do  not  altogether  like  the  third  line 
of  the  first  .stanza,  but  cannot  alter  it  to  please 
my.'^elf  I  am  just  three  stanzas  deep  in  it. 
Would  you  have  the  diniouriiunt  to  be  success- 
ful or  otherwise?  Should  she  "let  him  in"  or 
not? 

LET  ME  IN'  THIS  AJS  NIGHT.2 

0  lassie  nrt  thou  sleepiu'  yet, 
Or  art  tlum  waukeu  I  wail  wit? 
i'ur  love  lias  bouiul  iiii'  liaiiil  and  lit, 
And  I  woulil  fain  be  in,  jo.    etc. 

[See  p.  IGl,  vol.  iii. 

Did  you  not  once  propose  "The  sow's  tail 
to  Geordie,"  as  an  air  for  your  work?  I  am 
quite  delighted  with  it;  but  I  acknowledge 
that  is  no  mark  of  its  real  excellence.  I  once 
set  about  verses  for  it,  which  I  meant  to  be  in 
the  alternate  way  of  a  lover  and  bis  mistress 
chanting  together.  I  have  not  the  pleasure 
of  knowing  Mrs.  Thomson's  Christian  name, 
and  yours  I  am  afraid  is  rather  burlesque  for 
sentiment,  else  1  had  meant  to  have  made  you 
the  hero  and  heroine  of  the  little  piece. 

I  have  just  written  four  stanzas  at  random, 
which  I  intend  to  have  woven  somewhere  uito, 
probably  at  the  conclusion  of,  the  song.-* 

1  In  the  original  M.S.  two  stanzas  of  a  song,  bcgin- 
ninj!  "  Lassie  wi'  the  lint-wliite-Ioeks,"  are  here  in- 
serted.  It  will  be  found  at  full  length  at  p.  104,  vol.  iii. 

-  A  considerably  altere<l  version  of  this  song  with 
the  "lassie's"  answer,  was  sent  to  Thomson  in  Feb- 
ruary, 179,'),  and  will  l)e  found  at  p.  20."),  vol.  iii. 

3  Here  are  copied  the  random  stanzas  beginning, 
"The  bee  that  thro'  the  sunny  hour;"  but  as  they 
form  with  slight  alteration  the  concluding  portion  of 
the  duet  "O  Philly,  happy  be  the  day,"  sent  to  Tliom- 
son  on  tlie  19th  Xoveniber,  we  do  not  print  them  here. 
lu  the  stanzas  referred  to  the  lovers'  names  are.Ieanie 
and  Geordie,  which  become  Philly  and  Willie  in  the 
completed  song. 


So  much  for  an  idle  farago  of  a  gos.siping 
letter.     .     .     . 

Do  you  know  a  droll  Scots  song  more  famous 
for  its  humour  than  delicacy,  called  ''Tiie 
Urcy  Goose  and  the  Gled?"  Mr.  Clarke  took 
down  the  notes  (such  as  tliey  are)  at  ny  rciiuest, 
which  1  shall  give,  with  some  decciiicr  verses, 
to  Johnson.  Mr.  Clarke  says  that  the  tune  i» 
positively  an  old  chant  of  the  Honiish  Cliuivh, 
which  corroborates  the  old  tradition  tuat  at  the 
Reformation  the  Ueforiners  burles<jucd  much 
of  the  old  Church  music  by  setting  tiani  to 
bawdy  verses.  As  a  further  proof,  the  conunon 
name  for  this  song  is  "Cumnock  P.salnis." 
As  there  can  be  no  harm  in  transcribing  a 
stanza  of  u  psalm,  [  shall  give  you  two  ni 
three ;  possibly  the  song  is  new  to  you : — 

As  I  looked  o'er  yon  eastle  wa' 
I  spied  a  grey  goose  and  a  gleil,  Ac' 

So  much  for  the  Psalmody  of  Cumnock  ! 

How  do  you  like  the  following  epigram, 
which  I  wrote  the  other  day  on  a  lovely  young 
girl's  recovery  from  a  fever?  J)octor  Jlaxwell 
— the  identical  Maxwell  whom  Hurke  men- 
tioned ill  the  House  of  Commons — was  the 
physician  who  seemingly  saved  her  from  the 
grave ;  and  to  him  I  address  the  following. 

TO  DK.   MAXWELL.s 

ON  M.oS  JESSIK  STAIG'S  KECoVKllV.'' 

-Maxwell,  if  merit  here  you  crave, 

'I'liat  merit  I  <leiiy; 
)'(«'  save  fair  .lessii-  from  the  grave  1 

An  angel  could  not  die. 

God  grant  you  patience  wiiK  ihis  stupid 
epi-stlc !     Amen ! 


THOMSON   TO   lU'RNS. 

[Oct.  1794.1 

I  perceive  the  uprightly  mu.se  is  now  atten- 
dant upon  her  favourite  poet,  whose  "wood 
notes  wild  "  are  become  as  enchanting  as  ever. 
"v>hc  says  she  lo'es  nie  best  of  a',"  is  one  of 

J  most  pleasant  table  songs  I  have  seen,  and 

*  This  gross  production  may  l)e  found  in  the  collec- 
tion elsewhere  spoken  of,  ciilled  The  Merry  Muxi'n  af 
Caledonia.  The  words  set  by  Burns  to  the  nionn- 
tonous  air  are  those  beginning,  "As  I  stood  bv  yon 
roofless  tower." 

5  Dr.  Maxwell,  two  years  afterwards,  was  the  poets 
physician  on  his  own  death-bed. 

>i  .See  p.  187,  vol.  iii. 


t  i 


f  a  gossiping 

more  famous 
called  "The 
.  Clarke  took, 
tniy  request, 
;eiuer  verses, 
it  the  time  i» 
nish  L'liurcli, 
m  tliat  at  the 
.'sijued  nuieh 
i»g  them  to 

the  common 
ck  rsalnis." 
anscril)in!j:  u 

you  two  ni 
3  you : — 

I,  itu.^ 

umnoek ! 
ng  cpiirram, 
lovely  young 
•tor  .Maxwell 
liurke  nipn- 
iis — was  the 
icr  from  tiie 
ollowin''. 


EltV.« 
Vf, 

rave ! 
ihis  stupid 


[Oct.  17!)  1.1 

1  HOW  atten- 
oso  "wood 
ine:  as  ever. 
,"  is  one  of 
.e  seen,  and 

in  tlieeolU'c- 
•rni  Mii.ii's  iif 
n  the  nionii- 
stood  l)v  yon 

'as  the  poet's 


COI{l^ESPUNDE^X'E  WITH  THOMSON. 


157 


henceforth  shall  be  mine  when  the  song  is  going 
round.  I'll  give  Cunningham  a  copy;  he  can 
more  powerfully  proclaim  its  merit.  1  am  far 
from  undervaluing  your  ta.ste  for  tiie  strath- 
spey music;  on  the  contrary,  1  think  it  highly 
animatinn'  and  agrceahle,  and  that  some  of  the 
strathspeys,  when  graced  with  such  verses  a.s 
yours,  will  make  very  pleasing  songs;  in  the 
same  way  that  rough  Christians  are  tempered 
and  softcMcil  hy  lovely  woman,  without  whom, 
you  know,  tiicy  had  heen  Krutes. 

1  am  clear  for  having  the  "Sow's  tail,"  par- 
ticularly as  viiur  propo.sed  verses  to  it  arc  so 
extremely  promising,  ticordie,  as  you  oljserve, 
is  a  name  oidy  fit  for  l)urle.sque  composition. 
Mrs.  Thomson's  name  (Katharine)  is  not  at  all 
poetical.  IJctain  Jcanie,  therefore,  and  make 
the  other  .iamie,  or  any  other  that  sounds 
agreeably. 

Vour  "Ca'  the  ewes"  is  a  preciou.s  little 
morceau.  Indeed  I  am  perfectly  astonislied 
and  charmcil  with  the  endless  variety  of  your 
i'aucy.  Hero  let  mo  ask  you,  whether  you 
never  scriou-ly  turned  your  thoughts  upon  dra- 
matic writing"'  That  is  a  field  worthy  of  your 
genius,  in  which  it  might  sliine  forth  in  all  its 
splendour.  ( inc  or  two  successful  pieces  ujion 
the  London  sta.gc  would  make  your  fortune. 
The  rage  at  present  is  for  mtisical  dranuis:  few 
or  none  nf  those  which  have  apjiearcd  since  the 
'•  Duenna,"  iio>scss  much  tioetical  merit ;  there 
is  little  in  the  conduct  of  the  fable,  or  in  the 
dialoirue,  to  interest  the  .'uulicnce.  They  arc 
chiefly  veliiclcs  for  music  and  pageantry.  I 
think  you  miulit  produce  a  comic  opera  in 
three  acts,  whiidi  would  live  by  the  poetry,  at 
the  same  time  that  it  would  be  ]ii-oiier  to  take 
every  assistance  from  her  tuneful  sister.  Part 
of  the  -onus  of  course  would  be  to  our  favourite 
Scotii.sh  airs;  the  rest  might  be  left  to  the 
London  omposer — Storace  for  ])rury-lanc,  or 
Shield  for  <  'ovewt-ganlen  :  both  of  them  very 
alile  and  pujmlar  musicians.  I  believe  that 
interest  and  m;uiieuvring  are  often  ncces.sary 
to  have  a  drama  brought  on:  .so  it  may  lie  with 
file  namby-pamby  tribe  of  flowery  scribblers: 
iHit  were  you  to  address  Mr.  Sheridan  himself 
by  Idler,  and  send  him  a  dramatic  piece,  I 
am  )ier-u,'«ded  he  would,  for  the  honour  of 
geniu-.  irive  it  a  fair  and  candid  trial.  Excuse 
me  for  oi)truding  these  hints  uiion  your  con- 
sideration. 


THOMSON  TO  BURNS. 


EDIN-nujtOH,  14th  Octoher,  1794. 

The  last  eight  days  have  been  devoted  to  the 
re-examination  of  the  Scottish  collections.  I 
have  read,  and  sung,  and  fiddled,  and  consid- 
ered till  1  am  half  blind,  and  wholly  stupid. 
The  few  airs  I  have  added,  are  inclosed. 

I'eter  I'indar  has  at  length  sent  me  all  the 
songs  1  expected  from  him,  which  are  in  .gen- 
eral elegant  and  beautiful. 1  Jiave  you  heard 
of  a  London  collection  of  Scottish  airs  and 
song.s,  just  published  by  Mr.  J{itson,  an 
Eng-lishman?  I  .shall  send  you  a  copy.  His 
introductory  essay  on  the  subject  is  curious, 
and  evinces  great  reading  and  research,  but 
does  not  decide  the  (piestion  as  to  the  oriiriu 
of  our  melodies;  though  he  shows  clearly  that 
Mr.  Tytler,  in  liis  ingenious  dissertation,  has 
adduced  no  sort  of  proof  of  the  hypothesis  he 
wished  to  establi.sh  ;  and  that  his  cla.ssification 
of  the  airs  according  to  the  ivras  when  they 
were  comiio.sed,  is  mere  fancy  and  conjecture. 
On  John  I'inkerton,  Esq.  he  has  no  mercy; 
but  consiLius  him  to  damnation!  He  snarls 
at  my  publicat  ion,  on  the  score  of  I'indar  being 
enga.gcd  to  write  .songs  for  it;  uncandidly  and 
unjustly  leaving  it  to  lie  inferred,  that  the 
songs  of  Scottish  writers  had  been  sent  a-pack- 
ing  to  make  room  for  Peter's !  l)f  you  he 
sjieaks  with  some  respect,  but  gives  you  a 
passing  hit  or  two,  for  daring  to  ilrcss  up  a 
little  some  old  fooli.sli  .songs  for  the  xMuxiniii.' 
His  sets  of  the  Scottish  airs  arc  taken,  he  .says, 
from  the  oldest  collections  and  best  authorities  : 
many  of  them,  however,  have  such  a  strange 
aspect,  and  are  so  uidikc  the  sets  which  are 

1  We  are  nowhere  tohl  wliether  Peter  Piiular  (Dr. 
Wolcot,  the  ccleliiatcil  satirist  of  tieorye  tlie  Tliird's 
rci^oO  received  aii.v  iieciniiar.v  compensation  for  liis 
coMtiiliutions  to  Mr.  'I'honison's  collection.  If  lie  did 
so  the  fact  should  liave  lieen  ur^ed,  anionj;  otliers,  in 
reinonstratiii;-'  witli  I'.ui'ns  af.'aiiist  hi.s  resolution  of 
not  accepting;  p.-iynient  for  his  services. 

-  The  puldication  licrc  referred  to  is  .loseph  Kitson's 
ficntitih  Siiiiij.'<,  London,  1704,  2  vols.  Of  liuiais  Kitson 
remarks:  "  Roliert  (iurns,  a  natural  jioet  of  the  tlvst 
eminence,  does  not,  perhaps,  appear  to  his  tisual 
advantai;e  in  .souk:  nan  (iinnia  pdnsuinun."  ">Ir. 
liiirns,  as  fjood  a  jioet  as  Kamsay,  is,  it  must  be  re- 
^'retted,  an  ei|ually  licentiouK  and  unfaitliful  pulilislier 
of  tlie  performances  of  otliers.  ^lany  of  tlie  orifiinal. 
old.  ancient,  genuine  Sony's  inserted  in  .Tohnsou's 
Sctit.i  MKsical  Muneiiin  deiive  not  a  little  of  their 
merit  from  passing  througli  the  hands  of  this  very 
ingenious  critic." 


^08 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


sung  by  every  person  of  tiwtc,  old  or  younpr, 
in  town  or  country,  that  we  can  Hcarcely  re- 
cognise the  featuren  of  our  favourites.  By 
going  to  the  oldest  collections  of  our  music,  it 
docs  not  follow  that  we  find  the  melodies  in 
their  original  state.  These  melodies  had  been 
preserved,  we  know  not  how  long,  by  oral 
cummunication,  before  being  collected  and 
printed;  and  as  ditferent  persons  .sing  the  same 
air  very  differently,  according  to  their  accurate 
or  confused  recollection  of  it,  so  even  supposing 
the  first  collector  i-  '"ive  posses.scd  the  in- 
dustr-  'he  ta  *e,  .-,.  ;  •  .sccrnment  to  choose 
the  besi  they  could  hear,  (whic'-  i-^  far  from 
certain,)  still  it  must  evidently  b^  chance, 
whether  the  collections  exlul)it  any  of  the 
melodies  in  the  state  they  were  first  composed. 
In  selecting  the  melodies  for  my  own  collection, 
I  have  been  as  much  guided  by  tlie  living  as 
by  the  dead.  Where  these  differed,  I  preferred 
the  sets  that  appeared  to  me  the  most  simple 
and  beautiful,  and  the  most  generally  approved: 
and  without  meaning  any  compliment  to  my 
own  capability  of  choosing,  or  .speaking  of  the 
pains  I  have  taken,  I  flatter  myself  that  my 
sets  will  be  found  equally  freed  from  vulgar 
errors  on  the  one  hand,  and  affected  graces  on 
the  other. 

BURNS  TO   THOMSON. 

19th  October,  1794. 
MV  DEAR  FRIENP, 

By  this  morning's  post  I  have  your  list,  and, 
in  general,  I  highly  approve  of  it.  [  shall,  at 
more  leisure,  give  yon  a  criti(|uc  on  the  whole. 
In  the  meantime  let  me  offer  a  new  improve- 
ment, or  rather  a  restoring  of  old  simplicity 
in  one  of  your  newly  adoi)tc(l  songs  : — 

"  When  slie  cam  lien  slie  bobbit  (a  crotchet  stop) 
When  she  cam  ben  slie  liDliliit  (ilo) 
Anil  when  she  cam  ben  she  kissd  roekpen, 
Anil  syne  ileniud  that  she  iliil   it."  (a  crotchet 
sto,,) 

This  is  the  old  rhythm,  and  by  far  the  most 
original  and  beautiful.  Let  the  harmony  of 
the  bass  at  the  stops  be  full,  and  thin  and 
dropping  througli  the  rest  of  the  air,  and  you 
will  give  the  tune  a  noble  and  striking  effect. 
Perhaps  I  am  betraying  my  ignorance;  but 
Mr.  Clarke  is  decidedly  of  my  oi)inion.  He 
lilies  to  your  town  by  to-day's  fly,  and  I  wish 
you  would  call  on  him  and  take  his  opinion  in 


general:  you  know  his  taste  isastamlaiil.  He 
will  return  here  again  in  a  week  or  two;  so, 
please  do  not  miss  asking  for  him.  One  thing 
I  hope  he  will  do,  which  will  give  mo  liigii 
satisfaction — persuade  you  to  adopt  my  fu- 
vourite, ' '  Craigieburn  Wood, "  in  your  selection ; 
it  is  as  great  a  favourite  of  his  as  of  mine.  The 
lady  on  whom  it-  was  made  is  one  of  the  liuest 
women  in  Scotland;  and  in  fact  (mfrr  noun) 
is  in  a  rnanner  to  me  Avhat  Sterne's  Hliza  was 
to  him — a  mistress,  or  friend,  nr  \\  liul  ymi 
will,  in  tlio  guileless  simiilicity  of  I'latonic 
love.  (Now  don't  put  any  of  your  s(|iiiiiiini,' 
constructions  on  this,  or  have  any  rli>|iiiia. 
claiver  about  it  among  our  acquaintances.) 
I  assure  you  that  to  my  lovely  friend  ymi  are 
indebted  for  many  of  your  best  song>  of  niiiic. 
Do  you  think  that  the  sober,  gin-horse  routine 
of  existence,  could  inspire  a  man  with  life,  ami 
lovi  md  joy — could  fire  him  with  entliii>iasiii, 
oriii';!',  him  with  pathos,  equal  to  the  genius 
of  you/  book?  No!  no! — Whenever  1  want 
to  be  more  than  ordinary  in  soiiir — to  be  in 
some  degree  equal  to  your  diviner  airs^do  vmi 
imagine  1  fast  and  pray  for  the  celestial  eman- 
ation? Tout  (in  contriiirc'  I  have  a  gloriDus 
recipe;  the  very  one  that  for  his  own  \ise  was 
invented  by  the  divinity  of  healiirg  and  poetry, 
when  erst  he  piped  to  the  Hocks  of  Admotus. 
I  put  myself  in  a  regimen  of  admirinir  a  tine 
woman;  and  in  proportion  to  tiie  adniability 
of  her  charms,  in  proportion  you  are  dcliudited 
with  my  verses.  The  lightning  of  her  eye  is 
the  godhead  of  Parnassus,  and  the  witchery  of 
her  smile  the  divinity  of  Helicon  ! 

To  descend  to  the  business  with  wiiich  I  be- 
gan: if  you  like  my  idea  of,  "  When  >lie  cam 
ben  she  bobbit,"  the  following  stan/.a>  nf  niiiie, 
altered  a  little  from  what  tiiey  were  furnierly 
when  set  to  another  air,  may  i)erliups  do  in- 
stead of  worse  stanzas  :— 

.•SAW  YE  MY  rmr.f.v. 

(>  saw  ye  my  I'ear,  my  riiilly'.' 
<)  saw  ye  my  ileal',  my  I'hilly'.' 
.She  s  iliiwii  i'  the  Hruve,  she  s  wi'  a  luw  Invi , 
.She  wiiiiia  cume  hanie  to  liei-  Will\ .    iVr. 

[See  p.  r.iii.  v.il.  ili. 

Now  for  a  few  miscellaneous  remarks. 
"The  Posie"  (in  the  Mmeum)  is  my  eiiniposi- 
tion;  the  air  was  taken  down  from  Mrs.  Hiinis' 
voice.  It  is  well  known  in  the  \Vo<t  I'Duntry, 
but  the  old  words  are  trash.      I5v  the  bye.  take 


COKE£SlN)Nl)ENCE  WITH   THOMSON. 


15S) 


a  utiuuliird.  ilo 
Of  k  or  I  Wo ;  so 
lim.    One  tliiii}; 

I  give  mc  higli 
>  ndopr   my  I'u. 

II  your  selection; 
IS  of  mine.  Thu 
)ne  of  the  tinest 
ict  (<  iifri  iioii,^  I 
irne's  Kliza  was 

1,    IT    Wllill    Vdll 

ity  of  I'latouiu 
your  s(|uiiiiim; 
c  any  cli.-lnua. 
acquaintaiu'es.) 

■  frieinl  yon  are 
;  songs  ot'  mine. 
in-horse  routine 
n  witli  life,  ami 
ith  enthusiasm, 
il  to  the  frenius 
lenever  I  want 
sonir — to  lie  in 
ler  iiirs^do  you 

celestial  eman- 
have  a  uloriuus 
lis  own  use  was 
ingand  poetry, 
ks  of  Adnietus. 
admiriiiL'  a  tine 
tiie  adoraiiilily 
lu  arc  delighted 
ig  of  her  eye  is 
tile  witeliery  of 
111! 

ith  wliii'li  1  liL'- 
Wiieii  >he  cam 
tanzas  uf  mine, 

■  WfYc  formerly 
perhaps  do  in- 

r.v. 


'  a  luw  love, 

Willv.     .Vr. 

ec  \i.  r.io.  Mil.  iii. 

cons  remarks, 
is  my  composi- 
im  Mrs.  Hums' 
West  eouiitry, 
y  tiic  live,  take 


a  look  at  tiie  tune  again,  and  tell  me  if  you  do 
not  think  it  is  the  original  from  whieh  "  Ito.s- 
liii  Castle  "  is  eoinposed.  The  sceond  part,  in 
particular,  for  tiic  first  two  or  three  barn,  is 
exactly  the  old  air.  "Stmtliallan  s  Lament" 
is  mine;  the  mu.sic  i.s  hy  our  right  trusity  and 
deservedly  well-beloved  .VUan  M;i.iterton.  "The 
young  Highland  Kover"  (llonig)  is  also  mine, 
hut  is  not  worthy  of  the  fine  air,  "  Donocht- 
Head"  is  not  mine;  I  would  give  ten  pounds 
it  were.  It  appeared  first  in  the  E<lhi/>urijh 
Ifcrtil'l:  and  came  to  tlie  editor  of  that  paper 
with  the  New  eastlc  post-mark  on  it. '  "  Whistle 
(I'er  the  lave  o't"  i.s  mine:  the  music  8.aid  to 
he  by  a  John  Hruec,  a  celebrated  violin  player 
in  Dumfries,  about  the  beginning  of  this  cen- 
tury. This  I  know:  Bruce,  who  was  an  honest 
man,  though  a  red-wud  Highlandman,  con- 
st^mtly  claimed  it;  and  by  all  the  old  musical 
people  here,  is  believed  to  be  the  author  of  it. 

"()  how  can  I  be  blythe  and  glad"  is  mine; 
hut  as  it  is  already  appropriated  to  an  air  by 
itself,  both  in  the  J\Iu.i(u>n  and  from  thence 
to  Hitson  (I  have  got  that  book),  1  think  it 
would  be  as  well  to  leave  it  out.  However, 
do  as  you  please. 

".M'l'h.ersoii's  Farewell"  is  mine,  excepting 
the  chorus  and  one  stanza. 

".\ndrew  and  bis  cutty  gun."  The  song 
to  which  this  is  set  in  the  Mmetiin  is  mine, 
and  was  composed  on  Miss  Euphemia  Murray, 
of  Liiitro.se,  commonly  and  deservedly  called 
;hc  Flower  of  Strathmore. 

"The  Quaker's  wife."  Do  not  give  the 
tune  that  name,  but  the  old  Highland  one 
"Leiger  'm  chose."  The  only  fragment  re- 
maining of  the  old  words  is  the  chorus,  still  a 
favourite  lullaby  of  my  old  mother  from  whom 
I  learned  it; — 

I  Wo  u'ivo  the  first  two  stanzas  of  this  poem,  so 
liighly  inaisotl  l)y  IJurii!,. 

Keen  blaws  tlie  wind  o'er  llonocht-IIead, 

Th(!  snaw  ilrivcs  siu'lly  thn'  tlic  clalu. 
Till'  CaliiTluiizie  tilN  my  slU'ik, 

Anil  sliivi'riiii.'  lulls  liis  wai'lu'  tale. 
"Caulil  i.i  till-  lOKlit,  II  li't  mi'  in. 

Ami  ilinna  Irt  your  niinstri'l  fa', 
Ami  iliuna  li't  liis  wiinlinti-slu'i't 

Hl*  nai;thiii>:  Imt  a  wn-ath  o'  snaw. 

"  Full  nini'ly  winters  lia'o  T  seen. 

Ami  iiipil  wliiTC  f,'iir-c'"cks  wliirrinn  lli'w. 
Ami  ninny  a  ilay  I've  ilaiuM,  I  wecu. 

To  lilts  wliieli  fnini  my  ilrmi'  I  liliw,'' 
5Iy  Kpiiiu  wak'il,  ami  suc.n  sin/  rry'd, 

"(H't  up,  ^'uiilnian,  ami  let  him  iu; 
For  Weil  ye  ken  the  winter  niyht 

Was  shurt  when  he  licgau  \ni  Jin." 


LeItttT  'm  cho8e,  my  bonnie  weo  Inss, 
And  Leiger  'm  chose,  my  deiirie; 

A'  tlie  lee-liui(,'  winter  ni,i;lit 
Ltlyer  'm  eliose,  my  ileurle. 

The  current  name  for  the  reel  to  this  day  at 
country  weddings  is  L'ljijirnm  Cok/i,  a,  Low- 
land corruption  of  the  original  (Jaclie.  1  have 
altered  the  first  stanza  which  I  would  have  to 
stand  thus: — 

■I'hhio  nm  I,  my  I'aitlidil  fah-. 
Well  tliou  mayst  discover; 

Every  imlse  alonii  niy  veins 
Tells  the  ardent  lover.'i! 

"Saw  ye  my  father."  1  am  decidedly  of 
opinion  that  you  should  set  the  tune  to  the 
old  .song,  and  let  mine  follow  for  English  verses; 
but  as  you  please. 

"  In  simmer  when  the  hay  was  mawn,"  and 
"O  for  ane  and  twenty,  Tarn"  arc  both  mine. 
The  set  of  the  last  in  the  Mu.^itua  docs  not 
please  mc;  but  if  you  will  get  any  of  our  an- 
cicnter  Scots  fiddlers  to  play  you  in  Strathspey 
time,  "The  Moudicwart" — that  is  the  name 
of  the  air — I  think  it  will  delight  you. 

"How  long  and  dreary  is  the  night:"  I 
met  with  some  such  words  in  a  collection  of 
songs  somewhere,  which  I  altered  and  enlarged; 
and  to  plea.se  you,  and  to  suit  your  favourite 
air  "C'auld  Kail,"  I  have  taken  a  stride  or 
two  across  my  room,  and  have  arranged  it 
anew,  as  you  Avill  find  on  the  other  page: — 

HOW  LANG   AXD  DREAKY  I,S  THE  MGHT.i 

How  lauK  and  dreary  is  the  night. 

When  I  am  frae  my  dearie  1 
I  restless  lie  frae  e'en  to  morn, 

Tlio'  I  were  ne'er  sae  weary.    Ac. 

[See  p.  li)l,  vol.  iii. 

Tell  me  how  you  like  this.  1  differ  from 
your  idea  of  the  expression  of  the  tune.  There 
is,  to  me,  a  great  deal  of  tenderness  in  it.  You 
cannot,  in  my  opinion,  di.spon.se  with  a  bass 
to  your  addenda  airs.  A  lady  of  my  acquain- 
tance, a  noted  performer,  plays  "Nae  luck 
about  the  house,"  and  sings  it  at  the  .same 
time  .so  charmingly,  that  I  sliall  never  bear  to 
see  any  of  my  songs  sent  into  the  world,  as 
naked  as  Mr.  What-d'ye-call-um^  has  done  in 
his  London  collection. 

These  English  songs  gvavcl  mc  to  death,     I 

-  A  slijjlit  aUcratiou  of  the  sour  in  vol.  iii.  p.  1C>3. 
^  Tlie  earlier  version  of  this  .sung  will  he  found  at 
paf;e  •J4.'),  vol.  ii. 
^  Mr.  Kitsun. 


IflO 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


I 


i 


have  not  that  command  of  tlio  laiii;uagc  that  I 
liavo  of  my  native  tongue.  In  I'aot,  1  tliink 
my  ideal  arc  more  l)arrcn  in  KnKlisii  than  in 
Sc'ottisli.  I  iiave  been  at  "  Duncan  (Imy,"  t<. 
dres.-*  it  in  iinitlisii,  but  all  1  can  do  i.>  deplor- 
ably stupid.     For  instance: — 

LET  NOT   WOMA.V   E  EK  COMPLAIN. 

Let  not  wiiinan  uV'i'  coiuiilalii 

of  incoiiHtaiiL'}'  ill  liivt", 
Let  licit  wiiiiiaii  ft  r  ciiiii|iliiiii, 

Fickle  mail  Is  apt  to  rove.    Ac. 

l.Seo  p.  l'.»ii,  vol.  lii. 

If  you  insert  both  I'etcr'.s  .soni;  .and  mine,  to 
the  tune  of  "  Tlie  bounie  Hrucket  Lassie,"  it 
will  co.st  you  cngriiving  tlic  first  verse  of  l)otii 
songs,  as  the  rhythm  of  the  two  is  considerably 
different^  As  "Fair  Kli/.a"  is  already  jiul)- 
lishcd,  I  am  totally  indiU'crcnt  whetiicr  you 
give  it  a  place  or  not;  iiut  to  my  taste,  the 
rhythm  of  my  song  to  that  air  would  have  a 
much  more  original  eflcct. 

"  J^ove  never  more  siiall  give  me  pain  "  has 
long  been  appropriated  to  a  popular  air  of  the 
same  title,  for  which  reason,  in  my  opinion,  it 
would  be  improper  to  set  it  to  ".My  JiOdging 
is  on  the  cold  ground."  There  is  a  soug  of 
mine  in  the  Mntnun  liy  a  ri-t/irmil  goddess  of 
mine,'  which  I  think  not  unworthy  of  the  air, 
and  suits  the  rhythm  equally  with  "  Love  never 
more,"  &c.     It  begins: — 

Talk  not  of  Love,  it  yives  me  pniii. 

Since  the  above  I  have  l)cen  out  in  the 
country  taking  a  diinier  with  a  friend,  wlierc 
I  met  the  lady  whom  I  mentioned  in  the 
.second  page  of  this  odds-and-ends  of  a  letter. - 
As  usual  I  got  into  song,  and  returning  home 
I  composed  the  following: — 

THE  LOVEICS  MORMXf;   SALUTE  TO  HLS 

.MLSTKE.S.S. 

.Sluep'.st  thou,  or  wak'.st  thou,  fairest  creature? 
Kosy  morn  now  lifts  his  eye.    Ac. 

[See  p.  191,  vol.  ill. 

I  allow  the  first  four  lines  of  each  stanza  to 
be  repeated;  but  if  you  inspect  the  air,  in  that 
part,  you  will  find  that  it  also,  without  a 
quaver  of  difference,  is  the  same  pas.sages  re- 
peated; which  will  exactly  put  it  on  the  foot- 
ing of  other  .slow  Scotch  airs,  as  they,  you 
know,  are  twice  sung  over.     If  you  honour  my 

'  Mrs.  M'Lchose  (Clariiida).        '-Jean  Lurimer. 


verses  by  setting  the  air  to  them,  I  will  vamp 
up  the  old  song,  and  make  it  Knglish  enouuli 
to  be  understood.  I  iiavc  sent  you  my  noik; 
noted  down  to  the  air,  in  the  way  I  think  it 
should  go;  I  believe  you  will  find  my  set  of 
the  air  to  be  one  of  the  best.  I  inclose  you 
a  musical  curiosity,  an  Kast  Indian  air,  whieli 
you  would  swear  was  a  Scots  one.  I  know 
the  authenticity  of  it,  as  the  gentleman  who 
brought  it  over  is  a  particular  acipiainlaiicc  of 
mine.  J)o  preserve  me  the  copy  1  .mihI  vhu, 
as  it  is  the  only  one  1  have.  Clarke  has  set 
a  bass  to  it,  and  1  intend  i)utting  it  into  the 
.!/(({(«''(/  J/imiDit.  Here  follow  the  versed  I 
intend  for  it: 

THE   WINTEU  OK   LIKE. 

Hut  lately  seen  in  uliulsonn'  t'leen, 

Tlie  Woods  lejoied  tlie  ilay, 
'lino'  uiiitle  slio\vn>  the  hiiinliini?  Ilowcrs, 

III  (loiilile  Jiiiile  W-ie  gay.     iVe. 

(.See  p.  li)2,  vol.  iii. 

I  would  be  obliiied  to  }on  if  you  would  ]iro- 
cure  me  a  sight  of  liltson's  collection  <if  Iji!;. 
lish  songs,  wliicli  you  mention  in  your  Icticr. 
I  ciin  return  them  three  limes  a  week  by  the 
Fly.  I  will  thank  you  for  another  informa- 
tion, and  that  as  speedily  as  you  please;  wheilicr 
this  miserable  drawling  hotchpotch  epistle  ha.s 
not  completely  tired  you  of  the  correspondence 
of  voiirs, 

1!.  15. 


TII'JM.SOX   TO    lU'RXS. 

EMMifUcll,  27th  Oct.  1701. 
I  am.sensililc,  my  dear  friend,  that  a  genuine 
poet  cai>  no  more  exi.>t  without  his  mistress 
than  his  meat.  I  wish  I  knew  the  adorable 
she,  whose  bright  eyes  and  witching  siiiilos 
have  so  often  enraptured  the  Scottish  bard! 
that  I  might  drink  her  sweet  health  when  the 
toast  is  going  round.  '' L'raigieburn  Wooil" 
must  certainly  be  adopted  into  my  family, 
since  .she  is  the  object  of  the  song;  but,  in  the 
name  of  decency,  I  must  beg  a  new  chorus 
verse  from  you.  "O  to  be  lying  beyond  thco, 
dearie,"  is  perhajis  a  consummation  to  lie 
wished,  but  will  not  do  for  singing  in  the 
company  of  ladies.  The  songs  in  your  last 
will  do  you  la.Uing  credit,  and  suit  the  respec- 
tive airs  charmingly.  I  am  perfectly  of  your 
opinion  with  respect  to  the  additional  air.s. 


CORRESrONDEXCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


161 


'.  I  will  vamp 
iK'isli  enoiiifli 
you  my  ^(iiig 
'ly  I  lliink  it 
>"1  niy  .set  of 
I  iiK'lo.sc  you 
«»  iiir,  wliich 
""-'•  1  JvllOW 
lUlcniun  wiio 
<|"iiinlaiR'L>of 

'   1    Sl'llll    ViMl, 

'liirlvc  lias  set 

«  it  into  the 

tlic  verses  I 


llowurx, 

.  V.)2,  vol.  iii, 

'II  would  ]iiv). 
;tioii  of  Ijiij. 
I  your  Icitcr. 
weeli  hy  tlu' 
licr  iiil'oriuii- 
•aso:  M  lather 
■li  epi.stle  iiaa 
rrc-iiiondenee 

II  li. 


s'S. 

th  Oct.  1701. 
lat  a  j,'ciiuiue 

lii.s  niislrexs 
tlio  a<loraljle 
'liini,'  smiles 
otti.sh  l)anl! 

th  when  the 
)urn  Wood" 

my  family, 
;  liut,  in  the 

new  chorurt 
)cyou(l  thee, 
at  ion  to  he 
Liing  in  the 
n  your  last 
;  the  resjiee- 
ctly  n\'  your 
itional  airs. 


The  idea  of  Hcnding  ther.  into  the  world  naked 
as  thev  were  horn  was  unjri.'nerouM.  They  mu.st 
all  he  clothed  and  made  deeeul  by  our  friend 
Clarke. 

1  find  I  am  antieipate<l  liy  the  friendly  Cun- 
niui;liam  in  seiidini^  you  Ititson's  Scottish  eol- 
leeliou.  I'ermii  me,  thercl'ore,  to  pre.sent  you 
with  his  iMi^lish  eolleetion,  whieli  you  will 
receive  by  the  coacli.  I  do  not  find  his  His- 
torical K^-ay  on  Scottish  soni^  intercstinu;. 
Vuur  anecdotes  and  nuMcllaneous  re  marks  will, 
I  am  sure,  he  much  more  so.  .Mian  has  just 
sketched  ii  charminii  desiirn  from  "  Magi;ie 
Lauder."  She  is  dancini,'  with  such  spirit  as 
to  electrify  the  piper,  who  seems  almost  dancing 
too,  while  he  is  jilaying  with  the  most  e.\(|uisitc 
glee.  I  Hiii  much  inclined  to  tret  a  small  copy, 
ami  to  have  it  engniveil  in  the  style  of  Uitson's 
prints. 

1'.  S.  —  I'ray,  what  do  your  anecdotes  .say 
cnuccriiing  "Maiznic  I-auder?"  was  she  a  real 
personage,  and  of  what  nink?  You  wtmid 
surely  "spier  for  her,  if  you  ea'd  at  Anstrutlier 
town." 


BIMJN.S  TO  TIIUMSO;-:. 

N'ov.  1701. 

Many  tlianks  to  you,  my  dear  Sir,  for  your 
present;  it  is  a  hook  of  the  utmost  importance 
to  me.  I  have  yesterday  liegun  my  anecdotes, 
&c.,  for  your  work.  1  intend  drawing  it  ii]) 
in  the  I'orm  of  a  letter  to  yon,  which  will  .save 
mc  IVom  the  tedious  dull  l)usintss  of  systcmatie 
arrangement.  Indeed,  as  till  I  have  to  .say 
consists  of  unconnecteil  remarks,  anecdotes, 
scraps  of  old  .songs,  &c. ,  it  would  be  imiiossiblc 
to  give  the  work  a  beginnimr,  a  middle,  and 
im  end,  which  th.e  critics  insist  to  be  ab.solutely 
neces.sary  in  a  work.'  As  soon  as  I  have  a  few- 
pages  in  order,  I  will" send  you  them  as  a  spe- 
cimen. I  only  fear  that  the  matter  will  grow 
so  huge  among  my  hands  as  to  be  more  expense 
tlian  you  can  allot  for  it.  Now  for  my  desul- 
tory way  of  writing  you. 

I  am  happy  that  I  have  at  last  plea.sed  you 
with  verses  to  your  rjght-hand  tunc  '"Cauld 
Kail."     1  .sec  a  little  unpliancy  in  the  line 

•  It  (Iocs  not  appear  wlietlier  Bums  cunipkted  these 
nnecdotos,  Ac,  uor  what  beeaiue  of  tlie  portion  that 
he  seems  to  have  written. 


you  oltject  to,  but  cannot  alter  it  for  a  better. 
It  is  one  thing  to  know  one's  error,  and  another 
and  much  Viiore  ditlicult  alhiir  to  amend  (hat 
error.  In  my  last  I  told  you  my  objections 
to  the  song  you  had  sek'f^wd  for  "  .My  lodiring 
is  on  the  cold  ground."  (»n  my  visit  the  other 
diy  to  my  fair  I'hloris  (that  is  the  poetic  name 
of  the  lovely  goddess  of  my  inspiration),  she 
suggested  nil  idea,  which  I,  on  my  return  from 
the  visit,  wrought  into  the  following  sung. 
It  is  exactly  in  the  measure  of  ".My  dearie, 
un  thou  die,"  which  you  say  is  the  precise 
rhythm  of  the  air: — 

tHL(  litis. 

My  t'liloris,  mark  liow  jfreiu  the  (troves, 

'I'lu'  priiiii'ose  liaiiks  how  fiiir; 

'I'lic  liiilmy  jiales  awake  I  lie  Ijuwers, 

.\ii(l  wave  tli.v  tliixeii  liuii'.    .Ve. 

[See  p.  lo;!,  Viil.  iii. 

Jiow  do  you  like  the  simidicity  and  tender- 
ness of  this  pastoral?     1  think  it  pretty  well. 

I  like  you  for  entering  so  candidly  and  so 
kindly  into  the  story  of  "  imi  chin'  Aiu'r."  I 
assure  you,  1  was  never  more  in  earnest  in  my 
life,  than  in  the  account  of  that  affair  w  hich  I 
sent  you  in  my  last. — Conjugal  love  is  a  jias- 
sion  which  I  deeply  feel,  and  highly  venerate ; 
but,  somehow,  it  does  not  make  such  a  figure 
in  poesy  as  that  other  species  of  the  passion, 

Where  I.ove  is  lilierty  anil  >ature  hiw. 

Musically  speaking,  tlie  first  is  au  instrument 
ofwliieh  the  gamut  is  .scanty  and  confined,  I  iil 
tlic  tones  inexpressibly  sweet:  while  the  l:i>t 
has  powers  ecjual  to  all  the  intellectual  modu- 
lations of  the  human  soul.  Still,  I  am  a  very 
poet  in  my  enthusiasm  of  the  passion.  The 
welfare  ;md  liappines>  of  the  beloved  object  is 
the  first  and  inviolate  sentiment  that  jicrvades 
my  soul ;  and  whatever  pleasures  I  niiglit  wish 
for,  or  whatever  might  be  the  raptures  they 
would  give  me,  yet,  if  they  interfere  with  that 
first  principle,  it  is  having  these  i)lcasures  at 
a  dishonest  price:  and  justice  forbids,  and 
generosity  disdains  the  ]nirchase !  As  to  the 
herd  of  the  sex  who  are  good  for  little  or 
nothinu:  else,  I  have  made  no  such  agreement 
with  myself;-  but  where  the  parties  are  capalde 
of,  and  the  piis.-ion  is,  the  true  Divinity  of 
Love — tlie  man  wlio  can  act  otherwise  is  a 
villain! 

2Tliis  is  certainly  eiuulid— aiii.1  it  may  be  thouglit 
soiuewliat  ealloiLs  too. 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


11.25 


^  121    12.5 


2.2 


1/ 
_  I 


m 


1.4 


1.6 


0> 


Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WBT  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


%^^^  ^^^ 


9. 


les 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


1 1  was  impossible,  you  know,  to  take  up  the 
subject  of  your  songs  in  tlie  last  sheet;  that 
would  have  been  a  falling  ott' indeed! 

Despairing  of  my  own  powers  to  give  you 
variety  enough  in  English  songs,  1  have  been 
turning  over  old  collections,  to  pick  out  songs, 
of  which  the  measure  is  something  similar  to 
what  I  want ;  aiui,  with  a  little  alteration  so 
as  to  suit  the  rhythm  of  the  air  exactly,  to  give 
you  them  for  your  work.  Where  the  songs 
have  hitherto  been  but  little  noticed,  nor  have 
ever  been  set  to  music,  I  think  the  shift  a  fair 
one.  A  song  which,  under  the  same  first 
verse,  you  will  find  in  l{amsay's  Tea-Tal>l<; 
Mt!ici'Uonii,  I  have  cut  down  for  an  English 
dress  to  your  "  Dainty  Davie  "  as  follows : — 

CnLOE. 

It  was  the  cliarniiiiK  month  of  May, 
When  all  tJie  llow'rs  were  fresii  and  say, 
One  niornins,  l»y  the  break  of  day, 
The  youthful,  charming  Cliloe.    Arc. 

[See  i>.  iriit,  vol.  iiL 

You  may  think  meanly  of  this,  but  fake  a 
look  at  the  bombast  original,  and  you  will  be 
surprised  that  I  have  made  so  much  of  it.^  I 
have  finished  my  song  to  "  Kothcmurche's 
liant;"  and  you  have  CI  'ke  to  consult  as  to 
the  set  of  the  air  for  singing. 

LASSIE  wr  THE  LIXT-WHIIE  LOCKS. 

Lassie  wi'  the  Itnt-white  locks, 

Bonnie  lassie,  artless  lassie, 
Wilt  thou  wi'  me  tent  the  llouks? 

Wilt  ^'ou  be  my  dearie,  O? 

(See  I).  194,  vcl.  iii. 

This  piece  has  at  least  the  merit  of  Ijeing  a 
regular  pastoral :  the  vernal  morn,  the  summer 
noui.  the  autumnal  evening,  and  the  winter 
night,  are  regularly  rounded.  If  you  like  it, 
well :  if  not,  I  will  insert  it  in  the  Mumum. 

I  am  out  of  temper  that  you  should  set  so 
sweet,  so  tender  an  air,  as,  "Deil  tak  the 
wars,"  to  the  foolish  old  verses.  You  talk  of 
the  silliness  of  "Saw  ye  my  father?"  i)y 
heavens !  the  odds  is  gold  to  brass !  Iksides, 
the  old  song,  though  now  pretty  well  modern- 
ized into  the  Scottish  language,  is  originally, 
and  in  the  early  editions,  a  bungling  low  imi- 
tation of  the  Scottish  manner,  by  that  genius 
Tom  D'L'rfey:  so  has  no  pretensions  to  be  a 

'  The  reader  will  have  the  opportiuiity  of  com- 
paring some  of  the  verses  of  the  "  bombast  original " 
by  referring  to  p.  251,  vol.  iii. 


Scottish  produc  'on.  There  is  a  pretty  English 
song  by  Sheridan,  in  the  "Duenna,"  to  tiiis 
air,  which  is  out  of  sight  superior  to  DTrfey's, 
It  begins, 

When  sable  night  each  drooping  plant  restoring. 

The  air,  if  I  understand  the  expression  of  it 
properly,  is  the  very  native  language  of  sim- 
plicity, tenderness,  and  love.  I  have  again 
gone  over  my  song  to  the  tune  as  follows. - 

Sleep'st  thou,  or  wak'st  thou,  fairest  creature? 
Rosy  morn  now  lifts  his  eye.    Ac. 

I  could  easily  throw  this  into  an  English 
mould ;  but  to  my  taste,  in  tiie  simple  and 
tender  of  the  I'astoral  song,  a  sprinkling  of  flic 
old  Scottish  has  an  inimitable  ett'cct.  You 
know  I  never  encroach  on  your  privileges  as 
an  editor.  You  may  reject  my  song  altogether, 
and  keep  by  the  old  one ;  or  you  may  give  mine 
as  a  second  Scots  one ;  or,  lastly,  you  may  set 
the  air  to  my  verses,  still  giving  tiie  old  soni: 
as  a  second  one,  and  as  being  well  known ;  in 
which  last  ease,  I  would  find  you,  in  Englisli 
verses  of  my  own,  a  song  the  exact  rhythm  of 
my  Scottish  one.  I  f  you  keep  by  the  old  words. 
Sheridan's  song  will  do  for  an  Kngli.sh  one.  1 
once  more  conjure  you  to  have  no  manner  ot 
Cilse  delicacy  in  accei)ting  or  refusing  my  com- 
positions, either  in  this  or  any  other  of  your 
songs. 

Now  for  my  Knglish  .song  to  "Nancy's  to  the 
Greenwood,"  &c. 

FAKEWELL    THOU  STREAM.' 

Farewell,  thou  stream  that  winding  flows 

Around  Eliza's  dwelling! 
O  niem'ryl  spare  the  trnel  throes 

Within  my  bosom  swelling.    Ac. 

(See  p.  104,  vol.  iii. 

"Young  Jockey  was  the  blythest  lad." 
5Iy  English  song,  "Here  is  the  glen,  and  iicrc 
the  bower, "  cannot  go  to  this  air.  However,  the 
measure  is  so  common  that  you  may  have  your 
choice  of  five  hundred  English  songs.  Do  you 
know  the  air,  "Lumps  o'  Pudding?"     It  is  a 

2  See  the  song  in  its  first  and  best  dress  given  at 
page  101,  vol.  iii.,  with  the  title  of  "  The  Lover's  Mor- 
ning Salute  to  his  Mistress." 

3  The  reader  will  observe  that  this  is  an  altered, 
but  not  obviously  improved,  version  of  the  song  coui- 
mencing  "The  last  time  I  came  o'er  the  Moor  "  sent 
to  Tlionison  in  April,  1793.  The  most  sigiiilieant 
change  is  the  substitution  of  "  Eliza  "  for  "  Maria,' 
the  name  of  his  once  kind  hostess  ot  Woodley  I'ark, 
with  whom  he  was  now,  alas,  at  deadly  feud  1 


retty  Knglisli 
una,"  to  tills 
toDTrfeys. 

lit  restoring. 

)rcssioii  of  it 
iiage  of  sim- 
have  again 
follows,  •i 

;st  creature? 
c. 

1  an  Knglisli 
!  simple  ami 
iikliiigof  the 
efleet.  You 
privileges  a.s 
g  altogether, 
ay  givo  mine 
you  may  set 
the  old  song 
1  known ;  in 
1,  in  Knglisli 
i.'t  rhythm  of 
he  old  wonis. 
glisli  one.  I 
10  manner  of 
*ing  my  eora- 
ithcr  of  your 

'ancy's  to  the 

AM.3 
liiij,'  fl<i\v.s 

te. 

p.  104,  Vol.  Hi. 

ythcst  lad." 
len,  and  here 
However,  the 
ny  have  your 
[igs.    Do  you 


It  is  a 


ilress  nivcii  at 
e  Lover's  Mor- 
is nn  altered, 
tlic  soiiK  coiii- 
lie  .Moor  "  sent 
)Ht  BlKiiiticant 
'  for  "  .Miiria,' 
iVoodley  I'ark, 
1  feud  I 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


163 


favourite  of  mine,  and  I  think  wouW  be  worth 
a  plaee  among  your  additional  songs,  as  soon 
as  several  in  your  li.st.  It  is  in  a  measure  in 
wliioh  you  will  find  songs  enow  to  clioo.sc  on ; 
iiut  if  you  were  to  adopt  it,  I  would  take  it  in 
my  own  hand. 

There  is  an  air,  "The  Caledonian  Hunt's 
dolight,"  to  which  I  wrote  a  song  that  you  will 
find  in  Jo/ui^dji — "  Ye  banks  an'  braes  o'  bon- 
nie  Doon ;"  this  air,  I  think,  might  find  a  place 
amoimyourhundred,  as  Lcar.saysof  his  knights. 
To  make  room  for  it  you  may  take  out  (to  my 
taste)  ■■  Young  Jockey  was  the  blythest  lad," 
or  "There's  nae  luck  about  the  house,"  or 
"The  Collier's  Honnie  Lassie,"  or  "Thctither 
.Morn,"  or  "  The  Sow's  Tail,"  and  put  it  into 
vour  additional  list.  Not  but  that  these  songs 
have  great  merit ;  but  still  they  have  not  the 
iiatlios  of  the  "  Manks  o'  Doon."  Do  you  know 
the  history  of  the  air?  It  is  curious  enough. 
.V  good  many  years  ago,  Mr.  James  Jliller, 
writer  in  your  good  town,  a  gentleman  whom 
]iossil)ly  you  know,  was  in  company  with  our 
friend  Clarke;  and  talking  of  Scottish  music. 
Miller  cxiiressed  an  ardent  ambition  to  be  able 
toconii>ose  a  Scots  air.  Mr.  Clarke,  partly  by 
way  of  jcikc,  told  him  to  keep  to  the  black  kcy.^i 
of  the  hariisichord,  and  preserve  some  kind  of 
rliytiim;  and  lie  would  infallibly  compose  a 
Scots  air.  Certain  it  is,  that,  in  a  few  days, 
Mr.  .Miller  innduced  the  rudiments  of  an  air, 
which  .Mr.  Clarke,  with  .some  touches  auil  cor- 
rections, fashioned  into  the  tune  in  question, 
liitson,  you  know,  has  the  same  story  of  the 
black  key- ;  but  this  account  which  I  have  just 
given  yon,  Mr.  Clarke  informed  me  of  several 
years  ago.  Now,  to  show  you  how  difficult  it  is 
to  trace  the  origin  of  our  airs,  I  have  heard  it 
repeatedly  asserted  that  it  was  an  Irish  air;  nay, 
I  met  with  an  Irish  gentleman  who  affirmed 
lie  had  heard  it  in  Ireland  among  the  old 
women;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  a  countess 
informed  me,  that  the  first  person  \y'io  intro- 
duced the  air  into  this  country  was  a  baronet's 
lady  of  her  acriuaintance,  who  took  down  the 
notes  from  an  itinerant  piper  in  the  Isle  of 
JIaii.  How  difficult,  then,  to  a.scertain  the 
truth  respecting  our  pocny  and  music !  I,  my- 
self, have  lately  seen  a  couple  of  ballads  sun.g 
through  the  streets  of  Dumfries,  with  my  name 
at  the  head  of  them  as  the  author,  though  it 
was  tiie  first  time  I  had  ever  seen  them. 


I  thunk  you  for  admitting  "Craigieburn 
Wood;"  and  I  shall  take  care  to  furnish  you 
with  a  new  chorus.  In  fact,  the  chorus  was 
not  my  work,  but  a  part  of  some  old  verses  to 
the  air.  If  I  can  catch  myself  in  a  more  than 
ordinarily  propitious  moment,  1  shall  write 
a  new  "Craigieburn  Wood"  altogether.  My 
heart  is  much  in  the  theme. 

I  am  ashamed,  my  dear  fellow,  to  make  the 
request;  'tis  dunning  your  generosity ;  but  in 
a  moment,  when  I  had  forgotten  whether  I 
was  rich  or  poor,  1  promised  Chloris  a  copy  of 
your  .songs.  It  wrings  my  honest  pride  to  write 
you  this :  but  an  ungracious  request  is  doul>ly 
so  by  a  tedious  apology.  To  make  you  some 
amends,  as  soon  as  I  have  extracted  the  neces- 
sary information  out  of  them,  I  will  return  you 
I'itson's  volumes. 

The  lady  is  not  a  little  proud  that  .she  is  to 
make  so  distinguished  a  figure  in  your  collec- 
tion, and  I  am  not  a  little  proud  that  I  have 
it  in  my  power  to  please  her  so  much.  (»n 
second  thoughts,  I  .send  you  Clarke's  singing 
set  of  Itotliemurchc,  which  please  return  me 
in  your  first  letter:  I  know  it  will  not  suit 
you. 

I  have  no  more  post-paper,  and  it  is  tw  late 
to  uo  to  the  shop  so  you  must  e'en  take  an 
envelope  of  K.xcise  paper.  Lucky  it  is  for  your 
patience  that  my  paper  is  done,  for  when  I  am 
in  a  scribbling  humour,  I  know  not  when  to 
give  over.     Adieu ! 


THOMSON  TO   BL'KNS. 

15th  November,  X794. 
My  good  sir. 

Since  receiving  your  last,  I  have  had  an- 
other interview  with  Mr.  Clarke,  and  a  long 
consultation.  He  thinks  the  "Caledonian 
Hunt"  i.-:  more  bacchanalian  than  amorous  in 
its  nature,  and  recommends  it  to  you  to  match 
the  air  accordingly.  Pray,  did  it  ever  occur  to 
you  how  peculiarly  well  the  Scottish  airs  are 
adapted  for  verses  in  the  form  of  a  dialogue  ? 
The  first  part  of  the  air  is  generally  low,  and 
suited  for  a  man's  voice ;  and  the  second  part 
in  many  instiinces  cannot  be  sung,  at  concert 
pitch,  but  by  a  female  voice.  A  song  thus 
performed  makes  an  agreeable  variety,  but  few 
of  ours  are  written  in  this  form :  I  wish  you 


1 


i; 


164 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


would  think  of  it  in  some  of  those  tliat  remain. 
The  only  one  of  the  kind  you  have  sent  me  is 
admirable,  and  will  be  a  universal  favourite. 

Your  verses  for  "  Rothemurelie"  are  ho 
sweetly  pastoral,  and  your  serenade  to  Chloris, 
for  "  Deil  tak  the  wars,"  so  passionately  ten- 
der, that  I  have  sung  myself  into  raptures 
with  them.  Your  song  for  "  My  lodging  is  on 
the  L'old  ground,"  is  likewise  a  diamond  of  the 
first  water:  1  am  (piite  da/zled  and  delighted 
by  it.  Some  of  your  C'hlorlscs,  I  suppose, 
have  lla.xen  hair,  from  your  i)artiality  for  this 
colour;  else  we  difler  about  it;  for  I  sliould 
scarcely  conceive  a  woman  to  be  a  beauty,  on 
reading  that  she  had  lint-wiiite  locks! 

"  Farewell  thou  stream  that  winding  ilows," 
I  think  excellent,  but  it  is  much  too  serious  to 
come  after  "Nancy:"  at  least  it  would  seem 
an  incongruity  to  provide  the  same  air  with 
merry  Scottish  and  melancholy  Knglish  verses ! 
The  more  that  tiie  two  sets  of  verses  resemble 
each  other,  in  their  general  character,  tiie 
better.  Those  you  have  manufactured  for 
"Dainty  Davie"  will  answer  charmingly.  I 
am  happy  to  find  you  have  begun  your  anec- 
dotes: I  care  not  how  long  they  be,  for  it  is 
impossible  that  any  thing  from  your  pen  can 
be  tedious.  Let  me  beseech  you  not  to  use 
ceremony  in  telling  me  when  you  wish  to  pre- 
sent any  of  your  friends  with  the  songs:  the 
jiext  carrier  will  bring  you  three  copies,  and 
you  are  as  welcome  to  twenty  as  to  a  pinch  of 
snufF. 


BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

[lOth  November,  1704.] 
Y'ou  see,  my  dear  Sir,  what  a  punctual  cor- 
respondent I  am;  though  indeetl  you  may 
thank  yourself  for  the  tedium  of  my  letters,  as 
you  have  so  flattered  me  on  my  horsemanship 
with  my  favourite  hobby,  and  have  praised 
the  grace  of  his  ambling  so  much,  that  I  am 
scarcely  ever  off  his  back.  For  instance,  this 
morning,  though  a  keen  blowing  frost,  in  my 
walk  before  breakfast,  I  finished  my  duet, 
which  you  were  plea.sed  to  praise  so  much. 
Whether  I  have  uniformly  succeeded,  I  will 
not  say;  but  here  it  is  to  you,  though  it  is  not 
an  hour  old. 


O  PHILLY,   HAI'PY   BE  THAT  DAY. 

HE. 

O  Pliilly,  liappy  !>e  that  day 
Wlifii  itiviiij!  tlii'oii).'!)  tlie  (.'iither'd  hay, 
My  yiiutlifu'  lieiut  was  stowii  away, 
Ami  Ity  tliy  tlinrms,  my  I'liilly. 

SHE. 

(1  Willy,  aye  T  liless  tlie  prove 
Wlieif  Hrst  I  (iwn'd  my  maiden  love, 
\Vliilst  tlioU  didst  jdetlu'f  tlie  I'oweis  almvc 
To  lie  my  ain  dear  Willy.    Ac. 

(See  1).  \K<,  Vul,  iii. 

Tell  mc  honestly  how  you  like  it;  and  point 
out  wluitcvcr  you  think  fittilty. 

I  am  much  jiicased  with  your  idea  nf  singiii!,' 
our  songs  in  alternate  stan/.as,  and  regret  that 
you  did  not  hint  it  to  me  sooner.  In  tlmse 
that  remain  1  shall  have  it  in  my  eye.  I  re- 
member  your  objections  to  the  name  I'liilly, 
but  it  is  the  common  abbreviation  of  riiillis. 
Sally,  the  only  other  name  that  .-uits,  has  to 
my  ear  a  vulgarity  about  it,  which  unfits  it 
for  anything  except  l>urles(|ue.  The  legion 
of  Scottish  poetasters  of  the  day,  whom  your 
brother  editor,  Jlr.  Hitson,  ranks  with  ine,  as 
my  coevals,  have  always  mistaken  vulgarity 
for  sii.iplicity:  whereas,  simplicity  is  as  niucli 
(■loi<i)wi'  from  vulgarity,  on  the  one  hand,  as 
from  affected  point  and  puerile  conceit  on  the 
other. 

1  agree  with  you  as  to  the  air,  "Craigiclmrn 
\Yood,"  that  a  chorus  would  in  >onie  dcirree 
spoil  the  effect;  and  shall  certainly  have  none 
in  my  projected  song  to  it.  It  is  not,  how- 
ever, a  case  in  jioint  with  "  Kollicnnnvhc;" 
there,  as  in  "  Koy's  Wife  of  Aldivalloeli,"  a 
chorus  goes  to  my  taste  well  enouiili.  ,\s  to 
the  chorus  going  first,  that  is  tiie  case  wiili 
"Hoy's  Wife,"  as  well  as  "  I'otheniurche.  " 
In  fact,  in  the  fiiM  part  of  both  tunes,  the 
rhythm  is  so  peculiar  and  irregular,  and  on 
that  irregularity  dcjiends  so  much  of  their 
beauty,  that  we  must  e'en  take  them  wiili  all 
their  wildness,  and  humour  the  verse  aceor- 
flingly.  Leaving  out  the  stalling  note,  in 
both  tunes,  has,  1  think,  an  efl'cct  that  no 
regularity  could  counterbalance  the  want  of. 


Try, 
and 


(  O  limis  Wife  of  Aldivnllocli. 
"( 0  LdKitie  wi'  the  lint-white  locks. 


eomjinre  with     '  ^"■"'•'''  ^^''f*-'  "'  Aldivalloeli. 
tompaic  with,  -^  ^^^.^,.^,  ,^.j,  j,,^.  ,iut.„.|,i^.  ,,,i,i<s. 

Does  not  the  lameness  of  the  prefixed  syllable 
strike  you?     In  the  last  case,  with  the  true 


VT  DAY. 


il  hay, 

i.v, 


ive, 

ers  aliiivc 

>.  10.-.,  Vol.  iii. 
it;  and  point 

ilea  (if  sini,'ing 
111  rcfe'ret  that 
er.  Jn  tiiose 
ly  eye.  i  re- 
name I'liilly, 
on  of  I'liillis. 
.-iiits,  lias  to 
hioli  unfit.s  it 
Tiic  k'ginn 
■,  'vvlioni  your 
s  with  me,  as 
<en  vdluarity 
ty  is  as  much 
one  hand,  as 
Mjnceit  on  tlie 

"Craigieliurn 
some  decree 
ily  have  none 
is  not,  liow- 
iiliemuivhe;" 
hlivall(K-h,"  a 
nimli.  As  to 
tlie  ease  with 
otiiemnrciie." 
til  tunes,  tlic 
cnlar,  and  on 
meh  of  their 
them  with  all 
;  verso  aeeor- 
ing  mile,  in 
ffcet  tliat  no 
the  want  of. 

(iivnllodi. 
it-«liitL'  locks. 

.•nllodi. 
wliite  Idcks. 

'fixed  syllable 
ivith  the  true 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


165 


furor  of  peniiia,  you  strike  at  once  into  the 
wild  oritcinality  of  the  air;  whereas,  in  the 
first  insipid  metliod,  it  .s  like  the  grating  screw 
of  the  pins  before  the  fiddle  is  brought  into 
tune.  This  is  my  taste;  if  I  am  wrong,  I  beg 
pardon  of  the  coniiosciiti. 

1  am  also  of  your  mind  as  to  the  "Caledonian 
Hunt,"  but  to  fit  it  with  verses  to  suit  these 
dotted  crotehets  will  be  a  ta.sk  indeed.  I 
difler  from  you  as  to  the  expression  of  the  air. 
It  is  so  charming,  that  it  would  make  any 
subject  in  a  song  go  down;  but  pathos  is  cer- 
tainly its  native  tongue.  Scots  liacclianalians 
we  certainly  want,  though  the  few  wc  have  arc 
excellent.  For  instance,  "Todlin  hame,"  is, 
for  wit  and  humour,  an  unpaniUelcd  composi- 
tion; and  "  Andrew  and  his  cutty  (iun,"  is  the 
work  of  a  master.  Hy  the  way,  arc  you  not 
quite  vexed  to  think  that  tho.se  men  of  genius, 
for  such  they  certainly  were,  who  composed 
our  fine  Scottish  lyrics,  should  be  unknown? 
It  has  given  me  many  a  heart-ache.  Apropos 
to  bacchanalian  songs  in  Scottish,  I  composed 
one  yesterday,  for  an  air  I  liked  much — 
"IiUmp.s  o'  I'udding." 

CONTENTED  WI'  LITTLE. 

Contented  wi'  little,  and  caiitie  wi'  mair, 
Whene'er  I  forttatlier  wi'  Sorrow  and  Care, 
I  yie  tliem  a  sktlp,  as  they're  ereepin'  alantr, 
Wi'  a  cog  o'  guid  swats,  and  an  auld  .Scottish  sang.  &c. 

[See  p.  197,  vol.  iii. 

If  you  do  not  relish  this  air,  I  will  send  it  to 
Johnson. 

The  tAVO  songs  you  saw  in  Clarke's  are  neither 
of  them  worth  your  attention.  The  words  of 
"  .\uld  Lang  Syne"  arc  good,  but  the  music  is 
an  old  air,  the  rudiments  of  the  modern  tune 
of  that  name.  The  other  tune  you  may  hear 
as  a  common  Scots  country  dance. 

20th  Nov. — Since  yesterday's  penman.ship 
I  have  framed  a  couple  of  English  stanzas,  by 
way  of  an  English  song  to  "Roy's  Wife." 
You  will  allow  mc  that  in  this  instance  my 
English  corresponds  in  sentiment  with  the 
Scottish: — 

CANST  THOU   LEAVE  ME   THUS,   .MY  KATIE? 

Canst  thou  leave  me  thus,  my  Katie? 
Canst  thou  leave  me  thus,  my  Katie? 
Well  thou  know'st  my  aching  heart— 
And  canst  thou  leave  me  thus  for  pity?   &c. 
[See  p.  108,  vol.  iii. 


Well!  1  think  this, 

VOL.  V. 


to  be  done  in  two  or 


three  turns  acro.ss  my  room,  and  with  two  or 
three  pinches  of  Iri.sh  blackguard,  is  not  so  far 
amiss.  Y^ou  see  I  am  determined  to  have  my 
quiintum  of  applause  from  somebody. 

Now  for  "  When  she  cam  ben  she  bobbit." 

O  saw  ye  my  dear,  my  Mary? 
O  saw  ye  my  dear,  my  -Mary? 
She's  down  i'  the  grove,  slie's  wi'  a  new  Love, 
Hlie  winnn  come  Imme  ti  her  Harry.    <kc.> 

I  think  these  names  will  answer  better  than 
the  former,  and  the  rhythm  of  the  song  is  as 
you  desired. 

I  dislike  your  proposed  altei'ations  in  two 
instances.  "  Logic  o'  IJuchan"  and  "There's 
my  thumb,  I'll  ne'er  beguile  thee"  are  certainly 
fittest  for  your  additional  songs ;  and  in  their 
place,  as  two  of  the  hundred,  1  would  put  the 
most  beautiful  airs — "Whistle  and  I'll  come 
t'ye,  my  lad,"  at  all  rates,  as  one.  !t  is  surely 
capable  of  feeling  and  sentiment,  and  the  song 
is  one  of  my  best.  For  the  other,  keep  your 
favourite  "  Muirland  Willie,"  and  with  it  dose 
your  hundred.  As  for  the  first  being  Irish, 
all  you  can  say  is,  that  it  has  a  tang  of  the 
Irish  manner;  but  to  infer  from  that,  that  it 
must  of  course  be  an  Irish  production,  is  un- 
fair. In  the  neighbourhood  and  intercourse 
of  the  Scots  and  Iri.sh — and  both  nuisical  na- 
tions too — it  is  highly  probable  that  composers 
of  one  nation  would  sometimes  imitate  .and 
emulate  the  manner  of  the  other,  I  never  met 
with  an  Irishman  who  claimed  this  air,  a  pretty 
strong  proof  that  it  is  Scottish.  Just  the  same 
is  the  case  with  "Gramachrec :"  if  it  be  really 
Iri.sh,  it  is  decidedly  in  the  Scottish  ta.ste. 
The  other  one  in  your  collection  "  Gran  Gaoil," 
which  you  think  is  Irish,  they  claim  as  theirs 
by  the  name  of  "Caun  du  dclish;"  but  look 
into  your  publications  of  Scottish  songs,  and 
you  will  find  it  as  a  Gaelic  song,  with  the 
words  in  that  language,  a  wretched  translation 
of  which  original  words  is  set  to  the  tunc  in 
the  Mimum  [No.  273].  Y'our  worthy  Gaelic 
priest  gave  me  that  translation,  and  at  his 
table  I  heard  both  the  original  and  the  trans- 
lation sung  by  a  large  party  of  Highland  gen- 
tlemen, all  of  whom  had  no  other  idea  of  the 
air  than  that  it  was  a  native  of  their  own  coun- 
try. 

I  am  obliged  to  you  for  your  goodness  in 
your  three  copies,  but  will  certainly  return  you 

1  See  a  previous  letter,  19th  Octoher. 

77 


1(50 


LOllUESPOXDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


two  of  tlieiii.  Wliy  should  I  tukc  money  out 
of  your  iKk'kel  ? 

Toll  my  frieml  Allan  (for  I  am  sure  that  we 
only  want  the  tritling  circumstance  of  being 
known  to  one  another,  to  be  the  best  fricndri 
on  earth,)  tJiat  1  much  suspect  he  has,  in  his 
lilates,  mistaken  the  figure  of  the  stock  and 
horn.  I  have,  at  last,  gotten  one ;  but  it  is  a 
very  rude  instrument.  It  is  compo.sed  of  three 
parts;  the  stock,  which  is  the  hinder  thigh- 
bone of  a  sheep,  such  as  you  see  in  a  mutton 
ham;  the  horn,  which  is  a  common  Highland 
cow's  horn,  cut  olY  at  the  small  end,  until  the 
aperture  be  large  enough  to  admit  the  stock  to 
be  pus'ied  up  tJirougii  the  horn,  until  it  be 
held  by  the  thicker  end  of  the  thigh-bone ;  and 
lastly,  an  oaten  reed  exactly  cut  and  notched 
like  that  which  you  sec  every  shepherd  boy 
have,  when  the  corn-stems  arc  green  and  full 
grown.  The  reed  is  not  made  fast  in  the  bone, 
but  is  held  l)y  tiie  lips,  and  plays  loose  in  the 
smaller  end  of  the  stock ;  while  the  stock,  with 
the  horn  hanging  on  its  larger  end,  is  held  by 
the  hands  in  playing.  The  stock  has  six  or 
seven  ventages  on  the  upper  side,  and  one  back 
ventage,  like  tiie  common  flute.  This  of  mine 
was  made  by  a  man  from  the  braes  of  Athole, 
and  is  exactly  what  the  shepherds  were  wont 
to  use  in  that  country. 

However,  either  it  is  not  (|uitc  properly  bored 
in  the  holes,  or  else  we  have  not  the  art  of 
blowing  it  r""^itly ;  for  we  can  make  little  of  it. 
If  Jlr.  Allan  chooses,  I  will  send  him  a  sight 
of  mine;  as  I  look  on  my.self  to  be  a  '  ind  of 
brother  l)rush  with  him.  "  Pride  in  poets  is 
nae  sin;"  and  I  will  say  it,  that  I  look  on  Mr. 
Allan  and  ilr.  Bums  to  be  the  only  genuine 
and  real  painters  of  Scottish  costume  in  the 
world. 


I 


I 


THOMSON   TO  BURNS. 

28th  Nov.  1794. 
I  acknowledge,  my  dear  Sir,  you  arc  not 
only  the  most  punctual,  but  the  most  delectable 
correspondent  I  ever  met  with.  To  attempt 
flattering  you  never  entered  my  head ;  the  truth 
is,  I  look  back  with  8urpri.se  at  my  impudence, 
in  so  frequently  nibbling  at  lines  and  couplets 
ofyour  incomparable  lyrics,  for  which,  perhaps, 
if  you  had  sQfvcd  me  right,  you  would  have 


sent  me  to  the  devil.  ( >n  the  contrary,  how. 
ever,  you  have  all  along  condescended  to  invite 
my  criticism  with  so  much  courtesy,  tJiat  it 
ceases  to  be  wonderful,  if  I  have  sometimes 
given  myself  the  airs  of  a  reviewer.  Your  h^t 
budget  demands  unqualified  praise:  all  the 
songs  are  charming,  but  the  duet  is  a  </„7' 
(Vifuvrv.  "  Lumps  o'  pudding"  shall  icriiiiiilv 
make  one  of  my  family  dishes ;  you  have  cookeil 
it  so  capitally,  that  it  will  please  all  palaies. 
Do  give  us  a  few  more  of  this  cast  Avhen  you 
Ijid  yourself  in  good  spirits;  these  convivial 
songs  are  more  wanted  than  those  of  the  am- 
orous kind,  of  which  we  have  great  eliolee. 
Besides,  one  does  not  often  meet  with  a  sinsrer 
capable  of  giving  the  proper  eflect  to  the  latter, 
while  the  former  are  easily  sung,  and  aeeep- 
table  to  every  body.  I  participate  in  your 
regret  that  the  authors  of  .some  of  our  best 
songs  are  unknown:  it  is  provoking  to  cvcrv 
admirer  of  gcniu.s. 

I  mean  to  have  a  iiicturc  painted  from  your 
beautiful  ballad  "  The  Soldier's  Return,"  to  he 
engraved  for  one  of  my  frontispieces.  The 
most  interesting  point  of  time  appears  to  nie, 
when  .she  first  recognises  her  ain  dear  Willie, 
"She  gaz'd,  she  redden'd  like  a  rose."  The 
three  lines  immediately  following  are,  no 
doubt,  more  impressive  on  the  reader's  feeling-; 
but  were  the  painter  to  fix  on  these,  then 
you'll  okscrve  the  animation  and  anxiety  of 
her  countenance  is  gone,  and  he  could  only 
represent  her  fainting  in  the  ,soldier's  arms. 
JJut  1  submit  the  matter  to  you,  and  beg  your 
opinion. 

Allan  desires  me  to  thank  you  lor  your  ae- 
oirate  description  of  the  stock  and  horn,  ami 
for  the  very  gratifying  compliment  you  pay 
him  in  considering  him  worthy  of  standing  in 
a  niche  by  the  side  of  Burns  in  the  Scott i>li 
i'antheon.  He  has  seen  the  rude  instrument 
you  describe,  so  does  not  want  you  to  send 
it;  but  wishes  to  know  whether  you  believe  it 
to  have  ever  been  generally  used  as  a  niusieal 
pipe  by  the  Scottish  shepherds,  and  when,  and 
in  what  part  of  the  country  chiefly.  1  doubt 
much  if  it  were  capable  of  any  thing  but  rout- 
ing and  roaring.  A  friend  of  mine  says  he 
remembers  to  have  heard  one  in  his  younger 
days,  made  of  wood  instead  of  your  bone,  and 
that  the  sound  was  abominable. 

Do  not,  I  beseech  you,  return  the  books. 


iiitriiry,  liow. 
idcil  t(»  invito 
-tesy,  liiut  it 
•c  Homeliincs 
;r.  Yuur  lH^t 
lisu :  ail  tiio 
let  is  ii  rill / 
iiall  fcrtiiiiiiv 

11  ililVL'CllolvOli 

iu  ull  palates, 
ast  when  yoti 
icsc  convivial 
■*f  of  tin,'  aw- 
j,'rcal  clniiee. 
with  a  siniicr 
,  to  tlie  latter, 
Lf,  and  aw'p- 
juite  in  your 
i  of  our  lie>t 
kini;  to  every 

ted  from  your 
lleturn,"  tol)e 
spicccs.  The 
iplicars  to  me, 
II  dear  Willie, 
a  ro.sc."  The 
^vinj?  are,  no 
der's  feelins;s; 
1  those,  then 
)d  anxiety  of 
ic  could  only 

ildier'.-<  arms. 

and  bef?  your 

a  for  your  ae- 
tnd  horn,  and 
ncnt  you  pay 
of  ,standin,!r  in 
1  the  Seoliisli 
de  instrument 
t  you  to  send 
you  liclieve  it 
d  as  a  musical 
and  when,  ami 
cfly.  1  doubt 
hinff  but  rout- 
mine  ."sfiys  he 
n  his  youncer 
our  bone,  and 

I  the  books. 


COllKESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSOX. 


ig: 


BLUNS  TO  THOMSON.     . 

December,  1704. 
it  is,  I  as.sure  you,  tjic  pride  of  my  lieart,  to 
do  any  thing  to  forward,  or  add  to  tlic  value 
of  your  book;  and  a.s  I  agree  with  you  tiiat 
the  Jacobite  .lonir  in  the  Munciim,  to  "There'll 
never  be  peac«i  till  Jamie  comes  hame,"  would 
not  so  well  consort  with  I'etcr  I'indar's  excel- 
lent love  sonu;  to  that  air,  1  iiave  just  framed 
f(ir  you  tin.  ''oUowini,': — 

MV    NANNIES  AWA'. 

Niiw  ill  hir  nii'iM  mantle  lilythu  Niituro  arraya, 
Ami  listens  iIr'  biiiilikiiis  tbut  Meat  o'er  tbu  linies, 
Wliile  liirils  wailile  Wfkoiiies  in  ilka  ifivt'u  sbaw; 
lint  to  Hie  it  s  (UliKlitless— my  Nannie's  awa'I    Jce. 

[iSee  p.  IDi),  vol.  iii. 

How  does  tills  please  you?  I  have  thought 
that  a  song  in  I'ani.say's  collection,  beginning, 
"Clinic  fill  me  a  bumper,  my  jolly  brave  boys," 
mi!,'ht(loasaii  Kiiiilish .song for  "Todliu' hame." 
It  might  do  thus  : — 

Ciiiiiu  tin  1110  a  Iiiniiiier,  my  jolly  brave  boys, 
Lets  liavf  III!  miiiv  ,,f  female  iiiiperfiieneuanil  noise; 
I  vi'  tiicil  tlie  eiideaiinents  and  witelieraft  o(  love, 
And  fnimil  tlitui   Imt   imnsonsc  and  whimsies,  by 
.Inve: 
CAo)-i(«— Truee  witli  your  love  I  no  more  of  your 
b.vel 
The  liiittle  heiicefortb  is  my  mistress,  liy 
.luveli 

As  to  the  point  of  time  for  the  expression,  in 
your  proposed  print  from  my  "Sodger's  Re- 
turn," it  must  certainly  be  at — "She  gaz'd." 
The  interesting  tUibicty  and  su.spense  taking 
po.sscssion  of  her  conntenauce,  and  the  gushing 
fondness,  with  a  mixture  of  roguish  playfulness 
in  his,  strike  me  as  things  of  which  a  master 
will  make  a  great  deal.  In  great  liaste,  but  iu 
great  truth,  yours. 


BL'ltN.S  TO  THOMSON. 

Ist  Jan.  1795. 
I  fear  for  my  songs,  however  a  few  may 
please;  yet  originality  is  a  coy  feature  in  com- 
position, and,  in  a  multiplicity  of  efforts  in  the 
same  style,  disappears  altogether.  For  these 
three  thousand  years,  we  poetic  folks  have  been 
describinir  the  Spring,  for  instance ;  and  as  the 
Spring  coniinues  the  .same,  there  mu.st  soon  be 

■  The  chorus  is  »  tag  by  Burns  to  fit  the  song  to  the 
nir. 


a  sameness  in  the  imagery,  &c.  of  these  saiil 
riiyming  folks.  To  wander  a  little  from  my 
first  design,  which  was  to  give  you  u  new  song, 
just  hot  from  the  mint,  give  me  leave  to 
sciueezc  in  u  clever  anecdote  of  my  S/iriiiij 
originality: — 

Some  years  ago  when  I  was  young,  and  by 
no  mean.s  the  saint  1  am  now,  I  was  looking 
over  in  company  with  a  hcllc-htlri'  friend,  a 
magazine  "Ode  to  Spring,"  when  my  friend 
fell  foul  of  the  recurrence  of  the  same  thouuhts, 
and  oflered  me  a  bet  t  ,at  it  was  impossible  to 
produce  an  ode  to  Sprini;-  on  an  original  iilaii.  I 
accepted  if,  anil  pledged  my.self  to  bring  in  the 
verdant  fields,  the  budding  flowers,  the  crystal 
streams,  the  melody  of  the  groves,  and  a  love- 
story  into  the  bargain,  and  yet  be  original. 
Here  follows  the  piece,  and  wrote  to  music 
too  l- 

A  great  critic  (Aikin)  on  songs,  says  that  love 
and  wine  are  the  exclusive  themes  for  song- 
writing.  The  following  is  on  neither  subject, 
and  con.se(|uently  is  no  song;  but  will  be  al- 
lowed, I  think,  to  be  two  or  three  pretty  good 
prose  thoughts  inverted  into  rhyme : — 

FOR  A'  THAT,   AND  A'  THAT. 

Is  there  for  honest  Poverty 
That  biiiK's  his  head,  and  a'  that; 

T'lie  eoward-sliive,  we  pass  liim  by, 
We  dare  lie  poor  (or  a'  that ! 

For  a'  that,  and  u'  that.    &<:. 

(.See  p.  20(),  vol.  iii. 

Jan.  loth. — The  foregoing  has  lain  by  me 
this  fortnight,  for  want  of  a  .spare  moment. 
The  Supervisor  of  Excise  having  been  ill,  I 
have  been  acting  for  him,  and  I  assure  you  I 
have  hardly  five  minutes  to  myself  to  thank 
you  for  your  elegant  present  of  Pindar.  The 
typography  is  admirable,  and  worthy  of  the 
truly  original  bard. 

I  do  not  give  you  the  foregoing  song  for  your 
book,  but  merely  by  way  o*"  iv'ce  la  hatfatelle  ; 
for  the  piece  is  not  really  poetry.  How  will 
the  following  do  for  "Craigieburn  Wood?" 

CRAIGIEBrRX  WOOD. 

Sweet  fa's  the  eve  on  Crnidiebum, 
And  lilythe  awakes  the  morrow, 

Hut  a'  the  pride  o'  spring's  reiurn 
Can  yield  me  iioelit  Imt  sorrow.    &e, 

[See  p.  202,  vol.  iii. 

Farewell !    God  bless  you. 

-  Here  the  poet  transcribed  an  "Ode  to  Spring'  in 
three  double  stanzas,  iiuite  uiitit  fur  publication. 


I| 


; 


^1 


168 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


THOMSON  TO  BURNS. 


Emndukoii,  30th  Jan.  170S. 
MY  Dl'ar  .Sir, 

I  thank  ..ou  heartily  for  "Nannic'8  awa'," 
a»  well  UH  for  "Craigicbiirn,"  which  I  think 
a  very  comely  pair.  Your  observation  on  tiic 
(lifticulty  of  original  writing  in  a  number  of 
efforts  in  tiic  same  style,  strikes  me  very  for- 
cil)ly;  and  it  has  again  and  airuin  excited  my 
wonder  to  find  you  continually  surmounting 
this  difficulty,  in  the  many  delightful  songs 
you  have  sent  me.  Your  rire  In  haijatelle 
song,  "  For  a'  that,"  shall  undoubtedly  be  in- 
cluded in  my  list. 


BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

ICth  February,  1705.] 
I  am  afraid,  my  dear  sir,  that  printing  your 
songs  in  the  manner  of  Ritson's,  would  coun- 
teract the  sale  of  your  greater  work;  but 
secluded  as  I  am  from  the  world,  its  humours 
and  caprices,  I  cannot  pretend  to  judge  in  the 
matter.  If  you  are  ultimately  frustrated  of 
Pleyel's  assistance,  what  think  you  of  applying 
to  Clarke?  This  you  will  say,  would  be  break- 
ing faith  with  your  subscribers;  but,  bating 
that  circumstance,  I  am  confident  that  Clarke 
is  equal,  in  Scottish  song,  to  take  up  the  pen 
even  after  Pleyel. 

I  shall,  at  a  future  period,  write  you  my 
sentiments  as  to  sending  my  bagatelles  to  a 
newspaper.' 

Here  is  another  trial  at  your  favourite  air: — 

O,   LASSIE,  ART  THOU  .SLEEPIXO  YET. 

O  lassie,  are  ye  sleepin'  yet, 
Or  are  ye  wakin',  1  wad  wit? 
For  love  has  bound  me  liand  an'  fit, 
And  I  would  fain  be  in,  jo.    &c. 

(See  p.  205,  vol.  iii. 

I  do  not  know  whether  it  will  do. 

I  A  letter  of  Thomson's  containing  remarks  on  the 
subjects  of  this  and  the  preceding  paragraph  must 
have  gone  amissing, 


BURNS  TO  THOMSON'. 

EOCLKKECUAS,  7tli  Feb.  1795. 
MV  DEAR  TUdMStP.N, 

You  cannot  have  any  idea  of  the  prcdiia. 
mcnt  in  which  1  write  to  you.  In  tiie  lourso 
of  my  duty  as  Supervisor,  (in  wliiih  cuiiacity 
I  have  acted  of  late,)  I  came  ycsturnii^ht  to 
this  unfortunate,  wicked,  little  villairc-  I 
have  gone  forward,  but  snows  of  tun  feet  deep 
have  impeded  my  progress;  I  have  tried  to 
"gae  back  the  gait  1  cam  again,  '  l)ul  the 
same  obstacle  has  shut  mc  up  wilhir  insuper- 
able bars.  To  add  to  my  niisfortuiic,  since 
dinner,  a  scraper  has  been  torturing  eat;,'ut,  in 
sounds  that  would  have  insulted  the  dying 
agoni<>.  of  a  sow  under  the  hands  of  a  butcher, 
•"- '.  thinks  himself,  on  that  very  account,  ex- 
ceeding good  company.  In  fact,  I  iiavc  been 
in  a  dilemma,  cither  to  get  drunk,  to  forftct 
these  miseries;  or  to  hang  my.self,  to  get  rid 
of  them;  like  a  prudent  man,  (a  character  eon- 
genial  to  my  every  thought,  word,  and  deed,) 
I,  of  two  evils,  have  chosen  the  least,  and  am 
— very  drunk  at  your  service ! " 

I  wrote  to  you  yesterday  from  Dumfries.  I 
had  not  time  then  to  tell  you  all  I  wanted  to 
say;  and.  Heaven  knows,  at  present  I  have 
not  capacity. 

Do  you  know  an  air — I  am  siire  you  must 
know  it — "We'll  gang  nae  mair  to  yon  town?" 
1  think,  in  slowish  time,  it  would  make  an 
excellent  song.  I  am  highly  delighted  with 
it;  and  if  you  should  think  it  worthy  of  your 
attention,  I  have  a  fair  dame  in  my  eye  to 
whom  I  would  consecrate  it;  try  it  with  this 
doggrel,  until  I  give  you  a  better.  You  will 
find  a  good  set  of  it  in  Bowie's  collection. 

CAonig— O  wat  ye  wlia's  in  yon  town, 

Ye  see  the  e'enin'  sun  upon? 
Tlie  dearest  maid's  in  yon  town, 
That  e'enin'  sun  is  sliinin'  on.    &c. 

O  sweet  to  me  yon  spreading  tree, 
Where  Jennie  wanders  aft  her  lane ; 

8  "The  bard  must  have  been  tipsy  indeed,"  says 
Currie,  who  was  a  native  of  the  neittlilionrliood,  "to 
abuse  sweet  Ecelefechan  at  this  rate."  Before  the 
year  had  run  out  "tliis  unfortunate  little  vill.i|.'c  " 
l)ecame  the  Idrthplace  of  Thomas  t'arlyle,  anotlierof 
Scotia's  greatest  sons,  wliose  name  is  now  closely 
associated  with  that  fif  the  poet. 

3  Thomson  here  adds  the  remark: — 

"The  handwriting  shows  it,  and  I  can  swear  to  the 
truth." 


th  Feb.  1795. 

tllc  invdii'u. 
I  n  tlie  course 
iii'li  cii]iai'ity 
L'steniiij;ht  to 
viilagi.'.-  I 
ten  fcL't  deep 
lavc  tried  to 
ill,"  liut  tlie 
lliir  iiisupcr- 
iirtuiic,  Kinec 
inij  eiil},'tit,  in 
m!   tiie  dying 

of  a  bute'licr, 
■  aecomit,  ex- 
1  have  been 
ink,  to  forget 
!lf,  to  get  rid 
.diaraelcr  oon- 
d,  and  deed,) 
least,  and  am 

Dumfries.  I 
1  I  wanted  to 
resent  1  liave 

ure  you  must 
to  yon  town?" 
)uld  make  an 
elifrhted  with 
ortliy  of  your 
in  my  eye  to 
y  it  witii  this 
;er.  You  will 
ollcetion. 


n.' 

)wn, 

on. 


&c. 


H  tree, 
;  her  lane ; 

sy  inik'ed,"  says 
!lil)i)iirlii)()il,  "to 
te."  Ik'fdri'  the 
e  little  viUntie" 
rlyle,  anotlier  of 
;  is  now  closely 


can  swear  to  the 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


1G9 


The  Imwtliorn  flower  that  shades  her  howur, 
U  wlien  slmll  I  behold  again? >    i&c. 

As  I  am  just  going  to  bed,  I  wish  you  a 
good  niglu. 

I'.S.  .* )  I  am  likely  to  be  Htorm-steail  here 
lO-niorrow,  if  1  am  in  the  humour  you  ahull 
have  a  long  letter  from  me. 


THtJMSON   TU   BURNS. 

25tli  Fel)ruary,  179f). 

I  have  to  thank  you,  my  dear  Sir,  for  two 
epistles,  one  containing  "Let  me  in  this  ac 
nigiit;"  and  the  other  from  Keclefcchan,  prov- 
inir,  that,  drunk  or  sober,  your  "mind  is  never 
muddy.'"-  You  have  displayed  great  address 
in  the  above  song.  Her  answer  is  oxccllent, 
and  at  the  same  time  takes  away  the  indelicacy 
that  otherwise  would  have  attached  to  his  en- 
treaties. I  like  the  song  as  it  now  stands 
very  much. 

1  had  hopes  you  would  be  arrested  some 
da.vs  at  Ecclefechan,  and  be  obliged  to  beguile 
the  tedious  forenoons  l>y  .song-making.  It 
will  irive  me  jdeasure  to  receive  the  verses  you 
intend  for  "<»  wat  ye  wha's  in  yon  town?" 


BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

[April,  1795.] 
0  WAT  YE  WHAS  IX  YON'  TOWX? 

O  wnt  ye  wlin'a  in  yon  town, 
Ye  see  the  e'enin'  sun  npcin? 

Tlie  fairest  tlnnie's  in  yon  town, 
That  e'enin'  sun  is  shining  on.    &C.''' 

Your  objection  to  the  last  two  stanzas  of  my 
song  "  Let  me  in  this  ae  night,"  does  not  strike 
me  as  just.^     You  will  take  notice  that  my 

'  The  smiii  will  be  found  at  p.  207,  vol.  iii.,  Imt 
Kiiins  seems  to  have  latterly  cancelled  the  above 
verse. 

2  Quoted  from  the  last  song  in  the  "Gentle  Shep- 
herd." 

"  l*'or  the  rest  of  this  song,  with  its  history,  see  p. 
207,  vol.  iii.    See  also  liurns's  last  letters. 

*  It  would  appeor  from  the  above  thot  Thomson 
had  returned  to  his  criticism  of  the  song,  and  in  a 
less  favourable  mood  tliaii  in  the  immediately  pre- 
ceding epistle;  but  the  letter  containing  this  criti- 
cism has  not  been  found. 


heroine  is  replying  quite  at  her  case,  and  when 
she  talks  of  "  faithless  man,"  she  gives  not  the 
least  reason  to  believe  that  she  speaks  from 
her  own  experience,  but  merely  from  observa- 
tion, of  what  she  has  seen  around  tier.  Hut 
of  all  boring  matters  in  this  boring  world, 
criticising  my  o>vn  works  is  the  greatest  bore. 

A1)DKE.S.S  TO  THE  \VOOD-LAEK. 

O  stay,  sweet  warbling  wood-larit,  stay, 
Xor  ({Uit  for  nie  the  fieuitding  spray, 
A  hapless  lover  courts  tliy  lay, 
Tliy  soothing  fond  complaining.    &c. 

[See  p.  21'J,  vol.  iii. 

Let  mc  know,  your  very  first  leisure,  how 
you  like  this  song. 

OX  CHLORIS  BEING  ILL. 

Long,  long  the  night,  heavy  comes  the  morrow. 
While  my  soul's  delight  is  on  her  bed  of  sorrow.   &c. 

[.See  p.  219,  vol.  iii. 

How  do  you  like  the  foregoing?  As  to  my 
"Address  to  the  Woodlark,"  "Johnnie  Cope" 
is  an  air  would  do  it  very  well ;  still  whether 
it  be  the  association  of  ideas,  I  cannot  say,  but 
there  is  a  squalidity,  an  absence  of  elegance  in 
the  sentiment  and  expression  of  that  air  that 
does  not  altogether  suit  the  spirit  and  delicacy 
I  have  endeavoured  to  transfuse  into  the  song. 

As  to  English  verses  for  '  Craigieburn, "  you 
have  them  in  Ritson's  English  selection,  vol. 
1st,  song  22nd,  by  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  begin- 
ning. 

Wrong  not,  sweet  mistress  of  my  heart. 

"The  Lammy  "  is  an  air  that  I  do  not  much 
like.  "  Laddie,  lie  near  me,"  I  am  bu.sy  Avith, 
and  in  general,  have  them  all  in  my  eye. 

The  Irish  air,  "Humours  of  Glen,"  is  a 
great  favourite  of  mine,  and  as,  except  the 
silly  verses  in  the  "Poor  Soldier,"  there  are 
not  any  decent  words  for  it,  I  have  written  for 
it  as  follows : — 

CALEDOXIA. 

Their  groves  o'  sweet  myrtle  let  foreign  lands  reckon. 
Where  bright-beaming  sunmiers  exalt  the  perfume; 
Far  dearer  to  me  yon  lone  glen  o'  green  breckan, 
Wi'  the   burn   stealing  under  the   lang   yellow 
broom.    &c. 

[See  p.  218,  vol.  iii. 


Yours, 


R.  B. 

Stop !  turn  over. 


170 


COKllESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


TWAM  XA   HER   IKINNIE   ItLIE   EE. 

Twim  Mil  lur  iMninlf  liluc  lu  wiis  my  riilii; 
Kiiir  tlio  hIil>  lit',  that  win  iii-  vr  my  iimlniUK: 
IwiiH  tin;  (U'lir  Hiiiilf  whin  imi'lmily  illil  miiiil  iw, 
TwiiH  thu  liewltililnif,  iweut  itowii  glniici'  o'  kiml- 

neia,    Av. 

ISt'o  p.  tM,  vol.  til. 

I.ct  mc  hcnr  from  you. 


THOMSON  TO  BUUNS. 

EMNninnH,  May,  17'J.'). 

You  muHt  not  think,  my  ^'oo(l  Sir,  tiial  I 
have  any  intention  to  enhance  the  value  of  my 
gift,  wlicn  I  say,  in  justice  to  the  iuffcnious 
and  worthy  artist,  that  the  desijrn  and  execu- 
tion of  the  Cotter's  Saturday  Xij^ht  is,  in  my 
opinion,  one  of  llic  imi)piest  productions  of 
Allan's  pencil.  I  shall  he  grievously  disap- 
pointed if  you  arc  not  ([uite  pleased  with  it. 

The  figure  intended  for  your  portrait,  I 
think  strikingly  like  you,  as  far  as  I  can  rc- 
memher  your  phiz.^  This  should  make  the 
piece  interesting  to  your  family  every  way. 
Tell  mc  whether  Mrs.  Hums  (iiuls  you  out 
among  the  figures. 

I  cannot  express  the  feeling  of  admiration 
with  which  I  have  read  your  pathetic  "Address 
to  the  Wood-lark,"  your  elegant  "Panegyric 
on  Caledonia,"  and  your  aftecting  verses  on 
"Chloris's  illne.ss."  Kvcry  repeated  perusal 
of  these  gives  new  delight.  The  other  song  to 
"Laddie,  lie  near  me,"  though  not  eiiuul  to 
these,  is  very  pleasing. 


.MAUK   VOMIEK   I'uMl'. 

Mark  ymiiU'r  i)iim|i  of  inHily  (anlilciii 
Itiiiniil  the  wt'iilthy,  titUa  luidc: 

Hut  wlit'ii  I'limitaivil  with  itiil  iiaxHlnii, 
I'lKir  U  all  thai  iiiiiii.'<.'ly  iniiK'.    tVr. 

ISte  [>.  -.'i:,  vol.  Ill, 

Well!  thirt  irt  not  amiss.  You  >ee  how  l 
answer  your  orders:  your  tailor  cinild  not  |„. 
more  juinctual.  1  am  ju^t  now  in  a  high  lit 
for  poetizing,  providcil  tiuit  the  strait -jackit 
of  criticism  don't  cure  mc  If  you  c.  n  In  a 
jiost  or  two  administer  a  linlc  of  the  inioxi. 
eating  potion  of  your  applause,  it  will  rai»e 
your  humble  serv,..it's  frenzy  to  any  luiLht 
you  want.  I  am  at  this  ninmcnt  "  hiijdinir 
high  converse"  with  the  .Mu«es,  and  have  not 
a  word  to  throw  away  on  such  a  prosaic  doi:  as 
you  arc. 


BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

[May  0th,  1795.) 

SONCi 
ALTERED  FROM  AN  OLD  EXOLISH  ONE. 

How  cruel  are  the  parents 

Who  riches  only  prize, 
Ami  to  the  wealthy  liooby 

roor  woman  sacritlce.    &c. 

(See  p.  255,  vol.  iii. 

'  The  only  remembrance  Thomson  could  have  had 
of  Burns's  "phiz"  must  have  been  derived  from 
Beugo's  engravinp  from  Nasmyth's  picture,  for  the 
two  correspondents  never  met  face  to  face. 


Hl'HNS  TO  TlloM.SoN. 

(May,  ITO.'^i.j 
Ten  thousaiul  thanks  for  your  clcirant  pie- 
sent:''^  though  I  am  a>hanicd  of  ilic  value  of 
it  heing  liestowed  on  a  man  who  has  not  liy 
any  means  merited  such  an  iii«i;iiii'c  of  kind, 
ness.  I  have  shown  it  to  two  or  three  judircs 
of  the  first  abilities  here,  and  ihcy  all  airrcc 
with  me  in  classing  it  as  a  first  rate  (uddiic- 
tion.  My  phiz  is  sac  ken-spccklc.-'  that  the 
very  joiner's  apprentice  whom  Mrs.  l{urn>  em- 
ployed to  iireak  up  the  parcel  (1  was  out  of 
town  that  day)  knew  it  at  once.  Von  may 
depend  on  my  earo  that  no  per-^,::  -liall  have 
it  in  their  jiower  to  take  the  least  .-ketch  from 
it.  My  most  grateful  coniiilinients  to  Allan, 
who  has  honoured  my  rustic  muse  so  much 
with  his  masterly  pencil.  One  strange  coinci- 
dence is,  that  the  little  one  who  is  niakini:  ilio 
felonious  attempt  on  the  cat's  tail,  is  the  luo-t 
striking  likeness  of  an  ill-deedie.  d — n'd.  wcc, 
rumhlegairie^  urchin  of  mine,  whom,  from  iliat 
propensity  to  witty  wickedness,  and  maut'u' 
mischief,  which,  even  at  twa  days  auld,  1  fore- 

'- A  drawing  hy  David  Allan  intfudcd  to  illiistiato 
the  "Cottcr'H  .Saturday  Nluht."  It  .shows  •the  fatlitr 
at  the  tabic"  with  the  "  bin  ha'  bible '  in  his  hand,  and 
the  rest  of  the  household  seated  near  liini.  r.e.slilo 
the  tire  a  little  merry  urchin  on  the  floor  is  in  the 
act  of  cnttinp  the  iMunt  of  the  cat's  tail  with  a  jialr 
of  scissors.  HiU'iis  himself  is  represeiiteil  as  one  ipf 
the  company,  and  placed  at  the  cotter's  left  hand. 

3  So  well-marked,  so  noticeable. 

*  Restless,  never  iiuiet. 


(OUUESPOXDKNc'E  WITH   THOMSON. 


171 


I'. 

'axliioii 

ll.lr: 
I  I'Himliiii, 

l>'.     iVr. 
'•  -17,  Vol.  III. 

'"  >00  liinv  I 
"iild  Mill  lie 
ill  :i   liifili  tit 

>iniif. jacket 
v<m  cii  ill  a 

t  tile  iiiiiixi. 
it  will  niise 
>  any  lui-lit 
lit  "  imldiiij,' 
mil  have  not 
>ro.siii.'  (Iiii;  a.s 


)X. 

(May,  iTO.'i.i 
•  I'lciraiil  \nv- 

tiio  value  lit' 
0  lias  lint  liy 
aiico  lit'  kiiul- 

tliivo  jlllllUS 

hoy  all  au'rec 
rate  innilik'. 
ile.''  that  the 
IS.  IJiiriisom- 
'  I  was  (lilt  (if 
e.  Villi  may 
o::  -^hall  have 
t  skcteh  from 
nts  to  Allan, 
use  so  iiiiich 
tranu'e  eoiiici- 
s  makiiiir  ilio 
I,  is  the  ni(i>t 
d — ii'd,  wee, 
im,  from  that 
and  niaiifii' 
aiild,  I  t'lire- 

■il  to  inii>tiiite 
ws  "till'  fatlicr 
II  his  hainl.aiiil 
I'  him.  lii'.Kidu 
tloor  is  ill  tlie 
ail  witli  a  )iair 
iitiil  as  one  of 
■  s  left  haiiil. 


hjiw  would  form  the  i»iriking  fcuturcn  of  hin 
ilisposition,  I  iiuincd  i  .Ilic  Nieol,  after  n  cer- 
tain friend  of  mine,  who  is  one  of  the  miiHters 
(if  a  Kranimar-sehool  in  u  eity  whieli  shall  lie 
niimelcHH.  Several  jieoide  think  that  Allan's 
likeness  ofme  is  more  striking,  iliuii  Nasniyth's, 
fur  whieli  I  sat  to  him  half-a-dn/eii  times. 
However,  there  is  an  artist  of  very  eonsideralile 
merit  Just  now  in  this  town,  who  has  hit  the 
most  reniarkalile  likeness  of  what  I  am  at  this 
miiinent,  that  1  think  ever  was  taken  of  any- 
liiidy.  It  iri  a  small  miniature,  and  as  it  will 
he  in  your  town  Ke'linff  itself  lic-ervHtalli/ed, 
ite.,  I  have  some  thoughts  of  siiictrestini?  to 
you  to  prepare  a  vifjiiette  taken  from  it,  li, 
my  sonu',  "Contented  wi'  little,  and  eantie 
wi'  niair,"  in  order  that  the  portrait  of  my  faee 
and  the  pieture  of  my  mind  may  go  down  the 
stream  of  Time  together. 

Now  to  liusiness.  i  enclose  you  a  song  of 
merit,  to  a  well-known  air,  w  liieli  is  to  lie  one 
of  yours.  It  was  written  by  a  lady,  and  haH 
never  yet  .seen  the  press.  If  you  like  it  lietter 
than  the  ordinary  "  Woo'd  and  married,"  or 
if  you  ehoose  to  in.sert  this  also,  you  are  wel- 
come; only  return  me  the  eojiy.  The  "  Lothian 
Lissic"  I  alsocnelose.  The  song  is  well  known 
hut  was  never  in  notes  before.  The  first  part 
is  the  old  tune.  It  is  a  great  favourite  <if 
mine,  and  here  I  liavo  the  honour  of  being  of 
the  same  opinion  with  St.\ni>.\iii>  (-'i..\hkk.  I 
think  it  would  make  a  fine  andante  ballad. 

(live  the  enelosed  epigram  to  my  miieli- 
valiicd  friend  ilr.  Cunningham,  and  tell  him 
that  on  Wednesday  [  go  to  visit  a  friend  of  his, 
to  whom  his  friendly  partiality  in  speaking  of 
the  Hard,  in  a  manner  introdiieed  me — I  mean 
a  well-known  miliiury  and  literary  eliaraeter, 
Colonel  Dlrom.  .Vs  to  what  you  hint  of  my 
eoniing  to  Kdinburgh,  I  know  of  no  sueh  ar- 
rangement. * 

You  do  not  tell  me  how  you  liked  my  two 
last  songs.     .Vre  they  eoiidcmned'/ 

1  This  prolmlil.v  n'fer.s  to  a  jihiii  projected  liy  Burns's 
friend  and  patron  Mr.  (iraliani  of  Kintry,  who,  accord- 
iiiK  to  .loaiiih  Walker,  ])ro|ioscd  to  have  the  poet  aji- 
pointed  "  to  a  rcspectalde  otilce  at  I.eith,  with  an  easy 
duty,  and  with  cinoliinieiits  risiiiK  to  nearly  fJlKi  per 
annuni.  .  .  .  IJnt  all  the  friendly  desinns  of  his 
patron  were  frustrated  liy  the  iniiirndence  of  the 
poet,  and  liy  that  ill-luck  which,  in  his  case,  made 
every  act  (if  imprudence  create  im  ire  than  its  a(le(|iiate 
measure  of  punishment  "—an  allusion  to  the  injudi- 
cious utterance  liy  Burns  of  jiolitical  heresy. 


TIIO.MSON   TO   mitXS. 

i;itli  May,  \:k<. 

It  gives  me  great  pleasure  to  tind  that  you 
are  all  so  well  satisfied  with  .Mr.  Allan's  pro- 
duction. The  ehaiiec  resemi  lance  of  your 
little  fellow,  whose  proinisinu:  disposition  ap- 
jieared  so  very  early,  and  suggested  wliiuii  he 
should  be  named  after,  is  curiou,.  cnoiiirh.  I 
am  aenuainted  with  thai  iier.sen,  who  is  a  pro- 
digy (if  learning  and  ge'ii-.s,  ami  a  jileasant 
fellow,  though  no  saint. 

You  really  make  me  blush  when  you  tell  mc 
you  have  not  merited  the  drawini;  from  me. 
I  do  not  think  I  can  ever  reimy  ynu,  or  suth- 
eiently  esteem  and  resjicet  you,  for  the  liberal 
and  kind  manner  in  which  you  have  enlerf'il 
into  the  .spirit  of  my  undertaking,  which  could 
not  liavc  tieeii  perfected  without  you.  So  1 
beg  you  would  not  make  a  fool  of  me  again  by 
speaking  of  obligation. 

I  like  your  two  last  songs  very  much,  and 
am  hajipy  to  find  yon  arc  in  such  a  hi;,!,  iit  of 
poetizing.  Long  may  it  last !  Clarke  has 
made  a  fine  pathetic  air  to  .Mallet's  superlative 
ballad  of  "William  and  Margaret,"  and  is  to 
give  it  to  me,  to  be  enrolled  among  the  elect. 


Bri.'NS  TO   THOMSON. 

(.lime,  1V0,'-..| 

FOItLOKN,   MV   LOVE,   NO  COMFOKT  XEAK. 

Koilorn,  my  love,  no  cinnfort  near, 
Far.  far  from  thee,  I  wander  here; 
Far,  far  from  thee,  the  fate  sivere 
At  which  I  must  repine,  love.    Ac. 

[See  p.  Sill,  vl.  iil. 

How  do  you  like  the  forcgf^ing?  I  have 
written  it  within  this  hour:  .so  much  for  the 
sfiiid  of  my  I'cgasus,  but  what  say  you  to  lils 
bottom? 


BLltNS  TO  THOMSON. 

[.Tuly  3d,  1795.1 
LA.ST  MAY  A  BRAW  WOOER. 

List  May  a  liraw  wooer  cam  down  the  lang  glen, 
.And  sair  wi'  his  love  he  did  deave  me; 

I  said  there  was  naethiiiK  I  hated  like  men, 
The  deuce  nae  wi'm,  to  lielieve  me,  lielieve  me. 
The  deuce  u'ae  wi'm,  to  believe  nie  1    &v. 

[See  p.  -Iil,  vol.  iii. 


.    'J 


172 


COllRESrONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


. 


KUAliMEN'T. 


CIILOKI.S. 


Why,  wliy  tull  tliy  lover, 

IIUhh  Iiv  lU'ViT  iiiiiMt  I'lijoy? 
Why,  why  iiiidi'ii'lvt'  liliii, 

Anil  kIvc  all  his  hopi'ii  the  Ik'? 
O  why,  whlk-  fiiiity,  riiiitiiril,  HluiiihtTi, 

rhloi'li,  rlihirlH,  all  thu  thciiK.', 
Why,  why,  wmililHt  thmi,  itiu'I, 

NVakv  thy  lovir  finiii  IiIh  ilrcain? 

Such  in  thtMlamncd  pceuliiirUy  of  the  rliytlim 
of  thiM  ivir,  that  I  lind  it  iminwrtililc  to  mukc 
unothur  Mtan/.a  to  suit  it. 

"This  is  HO  my  ain  house"  puz/les  me  a 
good  (leal ;  in  fact  I  thinlc  lo  cliaiiK'c  the  old 
rhythm  of  the  fust,  or  chorus  i)art  of  the  tune, 
will  have  a  W'lod  efleet.  I  would  have  it  Homc- 
thing  lil(o  the  gallop  of  the  following: — 

Chonu.—i)  this  U  nnt'  my  alii  Itody, 
Fair  tlm'  thu  Itody  lio; 
O  wi'i'l  ki'ii  I  my  ain  Hody 
Kind  lovu  Ih  in  her  i-c. 
I  80C  n  form,  I  huv  a  fact-.    Ac. 

(Hue  p.  2i3,  vol.  111. 

I  am  at  present  ((uite  occupied  with  the 
charming  sensations  of  the  tooth-ach,  so  have 
not  a  word  to  spare.  I  know  your  letters  come 
po.st-free  to  you,  so  I  trouiile  you  with  the  en- 
closed,  which,  as  it  is  a  business  letter,  please 
cause  to  be  delivered  at  first  convenience. 


THOMSON   TO   Hl'UNS. 

3il  July,  no.'i. 
My  DKAn  Sin, 

Your  English  verses  to  "Let  me  in  this 
ac  night,"  are  tender  and  beautiful ;  and  your 
ballad  to  the  "Lotliiau  Lassie,"  is  a  master- 
piece for  its  humour  and  nai'vctd.  The  frag- 
ment for  the  "Caledonian  hunt"  is  quite 
Huited  to  the  original  measure  of  the  air,  and, 
a.s  it  plairues  you  so,  the  fragment  must  con- 
tent it.  I  would  rather,  as  I  siiid  before,  have 
had  Bacchanalian  words,  had  it  so  plea.sed  the 
poet;  but  nevertheless,  for  what  we  have  re- 
ceived, Lord,  make  us  thankful ! 


IIL'UNS  TO  THOMSON. 

AuKUit  2d,  17ur>. 
Your  objection  is  juHt  an  to  the  verse  of  my 
song,  "  Forlorn,  my  love. "     I  hope  the  follow, 
ing  alteration  will  please  you: — 

Colli,  altcrd  frk'Mda,  with  cruel  art, 
rolaonlMK  fell  MlHdirtiMic'H  dart ; 
Let  me  not  break  thy  faltldul  heart, 
And  nay  that  fate  Is  ndne,  love. 

Did  1  mci\tion  to  you  that  I  wish  to  alter  the 
first  line  of  the  Knglisli  song  "  Leigcr  'm  clio>s, 
alias  "The  (Quaker's  Wife"  from  "Thine  uin 
I,  my  faithful  Fair,"  to  "Thine  am  1,  my 
(.'hloris  fair?"  If  you  neglect  this  altcralioii, 
I  call  on  all  the  Ni.nk,  conjunctly  and  severally, 
to  aiuitlicmatise  you. 

In  "Whistle  aiul  I'll  come  to  yc,  my  lail," 
the  iteration  of  that  line  is  tiresome  to  my  car. 
Here  goes  the  olil  first  four  lines  of  every 
xtan/Ji,  iind  then  foUowH  what  I  think  is  nu 
imiirovemcnt; 

o  whistle  and  III  eoiue  to  ye,  my  hid, 

<)  whistle  and  I'll  eouie  to  ye,  my  lad, 

'I'lio'  father  and  mother,  and  a'  should  gae  mad, 

()  whistle  and  I'll  eoinu  to  ye,  my  lad. 

Alter  to 

(>  whistle,  and  Ml  enmu  to  ye,  my  hid; 

O  whistle,  and  I'll  eiime  to  ye,  my  hid; 

'I'hu'  father  and  niothei,  and  a'  sliould  ^ae  mad, 

Thy  Jeiii:lu  will  venture  wi'  ye,  my  lad. 

Ill  fact,  u  fair  dame,  at  whose  shrine  I,  the 
Priest  of  the  Nine,  ofler  up  the  incense  of  Par- 
nassus; a  dame  whom  the  (iraces  have  attired 
in  witchcraft,  and  whom  the  Loves  have  ariiicd 
with  lightning;  a  fair  one,  herself  the  heroine 
of  the  song,  insists  on  the  amendment;  and 
dispute  her  comman<ls  if  you  dare! 

"(Jateslack,"  the  word  you  object  to  in  my 
last  ballad,  is  positively  the  name  of  a  imiticu- 
lar  place,  a  kiiul  of  pa.ssage  up  among  the 
Lowtlier  Hills,  on  the  confines  of  this  county. 
"  Dalgarnock  "  is  al-so  the  name  of  a  romantic 
spot,  near  the  Nith,  where  are  still  a  ruined 
church  and  a  burial  place.  However  let  the 
line  run,  "  He  up  tlie  lang  loan,"  &c. 

"This  i.s  nac  my  ain  Hody"  alter  into  "This 
is  no  my  ain  la.ssie." 

This  is  no  my  alii  lassie. 

Fair  tlio'  the  lassie  he; 
Weel  ken  I  my  ain  lassie. 

Kind  love  is  in  her  ee.    &c. 

[See  p.  223,  vol.  iii. 


COUUK.Sl'ONI)ENt*E    WITH   THOMSON. 


ITS 


N. 

iiBt  2il,  i7i»:.. 
verwe  of  my 
u  tliv  fllllow- 

1  lilt, 
■t; 

ICIII't, 

ve. 

I  loulicr  tlk> 
cr'nirlici.«s,' 
Tliino  am 
!  ain   I,   mv 

s  ultcraliiiii, 
ml  ncvurally, 

c,  my  lad," 
le  to  my  car. 
lOH  ol'  every 

think  is  an 


I, 
I  Kai'  iiinil. 


I. 


(I  Htm  iiinil, 
ltd. 

sliriiie  I,  the 
L'ciise  of  I'ur- 
have  attired 
*  have  armed 
tile  lieroine 
idineiit;  and 
J 

uct  to  ill  my 

of  a  partieu- 

amoiig  tlie 

lliis  eouiity. 
f  a  romantie 
till  a  ruined 
ever  let  tiie 

&c. 
r  into  "This 


223,  vol.  iii. 


Do  you  know  that  you  have  rou.scd  the  tor- 
iiidity  of  (  larke  at  la.'«t?  lie  has  re(|uuHted  mu 
to  write  tliree  or  four  hont;*  for  him,  whith  he 
in  to  "et  to  musie  hiiiiself.  TIk;  inclosed  Hheet 
contains  two  song's  for  him  :  the  sheet  pleuse  to 
present  to  my  very  much  valued  friend'  whoso 
name  is  at  tlie  bottom  of  llic  sheet.  I  will  write 
him  a  loni,'  letter  one  of  these  ilays. 

I  Incloso  the  sheet  open,  both  for  your  in- 
spctlion,  and  that  you  may  copy  the  sonj;,  "O 
lioniiie  was  yon  rosy  lirier."  1  do  not  know 
whether  1  am  riK'ht;  hut  that  .soni;  pleases  me, 
and  as  it  is  extremely  proliahle  that  Clarke's 
lU'wly  roused  celestial  spark  will  be  soon 
smoiiit-'reil  in  the  fou's  of  imhjlence,  if  you  like 
the  soiii;,  it  may  p)  as  Sc()tii?.h  ver-^es  to  the 
air  of  '•  I  wish  my  love  was  in  a  mire;"  and 
jHior  Krskine's  Knudish  lines  may  follow. 

1  Inclose  yon  a  "  For  a'  thai,  and  a'  that," 
which  was  never  in  jo-iiit ;  it  is  a  much  superior 
touft  to  mine.'-'  1  have  been  told  that  it  was 
composed  by  a  lady. 

TO  MK.  (I  NMNtiH.VM. 

NOW  .si'ItlMi   ir.V.H  (  I.All  THE  CiUOVE  IN 
(iUF.EN. 

Niiw  s|iriii«  Iiiis  dail  tlic  urove  In  irrecn. 
And  slicwil  tlic  lea  wi'  Mowers: 

The  fnnow'il,  waviiiL'  corn  is  seen 
Kcjoicu  hi  fosterintf  showers.    Ac. 

[.See  p.  224,  vol.  Hi, 

(»  IIONNIE   WAS   VON'   UOSV   HRIEK. 

(» liiiimic  was  yon  rosy  lirlcr, 
Tliiit  liliiimis  Hac  far  frac  haunt  o'  man; 

And  iMiiiiiic  sill',  ah.  and  liow  dear! 
It  slindud  frau  the  e'eiiin'  sun.    Ac. 

[.See  1).  iir<,  vol.  iii. 

Written  on  the  blank  leaf  of  a  copy  of  the 
last  edition  of  my  jioems,  presented  to  the  lady, 
whom,  in  so  many  fictitious  reveries  of  passion, 
hut  with  tlie  most  ardent  sentiments  of  real 
friendship,  1  have  so  often  sung  under  the  name 
of  I'liloris : — 

TO  CnLORIS. 

'Tis  friuiulship'H  pledge,  my  young,  fair  friend, 

Xor  thou  tlic  jfift  refuse, 
Nor  witli  uinviUliiK  car  attend 

The  moralizing  imiso.    Ac. 

[.See  p.  220,  vol.  iii. 

line  hmjateUe  de  ramltli. — Coila. 

1  Ale.vniuler  (^'unniiigliuni. 

2  We  liave  no  farthei  account  of  tliis  piece,  except 
in  postscript  to  Thomson's  next  letter. 


TWoMSOX   to   IUUN9. 

EdlnhurKli,  3d  Aimimt,  170ft, 
.My  dkah  Sin, 

This  will  be  delivcretl  to  you  by  a  Dr.  Hrlan- 
ton,  who  has  read  your  works,  and  pants  for 
the  honour  of  your  aciiuaintance.  1  do  md 
know  the  gentleman;  but  his  friend,  who 
applied  to  mo  for  this  introduction,  bciiii,'  nn 
excellent  youn^;  man,  1  have  no  doubt  he  is 
wor'liy  of  all  acceplalion, 

•My  eyes  have  just  been  Kluldened,  and  my 
mind  feasted,  with  your  last  packet — full  of 
pleasant  thing's  indeed.  What  an  imai;ination 
is  yours!  It  is  superfluous  to  tell  you  that  I 
am  delinlited  with  all  tlie  three  sonifs,  us  well 
as  with  your  elegant  and  tender  verses  to 
C'hloris. 

I  am  sorry  yon  should  be  induced  to  niter, 
"()  whistle  and  I'll  come  to  ye,  my  lad,"  to 
the  prosaic  line,  "Thy  .leanic  will  venture  wi' 
ye,  my  lad."  I  must  be  permitted  to.s..y,  that 
I  do  not  think  the  latter  either  reads  or  sings 
so  well  as  the  former.  1  wish,  therefore,  yon 
would  ill  my  name  petition  tho  charming 
.Feanie,  whoever  «lie  be,  to  let  the  line  remain 
unaltered. 

1  should  be  happy  to  see  J[r.  Clarke  produce 
a  few  airs  to  be  joined  to  your  verses.  Every 
body  regrets  his  writing  so  very  little,  as  every 
body  acknowledges  his  ability  to  write  well. 
Pray  was  the  resolution  formeil  coolly  liefore 
dinner,  or  was  it  a  midnight  vow  made  over  a 
bowl  of  pnnch  with  the  bard? 

1  shall  not  fail  to  give  Mr.  Cunningham 
what  you  have  sent  him. 

P.S.— The  lady's  "  For  a'  that  and  a'  that," 
i.s  sensible  enough,  but  no  more  to  be  compared 
to  yours  than  I  to  Hercules. 


THOMSON  TO   BURNS. 

5th  Felt.  179C. 

0  Rohbiu  Burns,  are  ye  sleeping  yet? 
Or  are  ye  waulicn,  I  would  wit? 

The  pause  yen  have  made,  my  dear  Sir,  is 
awful ! 3    Am  I  never  to  hear  from  you  again? 

3  From  3d  August,  170.5,  to  the  present  date,  liurns 
seems  to  have  written  few  letters  to  anybody,  sorrow 
and  sickness  being  a  sutflcient  excuse.  See  Oeiiernl 
Correspondence,  especially  letter  to  Mrs.  Dunlop, 
dated  31st  January,  1700. 


174 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH   THOMSON. 


'J\i[ 


1  know,  and  I  lament  how  much  you  liave 
been  afflicted  of  late,  but  I  trust  that  returninu; 
health  and  spirits  will  now  enable  you  to  resume 
the  p"n,  and  delight  us  with  your  musings. 
I  have  still  about  a  dozen  Scotch  and  Irish 
airs  that  I  wish  "marr.  d  to  immortal  verse." 
AVe  have  several  true  born  Irishmen  on  the 
Scottish  li.st;  but  they  are  now  naturalized, 
and  reckoned  our  own  good  subjects.  Indeed 
we  have  none  better.  I  belie vi  I  before  told 
you  tliat  I  have  been  much  urged  by  some 
friends  to  publish  a  collection  of  all  our  fa- 
vourite airs  and  .songs  in  octavo,  embellished 
with  a  number  of  etchings  by  our  ingenious 
friend  Allan;  what  is  your  opinion  of  this? 


BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

Feb,  1790. 

Many  thanks,  my  dear  Sir,  for  your  hand- 
some, elegant  present  to  Jlrs.  Hums,'  and  for 
my  remaining  volume  of  P.  Pindan — Peter 
is  a  delightful  fellow,  and  a  first  favourite  of 
mine.  Now  to  busii  "ss.  How  are  you  paid 
by  your  subscribers  liore?  I  gave  you  in  the 
names  of  Robert  ituiuv..  jf  Glenriddcll,  and 
his  brother  Walter  Riddell  of  Woodley  Park. 
tJli-nriddell  sul)scril)ed  only  for  the  Songs; 
lV.-ii';'.  liiddell  for  both  the  Songs  and  Sonatas. 
.JijjiiT.ldcrs  widow,  to  whom  he  left  all  his 
firtune,  lives  now  in  your  town,  and  Walter 
i .  a'.  ■)  a-  present  in  it;  call  on  them  for  their 
cash.  I  .Tiention  these  matters  because  pro- 
bably you  Itave  a  delicacy  on  my  account,  :ls 
if  I  had  presented  them  witli  their  copies — a 
kindness  neither  of  them  deserves  at  my  hands. 
They  are  bona  fide  subscribers,  and  as  such 
treat  tiiem.  I  also  supplied  another  subscriber, 
Mr.  Sharpe  of  Hoddam,  with  the  .second  set 
of  Sonatas  (my  own  copy);  so  charge  him  ac- 
cordingly. Mr.  <Jordon  of  Kenmure,  who  sub- 
scribed for  the  Songs  only,  unknown  to  me  at 
the  time,  in  iL  money  transaction  where  I  was 
concerned,  paid  the  Ki.v.  6^/.  to  my  account. 
So  there  I  am  your  dcl)tor. 

I  am  much  pleased  with  your  idea  of  pub- 
lishing a  collection  of  our  songs  in  octavo  with 
etchinsrs.  I  am  extremely  willing  to  lend  every 
assistance   in  my  power.     The   Irish  airs   I 

1  A  Paisley  shawl. 


shall  cheerfully  undertake  the  task  of  findin^' 
verses  for. 

I  have  already,  you  know,  cquipt  three  witli 
words,  and  the  other  day  1  strung  up  a  kind  of 
rhapsody  to  another  Hibernian  melody,  whidi 
I  admire  much. 

HEY  FOR  A  LASS  \VI'  A   T(HHEK. 

Awa  wi'  your  witchcraft  o'  l)cauty's  aliiniis. 
Tlie  slender  bit  beauty  you  t'ras])  in  vnur  arms: 
(>,  gie  nie  tL    lass  tliat  luis  acres  o'  ejiarini-, 
O,  gie  nie  the  lass  wi'  tlie  weel-stockit  farms. 
Then  hey  for  a  lass  wi'  a  toilier.    Ac 

ISee  p.  -231,  vol.  iii. 

If  this  will  do,  you  have  now  four  of  my 
Irish  engagement — "Humours  of  Glen,"  "C'ait- 
tain  O'Kca'i,"  "  Oonagh's  Waterfall,"  and 
"  IJalinamona."  In  my  by-past  songs  I  <lis- 
like  one  thing—  t..o  name  Chloris.  I  meant 
it  as  the  fictitious  name  of  a  certain  lady;  but, 
on  second  thoughts,  it  i.s  a  high  incongruity 
to  have  a  Greek  appellation  to  a  Scottish  pas- 
toral  ballad.- — Of  this,  and  .sometliing  else,  in 
my  next:  I  have  more  amendments  to  jiropose. 
What  you  mention  of  "flaxen  locks"  is  just; 
they  cannot  enter  into  an  elegant  description 
of  beauty.    Of  this  also  again — (iod  bless  you  I 


THOMSON  TO   lUItNS. 

(Felirnary,  ITIKI.] 
Your  "Hey  for  a  lass  wi'  a  tocher"  is  a 
most  excellent  song,  and  with  you  the  suliject 
is  .something  new  indeed.  It  is  the  first  time 
1  have  seen  you  debasing  the  god  of  soft  desire 
into  an  amateur  of  acres  and  guineas. 

I  am  happy  to  find  you  approve  of  my  jiro- 
posed  octavo  edition.  Allan  has  designed  ami 
etched  about  twcnt\  plates,  and  I  am  to  have 
my  choice  of  them  for  that  work.  Indciien- 
dently  of  the  Hogarthian  humour  with  wliiili 
they  abound,  they  exhibit  the  character  and 
costume  of  the  Scottish  peasantry  with  inimi- 
table felicity.  In  this  respect,  lie  himself  says, 
they  will  far  exceed  the  aquatinta  plates  he 
did  for  the  Gentle  Shepherd,  because  in  tlie 
etching  he  sees  clearly  what  he  is  doim:,  but 
not  so  with  the  aquatinta,  which  he  could  not 
manage  to  his  mind. 

2  "Our  poet  never  explaineil  what  name  he  wouM 
have  Bubstituteil  for  t'hloris."— OKo.  Thomson,  lint 
evidenWy  he  was  now  out  of  conceit  with  her. 


k  of  fiiuliiii^ 

t  three  wit li 
up  a  kinil  uf 
.'lody,  whii'li 

itHEl!. 

s  alai'iiiii. 
11  yuiir  alius; 

iliaiins, 

kit  farms, 
r.    iVf. 

■J31,  Vol.  iii. 

four  of  my 
;lcn,""L'aii- 
erfall,"  aud 
songs  I  (lis- 
s.  I  meant 
in  lady;  init, 

incongruity 
H-ottisli  [las- 
liing  else,  in 
s  to  propo.-ic. 
.■ks"  is  just; 
t  description 
)d  bless  you ! 


S'.S. 

iniary,  1700.] 
tocher"  is  a 
II  the  stdiject 
the  first  time 
of  soft  desire 
leas. 

•e  of  my  prn- 
designed  and 
I  am  to  liave 
i.  Indeiien- 
r  with  whicii 
haractcr  and 
i"  with  inimi- 
liimself  .siys. 
iia  plates  he 
icause  in  tiie 
is  doimr,  Imt 
he  could  not 


lame  lie  would 

HOMSllN.     Jillt 

ith  lier. 


COltKESPOXDENCE   WITH   THOMSON. 


176 


The  Dutch  boors  of  Ostade  are  scarcely  more 
characteristic  and  natural  than  the  Scottish 
figures  in  those  etchings. 


BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

[April,  1790.] 
Alas,  my  dear  Thomson,  I  fear  it  will  be 
some  time  ere  1  tune  my  lyre  again!  "  Hy 
Babel  streams  1  have  sat  and  wept,"  almost 
ever  since  1  wrote  you  last ;  I  have  only  known 
e.\istence  by  the  pressure  of  the  heavy  hand 
of  sicknes.s,  and  have  counted  time  by  the 
repercussions  of  pain !  Rheumatism,  cold,  and 
fever,  have  formed  to  me  a  terrible  Trinity  in 
I'nit y  which  makes  me  close  my  eyes  in  misery, 
and  open  them  without  hope.  I  look  on  the 
vernal  daj ,  and  say,  with  poor  Fergusson — 

.Say  wherefore  lias  an  all-inilulfe'ent  Heaven 
Light  to  the  comfortless  and  wretched  given? 

This  will  be  delivered  to  you  by  a  Mrs. 
Hy.slop,  landlady  of  the  (Jlobe  Tavern  here, 
which  for  these  many  years  has  been  my  hov,  ff, 
and  where  our  friend  Clarke  and  I  have  had 
many  a  merry  squeeze.  I  mention  this  because 
she  will  be  a  very  proper  hand  to  bring  that 
seal  you  talk  of.  I  am  highly  delighted  with 
Mr.  Allan's  etchings.  "  Woo'd  and  married 
an'  a',"  is  admirable.  The  grouping  is  be- 
yond all  praise.  The  expression  of  the  figures, 
conformable  to  the  story  in  the  ballad,  is  ab- 
solutely faultless  perfection.  I  ne.\t  admire 
"Turnim.spike. "  What  Hike  least  is,  ".Fenny 
said  to  Jocky. "  Hesides  the  female  being  in 
her  appearance  cpiite  a  virago,  if  you  take  her 
.stooping  into  the  account,  she  is  at  least  two 
inches  taller  than  her  lover.  I  will  thank  you 
much  for  a  number  or  two  of  that  magazine 
you  mention.  Poor  Cleghorn !  I  sincerely 
sympathize  with  him !  Hapi>y  l  am  to  think 
that  he  yet  has  a  well-grounded  hope  of  health 
and  enjoyment  in  this  world.  As  for  me — 
but  that  is  a  damning  subject !     Farewell ! 


THOMSON   TO   BURNS. 

4th  May,  1790. 
I  need  not  tell  you,  my  good  Sir,  what  con- 
cern the  receipt  of  your  la.st  gave  me,  and  how 


much  I  sympathize  in  your  sufferings.  But 
do  not,  I  beseech  you,  give  yourself  up  to  de- 
spondency, nor  speak  the  language  of  despair. 
The  vigour  of  your  constitution,  I  trust,  will 
soon  set  you  on  your  feet  again;  and  then  it  is 
to  be  hoped  you  will  see  the  wisdom  and  the 
necessity  of  taking  due  care  of  a  life  so  valuable 
to  your  family,  to  your  friends,  and  to  the 
world. 

Trusting  that  your  ne.xt  will  bring  agreeable 
accounts  of  your  convalescence,  and  returning 
good  spirits,  1  remain,  with  sincere  regard, 
yours. 

U.S.  3Irs.  Hyslop,  I  doubt  not,  delivered 
the  gold  seal  to  you  in  good  condition.  ^ 


BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

[May,  179C. 
My  DEAR  .Sir, 

Inclo.sed  is  a  certificate, ^  which  (though  a 
little  different  from  Mr.  M 'Knight's  model)  I 
suppose  will  ainply  answer  the  purpo.se,  and  I 
beg  you  will  prosecute  the  miscreants  without 
mercy.  When  your  pulilication  is  fini.shed,  I 
intend  publisl.ing  a  collection,  on  a  cheap 
plan,  of  all  the  songs  I  have  written  for  you, 
the  Mmeiim,  &c., — at  least  of  all  the  songs  of 
which  I  wish  to  be  called  the  author.  I  do 
not  propose  this  so  much  in  the  way  of  emolu- 
ment, as  to  do  justice  to  my  iluse,  lest  I  should 
be  blamed  for  trash  I  never  saw,  or  be  defrauded 

1  Burns  wrote  to  his  EdinbtirgU  friend  Cunningliani 
in  March,  1704  (see  tieiieral  Correspondence),  about 
the  cutting  of  a  pebbie  seal  for  him,  which  was  to 
bear  a  coat  of  arms  invented  by  himself.  Thomson 
had  also  something  to  do  with  tliat  seal  (see  letter  of 
.lime,  1704),  Vint  it  can  hardly  be  the  same  as  the  one 
spoken  of  here  and  in  the  foregoing  letter:  this  seems 
to  have  been  a  present  from  Thomson  himself.  See 
also  next  letter. 

-  The  originnl  certificate,  trai.sferring  for  a  time  the 
copyright  of  the  songs  to  Thomson,  has  not  been  pre- 
served. A  copy  of  it  was  appended  to  the  preface 
of  the  second  half-volume  of  Thomson's  Collection, 
published  in  August,  1798,  and  runs  as  follows:— 

"  I  DO  hereby  certify  and  declare,  that  Al.l.  the  songs 
of  my  writing,  publishe  '  ami  to  be  published  by  Jlr. 
l.eorge  Thomson  of  Edinburgh,  are  so  ]mblislied  by 
my  authority.  .\nd,  moreover,  That  I  never  em- 
powered any  other  person  whatever  to  pul)lish  any 
of  the  songs  written  by  me  for  his  Work.  And  I 
authorize  him  to  prosecute,  in  his  own  name,  any 
person  or  persons  who  shall  publish  any  of  those 
Songs  without  his  consent.  In  testimony  whereof, 
&e.— KoBEKT  Blkns." 


"   I'l' 


! '  iVi 


• 


176 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


by  other  claimants  of  what  is  justly  my  own. 
The  post  is  going,  I  will  write  you  again  to- 
morrow. Many,  many  thanks  for  the  beauti- 
ful seal. 


BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

[May,  1796.] 
My  dear  .Sir, 

I  once  mentioned  to  you  an  air  which  I  have 

long  admired — "  Here's  a  health  to  them  that's 

awa,   hinny,"  but  I  forget  if  you  took  any 

notice  of  it.     I  have  just  been  trying  to  suit 

it  with  verses;  and  I  beg  leave  to  recommend 

the  air  to  your  attention  once  more.     I  have 

only  begun  it. 

JESSY. 

Here's  a  health  to  aue  I  lo'e  dear, 

Here's  a  health  to  ane  I  lo'e  dear; 
Thou  art  sweet  as  the  smile  when  fund  lovers  meet, 

And  soft  as  their  parting  tear— Jessy!    &e. 

[See  p.  233,  vol.  iii. 

Tliis  will  be  delivered  by  a  Mr.  Lewars,*  a 
young  fellow  of  uncommon  merit;  indeed  by 
far  the  cleverest  fellow  I  have  met  Avith  in  this 
part  of  the  world.  His  only  fault  is  D-m-cratic 
heresy.  As  he  will  be  a  day  or  two  in  town, 
you  will  have  leisure,  if  you  choose,  to  write 
me  by  him:  and  if  you  have  a  spare  half  hour 
to  spend  with  him,  I  shall  place  your  kindness 
to  my  account. 

I  have  no  copies  of  the  songs  I  have  sent 
"ou,  and  I  have  taken  a  fancy  to  review  them 
all,  and  possibly  may  mend  some  '>f  them;  so 
when  you  have  complete  leisure,  I  will  thank 
you  for  either  the  originals  or  copies.  2  I  had 
rather  be  the  author  of  five  well-written  songs, 
than  of  ten  otherwise.  My  verses  to  "Cauld 
Kail,"  I  will  suppress;  and  also  those  to 
"Laddie,  lie  near  me."  They  are  neither 
worthy  of  my  nanx.  nor  of  your  book.  I  have 
great  hopes  that  the  genial  influence  of  the 
approaching  summer  will  set  me  to  rights,  but 
as  yet  I  cannot  boast  of  returning  health.  I 
have  now  reason  to  believe  that  my  complaint 
is  a  flying  gout:  a  d — nablc  business! 

Do  let  me  know  how  Cleghorn  is,  and  re- 
member me  to  him. 

'  Mr.  Lewars  was  brother  to  Jessy,  the  subject  of 
the  above  song. 

■•!  "It  is  needless  to  say,  that  this  revisal  Burns  did 
not  live  to  perform."- Ci'RRiK. 


This  should  have  been  delivered  to  you  a 
month  ago,  but  my  friend's  trunk  miscarried, 
and  was  not  recovered  till  he  came  home  again.'* 
I  am  still  very  poorly,  but  should  like  much 
to  hear  from  you. 


BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

Brow,<  4th  July,  170C. 
My  dear  Sir, 

I  received  your  songs ;  but  my  health  is  so 
precarious,  nay  dangerously  situated,  that,  as  a 
last  effort,  I  am  here  at  sea-bathing  quarters. 
Besides  my  inveterate  rheumatism,  my  appetite 
is  quite  gone,  and  1  am  so  emaciated  an  to  l)e 
scarce  able  to  support  myself  on  my  own  legs. 
Alas !  is  this  a  time  for  me  to  woo  the  Muses? 
However,  I  am  still  anxiously  willing  to  serve 
your  work,  and  if  possible,  shall  try.  I  would 
not  like  to  see  another  employed,  vnless  you 
could  lay  your  hand  upon  a  poet  whose  pro- 
ductions would  be  equal  with  the  rest.  You 
will  see  my  remarks  and  alterations  on  the 
margin  of  each  song.  My  address  is  still  Dura- 
fries.     Farewell,  and  God  bless  you. 

3  This  letter,  which  Currie  unaccountably  cuts  into 
two,  was  eventually  poste<l  on  the  16th  June. 

<  Krow  is  a  decayed  village  in  Uuthwell  parish, 
Dumfries-shire,  on  the  coast  of  the  Solway  Firtli,  at 
the  influx  of  Lochar  Water,  nine  miles  south-east  nf 
Dumfries.  In  his  last  illness.  Hums  went  there  to 
try  the  effects  of  sea-bathing.  He  was  at  Hrow  from 
the  4th  July  to  the  18th.  His  health  at  first  was 
slightly  improved  by  bathing;  the  pains  in  his  limbs 
were  relieved ;  but  this  was  inunediately  followed  liy 
a  relapse,  and  he  went  back  to  Dumfries.  A  niyht  or 
two  before  he  left  Brow  he  drank  tea  with  Sirs,  f'rai^', 
widow  of  the  minister  of  Ruthwell.  His  altered 
appearance  excited  nuich  silent  sympathy ;  and  the 
evening  being  beautiful,  and  the  sun  shining  brightiy 
through  the  casement,  Sliss  Craig  was  afraid  that 
the  light  might  l>e  too  nuich  for  him,  and  rose  with 
the  view  of  letting  down  the  window  blinds.  Burns 
inunediately  guessed  what  she  meant ;  and,  regarding 
the  young  lady  with  a  look  of  great  benignity,  said. 
"Thank  you,  my  dear,  for  your  kind  attention  ;  Imt 
oh,  let  him  shine!  he  will  not  shine  h)ng  for  me!" 
Mrs.  Riddel'.  A  Woodley  Park,  also  had  an  interview 
with  the  poet,  while  he  was  resiiling  at  Brow,  aiui 
penned  a  very  interesting  account  of  the  meeting. 
(.See  Lockhart's  Life,  p.  128.)  The  poet  returned  on 
the  18th  to  Dumfries,  and  on  the  21st  breathed  his 
last.  Brow  was  formerly  resorted  to  for  a  mineral 
well  which  springs  in  considerable  force  close  beside 
the  Lochar,  which  is  a  mere  brook.  In  the  accom- 
panying print  this  well  is  marked  in  the  foregrouiul, 
and  the  cottage  which  Burns  occupied  is  the  central 
one  of  three,  which  form  nearly  the  whole  village. 


d  to  you  a 

miscarried, 

ome  again.  ■' 

like  mucli 


July,  179C. 

health  is  so 
d,  that,  as  a 
ig  quarters, 
myappetite 
ted  at;  to  i)e 
ly  own  legs, 
the  Mu.'^es? 
ing  to  serve 
•y.    1  would 
vnless  you 
whose  pro- 
rest.     You 
ions  on  the 
is  still  Durn- 


ably  cuts  into 

June. 

hwell  parish, 
iway  Firtli,  at 

south-east  iif 
nx'Ut  tliere  to 
at  l}rc)w  from 
I  at  first  was 
IS  in  liis  limbs 
ly  followed  hy 
:8.  A  nlv'litor 
th  Mrs.  f'raiK, 
His  alttri'd 
ithy ;  and  the 
ininjr  Ipri^litiy 
IS  afraid  that 
and  rose  witli 
ilinds.  Hums 
md,  rt'iiarding 
iniiinity,  said, 
itti'iition:  imt 
onu  for  me!" 
I  an  interview 
at  Brow,  and 

the  meeting, 
t  returned  on 

breathed  his 
for  a  mineral 
:e  close  beside 
In  the  accom- 
le  foreground, 

is  the  central 
lole  village. 


176 

by  ol 
The 
morr 
fill  s 


3 

I 

long 

awa, 

noti 

it  w 

the 

onlj 


Hen 
H. 

Tho 
Ai 


1 

you 
far 
par 
her 
yot 
rae 

tO! 

to: 

1 

yoi 
all, 
wh 
yo: 
rat 
thi 
Ks 
"  1 

wc 

gr, 
ap 
as 
ha 

is 

in 


th 

IK 


.wtWft^ 


After  a 
necessity  > 
pounds, 
to  whom 
head  tliat 
CC.SS,  and 
for  Uod's 
return  of 
but  the 
distracted 
for,  upon 
and  enga 
worth  oft 
I   tried 
morning, 
is  imposs 
lines ;  the 
give,  me 

FAU 

Fair 
C'r 

Wilt 
Ai 


MY  DE^ 

Ever  8i 
by  Mrs. 
what  mi 
your  sufl 
of  a  peci 
of  your 
offendini 
resolutic 
the  franl 
witlj  grc 
sum  I  p 
eellor  ol 
your  sali 
Pray, 
to  must 

1  Mr.  T 
tual  nice: 
is  surprii 
fore  tills 
been  rej( 


CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


177 


BURNS  TO  THOMSON. 

Brow  on  the  solway  Firth. 
I2th  July,  1790. 

After  all  my  boasted  independence,  curst 
necessity  compels  me  to  implore  you  for  five 
pounds.  A  cruel  scoundrel  of  a  haberdasher, 
to  whom  1  owe  an  account,  taking  it  into  his 
head  that  I  am  dying,  has  commenced  a  pro- 
cess, and  will  infallibly  put  me  into  jail.  Do, 
for  God's  sake,  send  me  that  sum,  and  that  by 
return  of  post.  Forgive  me  this  earnestness, 
but  the  horrors  of  a  jail  have  made  me  half 
distracted.  I  do  not  ask  all  this  gratuitously; 
for,  upon  returning  health,  I  hereby  promise 
and  engage  to  furnish  you  with  five  pounds 
worth  of  the  neatest  song-genius  you  have  seen. 
I  tried  my  hand  on  "  Uothemurchie "  this 
morning.  Tiie  measure  is  so  difficult,  nat  it 
is  impo.ssiblc  to  infuse  much  genius  into  the 
lines ;  they  are  on  the  other  side.  Forgive,  for- 
give, me ! 

FAIREST   MAID  ON  DEVON  BANKS. 

Fairest  ninid  on  Devon  banks, 

Crystal  Devon,  winding  Devon, 
Wilt  tliim  lay  that  frown  aside, 

And  siuile  as  thou  were  wont  to  do? 

[See  p.  238,  vol.  iii. 


THOilSON  TO  BURNS. 

14th  July,  1796. 
MY  DKAR  Sir, 

Ever  since  I  received  your  melancholy  letter, 
by  Mrs.  Hyslop,  I  have  been  laminating  in 
what  manner  I  could  endeavour  to  alleviate 
your  .sufferings.  Again  and  again  I  thought 
of  a  pecuniary  offer,  but  the  recollection  of  one 
of  your  letters  on  this  subject,  and  the  fear  of 
offending  your  independent  .spirit,  checked  my 
resolution.  I  thank  you  heartily  therefore  for 
the  frankness  of  ymir  letter  of  the  12th,  and 
witii  great  pleasure  inclose  a  draft  for  the  very 
sum  I  proposed  sending.  Would  I  were  Chan- 
cellor of  the  Exchequer  but  for  one  day,  for 
your  sake ! 

Pray,  my  good  Sir,  is  it  not  possible  for  you 
to  muster  a  volume  of  poetry?*     If  too  much 

'  Mr.  Thomson  here  hits  on  the  true  and  most  effec- 
tual mode  of  relievins  the  poet's  difficulties ;  and  it 
is  surprising  that  the  suggestion  should  not  have  lie- 
fore  tliis  occurred  to  the  poet  himself,  or  should  have 
been  rejected  by  him  if  it  did.    During  Burns's  life- 


trouble  to  you  in  tlic  present  state  of  your 
health,  some  literary  friend  might  be  found 
here,  who  would  select  and  arrange  from  your 
manuscripts,  and  take  upon  liim  the  task  of 
Editor.  In  the  mean  time,  it  could  lie  ad- 
vertised to  be  publisiied  by  subscription.  Do 
not  shun  this  mode  of  olituining  tlie  value  of 
your  labour:  rememljcr  I'opc  pulilished  the 
Iliad  by  subscription.  Think  of  this,  my  dear 
Burn.s,  and  do  not  reckon  me  intrusive  witii 
my  advice.  You  are  too  well  convinced  of  the 
respect  and  friendship  1  bear  you  to  impute 
any  thing  I  say  to  an  unworthy  motive.  Yours 
faithfully. 

The  verses  to  "  Rothemurchie "  will  answer 
finely.  I  am  happy  to  see  you  can  still  tune 
your  lyre. 


LETTER  FROM  MR.  GEORGE  THOMSON, 
TO  MESSRS.  BLACKIE  &  SON. 

THE  FOLLOWING  IS  AN  EXTRACT  OF  A  LETTER  AD- 
liRESSEl)  TO  THE  PUBLISHERS  OF  THIS  WORK  BY 
MR.  GEORGE  THOMSON,  ON  THE  SUBJECT  OK  BURNS. 
IT  IS  HATED  "BRIGHTON,  15TH  MAY,  1S43,"  AND 
WAS  WRITTEN  IN  REFERENCE  TO  THE  WELL-KNOWN 
EDITION  OF  BURNS'S  WRITINGS  THAT  SOON  AFTER 
APPEARED. 

.  .  .  Sluch  has  it  vexed  me  that  Jilr. 
[Allan]  Cunningham  in  his  immensity  of  Notes 
has  given  circulation  to  so  many  on  ilits,  sur- 
mises, iind  innuendoes  about  the  irregularities 
and  dissipation  of  the  poet;  hearsay  tales, 
resting  upon  very  doubtful  authority;  some  of 
them  perhaps  true,  and  others  exaggerated  or 
unfounded.  I  am  far  from  thinking  that  he 
was  not  guilty  of  many  follies,  remembering  his 
own  memorable  and  candid  confession  of  these, 
which  methinks  might  have  served  to  prevent 

time  only  three  editions  of  his  poems  were  published, 
—namely,  the  Kilmarnock  edition  (178C)  of  six  hun- 
dred copies,  the  Edinburgh  edition  (1787)  of  three 
thousand  copies,  and  another  Edinburgh  edition  (1793) 
in  two  small  volumes,  but  we  do  not  know  of  how 
many  copies.  Surely  this  supply  did  not  fill  the 
market;  l)Ut,  supposing  it  did,  or  supposing  that 
Creech  claimed  the  copyright  of  what  appeared  in  the 
first  Edinliurgh  edition, — what  was  to  prevent  the 
publication  of  an  entirely  nciv  wilume  of  poems?  The 
"Jolly  Beggars,"  and  many  other  pieces,  including 
numberlessinimitablelyrics,  were  all  lyingin  the  poet's 
desk,  or  had  only  been  partially  given  to  the  public : 
—and  why  the  thought  of  issuing  a  collected  edition 
of  them  did  not  occur  to  the  author  himself,  or  any 
of  his  friends  but  Thomson  at  the  last  hour,  is  matter 
of  astonishment. 


178 


COBRESPONDENCE  WITH  THOMSON. 


11 


I 


1 


biographers  from  prying  into  holes  and  comers 

in  Hcareh  of  gossiping  details  to  prove  tiie  truth 

of  what  he  had  hinwlf  admitted!     Mark  his 

contrition  and  humility, — 

Tliv  poor  iiihubitaiit  below 

Wiis  qiiick  to  luarn,  niid  wise  to  know, 

And  kfciily  fult  the  friendly  glow, 

And  sii/terjlaine; 
But  thoughtless  follies  laid  liini  low, 

And  stitin'd  hia  name. 

But  if  we  arc  forced  to  go  into  evidence,  I 
would  say  that  I  think  the  detailed  allegations 
of  the  Herons  anfl  Cunninghams  are  neutralized 
by  the  statf^ments  of  the  Grays,  Findlaters, 
and  Locklmrts.  Gill)ert  Hums  told  me  that 
his  brother's  frailties  and  errors  had  been  con- 
siderable, (dthouijh  l»i  iin  means  so  <jreat  as 
they  were  called,  in  this  .Mr.  iiOckhart,  after 
due  inquiry  and  consideration,  decidedly  con- 
curs with  him. — >Ir.  Lockhart  in  his  biography 
says, — "that  Bums  ever  sunk  into  a  toper — 
that  he  ever  was  addicted  to  solitary  drinking 
— that  his  bottle  ever  interfered  with  his  dis- 
charge of  his  duties  as  an  exciseman — or  that, 
in  spite  of  .some  transitory  follies,  he  ever  ceased 
to  be  a  most  affectionate  husband — all  these 
charges  have  been  insinuated,  and  they  are  all 
false.  .  His  intemperance  was,  as  Heron  says, 
in  fits:  his  aberrations  of  all  kinds  were  occa- 
sional, not  systematic:  they  were  all  to  himself 
the  sources  of  exquisite  misery  in  the  retro- 
spect ;  they  were  the  aberrations  of  a  man 
whose  moral  sense  was  never  deadened — of 
one  who  encountered  more  temptation  from 
without  and  from  within,  than  the  immense 
majority  of  mankind,  ftvr  from  having  to  con- 
tend against,  are  even  able  to  imagine." 

Here  I  take  my  stand  in  vindication  of 
Burns,  and  I  contend  that  Sir.  James  Gray, 
and  Collector  Findlater,  his  superior  in  office, 
both  resident  in  Dumfries,  who  .saw  him  daily 
and  knew  him  thoroughly,  and  Mr.  Lockhart, 
who  was  at  pains  to  investigate  the  charges 
against  him,  are  fully  as  well  entitled  to  belief 
in  his  behalf  as  Mr.  Heron,  Jlr.  Cunningham, 
and  the  go.ssips  of  Dumfries  are,  in  their  asser- 
tion.s,  insinuations,  and  assumptions  to  his 
prejudice. 

It  is  well  known  that  the  Poet  was  often 
literally  dragged  into  society  on  account  of  his 
wit  and  humour  and  the  charms  of  his  conver- 


sation, and  that  strangers  from  distant  parts  fre. 
quently  journeyed  to  Dumfries  on  purpose  to 
see  the  greatest  Poet  of  the  age.  Could  he  he 
insensible  to  the  homage  of  those  visitors ;  and 
can  we  wonder  at  his  accepting  their  flattering 
invitations  to  dinner,  or  that  his  flashes  of  wit 
should  have  prolonged  the  hours  of  social  en- 
joyment beyond  prudential  limits  on  such  oc- 
casions?  Poor  Burns!  how  cruel  was  his  fate, 
doomed  through  life  to  wither  at  the  foot  of 
fortune's  ladder,  with  a  genius  that  could  have 
carried  hi'ii  triumphantly  to  its  summit,  if  the 
hand  of  p  wcr  had  been  stretched  out  to  help 
him  to  ascend.  One  of  our  witty  philosophers 
has  expressed  an  opinion,  I  am  told,  for  1 
have  not  yet  seen  it,  that  as  the  public  has 
been  highly  gratified  by  the  Poet's  works,  it 
is  of  little  consequence  how  the  Poet  fared! 
Hthis  be  what  he  has  said,  I  venture  to  differ 
from  him,  and  to  think  that  if  the  case  were 
his  omn  he  would  quite  agree  with  mc,  and 
would  scout  .such  preposterous  doctrine.  Had 
Burns  been  promoted  to  the  office  of  Collector 
in  the  Excise,  or  placed  in  any  situation  that 
would  have  attbrded  him  a  moderate  compe- 
tence, and  left  him  leisure  to  cultivate  the 
Mu.sc,  in.stcad  of  being  left  to  pine  in  poverty 
and  to  waste  his  life  in  the  drudgery  of  u 
common  ganger,  the  public  in  all  probability 
would  have  been  gratified  by  many  more  in- 
valuable productions  from  his  pen.  That  a 
man  of  such  original  genius,  of  such  transcen- 
dant  talents,  and  of  such  independence  of 
mind  as  he  possessed,  did  not  find  a  patron  in 
the  influential  class  of  society,  to  rescue  him 
from  the  situation  of  a  drudge,  is  a  matter 
ever  to  be  lamented.  Coiisidenn;/  his  7n!s/or- 
times,  it  might  have  been  expected,  when  the 
grave  closed  over  him,  that  he  would  have 
been  treated  with  far  greater  sympathy  by 
biographers  and  reviewers,  who  surely  have 
scrutinized  his  conduct  by  too  .severe  a  test. 

Such  are  my  sentiments  with  respect  to  our 
great  Poet,  which  I  have  been  induced  to  lay 
before  you,  finding  that  you  arc  now  preparing 
a  new  edition  of  his  works  for  the  press:  for 
none  of  his  own  family,  I  believe,  regard  his 
reputation  more  than  your  faithful  humble 
servant, 

G.  Thomsox. 


i 


ant  parts  fro. 
1  purpose  to 
Could  he  l»e 
visitors;  iiiiil 
cir  fiatteriiiR 
Hashes  of  wit 
of  social  en- 

!  oil  such  00. 

was  his  fate, 
t  tlic  foot  of 
it  could  have 
immit,  if  the 
1  out  to  heiji 
pliilosophcrs 
told,   for  I 

0  public  has 
t's  works,  it 
I'oct  fared! 

ture  to  differ 
lie  case  were 
itli  mc,  and 
;trine.  Had 
!  of  Collector 
tuatiou  that 
3rate  compe- 
;ultlvate  the 
le  in  poverty 
udgery  of  a 

1  prohahility 
my  more  in- 
cn.  That  a 
ich  transcen- 
pcndcnce  of 
1  a  patron  in 
>  rescue  him 

is  a  matter 
y  hlx  mis/or- 
d,  when  the 
would  have 
ympathy  l)y 
surely  liave 
ere  a  test, 
spect  to  our 
luced  to  lay 
w  prejiaring 
c  press:  for 
,  regard  his 
ful   humble 

rnoMsoy. 


liP]MAIiKS   ON   SCOTTISH   SONG,S 
AND    BALLADS. 


In  an  interleaved  copy  of  Johnson's  Musical 
Mitxauin,  which  IJurns  presented  to  Captain 
ltiddcll,numcrous  interesting  annotations  exist 
in  his  own  handwriting.  The.sc  valuable  vol- 
umes were  left  l»y  Mrs.  IJiddell  to  her  iiiece, 
Miss  Eli/a  Uayley,  of  Manchester,  hy  whose 
kindness  Cromok  was  enal)led  to  present  the 
public  with  transcripts  of  the  notes.  These  he 
published  iirst  in  his  l{(Uiiiu'.t,  1808,  and  after- 
wards in  a  work  in  two  volumes,  published  in 
18K',  entitled  Sth'ct  Scottkh  Somjs,  Ancient 
uiiil  Modirii,  irit/i  Critical  Observations  ami 
Bio<jraphic(d  Notices  hy  Uohert  Burns.  With 
the  assistance  of  Allan  Cunningham  a  certain 
numlier  ot  fresh  notes  and  songs  not  in  John- 
son's Museum  appeared  in  this  publication, 
and  hence  some  of  Cunningham's  notes  have 
occasionally  passed  as  Hurns's  "remarks." 
JIany  of  Hurns's  own  annotations  arc  trivial 
and  of  no  interest  in  connection  with  his  life 
or  works,  and  some  of  them  contain  erroneous 
statements;  others  again  arc  of  considerable 
value  as  showing  something  of  the  tastes  and 
critical  methoils  of  the  poet.  The  following 
are  the  more  interesting  of  these  notes:  those, 
however,  which  were  attached  to  liis  own  com- 
positions have  been  transferred  to  the  songs 
to  which  they  respectively  belong.  Most  of 
the  songs  referred  to  will  be  found  in  White- 
law's  Book  of  Scottish  Sowj,  published  by 
lilackie  &  Son. 


BESS    THE    GAWKIE. 

(Johnson's  Musewa,  No.  U.) 

This  song  show.s  that  the  Scottish  Muses  did 
not  all  leave  us  when  we  lost  Ramsay  and 
Oswald,  as  I  have  good  reason  to  believe  that 
the  verses  and  music  are  both  posterior  to  the 
days  of  these  two  gentlemen.  It  is  a  beauti- 
ful song,  and  in  the  genuine  Scottish  taste. 


We  have  few  pastoral  compositions,  1  mean 
tlie  pastoral  of  nature,  that  are  equal  to  this. ' 

IHljtlie  jduiiK'  Ht'ss  to  .reaii  ilid  .say, 

Will  ju  KUMK  to  yon  sunny  brao, 

Whuru  llDcks  dn  fuud  and  lu'ids  do  stray, 

And  spoit  awhilu  wi' Jnniio? 
Ah,  na,  lass,  Ml  ni>  ^anj;  there, 
Nor  about  Janiiu  tak  nue  care, 
>'or  about  Jainiu  tak  nao  tare, 

Kor  he's  ta'eu  up  wi'  Maggiu ! 

For  hark,  and  I  will  tell  you,  lass, 

Dill  I  not  see  your  Jande  pass, 

Wi'  meikle  gladness  in  his  face, 
Out  o'er  the  nuiir  to  MajiKie'/ 
'  I  wat  he  nae  her  niony  a  kiss. 

And  .MuKgie  took  them  ne'er  amiss; 

"rween  ilka  snnick,  plens'd  her  wi'  this, 
I  That  Bess  was  but  a  gawkie.    ie.  j 


THE  BANKS  OF  THE  TWEED. 
{Johmon's  Museum,  No.  6.) 

This  song  is  one  of  the  many  attempts  that 
English  composers  liave  made  to  imitate  the 
Scottish  manner,  and  which  I  shall,  in  these 
Strictures,  beg  leave  to  distinguish  by  the  ap- 
pellation of  Anglo-Scottish  productions.  The 
music  is  pretty  good,  but  the  verses  are  just 
above  contempt. 

(To  the  soft  murnmring  stream  1  will  sing  of  my  love, 
How  delighted  am  I  when  abroad  I  can  rove. 
To  indulge  a  fond  passion  for  Jockey  my  dear, 
When  he's  al)sent  I  sigh,  but  how  blytlie  when  he's 

near. 
'Tis  these  rural  amusements  delight  my  sad  heart, 
Come  away  to  my  arms,  love,  and  never  depart. 
To  his  pipe  I  could  sing,  for  he's  bonnie  and  gay: 
Did  he  know  how  I  lov'd  him,  no  longer  he'd  stay.] 

>  The  song  was  first  published  in  Herd's  Collection, 
1"C!).  Its  author  was  the  Rev.  James  Muirhead, 
minister  of  Urr  in  Galloway,  1740-1808,  who  comes  in 
for  a  share  of  the  poet's  satire  in  the  fourth  of  the 
"  Heron  Ballads."  It  is  the  only  poetical  piece  that 
he  is  known  to  have  written,  and  is  said  to  have 
boen  founded  on  an  incident  belonging  to  his  own 
early  days. 


180 


REMARKS  ON  SCOTTISH  SOXOS  AND   BALLADS. 


THE   BEDS  OF  SWEET  ROSES. 


(Johnion'i  Mutenm,  Xo.  7.) 

This  Rong,  na  far  an  1  know,  for  the  first 
time  apiJcars  licre  in  print. — When  1  was  a 
tioy,  it  was  a  very  poi)ular  Hong  in  Ayr«iiirc. 
I  remember  to  have  iiearil  tiiose  fanatii-n,  the 
Uuilianites,  sing  wome  of  tlieir  nonsennical 
rliymes,  wliieli  tlicy  dignify  witli  tlio  name  of 
liymnn,  to  tliis  air. 

I  As  I  wns  n  wnlkiiiK  one  innniliiK  in  Mny, 
The  little  blnU  wore  clnKliin  tlfllKlitful  ami  guy; 
The  little  l)ir(lti  were  siUKiuK  <leliKhtful  ami  Kiiy; 
Where  I  niid  my  true  love  dlil  often  sport  and  piny, 

Down  nniontf  the  lieds  of  HWeet  roses, 
Where  I  and  my  true  love  did  often  sport  and  play, 

Down  among  the  beds  of  sweet  roses.] 


SAW  YE  JOHNNIE  COMIN'. 

(Juhmon's  Museum,  Mo.  0.) 

This  song,  for  genuine  humour  in  the  verses 
and  lively  originality  in  the  air,  is  unparalleled. 
I  take  it  to  be  very  old. 


SAW  YE  MY  PEGGY. 
(Johnson's  Museum,  No.  11.) 

This  charming  song  is  much  older,  and  in- 
deed superior  to  Ramsay's  verses,  "The  Toast," 
as  he  calls  them.  There  is  another  set  of  the 
words,  much  older  still,  and  which  I  take  to 
be  the  original  one,  but  though  it  has  a  very 
great  deal  of  merit,  it  is  not  quite  ladies'  read- 
ing. 

The  original  words,  for  they  can  scarcely  be 
called  verses,  seem  to  be  as  follows;  a  song 
familiar  from  the  cradle  to  every  Scottish  ear. 

Saw  ye  my  Maggie, 
Saw  ye  my  Haggle, 
Saw  ye  my  Maggie, 
Linkin  o'er  the  lea? 

High  kilted  was  she. 
High  kilted  was  she. 
High  kilted  was  she. 
Her  coat  aboon  her  knee. 

What  mark  has  your  Maggie, 

What  mark  has  your  Maggie, 

What  mark  has  your  Maggie, 

That  ane  may  ken  her  be? 

Though  it  by  no  means  follows,  that  the 
silliest  verses  to  an  air  must,  for  this  reason, 


be  the  original  song;  yet  I  take  this  Imllail,  (if 
which  I  have  ([uoted  part,  to  be  the  old  vitmh. 
The  two  songs  in  Kanisiy,  one  of  thonieviilintly 
his  own,  are  never  to  lie  met  witii  in  the  (ire- 
side  circle  of  our  peasantry;  while  that  whidi 
I  take  to  be  the  old  song,  is  in  every  sht-plunrs 
mouth.  Uamsay,  I  supp')sc,  had  tiioiighi  t!ic 
old  verses  unworthy  of  a  place  in  his  colk'i;. 
tion. 


THE  FLOWEltS  OF  EnLN'UL'ROH. 

{Johnsons  Museum,  A'o.  13.) 

This  song  is  one  of  the  many  effusions  of 
Scols  .Iai'i)l(itisni.  The  title,  "  Flowers  of 
Edinburgh,"  has  no  manner  of  connection  with 
the  present  verses ;  so  I  suspect  there  li;.-i  liccn 
an  older  set  of  words,  of  which  the  title  is  all 
that  remains. 

]Jy  the  bye,  it  is  singular  enough  that  the 
Scottish  Pluses  were  all  Jacoltitcs.  —  1  have 
paid  more  attention  to  every  (lescri]ition  of 
Scots  songs  than  perhaps  any  body  living  has 
done,  and  I  do  not  recollect  one  single  stanza, 
or  even  the  title  of  the  most  trifliuL'  Scots  air. 
which  has  the  least  panegyrical  refercnee  to 
the  families  of  Nassau  or  Brunswick,  while 
there  are  hundreds  satirizing  them.  This  may 
be  thought  no  panegyric  on  the  Scots  I'oot:*, 
but  I  mean  it  as  such.  For  myself,  1  would 
always  take  it  as  a  compliment  to  have  it  siiid 
that  my  heart  ran  before  my  head, — and  surely 
the  gallant  though  unfortunate  house  of  Stuart, 
the  kings  of  our  fathers  for  so  many  heroic 
ages,  is  a  theme  much  more  interesting  than 

[The  song  begins  thus : 

My  love  w.is  once  a  bonnie  lad ; 

He  wns  the  flower  of  a'  his  kin ; 
The  nljsence  of  his  lionnie  face 

Has  rent  my  tender  heart  in  twain. 

It  is  doubtful  if  the  lines  had  any  Jacobitieal 
allusion.] 


FYE  GAE  RUB  HER  O'ER  WI'  STRAE. 

(Johnsoyi's  Sluscum,  A'o.  IG.) 

It  is  self-evident,  that  the  first  four  lines  of 
this  .song  are  part  of  a  song  more  ancient  than 
Ramsay's  beautiful  verses  which  are  annexed 
to  them.     As  music  is  the  language  of  nature, 


KEMARKS  ON  SCOTTISH  SONGS  AND  BALLADS. 


181 


CO  tlii.'<  linllad,  of 
)C  tlic  (lid  viT>c's, 
)ftlicnu'viiliiitly 
tvith  ill  the  (iro. 
vliile  lliiit  w  liicli 
every  slioiilKid'H 

llUll   tlKIUU'llt   l!lc 

.'0  ill  his  coija'- 


ixiirncu. 

-o.  13.) 

any  cfriisioiis  of 
;,  "  Flowers  (if 
c'oiiiieetifiii  witli 
t  there  )i:.s  iiceii 
h  the  title  is  all 

nioupli  that  the 
ol)ites.  —  1  have 
y  clescri]ition  of 
body  liviii!;  has 
le  «iiii.'le  stanza. 
rifliiiL'  Scots  air, 
eal  reference  to 
ruiiswiek,  while 
hem.  This  may 
the  Scots  I'oets, 
myself,  I  would 
t  to  have  it,  sjiid 
!ad, — and  surely 
house  of  Stuart, 
KG  many  lieroic 
interesting  than 


i  lad ; 
lis  kin; 
face 
rt  in  twain. 

1  any  Jacobitical 


I  Wr  STRAE. 
'o.  IG.) 

irst  four  lines  of 
arc  ancient  than 
ieh  are  annexed 
guage  of  nature, 


and  poetry,  parti  .-uiarly  hohrh,  are  always  Ichh 
or  more  localized  (if  I  may  he  allowed  tiic 
verb)  by  xome  of  tlie  moditicutioiis  of  time  and 
jdacc,  thin  is  the  reunon  wliy  ho  many  of  our 
Scots  airs  have  outlived  their  original,  ami 
pcrhapi*  many  subseipient  sets  of  verses ;  except 
a  single  name  or  piirase,  or  sometimes  one  or 
two  lines,  simply  to  distinguish  I  lie  tunes  by. 
To  this  day,  among  people  who  know  nothing 
of  Itamsay's  verses,  the  following  is  the  Hong, 
and  all  the  song  that  ever  I  heard  : 

Oin  ye  meet  a  Itonnle  IahhIi', 

(liu  her  A  kiss  ami  Ivt  liur  ^ac; 
But  k'"  y  ni«i't  a  dirty  lilzzic, 

Kye,  Kae  nil)  lit-r  o'er  wl'  strac. 
Fye,  gae  ruli  her,  rub  her,  ml)  lier, 

Kye,  gae  rul)  her  o'er  wl'  strae; 
An'  gm  ye  meet  a  dirty  liizzie, 

Fye,  gae  rub  her  o'er  wi'  itrae. 


THE  LAST  TIME  I  CAME  O'ER  TITE 
MUIR. 

(Johnion's  Mtigeum,  Xo.  IS.) 

Ramsay  found  the  first  line  of  this  song, 
which  had  boon  preserved  as  tiic  title  of  the 
charming  air,  and  then  composed  the  rest  of 
the  verses  to  suit  that  line.  This  has  always 
a  finer  eflfect  than  composing  English  words, 
or  words  with  an  idea  foreign  to  the  spirit  of 
the  old  title.  Where  old  titles  of  songs  convey 
an  idea  at  all,  it  will  generally  be  found  to  be 
quite  in  the  spirit  of  the  air.' 

(The  last  time  I  came  o'er  the  mulr, 

I  left  my  love  hehinil  me; 
Ye  pow'rs !  what  pain  do  I  endure, 

Wlien  soft  ideas  mind  me: 
.Soon  as  the  ruddy  morn  display'd 

The  beaming  day  ensuing, 
I  met  betimes  mj  lovely  maid 

In  fit  retreats  for  wooing.] 


THE  LASS  OF  PATIE'S  MILL. 
{Johnson's  Museum,  A'o.  SO.) 

In  Sinclair's  Stntlstknl  Account  of  Scotland, 
this  song  is  localized  (a  verb  I  must  use  for 
want  of  another  to  express  my  idea)  somewhere 
in  the  north  of  Scotland,  and  likewise  is  claimed 
by  Ayrshire. — The  following  anecdote  I  had 
from  the  present  Sir  William  Cunningham  of 

>  See  a  song  by  Burns  himself  to  this  air  in  vol.  iii. 
p.  149. 

VOL.  V. 


Kobertland,  who  had  it  from  the  last  John, 
h^jir!  of  Loudoun.  The  then  Earl  of  I.oudouii, 
and  father  to  Va\t\  John  before  mentioned,  had 
Ramsay  at  Loudoun,  and  one  «lay  walking  to. 
gctlier  by  the  banks  of  Irvine  water,  near 
Xew-Mill.s,  at  a  place  called  I'atie's  Mill,  they 
were  struck  with  the  appearance  of  a  beautiful 
country  girl.  His  Lordshij)  ol)scrved,  that  she 
woulil  be  a  fine  theme  for  a  song. — Allan 
lagged  behind  in  returning  to  Loudoun  Castle, 
and  at  dinner,  produced  this  identical  song. 

(Tlic  lass  of  ratio's  Mill, 

So  bonnle,  blythe,  and  gay. 
In  Hpitu  of  all  my  skill, 

.She  stole  my  heart  away. 
When  tedding  of  the  hay, 

Bare-headed  on  the  grten. 
Love  midst  her  h)uks  did  play. 

And  wanton'd  in  her  een.| 


THE  HIGHLAND  LADDIE. 

(J    iiison's  3lusettm,  So.  SI.) 

As  this  was  a  favourite  theme  with  our  later 
Scottish  muses,  there  arc  several  airs  and  songs 
of  that  name.  That  which  I  take  to  be  the 
oldest,  is  to  be  found  in  the  Mmical  Muneum, 
beginning,  "  I  hae  been  at  Crookie-den."  One 
rea.son  for  my  thinking  so  is,  that  Oswald  has 
it  in  his  Collection  by  the  name  of  "  The  auld 
Highland  Laddie."  It  is  also  known  by  the 
name  of  "  Jlnglin  Johnnie,"  which  is  a  well- 
known  song  of  four  or  five  stanzas,  and  seems 
to  be  an  earlier  song  than  Jacobite  times.  As 
a  proof  of  this,  it  is  little  known  to  the  peasantry 
by  the  name  of  "Highland  Laddie;"  while 
every  body  knows  "Jinglin  Johnnie."  The 
song  begins, 

Jinglin  John,  the  meikle  man. 

He  met  wi'  a  lass  was  blythe  and  bonnie. 

Another  "  Highland  Laddie"  is  also  in  the 
Museum,  vol.  v.,  which  I  take  to  be  Ramsay's 
original,  as  he  has  borrowed  the  chorus — "0 
my  bonnie  Highland  lad,"  &c.  It  consists  of 
three  stanzas  besides  the  chorus ;  and  has  hu- 
mour in  its  composition.  It  is  an  excellent, 
but  somewhat  licentious  song.     It  begins, 

As  I  cam  o'er  the  Cairney  Mount, 

And  down  amang  the  blooming  heather. 

This  air,  and  the  common  "  Highland  Laddie," 

seem  only  to  be  different  sets. 

78 


182 


IIKMAIIKS  OX  Sr'OTTISII  SONOS  AND  IJAI.LADS. 


Aiiotlicr  "  IliKliliind  Ladilif,"  iiImo  in  the 
Mhh'  utii,  vol.  V,,  i.H  the  tune  ot'noveral  .lucoldto 
frugiuentK.'  (tne  of  tliene  oM  nnuifn  to  it  only 
cxIhIh,  u«  fur  iiM  I  know,  in  tiiOHe  four  llncH — 

Whiiii'  Imt'  yi'  licrti  iv'  ilay, 
lloiMiiu  liiildit',  IIIkIiIiiihI  IikIiIIu? 

Down  tliu  liiK'k  ci'  llt'Hitlii'aL', 
riiui'tlii'  MimKli',  I'Diii'tin'  Miimiu. 

Another  of  thin  imme  in  Dr.  Arne's  heaulifiil 
air,  culled  tlie  new  "  lli,i;lilan(l  iiUddie." 


THE  TUUN'IMSI'IKK. 

(Jdhniidu'ii  Mutcuin,  Ao.  ;.'.?.) 

Tlierc  is  a  Htanza  in  thin  cxecllcnt  nong  for 
loeal  liuniour,  omitted  in  tliis  wet — where  I 
liavc  plaeed  the  asterisms. 

Thuy  tnk  the  liorau  tlien  by  tlio  livml, 
And  tlicv'j  tliuy  iimku  Idni  Ntaml,  iiuiii ; 

Mt  tell  them,  me  hue  seen  th«  day 
They  III)  had  tdo  euniiiiaiid,  iiiaii. 

A  tradition  is  mentioned  ni  't'/ir  /In;  tliat 
thoNCeond  UisliopC'hisIioim,  of  Dunblane,  used 
to  say,  that  if  ho  was  poing  to  lie  lian,i;ed,  no- 
thing would  soothe  his  mind  so  much  iiy  the 
way  as  to  licar  "Clout  tlie  Caldron  "  [the  tune 
of  the  aliovc-mcntioned  song]  played. 

I  i  ave  met  with  another  tradition,  tliat  the 
old  «ong  to  this  tune, 

line  ye  ony  pots  or  pans, 
Or  ony  broken  ehaiullers? 

was  composed  on  one  of  tlic  Kenmurc  family 
in  the  cavalier  times ;  and  alluded  to  an  amour 
lie  had,  while  under  hiding,  in  the  disguise  of 
an  itinerant  tinker.  The  air  is  aNo  known  by 
the  name  of  "  The  Hlaeksmith  and  his  apron," 
which,  from  the  rhythm,  seems  to  have  been 
a  line  of  t>ome  old  song  to  the  tunc. 


JOHNNIE'S  GREY  BREEKS. 

{Johnson'8  Museum,  No.  36.) 

To  sing  such  a  beautiful  air  to  such  execrable 
verses  (as  "The  Oentlc  Swain")  is  downright 
prostitution  of  common  sense !  The  Scots 
verses  indeed  are  tolerable. 

Though  this  iuis  certainly  every  evidence  of 
being  a  Scottish  air,  yet  there  is  a  well-known 

»  Burns  here  refers  to  a  volume  which  was  not  pub- 
lished till  after  his  death;  but  at  the  time  these  notes 
were  penned,  proof  sheets  of  the  music-plates  were 
in  his  hands. 


tunu  and  song  in  the  north  of  Ireland,  called 
"The  Weaver  and  his  Shuttle,  (»,"  wliich, 
though  sung  much  (|uicker,  in  evury  nolo  the 
very  same  tune. 


Tin:    ULAITHIMH   O'T. 

(Jdhntiiii'ii  iMiiHeum,  A'o.  .W.) 

The  following  is  a  set  of  this  song,  whiih  wa* 
the  earliest  Muiig  I  renu'nilier  to  have  got  by 
heart.  When  .1  child,  an  old  woman  sum;  ii 
ti)  me,  anil  I  picked  it  up,  every  word,  at  first 
hearing:  — 

<•  Wllllo,  wi'i'l  I  iiiinil  I  Ifiit  ymi  my  haml, 
To  hIiix  yiiii  a  snii^  wbirli  you  did  me  ('ommaiiii; 
Hut  my  iiU'iiKii y's  ho  bad,  I  had  aliiioHt  fol'k'ot. 
That  you  culTd  it  the  Kcar  and  the  Idaithrie  o't,^ 

I'll  not  siiiu  about  confuHioii,  tieliisloii,  or  pride, 
I'll  sliitf  alioiit  a  laddiu  was  for  a  virtuous  brlili'i 
For  virtue  is  an  ornami'iit  that  timt!  will  iiuvur  rot, 
And  preferable  to  year  anil  the  lilaltlirie  u't. 

'I'ho'  my  lassie  hae  iiau  scarlets  or  silks  to  put  on. 
We  envy  not  the  uruatest  that  sits  iiiion  tliu  tliimii . 
I  wad  rather  liae  my  lassie,  though  she  earn'  in  lur 

smock, 
Thau  a  princess  wl'  the  gear  and  the  Idaithrie  o't. 

Tho'  wu  Ime  iiae  horses  or  meiizie  at  command. 
We  will  toil  on  our  foot,  and  we'll  work  wi'  our  liaml; 
And  when  wearied  without  rest,  we'll  Hud  It  swi'i't 

in  any  spot. 
And  we'll  value  nut  the  Kear  and  the  lilaltlirie  u't. 

If  wo  hae  ony  babies,  we'll  count  them  iis  lent; 
llae  we  less,  line  wu  iiiair,  we  will  aye  be  content; 
For  they  say  they  hae  mair  plensiirc  thnt  wins  Imt  a 

Ki'oat, 
Thau  tile  miser  wl'  his  gear  and  the  blaithrie  o't. 

I'll  not  meddle  wi'  th'  ntfnirs  o'  the  kirk  or  tlif  i|Ueeii, 
Tliey're  line  matters  for  a  sniiy,  let  thuiii  sink  Ivt 

tlu'iii  swim ; 
On  your  kirk  Ml  ne'er  encroach,  but  I'll  hold  it  still 

remote, 
Mae  iak  this  fur  the  gear  and  tho  blaithrie  o't. 


MAY  EVE,  OR  KATE  OF  ABERDEEN. 
(Johiuon's  iluieum,  No.  35.) 

"  Kate  of  -\berdeen"  is,  I  believe,  the  work 
of  poor  Cunningham  the  player ;  of  whom  the 
following  anecdote,  though  told  before,  deserves 
a  recital.  -\  fat  dignitary  of  the  church  com- 
ing past  Cunningham  one  Sunday,  as  the  poor 
poet  was  busy  plying  a  fishing-rod  in  some 
stream  near  Durham,  his  native  county,  his 

2  That  is  "  the  money  and  the  cajolery  or  persuasive 
effect  of  it." 


reliiml,  oallod 
.  <»,"  wliicli, 
very  nolo  I  lie 


O'T. 

1.7.) 

iijr,  wliidi  wiiH 

>  Imvc  pii  liy 

Diimn  siiiii;  it 

word,  lit  tir.<l 


mini, 

riiiiiinniiil; 
»t  forKiit, 
illtllllu  n't.'- 

II,  or  piiilc, 

llnllH  lll'iili'; 
Vill  IICVL'I'  li>t, 

irif  lit. 

<8  to  put  nil, 

Mill  the  tlll'llIU', 

sliu  ciiin'  ill  lici' 

lilnitliriu  n't. 

coinnmiul, 

ii'k  wi'iiiir  liiiiiil; 

II  lllld    It   KWl'Lt 

bliiithrlu  o't. 

III  IIS  U'lit; 

e  lie  ccmtt'iit; 
that  wiiiH  but  n 

bliiitliHt'  n't. 

li'kor  tliLMiiieiii, 
t  thi'iii  sink  lit 

I'll  luilil  It  still 

ithrie  o't. 


ABERDEEN. 
35.) 

licvc,  the  work 
;  of  wlioni  till' 
)cforc,  deserves 
le  church  com- 
ay,  a.s  the  poor 
g-rod  in  some 
ve  county,  his 
ery  or  persuasive 


KKMAHKS  ON  HCOTTISH   SON(!S  AND   HALLADS. 


IM 


rcvereneu  reprimanded  CiinnlnKham  very  mo- 
verely  tor  Hiieh  an  oeeiipation  on  hiicIi  a  day. 
The  poor  poet,  with  that  InotlenHlve  KentleneK.s 
(if  nuinners  which  wan  liirt  peculiar  eharaeter- 
i.«tit',  replied,  thai  he  hoped  (Jod  and  iiis  rever- 
cnee  would  I'orijive  iiis  Mccmini;  profanity  of 
lli;it  Kacred  day,  "nt  fn'  fiml  no  iliinnr  In  nit 
I, lit  ir/iiil  liii/  III  llii'  holloin  of  Hull  /looff"  TUU, 
.Mr.  Woods  the  player,  who  knew  Cunningham 
well,  and  esteemed  him  mucli,  iiKMurod  nto  was 
true. 

(Till*  silvt'r  MiiKiii's  uimiiiour'il  licnni 

StciilH  H'lftly  tliriillilll  the  lll»llt. 
Til  wiiiitiiii  with  tliu  wliiiliiiK  Mtrcaiii, 

.\na  kJHH  ivlk'i'tcd  liuht. 
To  linU  of  .statu  no  liiiliiiy  sluep, 

(Tl!*  wlifiL-  ymi'Vf  hililoin  lu.^ii.) 
Miiv's  vl'.'ll  whilu  tliu  MlifplicriU  kuop, 

Willi  Kalu  of  AIil'I'iIl'l'Ii.    iV'c.I 


TWKKI)  SIDE. 
(Johmon's  Mimrum,  Xo.  3G.) 

Ill  I'amsay's  "Tea-taldo  Mi.seellany,"  he 
tolls  us  that  about  thirty  of  the  songs  in 
that  pulilii'atioii  were  the  works  of  somo  young 
nciitlfineu  of  his  aei|uaintaiiee;  which  songs 
uie  iiiarkeil  with  the  letters  J).,  C,  &e. — Old 
Mr.  Tytler,  of  WoodhouHclcc,  the  worthy  and 
alile  defender  of  the  beauteous  (^ueen  of  Scots, 
told  me  that  the  songs  marked  C.  in  the  "Tea- 
tiible,"  were  the  composition  of  a  Mr.  t'rawfurd, 
oftlic  house  of  Auehinanies,  who  was  afterw;;rds 
unfortunately  drowned  coming  from  France. — 
As  Tytler  was  most  intimately  acquainted  with 
Allan  Hamsay,  I  think  tiic  anecdote  may  be 
(lepended  on.  Of  consequence,  the  beautiful 
Hong  of  "Tweed  Side"  is  Jlr.  t'rawfurd's,  and 
indeed  docs  great  honour  to  his  poetical  tal- 
ents. He  was  a  IJobcrt  Crawfurd:  the  Mary 
he  celebrates,  was  a  Mary  Stewart,  of  the 
Castle-Milk  family,  afterwards  married  to  u 
Mr.  John  liitchie. 

1  have  seen  a  song,  calling  itself  the  original 
Tweed  Side,  and  said  to  have  been  compo.sed 
by  Lord  Ycstcr.  It  consisted  of  two  stanza., 
of  which  I  still  recollect  the  first — 

When  ^NlnRgy  nnil  I  was  ac(|imint, 

I  earrit'il  my  iioddlu  fu'  hie; 
Xae  liiuwhite  on  a'  the  (irecn  plain. 

Nor  gowdspiuk  sue  happy  as  ine ; 
But  I  saw  her  sae  fair,  and  I  lo'ed ; 

I  woo'd,  liut  I  came  iiae  great  speed ; 
So  now  I  maun  wander  abroad, 

And  lay  my  banes  far  frae  the  Tweed. 


MAUY'S  DUEAM. 

(Johtuim't  iliiHeiiiii,  Xu.  j;.) 

The  Mary  here  alluded  to  is  generally  sup- 
posed to  be  .Miss  .Mary  .Macghie,  daughter  In 
the  I,aird  of  Airds,  in  (lalloway.  The  poet  was 
a  Mr.  Lowe,  who  likewise  wrote  another  beau- 
tiful cong,  called  I'ompey's  ( iho.st.  —  I  have  seen 
a  iioetic  epistle  from  him  in  Nortli  America, 
where  he  now  is,  or  lately  was,  to  a  lady  in 
Scotland.— Hy  the  strain  of  the  verses,  it  ap 
pears  that  they  allude  to  some  lovedisappoinl- 
nient. 

(The  moon  had  cllmb'd  the  hlKhest  lilU, 

Whlili  iIhi'H  o'er  the  Muiiiri.  uf  Dee, 
And  fi'om  tlie  eanteni  Hiiiiiiiilt  Hlied 

Her  Hllver  Unlit  on  tnw'r  ainl  tree: 
When  .Mary  laid  her  ilown  to  sleep, 

Her  tlionuhtH  on  Handy  far  at  sea ; 
When  soft  iiiid  low  a  vnleu  was  lieaid, 

Saying,  .Mary,  weep  no  more  (or  me  1 1 


THERE'S  NAE  LUCK  ABOUT  THE 
HOUSE. 

(Johnion's  ituaeum,  yo,  I,.',.) 

This  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  songs  in  the 
Scots,  or  any  other  language. — The  lines. 

And  will  I  Huu  his  face  nnaiii, 
And  will  I  hear  him  speak  ! 

as  well  as  the  two  preceding  ones,  areuncqualled 
almost  by  any  thing  I  ever  heard  or  read  :  and 
the  lines, 

The  present  moment  is  our  nin, 
The  iielst  we  never  saw, 

arc  worthy  of  the  first  poet.  It  is  long  pos- 
terior  to  Ramsay's  days.  About  the  year  1771 
or  1772  it  came  first  on  the  struts  as  a  ballad; 
and  I  suppo.se  the  composition  of  the  song  was 
not  much  anterior  to  that  period. 

[This  well-known  song  is  generally  believed 
to  have  been  written  by  a  schoolmistress 
named  Jean  Adams,  of  Crawfordsdyke,  Green- 
ock, who  (lied  in  1765.  The  two  lines  pre- 
ceding the  first  two  above  quoted  arc. 

His  very  foot  has  music  in't 
As  he  comes  up  the  stair. 

The  second  two  quoted  a 
terpolated  by  Dr.  Beattie.  ] 


.rem  a  verse  xn- 


184 


REMARKS  ON  SCOTTISH  SONGS  AND  BALLADS. 


MY  AIN  KIND  DEARIE,  0. 
(Johnson's  3ltueum,  No.  UO.) 
The  old  words  of  this  song  are  omitted  here, 
though  much  more  beautiful  than  those  in- 
serted ;  whicli  were  mostly  composed  by  poor 
Fergusson,  in  one  of  his  merry  humours.  The 
old  words  began  thus : — 

I'll  rowe  thee  o'er  the  lea-rig. 

My  ahi  kind  dearie,  0, 
I'll  rowe  thee  o'er  tlie  lea-rig. 

My  ain  kind  dearie,  O ; 
Altho'  tlie  niglit  were  ne'er  sae  wat, 

And  I  were  ne'er  sae  weary,  0, 
I'll  rowe  thee  o'er  tlie  lea-rig. 

My  ain  kind  dearie,  O. 


THE  BLYTHSOME  BRIDAL. 

(Johnson's  Museum,  No.  OS.) 

I  find  the  "Blythsome  Bridal"  in  James 
Watson's  collection  of  Scotch  poems,  printed 
at  Edinburgh  in  1706.  This  collection,  the 
publisher  says,  is  the  first  of  its  nature  which 
lias  been  published  in  our  own  native  Scots 
dialect — it  is  now  extremely  scarce. 

Tradition,  in  the  western  parts  of  Scotland, 
tells  us  that  the  old  song,  "An  the  Kirk  Avad 
let  me  be  "  (of  which  there  are  still  two  stanzas 
extant),  once  saved  a  co\  ^nanting  clergyman 
out  of  a  scrape.  It  was  a  little  prior  to  the 
Revolution — a  period  when  being  a  Scots 
Covenanter  was  being  a  felon — that  one  of  the 
clergy  who  was  at  that  time  hunted  by  the 
merciless  soldiery,  fell  in,  by  accident,  with  a 
party  of  the  military.  The  soldiers  were  not 
exactly  acquainted  with  the  person  of  the 
reverend  gentleman  of  whom  they  were  in 
search;  but  from  some  suspicious  circumstances 
they  fancied  that  they  had  got  one  of  that  cloth 
and  opprobrious  persuasion  among  them,  in 
the  person  of  this  stranger.  il/rt,s.s  John,  to 
extricate  himself,  assumed  u  freedom  of  man- 
ners very  unlike  the  gloorcy  strictness  of  his 
sect;  and  among  other  convivial  exhibitions, 
sung  (and  some  traditions  say  composed  oo 
the  spur  of  the  occasion)  "Kirk  wad  let  me 
be  "  with  such  effect,  that  the  soldiers  swore 
he  was  a  d — d  honest  fellow,  and  that  it  was 
impossible  he  could  belong  to  those  hellish 
conventicles;  and  so  gave  him  his  liberty. 

The  first  stanza  of  this  song,  a  little  altered, 
is  a  favourite  kind  of  dramatic  interlude  acted 


at  country  weddings  in  the  south-west  parts 
of  the  kingdom.  A  young  fellow  is  dressed 
up  like  an  old  beggar;  a  peruke,  coninionly 
made  of  carded  tow,  represents  the  hoary  lucks; 
an  old  bonnet;  a  ragged  plaid,  or  surtout, 
bound  with  a  straw  rope  for  a  gii'dle;  a  jiair  of 
old  shoes,  with  straw  ropes  twisted  round  the 
ankles,  as  is  done  by  shepherds  in  snowy 
weather;  his  face  they  disguise  as  like  wretclied 
old  age  as  ihey  can:  in  this  plight  he  is  brought 
into  the  wedding-house,  freciuently  to  the 
astonishment  of  strangers  who  are  not  in  tlie 
secret,  and  begins  to  sing — 

I  nm  a  silly  old  man, 
My  name  is  Aiild  Glenae.    &c. 

He  is  asked  to  drink,  and  by  and  by  to  dance, 
which,  after  some  uncouth  excuses,  he  is  pre- 
vailed on  to  do,  the  tiddler  playing  tlie  tune 
(which  here  iscommonly  called  "Aukl  Glenae  "); 
in  short,  he  is  all  the  time  so  plied  with  liquor 
that  he  is  understood  to  get  intoxicated,  and 
with  all  the  ridiculous  gesticulations  of  an  old 
drunken  beggar,  he  dances  and  staggers  until 
he  falls  on  the  floor;  yet  still  in  all  his  riot, 
nay,  in  his  rolling  and  tumbling  on  the  floor, 
with  one  or  other  drunken  motion  of  his  body, 
he  beats  time  to  the  music,  till  at  last,  he  is 
supposed  to  be  carried  out  dead  drunk: 


THE  BONNIE  BRUCKET  LASSIE. 
(J'lhnson's  Museum,  No.  63.) 

The  idea  of  this  song  is  to  mc  very  original : 
the  two  first  Vmia  are  all  of  it  that  is  old.  The 
rest  of  the  song,  as  well  as  those  songs  in  the 
il/«.se«w  marked  T.,are  the  works  of  an  obscure, 
tippling,  but  extraordinary  body  of  the  name 
of  Tytler,  commonly  known  by  the  name  of 
Balloon  Tytler,  from  his  having  projected  a 
balloon;  a  mortal,  who,  though  he  drudges 
about  Edinburgh  as  a  common  printer,  witli 
leaky  shoes,  a  sky-lighted  hat,  and  knee- 
buckles  as  unlike  as  George-by-the-grace-of- 
God,  and  Solomon-the-son-of- David;  yet  tiuit 
same  unknown  drunken  mortal  is  author  and 
compiler  of  three-for-ths  of  Elliot's  pompous 
Encyclopa'dia  Brit;,  .lica,  which  he  composed 
at  half  a  guinea  a-week  ! 

[The  bonnie  brucketi  lassie, 
She's  blue  l)cneath  tlie  etn; 

1  Brueket  seems  to  mean  having  the  face  si.iliil 
with  weeping. 


th-\vest  parts 
ow  is  dressed 
e,  eominoiily 
0  hoary  locks; 
I,  or  surtout, 
rdlc;  a  pair  of 
ed  round  the 
■lis  in  snowy 
like  wrctehed 
he  is  lirouglit 
icnfly  to  the 
ire  not  in  tlic 


&e. 

d  by  to  dance, 
ses,  he  is  pre- 
yinu-  the  tunc 
VuldGlenac"); 
cd  with  liquor 
toxicated,  and 
ions  of  an  old 
sta.srgers  until 
n  all  his  riot, 
c;  on  the  floor, 
>n  of  his  body, 
at  last,  he  is 
dnink. 

LASSIE. 
GS.) 

very  original : 
it  is  oh'.  Tiio 
e  songs  in  the 
s  of  an  obscure, 
\'  of  the  name 

the  name  of 
g  projected  a 
h  lie  drudges 

printer,  with 
t,  and  knee- 
r-thc-grace-of- 
ivid;  yet  that 
is  author  and 
lot's  pompous 
I  he  composed 


sie, 
etn; 

the  face  si.'leil 


BEAIARKS  OX  SCOTTISH  SONGS  AND  BALLADS. 


185 


She  was  the  fairest  lassie 
Tliat  ilaneed  on  the  green; 

A  lad  lie  lo'eil  her  dearly, 
She  did  his  love  return; 

liut  he  his  vows  has  broken 
And  left  her  for  to  mouni.] 


MAKY  SCOTT,  THE  FLOWER  OF  YARROW. 

(Johtison's  Museum,  Xo.  73.) 

Jlr.  liobertson,  in  his  statistical  account  of 
the  parish  of  Selkirk,  says,  that  Mary  Scott, 
the  Flower  of  Yarrow,  was  descended  from  the 
Dry  hope,  and  married  into  the  Harden  family. 
Her  daughter  was  married  to  a  predecessor  of 
the  present  Sir  Francis  Elliot  of  Stobbs,  and 
of  the  late  Lord  Heathfield. 

There  is  a  circumstance  in  their  contract  of 
marriage  that  merits  attention,  as  it  strongly 
marks  the  predatory  spirit  of  the  times.  The 
father-in-law  agrees  to  keep  his  daughter  for 
isonie  time  after  the  marriage;  for  whi'di  the 
son-in-law  binds  himself  to  give  him  the  pro- 
tits  of  the  first  JHchaclmas  moon ! 


THE  BUSH  ABOON  TRAQUAIR. 

{Johnson's  ^fuseunl,  A'o.  SO.) 

This  is  another  beautiful  song  of  ^Ir.  Craw- 
furd's  composition.  Hi  the  neighbourhood  of 
Traipiair,  tradition  still  shows  the  old  "Hush;" 
wiiich,  when  I  saw  it  in  the  year  1787,  was 
composed  of  eight  or  nine  ragged  birches.  The 
Karl  of  Traquair  has  planted  a  clump  of  trees 
near  by,  which  he  calls,  "The  new  Bush." 

[Hear  nie,  ye  nymphs,  and  every  swain, 

I'll  tell  how  Peggy  grieves  uie; 
Tho'  tlius  I  languish  and  eonipluin, 

Alasl  she  ne'er  believes  uie. 
My  VDWs  and  sighs,  like  silent  air, 

luheeded  never  move  her; 
The  bounie  l)ush  aboou  Traijuair, 

Was  where  I  first  did  love  her.l 


GO  TO  THE  EWE-BUGHTS,   MARION. 

(Johnson's  Museum,  A'o.  $3.) 

I  am  not  sure  if  this  old  and  charming  air 
be  of  the  South,  as  is  commonly  said,  or  of  the 
North  of  Scotland.  There  is  a  song  apparently 
as  ancient  as  "  lilwe-bughts,  Marion,"  which 
sings  to  the  same  tune,  and  is  evidently  of  the 
North.     It  begins  thus: — 


The  Lord  o'  Gordon  had  three  dochters, 

Mary,  JIargaret,  and  Jean, 
They  wadna  stay  at  bonnie  Castle  Gordon, 

But  awa  to  Aberdeen. 

[The  above  is  the  first  verse  of  a  well-known 
ballad — not  properly  a  song  as  Burns  desig- 
nates it.] 

[Will  ye  go  to  the  ewe-bughts  Marion, 

And  wear  in  the  sheep  wi'  nie? 
The  sun  shines  sweet,  my  Marion, 

But  nae  half  sae  sweet  as  thee.] 


LEWIS  GORDON. 

(,Johnso7i's  JIuseum,  A'o.  SG.) 

This  air  is  a  proof  how  one  of  our  Scots  tunes 
comes  to  be  composed  out  of  another.  I  have 
one  of  the  earliest  copies  of  the  song,  and  it 
has  prefixed, 

Tune  of  Tarry  woo. 

Of  which  tune  a  diflferent  set  has  insensibly 
varied  into  a  difllercnt  air. — To  a  Scots  critic, 
the  pathos  of  the  line, 

Tho'  his  back  be  at  the  wa', 

must  be  very  striking.  It  needs  not  a  Jacobite 
prejudice  to  be  affected  ■\vith  this  song. 

The  supposed  author  of  '  •  Lewis  Gordon  " 
was  a  Mr.  Geddes,  priest  at  Shenval,  in  tho 
Ainzie. 

[Dr.  Alexander  Geddes,  a  learned  and  liberal- 
minded  Roman  Catholic  priest  at  Auchinhalrig, 
Hnzie.  Banffshire.  See  in  regard  to  him  note 
on  I    125,  vol.  iv.] 

[0  send  Lewie  Gordon  hame. 
And  the  lad  I  daurna  name ; 
Though  his  back  be  at  the  wa'. 
Here's  to  him  that's  far  awa !  1 


THE  WAUKIN'  0'  THE  FAULD. 

(Johnson's  Mtiseitm.  No.  87.) 

There  are  two  stanzas  still  sung  to  this  tune 
which  I  take  to  be  the  original  song,  whence 
Ramsay  composed  his  beautiful  song  of  that 
name  in  the  Gentle  Shepherd.     It  begins — 

O  will  ye  speak  at  our  town. 
As  ye  come  frae  the  fauld. 

I  regret  tliat,  as  in  many  of  our  old  songs, 
the  delicacy  of  the  old  fragment  is  not  equal 
to  its  wit  and  humour. 


I:    I 


I 


i 


186 


REMARKS  ON  SCOTTISH  SONGS  AND  BALLADS. 


I'LL  NEVER  LEAVE  THEE. 
(Johnson's  3l%tseiim,  Xo.  91.) 

This  is  another  of  Crawfurd's  songs,  but  I  do 
not  think  in  his  happiest  manner. — AVhat  an 
absurdity,  to  join  such  names  ao  Adonis  and 
Mary  together ! 

[One  day  I  heard  Mary  say, 

How  shall  I  leave  thee? 
Stay,  dearest  Adonis,  stay; 

Why  wilt  thou  grieve  nie? 
Alas!  my  fond  heart  will  break, 

If  thou  should  leave  nie: 
I'll  live  and  die  for  thy  sake, 

Yet  never  leave  thee.] 


PREFACE  BY  BURNS  TO  JOHNSON'S 
MUSEUM,  VOL.  IL 

In  the  first  volume  of  this  work,  two  or 
tliree  airs,  not  of  Scots  composition,  have  been 
inadvertently  inserted;  which,  whatever  excel- 
lence they  may  have,  was  improper,  as  the 
collection  is  meant  to  be  solely  the  music  of 
our  own  country.  The  songs  contained  in  this 
volume,  both  music  and  poetry,  are  all  of  them 
the  work  of  Scotsmen.  Wherever  the  old 
words  could  be  recovered,  they  have  been  pre- 
ferred; both  as  suiting  better  the  genius  of 
the  tunes,  and  to  preserve  the  productions  of 
those  earlier  sons  of  the  Scottish  JIuses,  some 
of  whose  names  deserved  a  better  fate  than  has 
befallen  them — "Buried  'midst  the  wreck  of 
things  which  were."  Of  our  more  modern 
songs,  the  editor  has  inserted  the  authors' 
names  as  far  as  he  can  ascertain  them;  and  as 
that  was  neglected  in  the  first  volume,  it  is 
annexed  here.  If  he  has  made  any  mistakes 
in  this  affair,  which  he  possibly  may,  he  will 
be  very  grateful  at  being  set  right. 

Ignorance  and  prejudice  may  perhaps  affect 
to  sneer  at  the  simplicity  of  the  poetry  or 
music  of  some  of  these  poems ;  but  their  having 
been,  forages,  the  favourites  of  Nature's  judges 
— the  common  people — was  to  the  editor  a 
sufficient  test  of  their  merit. 
Edin.  3Iarch  1,  1788. 


TRANENT-MUIR. 

(Johiuon's  Museum,  No.  102.) 

Composed  by  a  Mr.  Skirving,  a  very  worthy 
respectable  farmer  near  Haddington.     I  have 


heard  the  anecdote  often,  that  Lout.  Smith, 
whom  he  mentions  in  the  ninth  stanza,  came 
to  Haddington  after  the  publication  of  the 
song,  and  sent  a  challenge  to  Skirving  to  meet 
him  at  Haddington,  and  answer  for  the  un- 
worthy manner  in  which  lie  had  noticed  him 
in  his  song.  "Gang  awa'  back,"  said  the 
honest  farmer,  "and  tell  Mr.  Smith  that  I  ha'e 
nae  leisure  to  come  to  Haddington ;  but  tell 
him  to  come  here,  and  I'll  tak'  a  look  o'  him, 
and  if  I  think  I'm  fit  to  fecht  him,  I'll  feeht 
him;  and  if  no,  I'll  do  as  he  did — I'll  rhi 
awa\" 

[The  battle  is  better  known  by  the  name  of 
Prestonpnns.  The  following  is  the  stanza  in 
which  Lieut.  Smith  is  mentioned: — 

And  Major  Bowie,  that  worthy  soul. 

Was  brought  down  to  the  ground,  man. 
His  horse  being  shot,  it  was  his  lot 

For  to  gut  niony  a  wound,  man. 
Lieutenant  Smith,  of  Irish  birth, 

Frae  whom  he  call'd  for  aid,  man. 
Being  full  of  dread,  lap  o'er  his  head. 

And  ivndna  be  gainsaid,  man. 

The  whole  production  of  fifteen  stanzas  is  little 
better  than  doggerel.  ] 


DUMBARTON  DRUMS. 

(Johnson's  Museum,  Xo.  ICl.) 

This  is  the  last  of  the  West  Higli'and  airs; 
and  from  it,  over  the  whole  tract  of  country  to 
the  confines  of  Tweed-side,  there  is  hardly  a 
tune  or  song  that  one  can  say  has  taken  its 
origin  from  any  place  or  transaction  in  that 
part  of  Scotland. — The  oldest  Ayrshire  reel  is 
Stewarton  Lasses,  which  was  made  by  the 
father  of  the  present  Sir  Walter  Jlontgomery 
Cunningham,  alias  Lord  Lysle;  since  which 
period  there  has  indeed  been  local  music  in 
that  country  in  great  plenty. — Johnnie  Faa 
is  the  only  old  song  which  I  could  ever  trace 
as  belonging  to  the  extensive  county  of  Ayr. 

[Burns  seems  to  think  that  the  tune  of 
"Dumbarton's  Drums"  had  local  connection 
with  the  (jarrison  of  Dumbarton.  But  it  re- 
lates to  Dumbarton's  irijimcnt,  a  British  regi- 
ment, so  called  from  having  been  first  com- 
manded by  the  Earl  of  Dumbarton,  a  nobleman 
who  distinguished  himself  during  the  reigns  of 
Charles  II.  and  James  II.,  and  who  died  an 
exile  in  France,  in  1692. 


t  L^jut.  Smith, 

th  stanza,  came 

lication  of  the 

kirving  to  meet 

er  for  tlie  un- 

ad  noticed  liim 

•aciv,"  said  the 

nitli  tliat  I  iia'e 

igton;  but  tell 

a  look  o'  him, 

him,  I'll  fecht 

e  did— /'/;  )•(■/( 

by  the  name  of 
s  the  stanza  in 
cd: — 

!iy  sdiil, 
:i'i>nnil,  man, 
lis  lot 
iiinii. 
rtli, 
1,  ninn, 
lis  head, 
ui. 

stanzas  is  little 


LJMS. 
I.  ICl.) 

High'and  airs; 
ct  of  coniitrv  to 
ere  is  hardly  a 
r  has  taken  its 
saction  in  that 
Ayrshire  reel  is 

made  by  the 
sr  Montgomery 
3 ;  since  which 
local  music  in 
— .lohnnie  Faa 
)ul(l  ever  trace 
)unty  of  Ayr. 
t  the  tune  of 
ical  connection 
n.  Hut  it  re- 
a  British  regi- 
leen  first  coni- 
Dn,  a  nobleman 
ig  the  reigns  of 
I  who  died  an 


REMARKS  ON  SCOTTISH  SONGS  AND  BALLADS. 


iH'; 


Dumbarton's  drums  beat  l)onnie,  O, 

When  they  mind  me  o'  my  dear  Johnnie,  0; 

How  happy  am  I  when  my  soger  is  by. 

While  he  kisses  and  blesses  his  Annie,  0. 

Tis  a  soger  alone  can  delight  me,  O, 

For  his  graceful  looks  do  invite  me,  O; 

While  guarded  in  his  arms,  111  fear  no  wars'  alarms, 

Neltlier  danger  nor  death  shall  atfright  me,  O.] 


JOHNNY  FAA,  OR  THE  GYPSIE  LADDIE. 

{Johnson's  iltiseiim,  Xo.  ISl.) 

The  people  in  Ayrshire  begin  this  song — 
The  gypsies  cam  to  my  Lord  Cassilis'  yett.— 

They  have  a  great  many  more  stanzas  in 
this  song  than  I  ever  yet  saw  in  any  printed 
copy — The  castle  is  still  remaining  at  Maybole, 
where  his  Lordship  shut  up  his  wayward  spouse, 
and  kept  her  for  life  in  confinement. 

[The  ballad  of  Johnny  Faa,  narrating  how 
the  gypsies,  by  "easting  the  glamour  ower 
her,"  wiled  away  the  lady  of  Lord  Cassilis,  was 
inserted  in  the  Museum  from  I'amsay's  Tfa- 
Tahle  Miscellany.    See  note  to  p.  63,  vol.  ii.  ] 


I   HAD  A  HORSE  AND  I   HAD  NAE 
MAIll. 

(Johnson's  Slusenm,  So.  1S5.) 

This  story  is  founded  on  fact.  A  John 
Hunter,  ancestor  to  a  very  respectable  farming 
family,  who  live  in  a  place  in  the  parish,  I 
think,  of  Galston,  called  Barr-mill,  was  the 
luckless  hero  that  "had  a  horse  and  had  nae 
mair." — For  some  little  youthful  follies  he 
found  it  necessary  to  make  a  retreat  to  the 
West  Highlands,  where  "he  fee'd  himself  to 
a  Highland  Laird;"  for  that  is  the  expression 
of  all  the  oral  editions  of  the  .song  I  ever  heard. 
— The  present  Mr.  Hunter,  who  told  me  the 
anecdote,  is  the  great  grandchild  of  our  hero. 


one  of  those  many  publications  which  are  hourly 
ushered  into  the  world  merely  to  catch  the  eye 
of  Fashion  in  her  frenzy  of  a  day,  the  Editor 
has  little  to  liope  or  fear  from  the  herd  of 
readers. 

Consciousness  of  the  well-known  merit  of 
our  Scottish  JIusic,  and  the  national  fondness 
of  a  Scotchman  for  the  productions  of  his  own 
country,  are  at  once  the  Editor's  motive  and 
apology  for  this  undertaking ;  and  where  any 
of  the  pieces  in  the  collection  may  perhaps  be 
found  wanting  at  the  Critical  Bar  of  the  jirst, 
he  appeals  to  the  honest  prejudices  of  the  lost. 

Edinburgh,  February  2d,  1790. 


TREFACE  BY  BURNS  TO  JOHNSON'S 
MUSEUM,  VOL.    III. 

Now  that  the  editor  gives  this  third  volume 
of  the  Scots  Musical  Museum  to  the  public,  he 
hopes  it  will  not  be  found  unworthy  of  the 
volumes  already  published.      As  this  is  not  j  [Othello,  act  ii.  .scene  3]. 


WHEN   I   UPON   THY  BOSOM  LEAN. 

{Johnson's  Museum,  No.  P.05.) 

This  song  was  the  work  of  a  very  worthy 
fiicetious  old  fellow,  John  Lapraik,  la-e of  Dal- 
fram,  near  Muirkirk ;  which  little  property  he 
was  obliged  to  sell  in  consequence  of  some  con- 
nection as  security  for  some  persons  cone  irned 
in  that  villanous  bubble,  the  Ayr  bank.  He 
has  often  told  me,  that  he  composed  this  song 
one  day  when  his  wife  had  been  fretting  o'er 
their  misfortunes. 

[See  note  vol.  i.  p.  249,  where  this  .song  is 
given  in  connection  with  Burns's  Epistle  to 
Lapraik.] 


LEADER  HAUGHS  AND  YARROW. 

(Johmon's  Museum,  Xo.  Sll.) 

There  is,  in  several  collections,  the  old  song 
of  "Leader  Haughs  and  Yarrow. "  It  seems 
to  hove  been  the  work  of  one  of  our  itinerant 
minstrels,  as  he  calls  himself,  at  the  conclusion 
of  his  song,  Minstrel  Burn. 

[For  some  particulars  regarding  Jlinstrcl 
Burn  and  the  long  song  here  referred  to,  see 
Loekhart's  Life,  p.  71-] 


TAK  YOUR  AULD   CLOAK  ABOUT  YE. 

{Johnson  s  Mtisetim,  Xo.  050.) 

A  p.art  of  this  old  song,  according  to  the 
English  set  of  it,   is  quoted   in  Shakspeare 


'!        ■ ::; 


188 


REMARKS  ON  SCOTTISH  SONGS  AND  BALLADS. 


DONALD  AND  FLORA. 

{Johnson's  Stuseum,  A'o.  S53.) 
This  is  one  of  those  few  Gaelic  tunes,  pre- 
served from  time  immemorial  in  the  Hebrides ; 
they  seem  to  be  the  ground-work  of  many  of 
our  finest  Scots  pastoral  tunes.  The  words  of 
this  song  were  written  to  commemorate  the  un- 
fortunate expedition  of  General  Burgoyne  in 
America,  in  1777. 


THE  BOB  O'DUMBLANE. 

(Johnson's  Museum,  A'o.  S70.) 

Ramsay,  as  usual,  has  modernized  this  song. 
The  original,  which  I  learne<l  on  the  spot, 
from  my  old  hostess  in  tlie  principal  Inn  there, 
is: — 

Lassie,  lend  me  your  braw  liemp  heckle, 

And  I'll  lend  you  my  thripplin-kame : 
My  heckle  is  broken,  it  canna  be  gotten. 

And  we'll  giie  dance  tlie  l)ol)  o'  Dunil)lane. 
Twa  gaed  to  tlie  wood,  to  tlie  wood,  to  the  wood, 

Twa  gaed  to  the  wood — three  came  hanie ; 
An  it  lie  na  weel  bobbit,  weel  bobbit,  weel  bohbit. 

All  it  be  na  weel  bohbit,  we'll  Ijob  it  again. 

I  insert  this  song  to  introiluee  the  following 
anecdote,  which  I  liave  heard  well  authenti- 
cated. In  the  evening  of  the  day  of  the  battle 
of  Dumblane  (Sheriff-muir),  when  the  action 
was  over,  a  Scots  officer  in  Argyle's  army, 
observed  to  His  Grace,  that  he  was  afraid  the 
rebels  would  give  out  to  the  world  that  they 
had  gotten  the  victory.  "Weel,  weel,"  an- 
swered his  grace,  alluding  to  the  foregoing 
ballad,  "if  tiiey  think  it  be  na  weel  bobbit, 
we'll  bob  it  again." 


TULLOCHGORUM. 

(Johnson's  Museum,  No.  3S0.) 

This  first  of  songs  is  the  master-piece  of  my 
old  friend  Skinner.  He  was  psissing  the  day 
at  the  town  of  C'ullen,  I  think  it  was  in  a  friend's 
house,  whose  name  was  Jlontgomery.  Mrs. 
Montgomery  observing,  en  ]wnm)>t,  that  the 
beautiful  reel  of  Tullochgorum  wanted  words, 
she  begged  them  of  Mr.  Skinner,  who  gratified 
her  wishes,  and  the  wishes  of  every  lover  of 
Scottish  song,  in  this  most  excellent  ballad. 

These  particulars  I  had  from  the  author's 
Bon,  Bishop  Skinner,  at  Aberdeen. 


PREFACE  TO  VOLUME  IV.   OF  THE 
aMUSEUM. 

When  the  Editor  published  the  third  volume 
of  this  work,  he  had  reason  to  conclude  that 
one  volume  more  would  finish  the  publication. 
Still  however,  he  has  a  con.siderable  number 
of  Scots  Airs  and  Songs  more  than  his  plan 
allowed  him  to  include  in  this  fourth  volume. 
These,  though  in  all  probability  they  will  not 
amount  to  wlnt  he  has  hitherto  published  as 
one  volume,  he  shall  yet  give  to  the  world: 
that  the  Scots  ilusical  Museum  may  be  a  col- 
lection of  every  Scots  Song  extant.  To  those 
who  object  that  his  publication  contains  pieces 
of  inferior,  or  little  value,  the  Editor  answers, 
by  referring  to  his  plan.  All  our  songs  cannot 
have  equal  merit.  Besides,  as  the  world  have 
not  yet  agreed  on  any  unerring  balance,  any 
undi-sputed  standard,  in  matters  of  taste,  what 
to  one  person  yields  no  manner  of  pleasure, 
may  to  another  be  a  high  enjoyment. 
EUINU.  August  13,  1792. 


GALLOWAY  TAM. 

(Johnson's  Mitseum,  Xo.  3^5.) 

I  have  seen  an  interlude  acted  at  a  wedding 
to  this  tune,  called  "The  Wooing  of  the 
Maiden." — These  entertainments  are  now  mudi 
worn  out  in  this  part  of  Scotland. — Two  are 
still  retained  in  Nithsdalc,  viz.  "Silly  puir 
auld  dlenae,"  and  this  one,  "The  Wooing  of 
the  Maiden." 

[O  Galloway  Tarn  cam'  here  to  woo; 
I'd  rather  we'd  gi'uii  him  the  lirawnit  cow, 
l<'or  our  lass  Hess  may  curse  an'  l)an 
The  wanton  wit  o'  (lalloway  Tain. 
O  Galloway  Tani  cam'  here  to  sliear; 
I'd  rather  we'd  gi'eii  him  the  f;nde  grey  mare, 
He  kiss'd  the  gudewife,  and  dang  tlie  gudeiiian, 
And  that's  tlie  tricks  o'  Galloway  Tani.) 


LORD  RONALD,   MY  SON. 
(Johnson's  Museum,  Xo.  327.) 

This  air,  a  very  favourite  one  in  Ayrsliire, 
is  evidently  the  original  of  " Lochaber. " — In 
this  manner  most  of  our  finest  more  modern 
airs  have  had  their  origin.  Some  early  min- 
strel, or  musical  shepherd,  composed  the  simple 


KEMARKS  ON  SCOTTISH  SONGS  AND  BALLADS. 


189 


T.   OF  THE 

e  third  volume 
conclude  that 
le  publication. 
3rablc  number 
than  his  plan 
burth  volume. 
'  they  will  not, 
o  published  as 
to  the  world : 
may  be  a  col- 
mt.  To  those 
contains  pieces 
Iditor  answers, 
r  songs  cannot 
;he  world  have 
?  balance,  any 
;  of  taste,  what 
T  of  pleasure, 
nent. 


[. 
525.) 

1  at  a  weddincj 
'ooing  of  the 
sarenowmuili 
nd. — Two  are 
:.  "Silly  iiuii- 
L'he  Wooing  of 


artless  original  air;  whicii,  being  picked  up  by 
the  more  learned  musicians,  took,  the  improved 
form  it  bears. 

[A  complete  copy  of  this  ballad  will  be  found 
in  the  Bonier  Minntrelsi/smd  other  collections.  ] 


We  have  sufficient  evidence  that  Burns  was 
an  ardent  admirer  of  the  ancient  Minstrelsy  of 
Scotland;  and  it  appears  to  have  been  his 
design  to  recover  all  that  was  worthy  of  pre- 
servation. When  his  attention  was  more  im- 
mediately drawn  to  this  subject  by  Mr.  William 
Tytlcr  of  Woodhousclee,  he  copied  some  frag- 
ments of  old  ballads,  which  he  inclosed  to  his 
friend  in  this  letter: 

".Sin, 

"  Inclosed  I  have  sent  you  a  sample  of  tlie 
old  pieces  that  are  still  to  be  found  among  our 
peasantry  in  the  West. — I  once  had  a  great 
niiiny  of  these  fragments,  and  some  of  these  more 
entire;  but  as  I  had  no  idea  then  that  any  body 
cared  for  them,  I  have  forgotten  them.  I  in- 
variably hold  it  sacrilege  to  add  any  thing  of 
my  own  to  help  out  with  the  shattered  wrecks 


of  these  venerable  old  compositions ;  but  they 
have  many  various  readings.  If  you  have  not 
seen  these  before,  I  know  they  will  flatter  your 
true  old-style  Caledonian  feelings ;  at  any  rate, 
I  am  truly  happy  to  have  an  opportunity  of 
assuring  you  how  sincerely  I  am,  revered  Sir, 
your  gratefully  indebted  humble  servant, 

"KOBEKT    BUUNS. 

"Lawn  Market,  Aug.  1787." 

Burns's  later  practice  did  not  at  all  square 
with  the  sentiments  e.xprcs.scd  in  this  letter, 
as  he  subsequently  amended  and  altered  in 
various  ways  many  of  these  antique  fragments 
for  insertion  in  Johnson's  Mmkul  Mmcum, 
as  the  following  extract  from  one  of  his  letters 
will  testify: — "The  songs  marked  Z  in  the 
Mmeum,  I  have  given  to  the  world  as  old  verses 
to  their  respective  tunes;  but,  fn  fact,  of  a  good 
many  of  them  little  more  than  the  chorus  is 
ancient,  though  there  is  no  reason  for  telling 
every  body  this  piece  of  intelligence." 

The  fragments  sent  to  ^Ir.  Tytlcr  consisted 
of  Western  versions  of  the  ballads  "  The  Dowie 
Dens  of  Yarrow,"  "Hob  Hoy,"  and  "Young 
Ilyndhorn." 


ii  III 


nit  cow, 

:i 

I" 

grey  marc, 
he  tiudeniaii, 
am.  I 


SOX. 
127.) 

!  in  Ayrshire, 
K'haber. " — In 
more  modern 
me  early  niin- 
sed  the  simple 


f: 


'!;' 


; 


! 


THE   COMMON-PLACE   BOOKS   OF   BURNS. 


COMMON-PLACE  BOOK,    1783-I78r-. 

This  early  manuscript  of  Burns  consists  of 
a  stitched  book  of  twenty-two  folio  leaves,  and 
latterly  became  the  property  of  the  late  Mr. 
John  Adam,  town-chamberlain  of  Greenock. 
It  had  evidently  passed  through  the  hands  of 
Currie,  who,  however,  preferred  to  use  the 
abridgment  of  it  inscribed  by  Burns  in  the 
volume  of  Letters  which  he  wrote  out  for  Mr. 
Robert  liiddell  of  Glenriddell.  Cromek  in  his 
Bdl'iite.'i  (1808)  professed  to  print  the  manu- 
script entire,  but  he  interpolated  several  pieces 
from  other  manuscripts  of  Burns,  which  never 
formed  a  part  of  this  Common-place  Book,  and 
otherwise  presented  it  in  a  mangled  and  in- 
complete form,  ^t  was  first  printed  in  its  en- 
tirety in  a  privately  printed  edition,  Edinburgh, 
1872.  There  are  a  good  many  verbal  differences 
between  the  poems  as  they  appear  in  the  Com- 
mon-place Book  and  in  his  published  works, 
but  they  are  all  unimportant. 


Observations,  Hints,  Songs,  Scraps  of 
Poetry,  &c.,  by  Robert  Burness;  a  man  who 
had  little  art  in  making  money,  and  still  less 
in  keeping  it;  but  was,  however,  a  man  of 
some  sense,  a  great  deal  of  honesty,  and  un- 
bounded good-will  to  every  creature,  rational 
"and  irrational. — As  he  Avas  but  little  indebted 
to  scholastic  education,  and  bred  at  a  plough- 
tail,  his  performances  must  be  strongly  tinc- 
tured with  his  unpolished,  rustic  way  of  life; 
but  as  I  believe  they  are  really  his  own,  it  may 
be  some  entertainment  to  a  curious  observer  of 
human  nature  to  see  how  a  ploughman  thinks, 
and  feels,  under  the  pressure  of  love,  ambition, 
anxiety,  grief,  with  the  like  cares  and  passions, 
which,  however  diversified  by  the  modes  and 
manners  of  life,  operate  pretty  much  alike,  I 
believe,  on  all  the  species. 


"  There  are  numbers  in  the  worlil  who  do  not  want 
Bense  to  make  n  figure,  so  much  ns  an  jpiniuu  of  their 
own  abilities  to  put  them  upon  ret'oidiin;  their  uli- 
servntions,  and  allowing  them  the  saniu  importance 
wliich  they  do  to  those  which  appear  in  print.  — 
Shensto.nk. 

"rieasing,  when  youth  is  long  expired,  to  trace 
The  forms  our  pencil,  or  our  pen,  designed ! 
Such  was  our  youthful  air,  and  shape,  and  faee, 
Such  the  soft  image  of  our  youthful  mind,"— Ibid. 


April,  17S3. 
Xotwithstandingall  that  has  been  said  against 
love,  respecting  the  folly  and  weakness  it  leads 
a  young  inexperienced  mind  into ;  still  I  think 
it  in  a  great  measure  deserves  the  highest  en- 
comiums that  have  been  pa.ssed  upon  it.  If 
any  thing  on  earth  deserves  the  name  of  rap- 
ture or  transport,  it  is  the  feelings  of  green 
eighteen  in  the  company  of  the  mistress  of  his 
heart,  when  she  repays  him  with  an  equal 
return  of  affection. 


August. 
There  is  certainly  some  connection  between 
love  and  poetry;  and,  therefore,  I  have  always 
thought  it  a  fine  touch  of  nature,  that  passage 
in  a  modern  love-composition: — 

As  towards  her  cot  he  jogg'd  aloii};, 
Her  name  was  frequent  in  his  song.' 

For  my  own  part,  I  never  had  the  least 
thought  or  inclination  of  turning  poet  till  I 
got  once  heartily  in  love,  and  then  rhyme  and 
song  were,  in  a  manner,  the  spontaneous  lan- 
guage of  my  heart.  The  following  comi)osition 
was  the  first  of  my  performances,  and  done  at 
an  early  period  of  life,  when  my  heart  glowed 
with  honest  warm  simplicity;  unacquainted 

I  Wlii'ii  C'nlin  turned  his  teiim  to  ri'st. 
Anil  BOHj;lit  thu  lasa  hi'  lnvcil  the  tiest, 
As  towiirds  her  cut  ho  juHt/:'"!  iilonu, 
IKr  uunie  was  frecjiunt  in  liis  hkwk- 

—  r/ie  i«r*,  17G5,  vol.  i.  p.  89. 


^.NS. 


who  do  not  want 
I  ipi'iioixif  tlitir 
oriliiig  tliuir  uli- 
iiinie  imiKJi'tanee 
icar  in  print.  — 


•cil,  to  tiiice 
1,  designed! 
ape,  and  face, 
'\\l  mind."— luiD. 


April,  17S3. 
eensaidagiiiiist 
iiikncs.s  it  leads 
o;  .still  I  think 
the  highest  en- 
d  upon  it.  If 
e  name  of  raji- 
elings  of  green 
:  mistress  of  liis 
with  an  equal 


August, 
icetion  between 
',  1  have  always 
re,  that  passage 

'd  alonji, 
his  song.i 

■  had  the  least 
ling  poet  till  1 
hen  rhyme  and 
lontancous  lan- 
ingcomi)osition 
:es,  and  done  at 
\y  heart  glowed 
;   unucquaintctl 

to  rt'st, 
the  l)e8t, 
ilont!, 
I  solic- 
it, 1765,  vol.  i.  p.  89. 


THE  €OMMOX.PLACE  BOOKS  OF  BURNS. 


191 


and  uncorruptcd  with  the  ways  of  a  wicked 
world.  The  performance  is,  indeed,  very  puerile 
and  silly;  but  I  am  always  pleased  witli  it,  as 
it  recalls  to  my  mind  those  happy  days  when 
my  heart  was  yet  honest,  and  my  tongue  was 
sincere.  The  subject  of  it  was  a  young  girl 
who  really  deserved  all  tlic  praises  I  have  be- 
stowed on  her.  I  not  only  had  this  opinion 
of  her  then — but  I  actually  think  so  still,  now 
that  the  spell  is  long  since  broken,  and  the 
enchantment  at  an  end. 

.SONG. 

Tune—"  I  am  a  man  unmarried." 

0  once  I  lov'd  a  honnie  lass, 

Ay,  and  I  love  her  still, 
And  whilst  that  honour  warms  my  breast 
I'll  love  my  handsome  Nell. 

Fal  lal  de  ral,  &c 

[Vol.  i.  p.  ISO. 

Criticism  ox  the  Foregoino  Sono. 

Lest  my  works  should  be  thought  below 
criticism;  or  meet  with  a  critic  who,  perhaps, 
will  not  look  on  them  witii  so  candid  and 
favourable  an  eye;  I  am  determined  to  criticise 
them  myself. 

The  first  di.stic  of  the  firs'  stanza  is  quite  too 
much  in  the  flimsy  strain  of  our  ordinary  street 
l)allads;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  the  second 
di.stic  is  too  much  in  the  other  extreme.  The 
expression  is  a  little  awkward,  and  the  senti- 
ment too  serious.  Stanza  the  second  I  am 
well  pleased  with;  and  I  think  it  conveys  a 
fine  idea  of  that  amiable  part  of  the  sex — the 
iigrceables;  or  what  in  our  Scotch  dialect  Ave 
call  a  sweet  sonsy  lass.  The  third  stanza  has 
a  little  of  the  flimsy  turn  in  it:  and  the  third 
line  has  rather  too  serious  a  cast.  The  fourth 
stanza  is  a  very  indiflerent  one;  the  first  line 
is,  indeed,  all  in  the  strain  of  the  second  .stanza, 
but  the  rest  is  mostly  an  expletive.  The 
thoughts  in  the  fifth  stanza  come  finely  up  to 
my  favourite  idea — a  sweet  sonsy  lass:  the 
last  line,  however,  halts  a  little.  The  same 
sentiments  are  kept  up  with  equal  spirit  and 
tenderness  in  the  sixth  stanza:  but  the  second 
and  fourth  lines  ending  with  sliort  syllables 
hurt  the  whole.  The  seventh  stanza  has 
several  minute  faults:  but  I  remember  I  com- 
posed it  in  a  wild  enthusiasm  of  passion,  and 
to  this  hour  I  never  recollect  it  but  my  heart 
melts,  my  blood  sallies,  at  the  remembrance. 


SEI'TEMBEK. 

I  entirely  agree  with  that  judicious  philoso- 
pher, Mr.  Smith,  in  his  excellent  Theory  of 
Moral  Sentiments,  that  remorse  is  the  most 
painful  sentiment  that  can  imbitter  the  human 
bosom.  Any  ordinary  pitch  of  fortitude  may 
bear  up  tolerably  well  under  these  calamities, 
in  the  procurement  of  which  we  ourselves  have 
hrd  no  hand;  but  when  our  own  follies,  or 
crimes,  liave  made  us  miserable  and  wretched, 
to  bear  up  with  manly  firmness,  and  at  the 
same  time  have  a  proper  penitential  sense  of 
our  misconduct,  is  a  glorious  effort  of  self 
command. 

Of  all  the  numerous  ills  that  hurt  our  peace,  &c. 

[Vol.  1.  p.  219. 


March,  1784. 
A  penitential  thought,  in  the  hour  of  Remorse : 
Intended  for  a  tragedy. 

All  devil  as  I  am,  a  dnnmed  wretcli,  &e. 

[See  vol.  i.  p.  192. 


I  have  often  observed,  in  the  course  of  my 
experience  of  human  life,  that  every  man,  even 
the  worst,  have  something  good  about  them; 
though  very  often  nothing  else  than  a  happy 
temperament  of  constitution  inclining  him  to 
this  or  tliat  virtue;  on  this  likewise,  depend  a 
great  many,  no  man  can  say  how  many  of  our 
vices:  for  tliis  reason,  no  man  can  say  in  what 
degree  any  other  person,  besides  himself,  can 
be,  with  .strict  justice,  called  wicked.  Let 
any  of  the  strictest  character  for  regularity  of 
conduct  among  us,  examine  impartially  how 
many  of  his  virtues  arc  owing  to  constitution 
and  education:  how  many  vices  he  has  never 
been  guilty  of,  not  from  any  care  or  vigilance, 
but  for  want  of  opportunity,  or  some  accidental 
circumstance  intervening;  how  many  of  tlie 
weaknesses  of  mankind  he  has  escaped,  because 
he  was  out  of  the  line  of  such  temptation;  and, 
what  often,  if  not  always,  weighs  more  than 
all  the  rest,  how  much  he  is  indebted  to  the 
world's  good  opinion,  because  the  world  does 
not  know  all:  1  .say,  any  man  who  can  thus 
think,  will  scan  the  failings,  nay,  the  faults 
and  crimes,  of  mankind  around  him,  with  a 
brother's  eye. 


II 


I 


il 

II 

i 

192 


THE  COMMON-PLACE  BOOKS  OF  BURNS. 


MAKCII,  1784. 

I  have  often  coveted  the  acquaintance  of  that 
part  of  mankind,  commonly  known  by  the 
ordinary  phraoe  of  blackguahd.s,  Homctimes 
fartlier  tiian  was  consistent  with  the  safety  of 
my  cliaracter;  those  wlio,  by  thoughtless  pro- 
digality or  headstrong  passions,  have  been 
driven  to  ruin: — th'^ugh  disgraced  by  follies, 
nay,  sometimes  "Stain'd  with  guilt,  and 
crimson'd  o'er  with  crimes;"  I  have  yet  found 
among  them,  not  a  few  instances,  some  of  tlic 
noblest  virtues,  magnanimity,  generosity,  dis- 
interested friendship,  and  even  modesty,  in 
the  highest  perfection. 


March,  1784. 
There  was  a  certain  period  of  my  life,  that 
my  spirit  was  broke  by  repeated  losses  and 
disasters,  which  threatened,  and  indeed  effected, 
the  utter  ruin  of  my  fortune.  5[y  body,  too, 
was  attacked  by  that  most  dreadful  distemper, 
a  hypochondria,  or  confirmed  melancholy :  in 
this  wretdicd  state,  the  recollection  of  wliich 
makes  me  yet  shudder,  I  hung  my  liarp  on  the 
willow  trees,  except  in  some  lucid  intervals, 
in  one  of  which  I  composed  the  following: — 

0  thou  Great  Being!  what  thou  art. 

[See  1).  201,  vol.  i. 


April. 
As  I  am  what  the  men  of  the  world,  if  they 
knew  of  such  a  man,  would  call  a  whimsical 
mortal;  I  havo  various  sources  of  pleasure  and 
enjoyment,  which  are,  in  a  manner,  peculiar 
to  myself;  or  some  here  and  there  such  other 
out-of-the-way  person.  Such  is  the  peculiar 
pleasure  I  take  in  the  season  of  winter,  more 
than  the  rest  of  the  year.  This,  I  believe, 
may  be  partly  owing  to  my  misfortunes  giving 
my  mind  a  melancholy  cast;  but  there  is 
something  even  Ir  the 

Mighty  tempest,  and  the  hoary  waste, 

Abrupt  and  deep,  stretch 'd  o'er  the  buried  earth, 

M-hich  raises  the  mind  to  a  serious  sublimity, 
favourable  to  everything  great  and  noble. 
There  is  scarcely  any  earthly  object  gives  me 
more — I  do  not  know  if  I  should  call  it  plea- 
sure— but  something  which  exalts  me,  some- 
thing which  enraptures  me — than  to  walk  in 
the  sheltered  side  of  a  wood,  or  high  planta- 


tion, in  a  cloudy  winter-day,  and  hear  tlic 
stormy  wind  howling  among  the  trees,  and 
raving  over  the  plain.  It  is  my  best  season 
for  devotion;  my  mind  is  rapt  up  in  a  kind 
of  entiuxsiasm  to  Him,  who,  in  the  pompous 
language  of  Scripture,  "walks  on  the  wings  of 
the  wind."  In  one  of  these  sea.sons,  just  after 
a  train  of  misfortunes,  I  composed  the  follow- 
ing:— 

80N0. 
Tune—"  M'Pherson's  Farewell." 

Tlie  wintry  west  e.\tenc'iS  liis  l)ln8t. 

ISeu  p.  201,  vul.  i. 


April. 
The  following  son^  is  a  wild  rhapsody, 
miserably  deficient  in  versification;  but  as  the 
sentiments  are  the  genuine  feelings  of  my 
heart,  for  that  reason  1  have  a  particular  plea- 
sure in  conning  it  over. 

SOXG. 

Tune— "Thti  weaver  and  his  shuttle  0." 

My  father  was  a  farnier. 

[Hec  p.  20(i,  vol.  i. 


April. 
Shenstone  observes  finely,  that  love-verses, 
writ  without  any  real  passion,  arc  the  most 
nauseous  of  all  conceits;  and  I  have  often 
thought  that  no  man  can  beapropercritic  of  love 
composition,  except  he  himsel "  in  one  or  more 
instiinccs,  have  been  a  war...  votary  of  tliis 
passion.  As  I  have  been  all  along  a  miserable 
dupe  to  love,  and  have  been  led  into  a  thousand 
weaknesses  and  follies  by  it,  for  that  reason  I 
put  the  more  confidence  in  my  critical  skill, 
in  distinguishing  foppery  and  conceit  from  real 
passion  and  nature.  Whether  the  following 
song  will  stand  the  test,  I  will  not  pretend  to 
say,  because  it  is  my  own;  only  I  can  say  it 
was,  at  the  time,  real. 

SONG. 

TuTW— "  As  I  came  in  liy  London  O." 

Behind  yon  hill  where  Lugar  flows. 

[.See  p.  216,  vol.  i. 


April. 
EPITAPH  OS  WM.   HOOD,  SENE., 
IN  TARBOLTON. 

[See  p.  221,  vol.  i. 


and  hear  the 
he  trees,  and 
ly  l)est  season 
up  in  a  kind 
the  pom])ou:4 
1  tiie  wings  of 
sons,  just  after 
eil  the  follow. 


well.' 

s  blast. 

k'u  1).  201,  vol.  i. 


A  IT.  II,. 
ild    rliapsody, 
on;  but  as  the 
;eiings  of  my 
articular  plea. 


huttle  0." 

T. 

iee  p.  200,  vol.  i. 

April. 

at  love-verses, 

are  the  most 

I   have  often 

>crcriticoflove 

in  one  or  more 

votary  of  this 

>ng  a  miserable 

nto  a  thousand 

r  that  reason  I 

r"  critical  skill, 

nceit  from  real 

the  foUowini? 

lot  pretend  to 

y  I  can  say  it 


ndon  O." 

ir  flows. 

ite  p.  216,  vol.  i. 


April. 
,  SENR., 

3ee  p.  221,  vol.  i. 


THE  COMMON-PLACE  BOOKS  OF  BURNS. 


loa 


ON  JAS.  GRIEVE,    LAIRD  OF  BOOOEAD, 

TAItlKiLTO.N. 

Here  liep  Boghend  nmcing  the  dead, 

III  hopes  to  get  salvation; 
But  if  such  as  lie  in  Ilvavn  niny  lie, 

Then  wclcuriu!  hail!  damnation. 

[Uinitted  at  its  proper  place. 


APItlL. 

EPITAI'lI 

ON  3IY  OWN  FRIEND,  AND  MY  FATIIEK  S  PIIIENP, 
WM.   MUIR  IX  TARBOLTON  MILN. 

(See  p.  220,  vol.  i. 


April. 
EPITAPH  ON  MY  EVER  HONOURED  FATHER. 

[See  p.'220,  vol.  i. 


April. 

I  think  the  whole  species  of  young  men  may 
be  naturally  enough  divided  in  grand  classes, 
which  I  shall  call  the  (irave  and  the  merry; 
though,  by  the  bye,  these  terms  do  not  with 
propriety  enough  express  my  ideas.  There  are, 
indeed  some  exceptions;  some  part  of  the 
species  who,  according  to  my  ideas  of  these 
divisions,  come  under  neither  of  them;  such 
are  tho.se  individuals  whom  Nature  turns  off 
her  hand,  oftentimes,  very  like  Blovklmult, 
but  generally,  on  a  nearer  inspection,  have 
some  things  surprisingly  clever  about  them. 
They  are  more  properly  men  of  conceit  than 
men  of  genius ;  men  whose  heads  are  filled, 
and  whose  faculties  are  engrossed  by  some 
whimsical  notions  in  some  art  or  .science;  so 
that  they  cannot  think,  nor  speak  with  pleasure, 
on  any  other  subject. — Besides  this  pedantic 
species.  Nature  has  always  produced  some 
mere,  insipid  blockheads,  who  may  be  said  to 
live  a  vegetable  life  in  this  world. 

The  ijrave  I  shall  cast  into  the  u.sual  division 
of  those  who  are  goaded  on  by  the  love  of 
money;  and  those  whose  darling  wish  is  to 
make  a  figure  in  the  world.  The  memj  are 
the  men  of  pleasure  of  all  denominations ;  the 
jovial  lads,  who  have  too  much  fire  and  spirit 
to  have  any  settled  rule  of  action;  but,  with- 
out much  deliberation,  follow  the  strong  im- 
pulses of  nature:  the  thoughtless,  the  careless, 
the  indolent — in  particular  he  who,  with  a 
happy  sweetness  of  natural  temper  and  a  cheer- 


ful vacancy  of  thought,  steals  tiirough  life — 
generally,  indeed  in  poverty  and  obscurity — 
but  poverty  and  obscurity  are  only  evils  to 
him  who  can  sit  gravely  down  and  make  a 
repining  comparison  between  his  own  situation 
and  that  of  others;  and  lastly,  to  grace  the 
quorum,  such  are,  generally,  tho.se  Mho.se  heads 
are  capable  of  all  the  towerings  of  genius,  and 
whose  hearts  are  warmed  with  all  the  delicacy 
of  feeling. 

AVOUST. 

The  foregoing  was  to  have  been  an  elaborate 
dissertation  on  the  various  .species  of  men;  but 
as  I  cannot  please  myself  in  the  arrangement 
of  my  idea.s,  I  must  wait  till  farther  experience 
and  nicer  observation  throw  more  light  on  the 
subject. — In  the  mean  time,  I  shall  set  down 
the  following  fragment,  which,  as  it  is  the 
genuine  language  of  my  heart,  will  enable  any 
body  to  determine  which  of  the  classes  I  be- 
long to: — 

There's  nought  but  care  on  ev'ry  han'. 
In  ev'ry  hour  that  passes,  O. 
[See  "Green  grow  the  Rashes,"  p.  218,  vol.  i. 

As  the  grand  end  of  human  life  is  to  culti- 
vate an  intercourse  with  that  Being  to  whom 
we  owe  life,  with  every  enjoyment  that  renders 
life  delightful ;  and  to  maintain  an  integritive 
conduct  towards  our  fellow-creatures ;  that  so 
by  forming  piety  and  virtue  into  habit,  we  may 
be  fit  members  for  that  society  of  the  pious  and 
the  good,  which  reason  and  revelation  teach  \\» 
to  expect  beyond  the  grave,  I  do  not  see  that 
the  turn  of  mind,  and  pursuits  of  such  a  one 
as  the  above  verses  describe — one  who  spend.* 
the  hours  and  thoughts  which  the  vocations  of 
the  day  can  spare  with  Ossian,  Shakspeare, 
Thomson,  Shen.stone,  Sterne,  &c. ;  or,  as  the 
maggot  takes  him,  a  gun,  a  fiddle,  or  a  song  to 
make  or  mend ;  and  at  all  times  some  heart's- 
dear  bonnic  lass  in  view — I  say  I  do  not  see 
that  the  turn  of  mind  and  pursuits  of  such  an 
one  are  in  the  least  more  inimical  to  the  .sacred 
interests  of  piety  and  virtue,  than  the,  even 
lawful,  bustling  and  straining  after  the  world's 
riches  and  honours :  and  I  do  not  see  but  he 
may  gain  heaven  as  well — which,  by  the  bye, 
is  no  mean  consideration — who  steals  through 
the  vale  of  life,  amusing  himself  with  every 
little  flower  that  fortune  throws  in  his  way,  as 
he  Avho,  straining  straight  forward,  and  perhaps 


I     I 


t 


194 


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' 


«l)ttttering  all  about  liiiu,  gains  Homo  of  life'H 
little  eminences,  wlicrc,  after  all,  he  can  only 
Hce  and  be  seen  a  little  more  eonspicuouHly 
than  what,  in  the  pride  of  his  heart,  he  is  apt 
to  term  the  poor,  indolent  devil  he  has  left  be- 
hind iiim. 

AUOl'ST. 

A  Prayer,  when  fainting  fits,  and  other 
alarming  symptoms  of  a  pleurisy  or  some  other 
dangerous  disorder,  which  indeed  still  threatens 
mc,  first  put  nature  on  the  alarm: — 

0  tliDii  unkiiuwii,  AlmiKlity  cause 
01  all  my  luipu  und  fuar ! 

[\ol.  1.  p.  202. 

AuocsT. 
Misgivings  in  the  hour  of  Despondency  and 
prospect  of  Death 

Why  am  I  loth  to  leave  this  earthly  Hcciie, 
Have  I  8u  funnel  it  full  uf  pltasin^  cimrms? 

[Vol.  i.  i>.  203. 


SKl'TEMDEIl. 


SOXO. 
Tune—"  InvercaUl's  reel— Strathspey. 


Tiliby  I  line  seen  the  day 
Ye  wailna  been  sae  shy. 


SONG. 
Tunc—"  Hlack  Joke.' 


[Vol.  1.  p.  100. 


SEPTEMIlEIt. 


My  girl  site's  airy,  she's  Imxom  ami  gay : 

ller  iH'enth  is  .is  sweet  as  the  l)liissoins  in  May; 

A  toncli  of  l]er  lips  it  ravishes  iiuite: 
.She's  always  gooil-natur'd,  good-humour'd  and  free; 
■Slie  dances,  she  glances,  she  smiles  upon  nie; 

I  never  am  linppy  when  out  of  her  sight. 

Her  slender  neck,  her  handsome  waist, 
Her  hair  well  curl'd,  her  stays  well  lac'd. 
Her  taper  white  leg— 


JOHN"     URLEYCOEN— A  SoNO,  TO  ITS  OWN  TUNE. 

I  once  heard  the  old  song,  that  goes  by  this 
nanie,  ."^ung;  and  being  very  fond  of  it,  and 
remembering  only  two  or  three  verses  of  it, 
viz.  the  1st,  2d,  and  3d,  with  some  scraps 
which  I  have  interwoven  here  and  there  in  the 
f'>llowing  piece, — 

June,  1785. 
There  was  three  kings  into  the  East. 

[Vol.  1.  p.  200. 


JlNE. 

The  death  and  dyin'  words  o'  poor  Mailic— 
my  aiii  pet  ewe — an  unco  mournfu'  talc. 

As  .Malllu  and  her  lnml)g  tliegitlier 
Were  auday  nil)l)lln'  on  the  tutlier. 

[Vol.  I.  p.  210. 


.Tine. 
A  letter  sent  to  John  Fiapraik,  near  Mulr- 
kirk,  a  true,  genuine,  Hcottish  Hard. 

Al'UII.  ist,  17S5. 

Willie  hrecrs  and  woodlilnea  hudlng  green 
And  puitricks  aeraicliin'  loud  at  e'en. 

[Vol.  i.  p.  2111. 


On  receiving  an  answer  to  the  above  I  wrote 
the  following : 

APRIL  2l8t,  17S.'i. 
When  new  ca't  ky  rowt  at  the  stake 
And  powiiiua  reek  at  pleiigh  or  hrake. 

[Vol.  i.  p.  233. 


A  IT.  VST. 
A  SOXO. 

ri<»i!— "  Peggy  liawn." 

Wlien  I'hiU  Xovmiilier's  surly  blast 
Made  fields  and  forests  bare. 

(Vol.  i.  !>.  23n. 


Auc.r.sT. 
However  I  am  pleased  with  the  works  of  our 
Scotch  poets,  particularly  the  excellent  llani- 
say,  and  the  still  more  excellent  Fergusson; 
yet  I  am  hurt  to  sec  other  jilaces  of  Scotland, 
their  towns,  rivers,  woods,  liaughs,  &c.,  im- 
mortalized in  such  celebrated  perfornmnces, 
while  my  dear  native  country,  the  ancient 
bailieries  of  Carrick,  Kyle,  and  Cunningham, 
famous  both  in  ancient  and  modern  times  for 
a  gallant  and  warlike  race  of  inhabitants;  a 
country  where  civil,  and  particularly  religious 
liberty  have  ever  found  their  first  support,  an.l 
their  last  asylum;  a  country,  the  birth-place 
of  many  famous  philosophers,  soldier.s,  and 
statesmen,  and  the  scene  of  many  important 
events  recorded  in  Scottish  history,  particularly 
a  great  many  of  the  actions  of  the  glorious 
Wallace,  the  Savioiu  of  his  country;  yet, 
we  have  never  had  a  Scotch  poet  of  any  emi- 
nence, to  make  the  fertile  banks  of  Irvine,  the 
romantic  woodlands  and  sequestered  scenes  on 


JlSE. 

poor  Mailic— 
iifu'  talc. 

iKltlier 
tutliiT. 
IVul.  1.  p,  210, 

.IlNK. 
ik,  near  Muir- 
IJanl. 

,1'KII.  l8t,  17sj. 

liii(f  Kreen 
u'lmi. 

IVul.  1.  p.  24!!. 


I  above  I  w  rote 


I'ltin  iist,  i7s:i. 
the  stiiki; 
,'h  (ir  Imike. 
[Vul.  i.  p.  253. 


Aliusr. 


irly  lilast 

10. 

[Vul.  i.  I).  230. 


AlCUST. 

lie  works  of  our 
jxeellfiit  I'aiii- 
;nt  Fergussdii ; 
cs  of  Scotland, 
uglis,  &e.,  im- 

perforni;ini'e.>i, 
y,  the  ancient 
I  Cunningham, 
)(lern  times  for 
inhabitants;  a 
ularly  religions 
st  support,  an, I 
the  birth-place 

soldiers,  and 
any  important 
ry,  particularly 
)f  the  glorious 

country;  yet, 
)et  of  any  emi- 
sof  Irvine,  the 
tered  scenes  on 


THE  COM>[OX-PLACE  IJOOKS  OF  BURN'S. 


195 


Aire,  and  tlic  heathy  mountainous  source  and 
winding  sweep  of  DooN,'  emulate  Tay,  Forth, 
Kttrii'k,  Tweed,  &c.  Tliisisacomidaint  I  would 
gladly  remedy,,  but,  alas !  I  am  far  unetiual  to 
the  task,  i'lth  in  native  genius  and  education. 
<  il)scurc  I  am,  and  ubscure  I  must  i)e,  though 
no  young  poet,  nor  young  soldier's  heart  ever 
beat  more  fondly  for  fame  than  mine — 

Anil  if  tlielf  Is  no  other  Buene  of  lieinn 
Willie  my  Insatiate  wish  may  liiive  its  till,— 
Tlii't  HiiinetliinK  at  my  lieait  that  heaves  for  room, 
My  \)0»t,  uiy  duurest  part,  was  made  in  vain. 


AfdUST. 
A  FRAGMENT. 

Tune—"  I  hud  n  horse  and  I  Iiad  nne  niair." 

When  tlrat  1  eame  to  .Stewart  Kyle. 

(\ol.  i.  p.  228. 


HARSTE.-A    FRAGMENT. 

2'i((U'— Fore^'iiii  j;. 

Now  breezy  win's  ..u>i  Blanghterinn  kuiis. 

[Vol.  1.  p.  215. 


SEl'TKMMEK. 

There  i.s  a  certain  irregularity  in  the  old 
Scotch  songs,  a  redundancy  of  syllaliles  with 
respect  to  the  exactness  of  accent  and  measure 
that  the  Kn.glish  poetry  rcqui;es,  but  which 
glides  in,  most  melodiously,  with  the  respec- 
tive tunes  to  which  they  are  set.  For  instance, 
the  fine  old  song  of  "The  Mill,  Mill,  (>,"  to 
give  it  a  plain,  prosaic  reading,  it  halts  pro- 
digiously out  of  measure :  on  the  other  hand, 
the  song  set  to  the  same  tune  in  IJremncr's 
collection  of  Scotch  songs,  which  begins  "To 
Fanny  fair  could  I  impart,"  &c.  it  is  most  ex- 
act measure;  and  yet,  let  them  both  be  sung 
before  a  real  critic, — one  above  the  biasscs  of 
prejudice,  but  a  thorough  judge  of  nature, — 
how  flat  and  spiritless  will  the  last  appear,  how- 
trite  and  lamely  methodical,  compared  with  the 
wild-warbling  cadence,  the  heart-moving  mel- 
ody of  the  first! — This  particularly  is  the  case 
with  all  those  airs  which  end  with  a  liyper- 
mctrical  syllable.  There  is  a  degree  of  wild 
irregularity  in  many  of  the  compositions  and 

»  Little  did  the  poet  Imagine,  when  he  penned  this 
modest  memoranilnm,  how  soon  he  was  to  render  the 
Doon,  his  native  stream,  inunortal  in  song,  and  how 
soon  it  was  to  become,  on  his  account,  for  ever  classi- 
cal. 


fra.u'ments  which  arc  daily  sung  to  them  by  my 
compeers,  the  common  people — a  certain  happy 
arrangement  of  old  Scotch  syllables,  and 
yet,  very  frequently,  nothing,  not  even  like 
rhyme,  or  wamencss  of  jingle,  at  the  ends  of 
the  lines.  This  has  nuide  me  sometimes  ima- 
gine that,  perhaps,  it  might  be  possible  for  u 
Scotch  poet,  with  a  nice  judicious  ear,  to  set 
compositions  to  numy  of  our  most  favourite  airs, 
particularly  that  classof  them  mentioned  above, 
independent  of  rhyme  altogether. 

There  is  a  noble  sublimity,  a  heart-melting 
teiulcrne.ss,  in  some  of  these  ancient  fragments, 
which  show  them  to  be  the  work  of  a  masterly 
hand :  and  it  has  often  given  me  many  a  iicart- 
ache  to  reflect  that  such  glorious  old  bards — 
iiards  who  very  probably  owed  all  their  talents 
to  native  genius,  yet  have  described  the  ex- 
ploits of  heroes,  the  pangs  of  disappointment, 
and  the  meltings  of  love,  with  such  fine  strokes 
of  nature — and,  ()  how  mortifying  to  a  bard's 
vanity!  their  very  names  arc  "buried  'mongst 
the  wreck  of  thing  which  were." 

( )  ye  illustrious  names  unknown !  who  could 
feel  so  strongly  and  describe  so  well:  the  last, 
the  meanest  of  the  muses'  train — one  who, 
though  fiir  inferior  to  your  flights,  yet  eyes 
your  path,  and  with  trembling  wing  would 
sometimes  soar  after  you — a  poor  rustic  bard 
unknown,  pays  this  sympathetic  pang  to  your 
memory!  Some  of  you  tell  us,  with  all  the 
charms  of  verse,  that  you  have  been  unfor- 
tunate in  the  world — unfortunate  in  love:  he, 
too,  has  felt  all  the  unfitness  of  a  poetic  heart 
for  the  struggle  of  a  busy,  bad  World,  he  has 
felt  tue  loss  of  his  little  fortune,  the  loss  of 
friends,  and,  worse  than  all,  the  loss  of  the 
woman  he  adored.  Like  you,  all  his  consola- 
tion was  his  muse :  she  taught  him  in  rustic 
measures  to  complain — Happy  could  he  have 
done  it  with  your  strength  of  imagination  and 
flow  of  verse !  May  the  turf  rest  lightly  on 
your  bones !  and  may  you  now  enjoy  that  solace 
and  rest  which  tl.  is  world  rarely  gives  to  the 
heart  tuned  to  all  the  feelings  of  poesy  and 
love ! 

Septemdkk. 

The  following  fragment  is  done  .something 
in  imitation  of  the  manner  of  a  noble  old  Scotch 
piece  called  "  M'Millan's  Peggy,"  and  wings  to 
the  tuncofGalla  Water. —My  "Montgomerie's 
Peggy"  was  my  deity  for  six  or  eight  months. 


100 


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She  had  liccn  bred  (though,  aw  the  world  Hayn, 
without  any  juHt  pretence  for  it),  in  ii  ntylo  of 
life  ratlicr  elegant — Imt  an  Vaiihurgh  wiyH  in 
one  of  IiIh  coniedie.'',  "  .My  dainn'd  Htar  found 
nie  out"  tliero  too;  for  thoufj;l>  I  l)CKun  tlio 
affair  merely  in  a  ijaiHi'  <!<'  ro'iir,  or  to  tell  tlic 
trutli,  whicli  will  Houroely  he  liolicved,  a  vanity 
of  showinji;  my  parts  in  courtHliip,  particularly 
my  aliilitic«  at  a  ltlllrl-ih)H.r,  which  1  ulwayH 
pi(|uetl  myxclf  upon,  made  mo  lay  Hicfrc  to  lier; 
anti  when,  as  I  always  do  in  my  foolish  pil- 
lantries,  I  had  l)attered  myself  into  a  very 
warm  atFuction  for  her,  she  told  me,  one  <luy, 
in  a  flag  of  truce,  that  her  fortress  had  been 
for  some  time  before  the  rightful  property  of 
another;  but,  with  the  greatest  friendship  and 
politeness,  she  ottered  me  every  alliance  except 
actual  possession.  I  found  out  afterwards  that 
what  she  told  me  of  a  prc-cngagement  was 
really  true;  but  it  cost  some  heart-aehes  to  get 
rid  of  the  nffiiir. 

I  have  even  tried  to  imitate,  in  this  extem- 
pore thing,  that  irregularity  in  the  rhyme, 
which,  wlien  judiciously  done,  has  such  u  fine 
efTect  on  the  ear. — 

Altlio'  my  bed  were  In  yon  niulr. 

[Hue  p.  104,  vol.  1. 

.SKI'TKMIIEII. 

Another  fragment  in  imitation  of  an  old 
Scotch  song,  well  known  among  the  country 
ingle  sides — 1  cannot  tell  the  name,  neither 
of  the  song  nor  the  tune,  but  they  arc  in  fine 
unison  with  one  another. — Hy  the  way,  these 
old  Scotti.sh  airs  are  so  nobly  sentimental,  that 
when  one  would  compo.sc  to  them,  to  "south 
the  tune,"  as  our  Scotch  phrase  is,  over  and 
over,  is  the  readiest  way  to  catch  the  inspira- 
tion, and  raise  the  bard  into  that  gloriou.s  en- 
thusiasm so  strongly  characteristic  of  our  old 
Scotch  poetry.  I  shall  here  set  down  one  verse 
of  the  piece  mentioned  above,  both  to  mark 
the  song  and  tune  I  mean,  and  likewise  as  a 
debt  I  owe  to  the  author,  as  the  repeating  of 
that  verse  has  lighted  up  my  flame  a  thousand 
times. 

Alluding  to  the  mi.'^fortunes  he  feelingly 
laments  'ipfore  this  verse 

Wlie  .  clouds  in  skies  do  come  together 

To  liide  tlie  briglitness  of  tlie  sun, 
Tlicre  will  surely  be  some  pleiisant  weather 

Wlien  a'  tliir  storms  are  past  and  gone. 


Thonuli  Mt'klf  fortiuif  Un»  doci'ivod  nic, 
.Slit*  |ir<iiiiiHcl  fair  and  pcrfiirnul  Imt  111; 

Of  nilnti'i'HH,  friciidH,  and  ucmUIi  Ikmciiv d  iiic, 
Vt't  I  lii'ar  a  heart  xliull  Hiipiiort  iiiu  utill. 

I'll  act  with  prndciu'c  as  fiU'H  I'm  alilv, 

Hut  If  NUi'ct'Hfi  I  mnitt  nt-viT  llnd, 
'I'lit'U  comu  ndHfiirtnne,  1  lilil  tlicu  wclcunK', 

I'll  mvvt  theu  with  an  undaunted  mind. 

The  above  was  an  c.\leni])oro,  under  the 
pressure  of  a  lieuvy  train  of  iiiisforlunes,  wlijch, 
indeed,  threatened  to  undo  me  ullogcther.  it 
wiiH  just  at  the  close  of  that  dreadful  iieiiud 
already  mentioned,'  antl  though  the  weather 
has  brightened  up  a  little  with  me,  yet  there 
has  always  been  since  "a  tempest  lu'cwln:,' 
round  me  in  the  grim  sky  "  of  futurity,  wiiieh 
I  pretty  plainly  see  will  some  time  or  other, 
perhaps  ere  long,  overwhelm  me,  ami  di'ive 
me  into  some  doleful  dell,  to  pine  in  suliiaiy, 
s(|uulid  wretchedness.  However,  as  1  hope 
n>y  poor  country  muse,  who,  all  rustic,  awlc- 
ward,  aiul  unpolished  as  she  is,  has  more  elianns 
for  me  than  any  other  of  the  pleasures  .  .fc 
beside — as  I  hope  she  will  not  thcndcert  me, 
I  may  even  then  learn  to  be,  if  not  happy,  at 
least  ea.sy,  and  soiif/i  a  xiiii<i  to  soothe  my  misery. 

'Twas  at  the  same  time  I  set  about  eom]icis- 
ing  an  air  in  the  old  Scotch  style.  —  I  am  imt 
musical  scholar  enough  to  prick  down  my  tune 
properly,  so  it  can  never  see  the  light,  and  per- 
hap.s  'tis  no  great  matter;  but  the  foUowiiii,' 
were  the  verses  1  composed  to  suit  it: — 

O  raging  fortune's  withering  blast.    (*e. 

[.See  p.  'JOi'i,  vol.  i. 

The  tunc  consisted  of  three  parts,  so  that 

the  above  verses  just  went  through  the  whole 

air. 

[See  notes  at  I'uenis. 


OCTOIlEll,  17S5. 

If  ever  any  young  man,  in  the  vestibule  of 
the  world,  chance  to  throw  his  eye  over  these 
pages,  let  him  pay  a  warm  attention  to  the 
following  obscrvation.s,  as  I  assure  him  tliey 
are  the  fruit  of  a  poor  devil's  dear-bought  ex- 
perience.— I  have  literally,  like  that  great 
poet  and  great  gallant,  and,  by  eonsequeuee, 
that  great  fool,  Solomon,  ' '  turned  my  eyes  to 
behold  madness  and  folly."  Nay,  I  have,  with 
all  the  ardour  of  lively,  fanciful,  and  whimsical 

'  See  the  passage  under  March,  17S4. 


IVcil  IIU', 

II  •!  hut  III; 
I  lirliiiv  (1  nil', 
ort  liiu  HtlU. 

Ill  lllllo, 

ml, 

ll'l'  Wl'Il'dllR', 

ted  liilliil. 

ore,  iiiidcr  tin. 
'(irtiiiifs,  wliidi, 
ullnjfollicr.  1 1 
Ireadl'iil  |it'i'io(| 

lill    till)    Wl'utlicT 

I  iiic,  yet,  tlnrc 

iniio.it  lircwiiiir 

futurity,  wlii.li 

time  or  otlnr, 

me,  and  diivc 

•iuo  in  soliiiiiy, 

vcr,   as  1   lidiio 

all  rust  it",  awk- 

uis  more  ciiarins 

[dcanures    ,    .fe 

then  de  ert  nio, 

f  not  liapjiy,  m 

otlieniyiuisi'iy. 

t  about  i'(iui]iiis. 

tyle.  —  I  am  not 

k  down  my  tune 

3  light,  and  jicr- 

it  tlic  followiii,:' 

suit  it: — 

l.last.    *c. 
See  p.  205,  vol.  1. 

J  partH,  80  that 
ough  the  whole 

notes  at  Poeiiiit. 


OCTOIIEIt,  17S5. 

the  vestibule  of 
1  eye  over  these 
ttention  to  tlio 
S8ure  him  they 
Icar-bought  ex- 
ikc  that  great 
y  consequenee, 
•ned  my  eyes  to 
ly,  I  have,  with 
,  and  wiiimsieal 

rch,  1784. 


THK  rciMMON-PLACE  BOOKS  OF  BURNS. 


18T 


imagination,  aocom[)itnic(l  with  a  warm,  feel- 
ing, poetic  iieart,  shaken  liundM  with  their 
intoxicating  friendship. 

In  the  first  place,  let  my  pupil,  im  he  tenders 
his  own  jieaec,  keep  up  u  regular,  warm  inter- 
course  with  the  Deity.  .... 

inere  the  US.  clones  abnipHy.  | 

Tlic  following  passage  along  with  the  song, 
"  Tho'  cruel  Fate  should  liid  us  part,"  the  frag- 
ment, "tino  night  as  I  did  wander,"  "There 
was  a  lad  was  born  in  Kyle,"  and  the  "  Klegy 
on  tho  l)eat!i  of  IJobert  Huisseaux,"  were  in- 
serted by  L'romek  in  his  version  of  the  Com- 
mon.place  Hook  given  above,  and  have  tdncc 
tVeijuently  ap[)eared  as  part  of  that  document. 
They  iielong,  however  to  the  following  year, 
viz.  17StJ:— 

KliOTIHJIS    FUOM    MV    OWN    HENHATIO.NS. 

MAV, 

I  don't  well  know  what  is  the  reason  of  it, 
hut  somehow  or  other  though  I  am,  wlien  I 
have  a  mind,  pretty  generally  beloved;  yet 
I  never  could  get  the  art  of  commanding 
respect.  1  imagine  it  is  owing  to  my  being 
deficient  in  what  Sterne  calls  "that  umler- 
strapping  virtue  of  discretion."  I  am  ho  apt 
to  a  liiiiHUH  Ihujtuv,  that  I  Homctimes  think  the 
character  of  a  certain  great  man  I  have  read 
of  somewhere  is  very  much  ajirojWH  to  myself, 
that  he  was  "a  compound  of  great  talents  and 
great  folly." 

N.  U. — To  try  if  I  can  discover  the  causes 
of  this  wretched  infirmity,  and,  if  possible,  to 
mend  it. 


SECOND  COMMON-PLACE  BOOK. 

Currie  in  printing  a  portion  of  Burns's 
Second  Common-place  Book,  partly  written  at 
Edinburgh,  says: — "The  most  curious  par- 
ticulars in  the  book  are  the  delineations  of 
characters  he  met  with.  These  are  not  nu- 
merous ;  but  they  are  chiefly  of  persons  of  dis- 
tinction in  the  republic  of  letters,  and  nothing 
but  the  delicacy  and  respect  due  to  living 
characters  prevents  us  from  committing  them 
to  the  press."  Lockhart,  writing  in  1828,  ob- 
serves of  it:  "This  most  curious  document, 

VOL.   V. 


It  Im  to  bo  olmorvcd,  has  not  yet  been  printed 
entire.  .Vn'^Micr  generation  will  no  doubt  see 
the  whole  of  the  confession."  With  the  ex- 
ception, however,  of  a  very  inconsiderable  por- 
tion printed  in  .\lexander  Smith's  edition  of 
Hums  ("Oolden  Treasury"  eilition,  lytiro  the 
remaiiulerof  this  Edinburgh  .MS.  was  not  made 
public  till  1879,  when  it  appeared  in  Mar. 
milldii'n  Mnijdzlnr.  The  part  that  then  first 
saw  the  light  is  not  extensive,  but  it  contain* 
the  characters  drawn  by  tin-  poet  of  .Mr.  (Jreen- 
field,  .Mr.  Stewart,  and  Mr.  Creech,  which  are 
well  worth  having.  The  MS.  was  for  long 
thought  to  be  lost;  in  fact,  .Vllan  Cunningham 
gives  a  very  circumstantial  account  of  its  being 
stolen  by  a  ficith  carpenter  in  1787,  ami  carried 
to  Oibraltar.  "  He  was  written  to  repeatedly 
to  restore  the  book,  a  clasped  (piarto,  but  in 
vain.  He  had  even  the  audacity  to  acknow- 
ledge  the  theft,  but  he  refused  to  part  with 
the  journal."  Dr.  Currie  undoubtedly  had 
possession  of  tho  book  in  preparing  his  first 
edition  of  1800  for  the  press,  and  it  probably  re- 
mained in  his  possession  till  his  death,  as  there 
is  evidence  of  his  using  it  in  his  fourth  edition, 
1803;  but  after  that  it  seems  to  have  passed 
unrecognized  through  several  hands  until  it 
came  into  the  pcssession  of  Mr.  JIaemillan,  tho 
publisher.  It  was  used  by  .Vlcxander  Smith 
in  jireparing  his  1865  edition  of  Burns,  but 
he  evidently  did  not  recogni/e  what  he  had  in 
hand,  and  supposed  it  to  have  been  a  volume 
of  early  scraps,  presented  by  the  poet  to  Mrs. 
Dunlop.  At  length  the  possessor  of  the  MS. 
recognized  its  character,  and  its  contents  ap- 
peared embedded  in  a  series  of  magazine 
articles  by  Professor  Jack  of  Glasgow,  March — 
June,  1879.  Currie,  according  to  his  manner, 
had  taken  various  small  liberties  witli  the  text. 


Edinburgh,  April,  ninth,  1787. 
As  I  have  seen  a  good  d.al  of  human  life  in 
Edinburgh,  a  great  many  characters  which  are 
row  to  one  bred  up  in  the  shades  of  life  as  I 
have  been,  I  am  determined  to  take  down  my 
remarks  on  the  spot.  Gray  observes  in  a  letter 
of  his  to  Mr.  Palgrave,  that  "half  a  word  fixed 
upon,  or  near  the  .spot,  is  worth  a  cart-load 
of  recollection."  I  don't  know  how  it  is  with 
the  world  in  general,  but,  with  me,  making 
remarks  is  by  no  means  a  solitary  pleasure.     I 

79 


' 


V    .\ 


198 


THE  COMMON-PLACE  BOOKS  OF  BURNS. 


1    ii 


■    i 


want  some  one  to  laugh  with  mc,  Bomc  one  to 
be  grave  with  me,  some  one  to  please  me  and 
help  my  discrimination  with  his  or  her  own 
remark ;  and  at  times,  no  doubt,  to  admire  my 
acuteness  and  penetration. — The  world  are  ho 
busied  with  selfish  pursuits,  ambition,  vanity, 
interest,  or  pleasure,  that  very  few  think  it 
worth  their  while  to  make  any  observation  on 
what  passes  around  them;  except  where  that 
observation  is  a  sucker,  or  branch  of  the  darling 
plant  they  are  rearing  in  their  fancy.  Nor  am 
I  sure,  notwithstanding  all  the  sentimental 
flights  of  novel-writers,  and  the  sage  philosophy 
of  moralists,  if  we  are  capable  of  so  intimate 
and  cordial  a  coalition  of  friendship,  as  that 
one  of  us  ma/  pour  out  his  bosom,  his  every 
thought  and  Heating  fancy,  his  very  inmost 
soul,  with  unreserved  confidence  to  another, 
without  hazard  of  losing  part  of  that  respect 
man  demands  from  man ;  or,  from  the  unavoid- 
able imperfections  attending  human  nature,  of 
one  day  repenting  his  confidence. 

For  these  reasons,  I  am  determined  to  make 
these  pages  my  confidant.  I  will  sketch  every 
character  that  any  way  strikes  me,  to  the  best 
of  my  observation,  with  unshrinking  justice. 
I  will  insert*  anecdotes  and  take  down  re- 
marks, in  the  old  law  phrase,  without  feud  or 
favour :  where  I  hit  on  any  thing  clever,  my 
own  applause  will  in  some  measure  feast  my 
vanity;  and,  begging  Patroclus'  and  Achates's 
pardon,  I  think  a  lock  and  key  a  security  at 
least  equal  to  the  bosom  of  any  friend  what- 
ever. 

Jly  own  private  story  likewise,  my  amours, 
Tiy  rambles,  the  smiles  and  frowns  of  fortune 
on  my  hardship,  my  poems  and  fragments  that 
must  never  see  the  light,  shall  be  occasionally 
inserted: — in  short,  never  did  four  shillings 
purchase  so  much  friendship,  since  confidence 
went  first  to  market,  or  honesty  was  set  io  sale. 

To  these  seemingly  invidious,  but  too  just, 
ideas  cf  human  friendship,  I  shall  cheerfully 
and  truly  make  one  exception — the  connection 
between  two  persons  of  diflferent  sex,  when 
their  interests  are  united  or  absorbed  by  the 
sacred  tie  of  love — 

"  When  thought  meets  thought  ere  from  the  lips  it 
part, 
A-  1  each  warm  wish  springs  mutual  from  the 
heart." 

iTIie  MS.  has  "take  down  insert. 


There,  confidence,  confidence  that  exalts  them 
the  more  in  one  another's  opinion,  that  endears 
them  the  more  to  one  another's  hearts,  unre- 
servedly and  luxuriantly  "reigns  and  revels." 
But  this  is  not  my  lot,  and,  in  my  situation, 
if  I  am  wise  (which,  by  the  bye,  I  have  no 
great  chance  of  being)  my  fate  should  I)e  cast 
with  the  Psalmist's  .sparrow,  "to  watch  alone 
on  the  housetops." — Uh,  the  pity ! ! ! 


A  FRAGMENT. 

Tune— "  Daintie  Davie." 

Tliere  was  a  l)irlcie  liDrn  in  Kyle. 

[See  note  to  "Eantin'  Rovin'  Robin,"  p.  4:2,  vol.  ii. 


There  are  few  of  the  sore  evils  under  the  sun 
give  me  more  uneasiness  and  chagrin  than  the 
comparison  how  a  man  of  genius,  nay  avowed 
worth,  is  everywhere  received,  with  the  recei)- 
tion  which  a  mere  ordinary  character,  decorated 
with  the  trappings  and  futile  distinctions  of 
Fortune,  meets. — Imagine  a  man  of  abilities, 
his  breast  glowing  with  honest  pride,  conscious 
that  men  are  born  equal,  still  giving  that 
"honour  to  whom  honour  is  due;"  he  meets 
at  a  Great  man's  table  a  Squire  Something,  or 
a  Sir  Somebody ;  he  knows  the  noble  landlord 
at  heart  gives  the  Bard  or  whatever  he  is  a 
share  of  his  good  wishes  beyond  any  at  table 
perhaps,  yet  how  will  it  mortify  him  to  see  a 
fellow  whose  abilities  would  scarcely  have  madt 
an  cightpenny  tailor,  antl  whose  heart  is  not 
worth  three  farthings,  meet  with  attention  and 
notice  that  arc  forgot  to  the  Son  of  Genius  and 
poverty? 

The  noble  Glencairn  has  wounded  me  to  the 
soul  here,  because  I  dearly  esteem,  respect  and 
love  him. — He  showed  so  much  attention,  cn- 
gro.ssing  attention,  one  day  to  the  only  block- 
head, as  there  was  none  but  his  lord.ship,  the 
dunderpatc  and  myself,  that  I  was  within  half 
a  point  of  throwing  down  my  gage  of  contemp- 
tuous defiance;  but  he  shook  my  hand  and 
looked  so  benevolently  good  at  parting — God 
bless  him,  though  I  should  never  see  him 
more,  I  shall  love  him  until  my  dying  day ! 
I  am  pleased  to  think  I  am  so  capable  of  tlie 
throes  of  gratitude,  as  I  am  miserably  deficient 
in  some  other  virtues. 

With  Dr.  Blair  I  am  more  at  ease. — 1  never 


lat  exalts  them 
n,  that  endears 
j  hearts,  uure- 
ns  and  revels." 
I  my  situation, 
)ye,  I  have  no 
should  be  cast 
to  watch  alone 
ty!!! 


ie. 

11  Kyle. 

)in,"  I).  42,  vol.  ii. 


s  under  the  sun 
liagrin  than  the 
us,  nay  avowed 
with  the  rccei)- 
acter,  decorated 
distinctions  of 
[lan  of  abilities, 
pride,  con.scious 
ill  giving  that 
due;"  he  meets 
3  Something,  or 
J  noble  landlord 
hatevcr  he  is  a 
nd  any  at  table 
ify  him  to  see  a 
.rcely  have  madt 
)se  heart  is  not 
th  attention  and 
»n  of  Genius  and 

unded  me  to  the 
icm,  respect  and 
;h  attention,  en- 

the  only  bloi  k- 
lis  lordship,  the 

was  within  half 
;age  of  contemp- 
k  my  hand  and 
it  parting— (<o(l 

never  see  him 

my  dying  day ! 
0  capable  of  the 

scrably  deficient 

t  ease. — 1  never 


THE  COMMON-PLACE  BOOKS  OF  BURNS. 


190 


respect  him  with  humble  veneration ;  but  when 
he  kindly  interests  him.self  in  my  welfare,  or, 
still  more,  when  he  descends  from  his  pinnacle 
and  meets  me  on  equal  ground,  my  heart  over- 
flows with  what  is  called,  liking.  When  he 
neglects  me  for  the  mere  carcase  of  greatness, 
or  when  his  eye  measures  the  difference  of  our 
points  of  elevation,  I  say  to  myself  with  scarcely 
any  emotion,  what  do  I  care  for  him  or  his 
pomp  either? 

It  is  not  easy  forming  an  exact  judging  judg- 
ment of  any  one,  but  in  my  opinion  Dr.  IJlair 
is  merely  an  astonishing  proof  what  industry 
and  application  can  do.  Natural  parts  like 
his  are  frequently  to  lie  met  with ;  his  vanity 
is  proverbially  known  among  his  acquaintances; 
but  he  is  justly  at  the  head  of  what  may  be 
called  fine  writing;  and  a  critic  of  the  first — 
the  very  first  rank  in  prose ;  even  in  poesy  a 
good  Hard  of  Nature's  making  can  only  take 
the  pas  of  him. — He  has  a  heart,  not  of  the 
finest  water,  but  far  from  being  an  ordinary 
one. — In  short  he  is  a  truly  worthy  and  most 
respectable  character. 

Mr.  (ircenfield  Ms  of  a  superior  order. — The 
bleedings  of  humanity,  the  generous  resolve, 
a  manly  disregard  of  the  paltry  subjects  of 
vanity,  virgin  modesty,  the  truest  taste,  and  a 
very  sound  judgment,  characterize  him.  His 
l>eing  the  first  speaker  I  ever  heard  is  perhaps 
half  owing  to  industry.  He  certainly  possesses 
no  small  sluire  of  poetic  abilities;  he  is  a  steady, 
most  disinterested  friend,  without  the  least 
affectation  of  seeming  so ;  and  as  a  companion, 
his  good  sense,  his  joyous  hilarity,  his  sweet- 
ness of  manners  and  modesty,  arc  most  en- 
gagingly charming. 

The  most  perfect  character  I  ever  saw  is  llr. 
Stewart.-  An  exalted  judge  of  the  human 
heart,  and  of  composition.  One  of  the  very 
first  public  speakers;  and  equally  capable  of 
generosity  as  humanity.  His  principal  dis- 
criminating feature  is — from  a  mixture  of  be- 
nevolence, strength  of  mind  and  manly  dignity, 
he  not  only  at  heart  values,  but  in  his  deport- 
ment and  address  bears  himself  to  all  the 
actors,  high  and  low,  in  the  drama  of  life, 
simply  as  they  merit  in  playing  their  parts. 
AVealth,  lionours,  all  that  is  extraneous  of  the 

'Tlio  Rev.  W.  fireciifielil,  Dr.  Blair's  colleague  in 
the  Fliuli  ('luircli. 
-  I'lof.  UuguUl  Stewart. 


man,  have  no  more  influence  with  him  than 
they  will  have  at  the  Last  Day.  His  wit,  in 
the  hour  o"  social  hilarity,  proceeds  almost  to 
goodnatured  waggishness;  and  in  telling  a 
story  he  particularly  excels. 

The  next  I  shall  mention,  my  worthy  book- 
seller, Mr.  Creech — is  a  strange,  multiform 
character.  His  ruling  passions  of  the  left 
hand  kind  are,  extreme  vanity,  and  some- 
thing of  the  more  harmless  modifications  of 
selfishness.  The  one,  mixed,  as  it  often  is, 
with  great  goodness  of  heart,  makes  him  rush 
into  all  public  matters,  and  take  every  instance 
of  unprotected  merit  by  the  hand,  provided  it 
is  in  his  power  to  hand  it  into  public  notice ; 
the  other  quality  makes  him,  amid  all  the 
embarras  in  which  his  vanity  entangles  him, 
now  and  then  to  cast  half  a  squint  at  his  own 
i'lterest.  His  parts  as  a  man,  his  deportment  as 
a  gentleman,  and  his  abilities  as  a  scholar  are 
much  above  mediocrity.  Of  all  the  Edinburgh 
literati  and  wits  he  writes  most  like  a  gentle- 
man. He  does  not  awe  you  with  the  profound- 
ness of  the  philotvpher,  or  strike  your  eye  with 
the  soarings  of  genius;  but  he  pleases  you 
with  the  handsome  turn  of  his  expression,  and 
the  polite  ease  of  his  paragraph.  His  social 
demeanour  and  powers,  particularly  at  his  own 
table,  are  the  most  engaging  I  have  ever  met 
with.  On  the  whole  he  is,  as  I  .said  before, 
a  multiform,  but  an  exceedingly  respectable, 
worthy  character. 


The  following  poem  is  the  work  of  some 
hapless,  unknown  son  of  the  muses,  who  de- 
served a  better  fate.  There  is  a  great  deal  of 
"The  Voice  of  Cona"  in  his  solitary,  mourn- 
ful notes;  and  had  the  sentiments  been  clothed 
in  Shenstone's  language  they  would  have  been 
no  discredit  even  to  that  elegant  poet. 

ELEGY.3 

■Strait  is  tlie  spot  ami  green  the  soil, 
From  wlieiice  my  sorrows  flow: 

Ami  souniily  rests  tlie  ever  dear 
Inliabitant  iielow.— 

3  Alexander  Smith,  wlio  first  pul)lishc(l  the  poem 
in  the  "Glol)e"  edition,  was  of  opinion  tliat  it  was 
not  written  by  Burns,  and  in  tliis  we  (luitc  agree  witli 
him.  Professor  Jack,  on  the  otlier  haiiil,  tliiiiks  it  is 
tlie  work  of  Burns,  and  would  eoiineet  tlie  Stella  of 
the  poet  witli  Highland  Mary,  and  Jean  Armour  willi 
"tlie  Vanessa  of  'Jiedim  l)acl«grounil."  This  is  mere 
fancy,  and  really,  on  the  whole  the  matter  is  of  little 


hi 


\  I 


200 


THE  COMMON-PLACE  BOOKS  OF  BURNS. 


Pardon  my  transport,  gentle  Shade, 

While  o'er  this  turf  I  bow! 
Thy  earthly  house  is  circuniscrib'd 

And  solitary  now! 

Not  one  poor  stone  to  tell  thy  name. 

Or  Make  thy  virtues  known; 
But  what  avails  to  me,  to  thee. 

The  sculpture  of  a  stone? 

I'll  sit  me  down  upon  this  turf. 

And  wipe  away  this  tear: 
The  chill  blast  passes  swiftly  by. 

And  flits  around  thy  bier.— 

Dark  is  the  dwelling  of  the  dead. 

And  sad  their  house  of  rest: 
Low  lies  the  head  liy  Death's  cold  arm 

In  awful  fold  embrac'd. 

I  saw  the  grim  Avenger  stand 

Incessant  by  thy  side; 
liiseen  by  thee,  his  deadly  breath 

Thy  lingering  frame  destroy'd.— 

Pale  grew  the  roses  on  thy  cheek. 

And  wither'd  was  thy  bloom, 
Till  the  slow  poison  brought  thy  youth 

Untimely  to  the  tomb. — 

Thus  wasted  are  the  ranks  of  men. 

Youth,  Health,  and  Beauty  fall; 
The  ruthless  ruin  spreads  around, 

And  overwhelms  us  all. 

Behold  where  round  thy  narrow  house 

The  graves  unnumbered  lie! 
The  multitudes  that  sleep  below 

Existed  but  to  die.— 

Some,  with  the  tottering  steps  of  Age, 

Trode  down  the  darksome  way: 
And  some,  in  youth's  lamented  prime. 

Like  tliee,  were  torn  away.— 

Yet  these,  however  hard  their  fate, 

Their  native  earth  receives; 
Amid  their  weeping  friends  they  di'd. 

And  fill  their  fathers'  graves. 

From  thy  loved  friends  where  first  thy  breath 

Was  taught  by  Heaven  to  flow: 
Far,  far  remov'd,  the  ruthless  stroke 

Surpris'd  and  laid  thee  low.— 

At  the  last  limits  of  our  Isle, 

Wash'd  l)y  the  western  wave, 
Touch'd  Ijy  thy  fate,  a  thoughtful  bard 

Sits  lonely  on  thy  grave. — 

Pensive  he  eyes,  before  him  spread. 

The  deep  outstretch'd  and  vast; 
His  mourning  notes  are  borne  away 

Along  the  rapid  blast.— 

importance,  as  the  poem  is  Itself  of  no  intrinsic  value. 
Still,  as  Alex.  Smith  says,  the  Elegy,  so  far  as  is 
known,  exists  nowhere  else:  and  if  Burns  did  not 
actually  compose  it,  he  at  least  thought  it  worthy  of 
being  copied  with  his  own  hand  into  a  book  devoted 
almost  exclusively  to  his  own  compositions.  Even  if 
it  were  certain  that  Burns  was  not  the  author,  still, 
the  knowledge  that  he  admired  it,  and  that  through 
his  agency  it  alone  exists,  is  considered  sufiicient  ex- 
cuse for  its  admission  here. 


And  while,  amid  the  silent  Dead, 
Thy  hapless  fate  he  mourns; 

His  own  long  sorrows  freshly  bleed, 
And  all  his  grief  returns. 

Like  tliee  cut  off  in  early  youth 
And  flower  of  beauty's  pride, 

His  friend,  his  first  and  only  joy. 
His  much  lov'd  Stella  di'd. 

Him  too,  the  stern  impulse  of  Fate 

Kesistless  bears  along; 
And  the  same  rapid  title  shall  wlielm 

The  Poet  and  the  Song.— 

The  tear  of  pity  which  he  shed, 

He  asks  not  to  receive; 
Let  but  his  ]>oor  remains  be  laid 

Obscurely  in  the  grave.- 

His  grief-worn  heart,  witli  truest  joy, 
Sliall  meet  tlie  welcome  shock; 

His  airy  harp  shall  lie  unstrung 
And  silent  on  the  rock. 

O  my  dear  maid,  my  Stella,  when 
.Shall  tliis  sick  period  close; 

And  lead  thy  solitary  Bard, 
To  his  belov'd  repose? 


Ellisland,  14th  June,  17S8. 
Sunday. 

This  i.s  nov   the  third  day  I  have  been  in 

thi.s  country.     Lord,   what  is  man !   wliat  a 

bustling  little  bundle  of  passions,  appetites, 

ideas  and  fancies!  and  what  a  eaprieious  kind 

of  existence  he  has  here!     If  legendary  stories 

be  true,  there  is  indeed  an  Elsewhere,  where, 

as  Tiiomson  says,  "  Virtue  sole  survives." 

"Tell  us  ye  Dead; 
Will  none  of  yon  in  pity  disclose  the  secret 
What  'tis  you  are,  and  we  must  shortly  ul'; 

a  little  time 
Will  make  us  learn'd  as  you  are  and  as  close."'— 

I  am  such  a  coward  in  life,  so  tired  of  the 
service,  that  I  would  almost  at  any  time  with 
Milton's  Adam, 

"gladly  lay  me  in  my  mother's  lap. 
And  be  at  peace."— 

but  a  -Nvife  and  children — in  poetics,  "The  fair 
partner  of  my  soul,  and  the  little  dear  pleilgcs 
of  our  mutual  love,"  these  bind  me  to  struggle 
with  the  stream :  till  some  ehopjiing  s(|uall 
overset  the  silly  vessel,  or  in  the  listless  return 
of  years,  its  own  craziness  drive  it  a  wreck. 
Farewell  now  to  those  giddy  follies,  those 
varnished  vices,  which,  though  half  sanctified 
by  the  bewitching  levity  of  Wit  and  Humour, 

iTliis  seems  to  have  been  a  favniu'ite  passa».'<'  of 
the  poet:  it  is  twice  (juotcd  in  letters  to  Mrs.  Dunl'ii. 


Deail, 

lis; 

y  bleed, 

luth 
itle, 

y  j<jy. 

I. 

of  P'ate 

ill  whelm 

lieil, 
I  laid 

truest  joy, 

hock; 

rung 

when 
ie; 


14th  June,  17S8. 
iiday. 

I  have  lieeii  in 

man !   wliat  a 

ions,  appetites, 

capricious  kind 

egendary  stories 

sewhere,  where, 

e  survives." 

e  Dead; 

ise  the  secret 

t  shortly  otV 

le 

e  and  as  close."'— 

,  so  tircti  of  the 
t  any  time  with 

mother's  lap, 

)etics,  "Tlic  fair 
Ltlc  ilear  pledges 
d  me  to  struggle 
chopping  sijuall 
lie  listless  return 
rive  it  a  wreck. 
y  follies,  tiiosc 
h  half  .sanctified 
it  and  Humour, 

vonrlte  passaire  "f 
irs  to  ilrs.  Dunliip- 


THE  COMMON-PLACE  BOOKS  OF  BURNS. 


201 


are  at  best  but  thriftless  idling  with  the  pre- 
cious current  of  existence;  nay,  often  poison- 
ing the  whole,  that,  like  the  plains  of  Jericho, 
"The  water  is  naught,  and  the  ground  bar- 
ren;" and  nothing  short  of  a  supernaturally 
gifted  Elisha  can  ever  after  heal  the  evils. 

Wedlock,  the  cireumstance  that  buckles  me 
hardest  to  Care,  if  Virtue  and  Religion  were 
to  be  anything  with  me  but  mere  names,  was 
what  in  a  few  seasons  I  must  have  resolved  on; 
in  the  present  ca.se  it  was  unavoidably  necessary. 
— Humanity,  Generosity,  hone.st  Vanity  of 
character,  justice  to  my  own  happiness  for 
after  life,  so  far  as  it  could  depend — which  it 
surely  will  a  great  deal — on  internal  peace;  all 
these  joined  their  warmest  .suffrages,  their  most 
powerful  solicitations  with  a  rooted  attachment, 
to  urge  the  step  I  have  taken.  Nor  have  I 
any  reason  on  her  part  to  rue  it.  I  can  fancy 
how,  but  have  never  seen  where  I  could  have 
made  it  better.  ^  Come  then,  let  me  return  to 
my  favourite  motto,  that  glorious  passage  in 
Young: — 

"On  Reason  l)uild  Resolve, 
That  column  of  true  majesty  in  man." 


June  16th,  1788. 
Copy  of  a  letter  to  Lord  Buchan  in  answer 
to  a  bombast  epistle  he  sent  mc  when  I  went 
first  to  Edinburgh. 

[See  Letter  7th  Feb.  1787,  vol.  iv.  p.  51. 


To  the  Earl  of  Eglinton  on  receiving  ten 
guineas  as  his  lord.ship's  subscription  money. 
[See  Letter  11th  January,  1787,  vol.  iv.  p.  45. 


Written  in  Carse  Hermitage. 


[.See  vol.  iii.  p.  13. 


To  Robt.  Graham  of  Fintry,  Esq. :  with  a 
re(|uest  for  an  Excise  Division. — EUi.sland, 
Sept.  8th,  1788. 

When  Nature  her  great  masterpiece  desipn'd. 

[See  vol.  ii.  p.  255. 


Alteration  of  the  lines  wrote  in  Carse  Her- 
mitage.    Dec.  iSd,  1788. 

■Compare  similar  sentiments  in  a  letter  to  Ifrs. 
Dmilop,  18th  July,  1788.  This  section  of  the  Com- 
mon-place Book  was  published  by  Currie. 


The  everlasting  surliness  of  a  lion,  Saracen's 
head,  &c.,  or  the  unchanging  blandne.ss  of  the 
Landlord's  Welcoming  a  Traveller,  on  some 
sign-posts,  would  be  no  bad  similes  of  the 
constant  afibcted  fierceness  of  a  bully,  or  the 
eternal  simper  of  a  Frenchman  or  a  Fiddler. 

He  looked 
Just  as  your  sign-posts  lions  do. 
As  fierce,  and  ((uite  as  harmless  too. 

Patient  Stupidity. 
So,  heavy,  passive  to  the  tempest's  shocks, 
Strong  on  the  sign-post  stands  the  stupid  ox.s 

His  face  with  smile  eternal  drest 
Just  like  the  Landlord  to  his  guest, 
High  as  they  hang  with  creaking  din 
To  index  out  the  country  Inn. 

A  head,  pure,  sinless  riuite  of  brain  or  soul. 
The  very  image  of  a  Barber's  Poll; 
Just  shows  a  human  face  and  wears  a  wig, 
And  looks,  when  well-friseur'd,  too  amazing  big. 

[A  hiatus  of  four  pages  occurs  here,  pp.  23, 
24,  25,  and  26  of  the  JIS.  being  wanting.  In 
all  probability  they  contained  "The  Poet's 
progress"  and  the  "Ode  to  the  Memory  of 
Mrs.  Oswald  of  Auchencruive,"  the  last  four 
lines  of  which  appear  on  p.  27.] 


CASTLE  GORDOX. 
INTENDED  TO  BE  SUNG  TO  "MORAO." 

Streams  that  glide  in  orient  plains. 
Never  bound  by  Winter's  chains. 

[See  vol.  il.  p.  225. 


SCOTS  BALLAD. 

Tune — "  Mary  weep  no  more  for  me." 

5Iy  heart  is  wae,  and  unco  wae. 
To  think  upon  the  raging  sea. 

[See  vol.  ii.  p.  237. 


SONG. 
ruHe— "Captain  O'Kean." 


The  small  birds  rejoice  in  the  green  leaves'  returning. 

[See  vol.  ii.  p.  249. 


EXTEMPORE. 
TO  MR.  GAVIN  HAMILTON. 

To  you.  Sir,  this  summons  I've  sent, 
Pray  whip  till  the  pownie  is  fraething. 

[See  vol.  ii.  p.  158. 

2  These  two  lines  are  made  use  of  in  "  The  Poet's 
Progress  "  and  the  second  Epistle  to  Graham  of  Fin- 
try. 


Ilillf 

i 


Ii.  'i^>' 


L'Im 


I 


I 


202 


THE  COMMON-PLACE  BOOKS  OF  BURNS. 


TO  THE  NIGHTINGALE. 


ON  HER  LEAVING  EARL'S  COURT,  1784. 
DR.  HUNTER,  LONDON. » 


BY  HR9. 


Whv  from  these  shades,  sweet  bird  of  eve. 
Art  thou  to  otlier  regions  wildly  fled? 
Thy  pensive  song  would  oft  my  cares  relieve, 
Tliy  melancholy  softness  oft  would  shed 
Peace  on  my  weary  soul,  return  again, 
£eturn,  and  sadly  sweet,  in  soothing  notes  com- 
plain.— 

At  the  still  hour  I'll  come  alone. 
And  listen  to  thy  lovelorn  treml)ling  lay, 
Or  by  the  moon's  beam  on  some  mossy  stone 
I'll  sit,  and  watcli  tliy  wing  from  spray  to  spray; 
Tlien  wlien  the  swelling  cadence  slow  shall  rise, 
I'll  join  the  plaintive  strain  in  lowly  murmuring 
sighs.— 

Ah,  simple  bird,  where  art  tliou  flown? 

What  distant  woodland  now  receives  thy  nest? 

What  distant  eclio  answers  to  tliy  moan? 

What  distant  tliorn  supports  tliy  panting  breast? 

Wlio  e'er  sliall  feel  tliy  melting  woes  lilce  me, 

Or  pay  thee  for  tliy  song  with  sucli  true  sympathy? 


A  SONNET  AFTER  THE  MANNER  OF 
PETRARCH. 

BY  THE  SAME. 

Come  tender  tlioughts,  witli  twiliglit's  pensive  gloom. 
Soften  rememlirance,  mitigate  despair, 
And  cast  a  gleam  of  comfort  o'er  tlie  tomb. — 

Methinks  again  tlie  days  and  years  return 
When  joy  was  young,  and  careless  fancy  smiled. 
When  liupe  witli  promises  tlie  lieart  beguiled. 
When  love  illumed  the  world,  and  happiness  was 

born. — 
Wliere  are  ye  fled,  dear  moments  of  deliglit ! 
And  thou,  O  best  beloved !  alas,  no  more 
The  future  can  the  faded  past  restore. 
Wrapped  in  the  shades  of  Time's  eternal  night. — 
For  me  remains  alone,  througli  ling'ring  years. 
The  iiielanclioly  Muse,  companion  of  my  tears. 

•  Wife  of  John  Hunter,  Earl's  Court,  Brompton,  the 
celelirated  surgeon,  and  sister  of  Sir  Everard  Home, 
of  Greenlaw.  She  was  tlie  author  of  "Jly  mother 
bids  me  bind  my  hair,"  "Tlie  Mermaid's  Song,"  and 
others,  rendered  famous  by  the  music  of  Haydn, 
wliose  intimate  friend  she  was.  This  poem  and  the 
following  were  sent  to  Burns  by  Dr.  Gregory  as  models 
for  the  correction  of  his  style ! 


TO  MR.  GRAHAM,  OF  FINTRY, 
ON  BEING  APPOINTED  TO  MY  EXCISE  DIVISION. 

I  call  no  goddess  to  inspire  my  strains. 

(See  vol.  iii.  p.  49, 


SONG. 

Tuiie—"  Ewe  buchts,  Marion. " 

Will  ye  go  to  tlie  Indies,  my  -Mary, 
And  leave  old  Scotia's  slioie'' 

[See  vol.  ii.  p.  145. 


ON  SEEING  A   FELLOW  WOUND  A  HARE 
WITH  A  SHOT,  Al'llIL,  1789. 

Inhuman  man !  curse  on  tliy  barb'rous  art. 
(Original  version  and  also  version  amended  in  de 
fercnce  to  Dr.  Gregory.— See  vol.  iii.  p.  'J2.] 


ELEGY  ON  CAPTAIN  MATTHEW  HENDERSON. 

A  GENTLEMAN  WHO  HELD  THE  PATENT  FOR  HIS 
HONOURS  I.MMEDIATELY  FROM  ALMIGHTY  GOD! 

0  Death,  tliou  tyrant  fell  and  bloody  I 

(See  Vol.  iii.  p.  74. 


TO   THE  HONOURABLE   THE   BAILIES   OF   THE 
CANONGATE,    EDINBURGH. 

Gentlemen,  I  am  sorry  to  lie  told  that  the 
remains  of  IJobert  Fcrgusson,  &c. 

(See  vol.  iv.  p.  50. 


EPITAPH. 

Here  lies  Robert  Fergusson,  Poet.  He  was 
born  5tli  Sept.  1751,  and  died  ICtli  October, 
1774. 

No  pageant  bearings  here  nor  pompous  lay. 
No  story'd  urn  nor  animated  Imst, 

Tliis  simple  stone  directs  old  Scotia's  way 
To  pour  her  sorrows  o'er  her  Poet's  dust. 2 

(See  vol.  ii.  p.  2ill. 

2  This  stanza  differs  slightly,  as  will  be  seen,  from 
the  version  of  our  text. 


FINTRY, 

CCISE  DIVISION. 

my  strains. 

ee  vol.  iii.  p.  49. 


anon. 

ly  ilary, 

ore'' 

BC  vol.  ii.  p.  145. 


VXD  A  HARE 

L,  1789. 

)arb'roiis  art. 

n  ameiideil  in  de- 

ii.  p.  -Si.] 


\V  HEXDERSO.N. 

'ATKNT  FiiU  HIS 
VLMRillTY  god! 

ml  bloody  I 

ee  vol.  iii.  p.  74. 


ai.IES   OF   THE 
:UGH. 

)e  told  tliiit  the 
iee  vol.  iv.  p.  &i). 


Poet,     lie  was 
il  ]6tli  October, 


pompous  lay, 

bust, 
cotia's  way 

Toet's  (lust. 2 
ee  vol.  ii.  p.  201. 

will  be  seen,  from 


APPENDIX. 


r  i! 


APPENDIX. 


MANUAL   OF   RELIGIOUS   BELIEF, 

IN  FORM  OF  A  DIALOOUB  BETWEEN  FATHER  AND  SON. 

COMPILED  BY  WILLIAM  BUBNES,  THE  POET'S  FATHER,  AND  TRANSCRIBED  BY 
JOHN  MURDOCH,  HIS  TEACHER. 


,S'o».  Dear  Father,  you  have  often  told  me, 
while  you  were  initiating  me  into  the  Christian 
Keligion,  that  you  stood  bound  for  me,  to  give 
me  a  Christian  education,  and  recommended 
ii  religious  life  to  me.  I  would  therefore,  if 
you  please,  ask  you  a  few  questions  that  may 
tend  to  confirm  my  faith,  and  clear  its  evidences 
to  me. 

Father.  My  Dear  Child,  with  gladness  I 
will  resolve  to  you  (so  far  as  I  am  able),  any 
question  you  shall  ask,  only  with  this  caution, 
that  you  will  believe  my  answers,  if  they  are 
founded  in  the  Word  of  God. 

Qtwutlon.  How  shall  I  evidence  to  myself 
that  there  is  a  God? 

Answer.  Uy  the  works  of  creation :  for  no- 
thing can  make  itself:  and  this  fabric  of  Nature 
<lemonstrates  its  Creator  to  be  posses.sed  of  all 
possible  perfection,  and  for  that  cause  we  owe 
all  that  we  have  to  Him. 

Q.  If  God  be  possessed  of  all  possible  per- 
fection, ought  not  we  then  to  love  Him  as  well 
as  fear  Him? 

A.  Yes;  we  ought  to  serve  Him  out  of  love, 
for  His  perfections  give  us  delightful  prospects 
of  His  favour  and  friendship,  for  if  we  serve 
Him  out  of  lovo,  we  will  endeavour  to  be  like 
Him,  and  God  will  love  His  own  image,  and 
if  C!od  love  us,  He  will  rejoice  over  us  and  do 
us  good. 

Q.  Then  one  would  think  this  were  suffi- 
cient to  determine  all  men  to  love  God ;  but 
how  shall  we  account  for  so  much  wickedness 
in  the  world? 

A.  God's  revealed  Word  teaches  us  that 
our  first  parents  brake  His  Covenant,  and  de- 
prived us  of  the  influences  of  His  Grace  that 
Mere  to  be  expected  in  that  state,  and  intro- 


duced Sin  into  the  world;  and  the  Devil,  that 
great  enemy  of  God  and  man,  laying  hold  on 
this  instrument,  his  kingdom  has  made  great 
progress  in  the  world. 

Q.  But  has  God  left  His  own  rational  off- 
spring thus,  to  the  tyranny  of  His  and  their 
enemy? 

A.  No:  for  God  hath  addressed  His  rational 
creatures,  by  telling  them  in  His  Revealed 
Word,  that  the  seed  of  the  woman  should 
bruise  the  head  of  the  Serpent,  or  Devil,  or  in 
time  destroy  his  kingdom;  and  in  the  mean- 
time, every  one  oppressed  with  the  tyranny  of 
the  Devil,  should,  through  the  promised  seed, 
by  faith  in  Him,  and  humble  supplication,  and 
a  strenuous  use  of  their  own  faculties,  receive 
such  measures  of  Grace,  in  and  through  this 
method  of  God's  conveyance,  as  should  make 
them  able  to  overcome. 

Q.  But  by  what  shall  I  know  that  this  is 
a  revelation  of  God,  and  not  a  cunningly  de- 
vised fable? 

A.  A  revelation  of  God  must  have  these 
four  marks.  1.  It  must  be  worthy  of  God  to 
reveal ;  2.  It  must  answer  all  the  necessities 
of  human  nature;  3.  It  must  be  sufficiently 
attested  by  miracles;  and,  4.  It  is  known  by 
prophecies  and  their  fulfilment.  That  it  is 
worthy  of  God  is  plain,  by  its  addressing  itself 
to  the  reason  of  men,  and  plainly  laying  before 
them  the  dangers  to  which  they  are  liable,  with 
motives  and  arguments  to  persuade  them  to 
their  duty,  and  promising  such  rewards  as  are 
fitted  to  promote  the  happiness  of  a  rational 
soul.  Secondly,  it  provides  for  the  guilt  of 
human  nature,  making  an  atonement  by  a 
Mediator;  and  for  its  weakness  by  promising 
the  assistance  of  God's  Spirit;  and  for  its 


206 


MANUAL  OF  RELIGIOUS  BELIEF. 


happiness,  by  promising  a  compoHure  of  mind, 
by  the  regulation  of  its  faculties,  and  reducing 
the  appetites  and  passions  of  the  body  unto 
the  subjection  of  reason  enlightened  by  the 
Word  of  God,  and  by  a  resurrection  of  the 
body,  and  a  glorification  of  both  soul  and  body 
in  heaven,  and  that  to  last  through  all  eternity. 
Thirdly,  as  a  miracle  is  a  contradiction  of 
known  laws  of  Nature,  demonstrating  that  the 
worker  has  the  power  of  Nature  in  his  hands, 
and  consequently  must  be  (Jod,  or  sent  by  His 
commission  and  authority  from  Him,  to  do 
such  and  such  things.  That  this  's  the  case 
in  our  Scriptures  is  evident  both  by  the  pro- 
phets, under  the  Old,  and  our  Saviour  under 
the  Now  Testament.  Whenever  it  served  for 
tlie  glory  of  God,  or  for  the  confirmation  of 
their  commissions,  all  Nature  was  obedient  to 
them;  the  elements  were  at  their  command, 
also  the  sun  and  moon,  yea  Life  and  Death. 
Fourthly,  tiiat  prophecies  were  fulfilled  at  a 
distance  of  many  hundreds  of  years  is  evident 
by  comparing  the  following  texts  of  Scripture: 
— Gen.  xlix.  10,  11;  Matt.  xxi.  5;  Isaiah  vii. 
14;  Matt.  i.  22,  23;  Luke  i.  34;  Isaiah  xl.  1; 
Matt.  iii.  3 ;  Mark  i.  3 ;  Luke  iii.  4 ;  John  i. 
23;  Lsaiah  xlii.  1,  2,  3,  4.  A  description  of 
the  character  of  Messiah  in  the  Old  Tcstjiment 
Scriptures  is  fulfilled  in  all  the  Evangelists. 
In  Isaiah  1.  5,  His  sufferings  are  prophesied, 
and  exactly  fulfilled  in  the  New  Testament, 
Matt.  xxvi.  67,  and  xxvii.  26;  and  many 
others,  as  that  Abraham's  seed  should  be 
strangers  in  a  strange  land,  four  hundred  years, 
and  being  brought  to  Canaan,  and  its  accom- 
plishment in  the  days  of  Joseph,  Moses,  and 
Joshua. 

Q.  Seeing  the  Scriptures  are  proven  to  be 
a  revelation  of  God  to  His  creatures,  am  not  I 
indispensably  bound  to  believe  and  obey  them? 

A.     Yes. 

Q.  Am  I  equally  bound  to  obey  all  the 
laws  delivered  to  Moses  upon  Mount  Sinai? 

A.  No:  the  laws  delivered  to  Moses  are  of 
three  kinds:  first,  the  Moral  Law,  which  is  of 
eternal  and  indispensable  obligation  on  all  ages 
and  nations;  Secondly,  the  law  of  Sacrifices 
and  ordinances  were  only  Ordinances  in  which 
were  couched  types  and  shadows  of  things  to 
come,  and  when  that  dispensation  was  at  an 
end,  this  law  ended  with  them,  for  Christ  is 
the  end  of  the  law  for  righteousness;  Thirdly, 


laws  that  respected  the  Jewish  Commonwealth 
can  neither  be  binding  on  us,  who  are  not  of 
that  Commonwealth,  nor  on  the  Jews,  because 
their  Commonwealth  is  at  an  end. 

Q.  If  the  Moral  Law  be  of  indispensuble 
obligation,  I  become  bound  to  perfect  and  per- 
petual obedience,  of  which  I  am  inc'a]ialile, 
and  ou  that  account  cannot  hope  to  be  Justified 
and  accepted  with  God. 

A.  The  Moral  Law  as  a  rule  of  life,  must 
be  of  indispensable  obligation,  but  it  is  the 
glory  of  the  Christian  religion,  that  if  we  be 
upright  in  our  endeavours  to  follow  it  and 
sincere  in  our  repentance,  upon  our  failing  or 
shortening,  we  shall  be  accepted  according  to 
what  we  have,  and  shall  increase  in  our  strength, 
by  the  assistance  of  the  Spirit  o*'  God  co-o})cr- 
ating  with  our  honest  endeavours. 

Q.  Seeing  the  assistance  of  the  Spirit  of 
God  is  absolutely  necessary  for  salvation,  hatli 
not  God  clearly  levealed  by  what  means  we 
may  obtain  this  ^reat  bhssing? 

A.  Yes:  th'j  Scriptures  tell  us  that  the 
Spirit  of  God  i.  the  purch  ise  of  Christ's  media- 
torial ofiice;  and  through  laith  in  Him,  and 
our  humble  prayers  to  God  tiirough  Christ,  we 
shall  receive  such  measures  thereof  as  shall 
answer  our  wants. 

Q.     What  do  you  understand  by  Faith? 

A.  Faith  is  a  firm  persuasion  of  the  Divine 
mission  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  that 
He  is  made  unto  us  of  God,  wisdom,  righteous- 
ness, and  complete  redemption;  or  as  He  is 
represented  to  us  under  the  notion  of  a  root, 
and  we  the  branches,  deriving  all  from  Him; 
or  as  the  head,  and  we  the  members  of  His 
body;  intimating  to  us  that  this  is  the  way  or 
channel  through  which  God  conveys  His  bless- 
ings to  us,  and  we  are  not  to  expect  them  but 
in  God's  own  way.  It  is  therefore  a  matter 
of  conKoquence  to  us,  and  therefore  we  ought 
with  diligence  to  search  the  Scriptures,  and 
the  extent  of  His  Commission,  or  what  they 
declare  Him  to  be,  and  to  receive  Him  accor- 
dingly, and  to  acquiesce  in  God's  plan  of  our 
salvation. 

Q.  My  what  shall  I  know  that  Jesus  Christ 
is  really  the  person  that  was  prophesied  of  in 
the  Old  Testament;  or  that  He  was  that  seed 
of  the  woman  that  was  to  destroy  the  kingdom 
of  Sin? 

A.     Hesides  the  Scriptures  fore-cited,  which 


ommonwoaltli 
vlio  lire  not  of 
Jews,  because 
il. 

iudispcn.salile 
rfcct  and  pcr- 
im  iiu-aiialile, 
to  be  justified 

;  of  life,  must 
Itut  it  is  tlie 
that  if  we  ije 
follow  it  and 
our  failing  or 
1  according  to 
n  our  strength, 
f  (iod  oo-oper- 

the  Spirit  of 
alvation,  liatli 
hat  means  we 

1  us  that  the 
L'hrist's  media- 
1  in  Iliin,  and 
ugli  Christ,  we 
lereof  as  shall 

I  by  Faith? 
n  of  the  Divine 
irist,  and  that 
lom,  rigliteous- 
1 ;  or  as  lie  is 
it  ion  of  a  root, 
all  from  Him; 
embers  of  His 
,s  is  the  way  or 
veys  His  bless- 
ipect  them  but 
•efore  a  matter 
efore  we  ought 
scriptures,  and 
,  or  what  they 
ive  Him  accor- 
d's plan  of  our 

at  Jesus  Christ 
rophesicd  of  in 
a  was  that  seed 
)y  the  kingdom 

ire-cited,  which 


MANUAL  OF  RELIGIOUS  BELIEF. 


•207 


fully  prove  Him  to  be  that  blessed  person, 
Christ  did  many  miracles;  He  healed  the  sick, 
gave  sight  to  the  blind,  made  the  lame  to  walk, 
raised  the  deatl,  and  fed  thousands  with  a  few 
loaves,  &e.  He  foretold  His  own  death  and 
resurrection,  and  tlie  wonderful  progress  of  His 
religion,  in  spite  of  all  the  power  of  the  Roman 
Empire — and  that,  by  means  of  His  disciples, 
a  few  illiterate  fishermen. 

Q.  You  speak  of  repentance  as  absolutely 
necessary  to  salvation — I  would  like  to  know 
what  you  mean  by  repentance? 

A.  I  not  only  noan  a  sorrowing  for  sin, 
liut  K  labouring  to  see  the  malignant  nature  of 
it;  as  sotting  nature  at  variance  witli  herself, 
by  placing  the  animal  part  before  the  rational, 
and  thereby  putting  ourselves  on  a  level  with 
the  brute  beasts,  the  consequence  of  which 
will  be  an  intestine  war  in  the  human  frame, 
until  the  rational  part  be  entirely  weakened, 
which  is  Spiritual  Death,  and  which  in  the 
nature  of  the  thing  renders  us  unfit  for  the 
society  of  God's  spiritual  kingdom,  and  to  see 
the  beauty  of  holinoss.  On  the  contrary,  set- 
ting the  rational  part  above  the  animal,  though 
it  promote  a  war  in  the  human  frame,  every 
conflict  and  victory  affords  us  grateful  reflec- 
tion, and  tends  to  compose  the  mind  more  and 
more,  not  to  the  utter  destruction  of  the  animal 
part,  but  to  the  real  and  true  enjoyment  of 
lioth,  by  placing  Nature  in  the  order  that  its 
Creator  designed  it,  which,  in  the  natural  con- 
sequences of  the  thing,  promotes  Spiritual  Life, 
and  renders  us  more  and  more  fit  for  Christ's 
spiritual  kingdom ;  and  not  only  so,  but  gives 
to  animal  life  pleasure  and  joy  that  we  never 
could  have  had  without  it. 

Q.  I  should  be  glad  to  hear  you  at  large 
upon  religion  giving  pleasure  to  animal  life; 
for  it  is  represented  as  taking  up  our  cross  and 
following  Christ. 

A.  Our  Lord  honestly  told  His  disciples  of 
their  danger,  and  what  they  were  to  expect 
by  being  His  followers,  that  the  world  would 
hate  them,  and  for  this  reason,  because  they 
were  not  of  the  world,  even  aa  He  also  was  not 
of  the  world ;  but  He  gives  them  sufficient 
comfort,  showing  that  He  had  overcome  the 
world;  as  if  He  had  said,  "You  must  arm  your- 
self with  a  resolution  to  fight,  for  if  you  be 
resolved  to  be  My  disciples,  you  expose  the 
world,  by  setting  their  folly  in  its  true  light. 


and  therefore  every  one  who  is  not  brought 
over  by  your  example,  will  hate  and  oppose 
you  as  it  hath  Me;  but  as  it  hath  had  no  ad- 
vantage against  Me,  and  1  have  overcome  it, 
if  youcontinuctheconflict,  you,  by  My  strength, 
shall  overcome  likewise;"  so  that  this  declara- 
tion of  our  Lord  cannot  damp  the  pleasures  of 
life  when  rightly  considered,  but  rather  en- 
larges them.     The  same  revelation  tells  us, 
that  a  religious  life  hath  the  promise  of  the 
life  that  now  is,  and  that  which  is  to  come; 
and  not  only  by  the  well  regulated  mind  de- 
scribed in  my  last  answer,  as  tending  to  give 
pleasure  and  quiet,  but  by  a  firm  trust  in  the 
providence  of  God,  and  by  the  help  of  an 
honest  calling  industriously  pursued,  we  shall 
receive  such  a  portion  of  the  comfortable  things 
of  this  life  as  shall  be  fittest  for  promoting  our 
eternal  interest,  and  that  under  the  direction 
of  infinite  wisdom  and  goodness ;  and  that  we 
shall  overcome  all  our  ditticulties  by  l)eing 
under  the  protection  of  infinite  power.    These 
considerations  cannot  fail  to  give  a  relish  to 
all  the  pleasures  of  life.      Besides  the  very 
nature  of  the  thing  giving  pleasure  to  a  mind 
so  regular  as  I  have  already  described,  it  must 
exalt  the  mind  above  those  irregular  passions 
that  jar  and  are  contrary  one  to  another,  and 
distract  the  mind  by  contrary  pursuits,  which 
is  described  by  the  Apostle  with  more  strength 
in  his  Epistle  to  the  IJomans  (chap,  i.,  from 
26  to  the  end)  than  any  words  I  am  capable 
of  framing;  especially  if  wo  take  our  Lord's 
explanation  of  the  parable  of  the  tares  in  the 
field  as  an  improvement  of  these  doctrines,  as 
it  is  in  Matt,  xiii.,  from  the  37  to  44  verse; 
and  Rev.  xx.,  from  verse  11  to  the  end.     If 
these  Scriptures,  seriously  considered,  can  suf- 
fer any  man  to  be  easy,  judge  ye,  and  they 
will  remain  truth,  whether  believed  or  not. 
Whereas,  on  a  mind  regular,  and  having  the 
animal  part  under  subjection  to  the  rational, 
in  the  very  nature  of  the  thing  gives  uni- 
formity of  pursuits.      The  desires,  rectified 
by  the  Word  of  God,  must  give  clearness  of 
judgment,  soundness  of  mind,  regular  affec- 
tions, whence  will  flow  peace  of  conscience, 
good  hope,  through  grace,  that  all  our  interests 
are  under  the  care  of  our  Heavenly  Father. 
This  gives  a  relish  to  animal  life  itself,  this 
joy  that  no  man  intermeddleth  with,  and  which 
is  peculiar  to  a  Christian  or  holy  life;  and  its 


I   1 


i  -t 


ii  ! 


I    i 


i  .1:, 


S08 


A  PAINTER'S  TRIBUTE  TO  BURNS. 


comforts  ami  blesHings  the  whole  Scripture  is 
a  comment  upon,  cnpecially  our  Lord's  sermon 
upon  the  Mount,  Matt.  v.  1-13,  and  its  pro- 
gress in  the  parable  of  the  sower  in  the  thir- 
teentii  of  Matthew. 

From  two  extant  letters  of  William  Hurnes, 
we  should  judge  that  the  foregoing  was 
not  entirely  his  own  composition,  and  that 
Murdoch's  part  in  it  must  have  been  consider- 
ably greater  than  that  of  mere  transcriber. 
One  of  the  letters  consists  of  only  a  few  lines, 
the  other  (in  the  poet's  monument  at  Edin- 
burgh) runs  as  follows: — 

To  Mu.  James  Uuuneh,  Montrose. 

Dear  Nephew, 

I  received  your  affectionate  letter  by  the 
bearer,  Avho  came  5  miles  with  it  to  my  house. 
I  received  [it]  with  the  same  warmth  you 
wrote  it,  and  I  am  extremely  glad  you  express 
yourself  with  so  warm  regard  for  your  parents 
and  friends.  I  wish  much  Joy  in  your  wife 
and  child.     I  should  have  been  glad  had  you 


sent  me  their  names,  with  the  name  of  your 
brother-in-law. 

1  have  a  family  of  four  sons  and  tiiree 
douthers:'  two  of  my  sons  and  two  of  n>\- 
doutiiers  are  men  and  women  and  all  with  nio 
in  the  farm  way:  I  have  the  happiness  to  hope 
they  are  virtuously  inclined,  ily  youngest 
douther  is  ten  years  of  age:  my  eldest  son  is 
named  Robert;  the  second  (iilbert;  the  third 
William;  the  fourth  John;  my  eldest  douther 
is  named  Agnes;  the  second  Anna  Dela;  the 
third  Isbal. 

My  Brother  lives  at  Stewarton  by  Kilmar- 
nock ;  he  hath  two  sons  and  one  douther,  named 
John,  William  and  Fanny;  their  circumstances 
are  very  indifferent. 

I  shall  be  happy  to  hear  from  you  when  it 
is  convenient,  when  1  shall  writt  to  you  from 
time  to  time.  IMease  give  my  respects  to  your 
Brother  and  Sister  in  the  kindest  manner,  and 
to  your  Wife,  which  will  greatly  oblige  your 
affectionate  Uncle, 

William  Burnes. 

LOCHLIE,  14  April,  1781. 


A  PAINTER'S  TRIBUTE  TO  BURNS. 


DESCRIPTIVE  NOTICE  OF  THE  POET  S  DREAM  AT  LIKCLUDEN. 


The  Vignette  entitled  "The  Poet's  Dream 
at  Lincluden  "  is  thus  described  by  the  artist 
who  designed  it : — 

"...  Perhaps  you  will  say  the  picture 
should  describe  itself;  but  the  subject  is  a 
dream,  and  the  best  dreams  on  record  have 
after  all  required  interpretations,  and  these 
were  sometimes  supplied  by  the  dreamers 
themselves;  under  which  high  examples  I  take 
shelter,  while  I  attempt  to  describe  and  inter- 
pret the  Poet's  Dream  at  Lincluden. 

"The  architecture  which  forms  the  back- 
ground of  the  subject  is  the  ruined  and  beauti- 
ful door- way  and  western  window  of  the  chapel 
at  Lincluden  Abbey,  near  Dumfries,  which  I 
need  not  remind  a  devotee  of  Burns  was  one  of 
his  most  favourite  haunts.  Here,  by  the  roofless 
tower, '  the  stern  and  stalwart  ghaist '  of  liberty 
appeared  to  the  poet,  and  here,  as  he  has  re- 
corded in  his  version  of  '  Ca'  the  Yowes, '  the 


fairies  love  to  wander  by  the  clear  moonlight. 
I  have  supposed  that  the  bard  has  visitetl  tiiis 
beautiful  seclusion  late  on  a  summer  night; 
that  he  has  lain  down  on  one  of  the  verdant 
knolls  before  the  ruin,  and,  falling  asleep, 
supposes  his  head  pillowed  on  the  lap  of  Coila, 
the  favourite  muse  of  his  youthful  manhood, 
to  whom,  and  to  Doon's  fair  banks,  though  he 
now  lived  where  '  Nith  ran  proudly  to  the  Sea,' 
he  was  often  transported  both  in  sleeping  and 
waking  vision.  In  this  situation  he  is  found 
by  the  king  and  queen  of  the  fairies,  who,  with 
their  train  of  elves,  spunkies,  brownies,  kel- 
pies, mermaids,  &c.,  come  to  hold  a  night  of 
high  revelry  in  their  favourite  domain.  They 
immediately  recognize  the  child  of  song,  who 
had  celebrated  their  race,  and  resolve  to  gratify 

1  Apparently  an  attempt  to  spell  the  word  in  ac- 
cordance with  a  pronunciation  voniniun  in  the  part 
ol  Scotland  where  the  writer  was  born. 


name  of  jour 

iH  and  tlircc 
i  two  of  my 
il  all  witli  me 
)incrtM  to  hope 
My  youngest 
elik'st  fion  i.s 
ert;  the  tliird 
ilclest  doutlier 
ina  Ikla;  the 

n  by  Kilmar. 
Duther,  named 
eircumstaneos 

1  you  when  it 
t  to  yon  from 
speets  to  your 
t  manner,  and 
y  oblige  your 

iM    BUUNES. 


lar  moonlight, 
las  visited  this 
ammcr  night; 
of  the  verdant 
falling  asleep, 
le  lap  of  Coila, 
iful  manhood, 
(ks,  though  he 
lly  to  the  Sea,' 
n  sleeping  and 
)n  he  is  found 
ries,  who,  with 
brownies,  kel- 
oid a  night  of 
lomain.  They 
1  of  song,  who 
solve  to  gratify 

the  word  in  ac- 
niun  in  the  part 
mi. 


li, 


I 


hi 


1 


'HE  poet's  DE^SAX^  AT  ;L]CI^Ci."J.BF.H  A».Ba;^ 

A    rMKTKka    TKIBUrs    Tu    BI'RNS 


>"h 


I 


■ 


t'-Uilif    »,   Ron,   Lonion    Gl.i^e-*' 


g-*'    ^  fJmVjrj^h 


A  PAINTER'S  TRIBUTE  TO  BURNS. 


209 


him  with  a  vision  of  some  subjects  worthy  of 
his  muse.  As  on  another  'midsummer  night,' 
a  difference  of  opinion  arises  between  the  royal 
pair,  in  regard  to  the  nature  of  tlie  vision  to 
be  presented.  The  voice  of  the  king  is  still 
for  war,  and  he  wishes  to  inspire  the  poet  to 
sing  of  high  and  noble  deeds.  The  queen 
gives  her  voice  for  gentler  and  humbler  themes; 
and  the  poet  accordingly  profits  by  the  dispute, 
for,  instead  of  one  class  of  subjects,  his  soul 
is  gladdened  with  a  varied  series  of  spectral 
tableaux,  which  go  to  fit  him  for  excelling  in 
all  the  walks  of  his  art. 

"The  figures  in  armour  behind  the  advanced 
banner  'auld  Scotland's  Uluidy  Lion,'  con- 
jured up  by  the  fairy  king,  are  Wallace,  Bruce, 
Douglas,  and  Randolph — characters,  it  may  be 
presumed,  in  the  intended  drama,  founded  on 
a  portion  in  the  history  of  the  great  restorer 
of  Scottish  liberty,  which  Hums  long  nourished 
the  idea  of  writing,  and  which  Sir  AValter 
Scott  regretted,  and  hi-*  countrymen  may  ever 
regret,  he  did  not  live  to  write.  The  tattered 
and  mutilated  warrior  beside  them  is  the  son 
of  Mars  of  the  '  Jolly  Beggars, '  keeping  watch 
over  the  kettle  of  the  kirk  and  state,  illustrat- 
ing the  patriotic  resolves  which  animated  even 
the  lowest  of  the  people  at  the  time  of  the 
threatened  French  invasion;  so  felicitously 
brought  out  by  Burns  in  the  song  of  his  old 
hero,  who,  beggar  as  he  was,  declared  himself 
ready  to  turn  out,  and  '  rattle  on  his  stumps 
to  tiic  sound  of  the  drum.'  The  figures  on  the 
other  side  of  the  picture  are  several  rustic 
beauties— a  ruling  elder,  a  clergyman,  Tam 
o'Shanter  and  Souter  Johnnie,  the  toil-worn 
cotter,  over  whose  head  Death  shakes  his  sand- 
glass, while  the  spectre  is  repelled  by  Horn- 
book, who  with  ready  art  holds  in  his  face  a 
phial,  containing  probably  that  universal  spe- 
cific the  sal-alkali  of  midge-tail  clippings. 
The  old  gentleman  aloft,  employed  in  the 
exercise  of  our  serenely  silent  art,  is  Captain 


Grose,  who  was  engaged  in  making  drawing* 
of  Lineluden  when  he  met  the  poet  at  Friars' 
Carse,  to  which  rencontre  we  are  indebted  for 
the  tale  of  Tam  o'Shanter.  The  'unco  sleight 
of  caulk  and  keel'  displayed  by  the  military 
artist,  has  arrested  with  surprise  and  dread  a 
crew  of  witches,  warlocks,  and  worricows,  in 
their  descent  to  join  in  the  revelry  below. 
The  harper  in  the  centre  is  the  ghaist  of  liberty, 
proper  to  this  locality;  and  I  presume  it  is 
needless  to  be  too  minute  in  naming  the  more 
infernal  minstrel  with  the  bagpipes,  who  shows 
his  unhallowed  and  'reested  phiz'  from  behind 
the  doorway;  or  the  somewhat  too  slightly 
draped  lady  who  forms  the  apex  of  the  pyra- 
midal group  in  the  unearthly  galliard  in  the 
interior  of  the  chapel.  The  fairies  who  are 
rifling  the  pockets  of  the  sleeping  bard,  find 
one  solitary  coin  there,  indicating  his  poverty; 
the  toad  in  the  foreground  personates  one  of 
those  critics  or  biographers,  whose  blackened 
pages,  throwing  their  shadows  before,  some- 
times while  the  poet  lived  clouded  his  serenity. 
In  the  present  instance,  a  friendly  fairy  shields 
him  from  the  venom  of  the  reptile,  and  annoys 
it  in  turn  by  the  application  of  a  sprig  of 
Scotch  thistle ;  the  moral  of  which  is,  that  the 
countrymen  of  the  bard  will  not  permit  even 
his  frailties  to  be  further  drawn  from  their 
dread  abode  without  administering  the  merited 
castigation.  We  are  assured  that  through 
poverty,  neglect,  and  detraction,  the  vision  of 
his  future  fame  never  forsook  him;  and  accor- 
dingly his  monument  is  seen  in  the  bright, 
though  far,  distance.  Tlic  whole  phantasma 
is  lighted  up  from  the  fire  of  a  fairy  distillery, 
which  may  be  at  once  taken  as  allusive  to  the 
professional  occupation  of  the  exciseman,  and 
as  showing  the  nature  of  that  spell  of  power 
which  has  conjured  up  the  vision,  namely,  the 
very  potent,  but  very  natural,  necromancy  of 
the  punch-bowl." 


^H: 


210 


POEMS  WRITTEN  IN  MEMORY  OF  BURNS. 


POEMS  WRITTEN  IN  MEMORY  OF  BURNS. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  ROBERT  BURNS. 

BY  WILLIAM  EOSCOE,  ESQ. 

Rear  high  thy  bleak  majestic  hills, 

Thy  shelter'd  valleys  proudly  spread, 
And,  Scotia,  pour  thy  thousand  rills. 

And  wave  thy  heaths  with  blo.ssoms  red; 
But,  ah!  what  poet  now  shall  tread 

Thy  airy  hoighta,  thy  woodland  reign, 
Since  ho  the  sweetest  bard  is  dead 

That  ever  breath'd  the  soothing  strain? 

As  green  thy  towering  pines  may  grow, 

As  clear  thy  streams  may  speed  along, 
As  bright  thy  summer  suns  may  glow. 

As  gaily  charm  thy  feathery  throng; 
Bv.t  now,  unheeded  is  the  song. 

And  dull  and  lifeless  all  around. 
For  his  wild  harp  lies  all  unstnmg. 

And  cold  the  hand  that  waked  its  sound. 

Wliat  tho'  thy  vigorous  oflspring  rise, 

In  arts,  in  arms,  thy  sons  excel ; 
Tho'  beauty  in  thy  daughters'  eyes. 

And  health  in  every  feature  dwell; 
Yet  who  shall  now  their  praises  tell, 

In  strains  impassion'd,  fond  and  fi-ee. 
Since  he  no  more  tho  song  shall  swell 

To  love,  and  liberty,  and  thee. 

With  step-dame  eye  and  frown  severe 

His  hapless  youth  why  didst  thou  view? 
For  all  thy  joys  to  him  were  dear. 

And  all  his  vows  to  thee  were  due; 
Nor  greater  bliss  his  bosom  knew. 

In  opening  youth's  delightful  prime, 
Than  when  thy  favouring  ear  he  drew 

To  listen  to  his  chanted  rhyme. 

Thy  lonely  wastes  and  frowning  skies 

'fo  him  were  all  with  rapture  fraught; 
He  heard  with  joy  the  tempest  rise 

That  wak'd  him  to  sublimer  thought; 
And  oft  thy  winding  dells  ho  sought. 

Where  wild  flow'rs  pour'd  their  rathe  perfume, 
And  with  sincere  devotion  brought 

To  thee  the  summer's  earliest  bloom. 

But  ah !  no  fond  maternal  smile 

His  unprotected  youth  enjoyed; 
His  limbs  inur'd  to  early  toil, 

His  days  with  early  hardships  tried; 
And  more  to  mark  the  gloomy  void. 

And  bid  him  feel  his  misery. 
Before  his  infant  eyes  would  glide 

Day-dreams  of  immortality. 


Yet,  not  by  cold  neglect  depress'd, 

With  sinewy  arm  he  tum'd  the  soil, 
Sunk  with  the  evening  sun  to  rest. 

And  met  at  mom  his  earliest  smile, 
Wak'd  by  his  rustic  pipe,  meanwhile 

The  powers  of  fancy  came  along, 
And  sooth'd  his  Icngthen'd  houi*s  of  toil 

With  native  wit  and  sprightly  song. 

— Ah!  days  of  bliss,  too  swiftly  fled, 

When  vigorous  health  from  labour  springs, 
And  bland  contentment  smooths  the  bed. 

And  sleep  his  reudy  opiate  brings; 
And  hovering  round  on  airy  wings 

Float  the  light  forms  of  young  desire. 
That  of  unutterable  things 

The  soft  and  shadowy  hope  inspire. 

Now  spells  of  mightier  power  prepare, 

Bid  brighter  phantoms  round  him  dance; 
Let  Flattery  spread  her  viewless  snare, 

And  Fame  attract  his  vagrant  glance; 
Let  sprightly  Pleasure  too  advance, 

Unveil'd  her  eyes,  unclasp'd  her  zone. 
Till  lost  in  love's  delirious  trance 

He  scorn  the  joys  his  youth  has  known. 

Let  Friendship  pour  her  brightest  blaze. 

Expanding  all  tho  bloom  of  soul; 
And  Mirth  concentre  all  her  raj's, 

And  point  them  from  the  sparkling  bowl ; 
And  let  tho  careless  moments  roll 

In  social  pleasures  unconfined, 
And  Confidence  that  spunis  control 

Unlock  tho  inmost  springs  of  mind: 

And  lead  his  steps  those  bowers  among. 

Where  elegance  with  splendour  vies. 
Or  Science  bids  her  favour'd  throng. 

To  more  refin'd  sensations  rise: 
Beyond  the  peasant's  humbler  joys. 

And  freed  from  each  laborious  .strife, 
There  let  him  learn  the  bli.ss  to  prize 

That  waits  the  sons  of  polish 'd  life. 

Then  whilst  his  throbbing  veins  beat  high 

With  every  impulse  of  delight, 
Dash  from  his  lips  the  cup  of  joy, 

And  .shroud  tho  scene  in  shades  of  night; 
And  let  Despair,  with  wizard  light, 

Di.sclo.se  the  yawning  gulf  below. 
And  pour  incessant  on  his  sight 

Her  spectr'd  ills  and  shapes  of  woe; 

And  show  beneath  a  cheerless  siied, 
With  sorrowing  heart  and  streaming  ej'cs, 

In  silent  grief  where  droops  her  head, 
The  partner  of  his  early  joys; 


POEMS  WRITTEN  IN  MEMORY  OF  BURNS. 


211 


soil, 

ile, 
ilo 

)f  toil 
)ng. 

d, 

(ur  springs, 

he  bed, 

I 

esire, 

lire. 

)are, 

xa  dance; 

nare, 

lance; 

e, 

*  zone, 

known. 
,  blaze, 

I; 

ling  bowl; 


•ol 
ind: 

niong, 
vies. 
Iff. 

,'S, 

strife, 

izo 

ife. 

eat  high 


I  of  night; 

t, 
?, 

woo: 

id, 

niing  eyes, 

ead. 


And  lot  his  infants'  tender  cries 
His  fond  parental  succour  claim. 

And  bid  him  hour  in  agonies 
A  husband's  and  &  father's  name. 

'Tis  done,  the  powerful  charm  succeeds; 

His  high  reluctant  spirit  bends; 
In  bitterness  of  soul  ho  bleeds. 

Nor  longer  with  his  fate  contends. 
An  idiot  laugh  the  welkin  rends 

As  genius  thus  degraded  lies; 
Till  pitying  Heaven  the  veil  extends 

That  shrouds  the  Poet's  ardent  eyes. 

—Rear  high  thy  bleak  majestic  hills. 

Thy  shelter'd  valleys  proudly  spread, 
And,  Scotia,  pour  thy  thousand  rills, 

And  wave  thy  heaths  with  blossoms  red; 
But  never  more  shall  poet  tread 

Thy  airy  heights,  thy  woodland  reign, 
Since  he  the  sweetest  bard  is  dead 

That  ever  breath'd  the  soothing  strain. 


STANZAS  TO  THE   MEMORY  OF  BURNS. 

BY  THOMAS  CAJU'BKLL. 

Soul  of  the  poet!  whoresoe'er, 
Keclaim'd  from  earth,  thy  genius  plume 
Hor  wings  of  immortalitj'. 
Suspend  thy  harp  in  happier  sphere. 
And  with  thine  influence  illume 
The  gladness  of  our  jubilee. 

And  fly,  like  fiends  from  secret  sjx;ll. 
Discord  and  strife,  ;it  Burns's  name. 
Exorcised  by  his  memory; 
For  he  was  chief  of  bards  that  swell 
The  heart  with  songs  of  social  tlame. 
And  high  delicious  revelry. 

And  love's  own  strain  to  him  was  given. 
To  warble  all  its  ecstacies, 
Witli  Pythian  words,  unsought,  unwiU'd, — 
Love,  the  surviving  gift  of  Heaven, — 
The  choicest  sweet  of  paradise 
lu  life's  else  bitter  cup  distill'd. 

Who,  that  has  melted  o'er  his  lay 
To  Mary's  soul  in  heaven  above. 
But  lectured  sees,  in  fancy  strong. 
The  landscape  and  the  live-long  day 
That  smiled  upon  their  mutual  love? 
Who  that  has  felt  forgets  the  song? 

Nor  skill'd  one  flame  alone  to  fan. 
His  country's  high-souled  peasantry : 
What  patriot  pride  he  taught!     IIow  much 
To  weigh  tlio  inborn  worth  of  man! 
And  rustic  life  and  poverty 
Grow  beautiful  beneath  his  touch. 


Him,  in  his  clay-built  cot,  the  muse 
Entranced,  and  show'd  him  all  the  forms 
Of  fairy  light  and  wizard  gloom. 
That  only  gifted  poet  views, — 
The  genii  of  the  floods  and  storms. 
And  martial  shades  from  glory's  tomb. 

On  Bannock-field  what  thoughts  arouse 
The  swain  whom  Burns's  song  inspires! 
Beat  not  his  Caledonian  veins. 
As  o'er  the  heroic  turf  he  ploughs. 
With  all  the  spirit  of  his  sires. 
And  all  their  scorn  of  death  and  chains. 

And  see  the  Scottish  exile  tann'd 
By  many  a  far  and  foreign  clime. 

Bend  o'er  his  home-born  verse  and  weep 
In  memory  of  his  native  land. 
With  love  that  scorns  the  lapse  of  time 
And  ties  that  stretch  beyond  the  deep. 

Encamp'd  by  India's  rivers  wild 
The  soldier,  resting  on  his  arms, 
In  Burns's  carol  sweet  recals 
The  scenes  that  bless'd  him  when  a  child. 
And  glows  and  gladdens  at  the  charms. 
Of  Scotia's  woods  and  waterfalls. 

0  deem  not,  'mid  thy  worldly  strife. 
An  idle  art  the  poet  brings: 
Let  high  philosophy  control. 
And  sagos  calm  the  stream  of  life, 
'Tis  he  reflnes  its  fountain-springs. 
The  nobler  passions  of  the  soul. 

It  Ls  the  nmso  that  consecrates 
The  native  honours  of  the  brave. 
Unfurling,  at  the  tn'mpet's  breath. 
Rose,  Thistle,  Harp.     'Tis  she  elates 
To  sweep  the  field  or  ride  the  wave, 
A  sun-burst  in  the  storm  of  death. 

And  thou,  young  hero,'  when  thy  pall 

Is  cross'd  with  mournful  sword  atul  plume, 
When  public  grief  begins  to  fade. 
And  only  tears  of  kindred  fall, — 
Who  but  the  bard  shall  dress  thy  tomb. 
And  greet  with  fame  thy  gallant  shade ! 

Such  was  the  soldier:  Burns,  forgive 
That  .sorrows  of  mine  own  intnide 
In  strains  to  thy  great  memory  due; 
In  vei-so  like  thine,  0  could  he  live. 
The  friend  I  mourn'd,  the  brave,  the  good 
Edward,  that  died  at  Waterloo. 

Farewell,  high  chief  of  Scottish  song ! 
That  could'.st  alternately  impart 
Wisdom  and  rapture  in  thy  page, 

1  Afajor  Edward  Hodge,  of  the  7th  Hussars,  who 
fell  at  the  head  of  his  squadron  in  the  attack  on  the 
Polish  lancers. 


ill 


212 


POEMS  WRITTEN  IN  MEMORY  OF  BURNS. 


And  brand  each  vice  with  satire  strong; 
Whose  Hnes  are  mottoes  of  the  heart, 
Whose  troths  electrify  the  sage. 

Farewell,  and  ne'er  may  envy  dare 
To  wring  one  baleful  poison  drop 
From  the  crush 'd  laurels  of  thy  bust; 
But,  while  the  lark  sings  sweet  in  air. 
Still  may  the  grateful  pilgrim  stop 
To  bless  the  spot  that  holds  thy  dust. 


ADDRESS  TO  THE  SONS  OF  BURNS 
ON  VISITING  HIS  GRAVE. 

BY  WILLIAM  WORDSWORTH. 

Jlid  crowded  obelisks  and  urns 

I  sought  the  untimely  grave  of  Bums: 

Sons  of  the  bard  my  heart  still  mourns 

With  sorrow  true; 
And  more  would  grieve,  but  that  it  turns 

Trembling  to  you ! 

Through  twilight  shades  of  good  and  ill 

Ye  now  are  panting  up  life's  hill. 

And  more  than  common  strength  and  skill 

Must  yo  display. 
If  ye  would  give  the  better  will 

Its  lawful  sway. 

Hath  nature  strung  your  nerves  to  bear 
Intemperance  with  less  harm,  beware! 
But  if  the  poet's  wit  ye  share. 

Like  him  can  speed 
The  social  hour — for  tenfold  care 

There  will  be  need. 

Even  honest  men  delight  will  take 
To  spare  your  failings  for  his  sake. 
Will  Hatter  you, — .and  fool  and  rako 

Your  steps  pursue; 
And  of  your  father's  name  will  make 

A  snare  for  you. 

Far  from  their  noisy  haunts  retire. 
And  add  your  voices  to  the  quire 
That  sanctify  the  cottage  fire 

With  service  meet; 
There  seek  the  genius  of  your  sire, 

His  spirit  greet. 

Or  where  mid  "  lonely  heights  and  hows" 
He  paid  to  nature  tuneful  vows; 
Or  wiped  his  honourable  brows, 

Bedewed  with  toil. 
While  reapers  strove,  or  busy  ploughs 

Upturned  the  soil. 

His  judgment  with  benignant  ray 
Shall  guide,  his  fancy  cheer,  your  way; 
But  ne'er  to  a  seductive  lay 

Let  faith  be  given; 
Nor  deem  that  "  light  which  leads  astray 

Is  light  from  heaven." 


Let  no  mean  hope  your  souls  enslave; 
Be  independent,  generous,  brave; 
Your  father  such  example  gave. 

And  such  revere; 
But  be  admonished  by  his  grave. 

And  think  and  fear ! 


ON  THE  ANNIVERSARY   OF  BUBXSS 
BIRTH-DAY. 

BY  JAMES  MONTGOMERY. 

What  bird  in  beauty,  flight,  or  song. 

Can  with  the  bard  compare, 
Who  sang  as  sweet  and  soar'd  as  strung, 

As  over  child  of  air  ? 

His  plume,  his  note,  his  form  could  BvHX.s, 

For  whim  or  pleasure,  change  ; 
He  was  not  one,  but  all  by  turns, 

With  transmigration  strange: — 

The  blackbird,  oracle  of  spring. 

When  flow'd  his  moral  lay; 
The  swallow,  wheeling  on  the  wing, 

Capriciously  at  play: — 

The  humming-bird,  from  bloom  to  bloom 

Inhaling  heavenly  balm; 
The  raven  in  the  tempest's  gloom; 

The  halcyon  in  the  calm:— 

In  "auld  Kirk-Alloway,"  the  owl, 

At  witching  time  of  night; 
By  "  bonnie  Doon,"  the  earliest  fowl 

That  carolled  to  the  light. 

He  was  the  wren  amidst  the  grove, 

When  in  his  homely  vein; 
At  Bannock-burn,  the  bird  of  Jove, 

With  thunder  in  his  train: — 

The  woodlark,  in  his  mournful  hours; 

The  goldfinch,  in  his  mirth; 
The  thrush,  a  spendthrift  of  his  jiowers. 

Enrapturing  heaven  and  earth;— 

The  swan,  in  majesty  and  grace, 

Contemplative  and  still ; 
But  roused, — no  falcon  in  the  chase 

Could,  like  his  satire,  kill: — 

The  linnet  in  simplicity; 

In  tenderness,  the  dove; 
— But,  more  than  all  beside,  was  he 

The  nightingale,  in  love. 

Oh!  had  he  never  stoop'd  to  shame, 

Nor  lent  a  charm  to  vice. 
How  had  devotion  loved  to  name 

That  bird  of  Paradise! 

Peace  to  the  dead! — In  Scotia's  choir 

Of  minstrels,  great  and  small, 
He  sj)rang  from  his  spontaneous  fire, 

The  Phoenix  of  them  all ! 


POEMS  WRITTEN  IN  MEMORY  OF  BURNS. 


213 


Is  enslave; 

brave; 
gave, 

revere; 
grave, 
k  and  fear ! 


Y   OF  BUKX8S*. 
Y. 

OMERY. 

t,  or  song, 

ire, 

ir'd  as  strong, 

rm  could  Bviixs, 
lange ; 
turns, 
tnge: — • 

■i"g, 

y; 

he  wing, 

loom  to  bloom 
gloom; 

he  owl, 

t; 

rliest  fowl 

t. 

e  grove, 

of  Jove, 
i: — 

iful  hours; 

th; 

f  his  powers, 

earth : — 

race, 
lie  chase 


,  was  he 

shame, 
name 


ia's  choir 
mil, 
sous  fire. 


ODE. 

WRITTEN  FOR,  AND  PERFORMED  AT  THE  CELEBRA- 
TION OF  ROBERT  BUKNS'8  BIRTH-DAY,  PAISLEY, 
20th  JAN.  1807. 

BY  ROBERT  TANNAUILL.l 
BECITATIVK. 

While  Gallia's  chief,  with  cruel  conquests  vain, 

Bills  clanging  trximpets  rend  the  skies. 

The  widow's,  orphan's,  and  the  father's  sighs, 

Breathe,  hissing  thro'  the  guilty  strain; 

Mild  Pity  hears  the  harrowing  tones, 

Mix'd  with  shrieks  and  dying  groans; 

While  warm  Humanity,  afar, 

Weeps  o'er  the  ravages  of  war. 

And  shudd'ring  liears  Ambition's  servile  train. 

Rejoicing  o'er  their  thousands  slain. 

But  when  the  song  to  worth  is  given, 

The  grateful  anthem  wings  its  way  to  heaven; 

Rings  thro'  the  mansions  of  the  bright  abodes. 

And  melts  to  ecstasy  the  list'ning  gods; 

Apollo,  on  fire, 

Strikes  with  rapture  the  lyre, 
And  the  Muses  the  summons  obey, 

Joy  wings  the  glad  sound, 

To  the  worlds  around, 
Till  all  nature  re-echoes  the  lay.— 
Then  raise  the  song,  ye  vocal  few, 
Give  the  praise  to  merit  due. 

BONO. 

Tr>'  dark  scowling  Winter,  in  dismal  array, 

Ke-marshals  his  storms  on  the  bleak  hoary  hill. 
With  joy  we  assemble  to  hail  the  great  day 
That  gave  birth  to  the  Bard  who  ennobles  our 
Isle. 
Then  loud  to  his  merits  the  song  let  us  raise, 
Let  each  true  Caledonian  exult  in  his  praise; 
For  the  glory  of  Genius,  its  dearest  reward, 
Is  the  laurel  entwin'd  by  his  country's  regard. 

Let  the  Muse  bring  fresh  honours  his  name  to 

adorn, 
Let  the  voice  of  glad  melody  pride  in  the  theme. 
For  the  genius  of  Scotia,  in  ages  unborn, 

Will  light  up  her  torch  at  the  blaze  of  his  lame. 
When  the  dark  mist  of  ages  lies  turbid  between, 
Still  his  star  of  renown  thro'  the  gloom  shall  be 

seen. 
And  his  rich  blooming  laurels,  so  dear  to  the 

Bard, 
Will  be  cherish'd  for  aye  by  his  country's  regard . 

RECITATR'K. 

Yes,  Burns,  "thou  dear  departed  shade!" 
When  rolling  centuries  have  fled, 

»  Tannahill  wrote  also  an  Ode  for  the  anniversary 
(if  1805,  besides  a  sonj,'  in  praise  of  tlie  poet  for  another 
similar  occasion;  but  we  can  only  make  room  for  the 
present  piece. 

VOL.  V. 


Thy  name  shall  still  survive  the  wreck  of  Time, 
Shall  rouse  the  genius  of  thy  native  clime; 
Bards  yet  unborn,  and  patriots  shall  come, 
And  catch  fresh  ardour  at  thy  hallow'd  tomb — 
There's  not  a  cairn-built  cottage  on  our  hills, 
Nor  rural  hamlet  on  our  fertile  plains. 
But  echoes  to  the  magic  of  his  strains. 
While  every  heart  with  highest  transport  thrills. 
Our  country's  melodies  shall  perish  never. 
For,  Burns,  thy  songs  shall  live  for  ever. 
Then,  once  again,  ye  vocal  few. 
Give  the  song  to  merit  duo. 

SONG. 

Hail,  ye  glorious  sons  of  song, 

Who  wrote  to  humanize  the  soul! 
To  you  our  highest  strains  belong. 
Your  names  shall  crown  our  friendly  bowl, 
But  chiefly,  Burns,  above  the  rest, 
We  dedicate  this  night  to  thee; 
Engraved  in  every  Scotchman's  breast, 
Thy  name,  thy  worth  shall  ever  be ! 

Fathers  of  our  country's  weal. 

Sternly  virtuous,  bold  and  free ! 
Ye  taught  your  sons  to  fight,  yet  feel 
The  dictates  of  humanity. 

But  chiefly.  Burns,  above  the  rest, 
We  iledicate  this  night  to  thee; 
Engraved  in  every  Scotchman's  breast. 
Thy  name,  thy  worth  shall  ever  be ! 

Haughty  Gallia  threats  our  coast, 

We  hear  their  vaunts  with  disregard, 
Secure  in  valour,  still  we  boast 

"  The  Patriot,  and  the  Patriot  Bard." 
But  chiefly.  Burns,  above  the  rest, 
We  dedicate  this  night  to  thee; 
Engraved  in  every  Scotchman's  breast, 
Thy  name,  thy  worth  shall  ever  be! 

Yes,  Caledonians !  to  our  country  true. 
Which  Danes  nor  Romans  never  could  subdue, 
Firmly  resolved  our  native  rights  to  guard. 
Let's  toast "  The  Patriot,  and  the  Patriot  Bard." 


I:    ! 


IRREGULAR  ANNIVERSARY  ODE, 

SACRED  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  BURNS. 

BY  THE  REV.  HAMILTON  PAUL.  2 

SCENE— Tlie  Cottage  in  which  he  was  born. 

Here  let  me  kneel  and  kiss  the  precious  earth, 
For  ever  hallow'd  by  the  Poet's  birth. 

Where'er  I  look,  around  on  grove  or  green. 
From  this  blest  spot  his  magic  gilda  the  scene: 
Hero  stands  the  Kirk,  in  which  his  wizard  power, 
Conjur'd  hobgoblins  at  the  midnight  hour; 

=  One  of  the  earliest  biographers  of  Burns,  author 
of  the  Life  in  an  edition  of  the  Poems  and  Songs 
published  at  Ayr  in  1819. 

80 


It    l 


214 


POEMS  WRITTEN  IN  MEMORY  OF  BURNS. 


And  Doon  in  sweet  meanders  winds  along, 
'Mid  banks  tliat  bloom  for  ever  in  his  song ; 
Thro'  fairy  scenes,  there  wanders  wood-crown'd 

Ayk, 
Scenes  of  his  love,  his  musings,  and  his  care. 
While  rivers  roll  their  torrents  to  the  main, 
While  dewy  clouds  refresh  the  thirsty  plain. 
So  long,  sweet  Bard,  thy  hoav'nly  strains  shall 

flow, 
Inspiring  joy,  or  mitigating  woe. 

While  youthful  bards  delight  to  strike  the  lyre, 
And  pay  their  court  with  rapturous  desire. 
To  objects  half  infernal,  half  divine, 
Man's  bane  and  bliss — to  women,  wit,  and  wine : 
So  long  thine  amorous  ditties  shall  be  sung. 
And    breathe  enchantment    from    the  virgin's 

tongue; 
So  long  each  tale  of  thine,  each  story  droll. 
Shall  add  new  lustre  to  the  sparkling  bowl. 

You've  heard  the  choristers  of  spring. 

Their  dulcet  tliroats  attune. 
And  far  and  wide  responsive  ring. 

The  Braes  o'  bonnic  Doon: 
And  on  the  busliy  banks  of  Ayr, 

You've  heard  the  warbling  throng. 
But  none  so  witching,  none  so  rare, 
None  half-entitled  to  compare 

With  our  sweet  Robin's  song. 

The  mellow  numbers,  as  they  flow. 
Pour  balm  into  the  wounds  of  woe, 
Or  bid  the  youthful  fancy  rove. 
To  scenes  of  joy  or  haunts  of  love. 
Thus  beams  the  friendly  polar  star, 
On  midnight  mariner  from  far, 
Whose  wakeful  antl  inciuiring  eye, 
Unceasing  rambles  o'er  the  sky. 
In  quest  of  an  unerring  guide. 
To  pilot  him  across  the  tide, 
And  moor  him  safe  from  ocean's  harms. 
Within  his  well  beloved's  arms. 

Ye  trees,  that  crown  the  wat'ry  glade, 
Ye  birds,  that  chant  the  boughs  among, 

Ye  seem  to  wear  a  deojier  shade, 
Ye  seem  to  pour  a  sadder  song. 

What  tho'  around  the  Poet's  grave. 
The  thistle  spring,  the  long  grass  wave, 

Tho  lowly  bramble  creep! 
What  though  tho  church-yard's  heaps  among 
In  slow  procession  move  along 
The  friends  of  genius  and  of  song, 

To  wonder  and  to  weep ! 
Yet  still  around  the  Poet's  tomb. 
The  laurel  evergreen  shall  bloom. 
Shall  beautify  his  honour'd  bust. 
And  shade  his  consecrated  dust. 
Ye  sacred  groves,  ye  silver  streams 
That  glitter  to  the  sunny  beams, 

Your  lov'd  retreats  we  choose: 


To  sing  of  him  who  bids  you  show 
A  brighter  verdure,  as  you  blow, 
A  sweeter  murmur,  as  you  flow. 

In  his  enchanting  muse. 
Ye  woods  that  grace  his  Coila's  plain, 
Ye  bloom  and  fade,  and  bloom  again, 
But  in  his  deathless  verse  pourtray'd, 
Yo  blossom  never  more  to  fade. 

Still  Spring,  with  hyacinthino  IkjII, 
Shall  grace  tho  green  groves  of  llozoUe, 
And  Summer,  with  bewitching  smile. 
Bloom  round  tho  borders  of  Bellisle. 
And  that  lov'd  stream,  bless'd  by  his  song. 

In  soft  meanders  glide, 
Tho  braes  of  Alloway  among 

Or  woodlands  of  Doonside. 

Still  honest  men,  and  maidens  fair, 
Shall  tread  the  bonnie  banks  of  Ayr, 
And  th'  annual  tributary  lay, 
With  willing  hearts  to  him  we'll  pay, 

Whoso  ardent  soul  and  polish'd  miml 
Restor'd  tho  purity  of  song 
(Degraded  and  dobas'd  so  long) 

And  love's  soft  dialect  refln'd : 
Who  bade  the  youthful  Scottish  swain 
Breathe  from  his  soul  a  purer  strain. 
Expressive  of  love's  joy  or  woo. 
Than  ever  yet  was  heard  to  flow 
From  shepherd  on  Arcadian  plain; 
Wlio  taught  tho  ruddy  rural  lass, 
When  May-morn  gems  the  dowy  grass. 

As  bonding  o'er  her  milking  pail. 

To  pour  her  soft  notes  on  tlic  gale — 
Notes  that  a  Vestal  well  might  hear. 
And  notes  that  would  havo  charm 'd  the  ear, 
And  claim'd  tho  sympathetic  tear 

Of  Petrarch  in  Vaucluse's  vale! 

Happy  could  I  ascend  on  equal  wing, 
And  soaring  high  with  equal  vigour  >mg, 
Then  Doon  should  roll  more  rapidly  his  floods, 
Ayr  more  majestic  wander  thro'  liis  woods. 

Beloved  streams,  where'er  my  footsteps  roam, 
Your  grateful  murmurs  seem  to  call  me  home: 
By  fancy  led,  I  linger  in  your  shades, 
And  gaze  cnamour'd  on  your  lovely  maids — 
Review  your  palaces  and  wizard  towers, 
And  tread  again  your  honeysuckle  bowers— 

0,  that  tho  lov'd  Bard,  ero  his  spirit  was  flown, 
Ere  ho  bade  a  short  life  of  misfortune  adieu, 

Wide  over  my  shoulders  his  mantle  had  thrown. 
I'd  have  breath'd  a  strain  worthy  of  him  anil 
of  you ! 

But,  alas!  cold  for  over's  the  soul-kindling  fire. 

Mute  the  tongue  that  could  captivate,  ravish, 
inspire, 

While  the  hands  of  tho  feeble  awaken  tho  lyre. 
And  tho  Muses  sigh  cut, ' '  our  adorers  are  fe  w  I  " 


Ilow 

l)W, 

w, 

's  j>lain, 
n  aguiii, 
rtraj'M, 

B. 
ill, 

Itozolle, 

Ninilu, 

lislo. 

)y  his  sonjf, 


!iir, 
Ayr, 

pay, 
M  iniiiil 


I  swain 
rain. 


IS, 

y  grass, 

)ail, 

galo— 

licar, 

rni'd  the  car, 

ar 

o! 

winy:, 

foiii'  >iny, 

idly  his  floods, 

'  liis  woods. 

'  footsteps  ro.'ini, 
call  nio  home; 

ladcs, 

vely  maids- 
towers, 

klo  bowers — 

pirit  was  flown, 
ifortuno  adieu, 
itlc  ha<l  thrown, 
irthy  of  him  ami 

il-kindling  fire. 
;iptivate,  ravish, 

vaken  the  lyre, 
idorcrsarefewl" 


POEMS  WRITTEN  IN  MEMORY  OF  BURNS. 


SIS 


Yet  many  a  ono,  whose  kindred  soul, 

Glows  with  congenial  tire, 
As  years  on  years  successive  roll. 
Will,  gathering  round  the  mantling  bowl. 

In  ecstasy  admire 
That  matchless  magnitude  of  mind. 
That  feeling  heart,  that  taste  roftn'd, 

That  self-taught  art  sublime. 
Which  bid  the  Cottage  tenant  rise, 
Th'  ennobled  favourite  of  the  skies. 
Whose  heaven-sent  laurel  crown  defies 

The  withering  touch  of  time! 

Whore  Caledonia's  name  is  known. 
From  Iceland  to  the  burning  Zone, 
Who  that  the  witchery  has  tri'd. 
Of  Coila's  Lark,  and  Scotia's  pride, 

As  ho  depicts  the  rural  scene, 
Tho'  exil'd  from  his  native  home, 
Does  not  with  ceaseless  transport  roam, 

'Jlong  groves  of  everlasting  green? 
And  where  the  Ganges'  ocean  stream 
Rolls,  and  reflects  the  morning  beam, 
Or  Niagara's  waters  plaj", 
And  dance  beneath  the  sotting  day, 

Kecliu'd  amid  the  bow'ry  shade 
At  gloaming  grey  or  sultry  noon. 

Who  lias  not  clasp'd  his  darling  maid, 
By  hermit  Ayr  or  bonnic  Doon? 
But  chief,  Iieneath  his  native  shades, 
The  ardent  youths  and  love-sick  maids. 
The  feast  of  harmony  prolong, 
And  pour  tho  very  soul  of  song. 
Where  nymphs  and  swains  onamour'd  stray, 
Along  the  fertile  banks  of  Tay; 
Or  shepherds  tune  the  Doric  reed. 
And  charm  the  holms  of  classic  Tweed; 
Or  roam  Edina's  virgin  train, 
Where  Forth  meand'ring  seeks  the  main; 
Or  Glotta's  maids,  with  graceful  pride, 
Adorn  the  verdant  vale  of  Clyde; 
There  thoy  attune  their  mellow  throats 
Anil  warble  forth  their  cheerful  notes. 

But  nothing  can  surpass  tho  tune. 
That  echoes  from  the  braes  of  Doon: 
Nou^dit  with  the  music  can  compare, 
That  floats  along  tho  banks  of  Ayr. 

Ye  rivers  that  have  roll'd  your  tide 

Sinco  time  be^an  to  run. 
Whose  waters  will  pei-ennial  glide. 

Coeval  with  tho  sun, 
When  wo  shall  yield,  as  yield  we  must, 
To  fate,  and  niinsjflc  with  the  dust. 
On  you  shall  future  beauties  bloom, 
Ainl  fresh  flowers  yearly  shed  perfume. 
And  other  Bards,  profuse  of  praise, 
Delight  your  echoes  with  their  lays, 
And  other  friends  to  merit  fled 
Hero  pay  due  honours  to  tho  dead, 


And  as  they  fan  the  gen'rous  flame 
Immortalize  the  Poet's  name!— 


ON   BURNS'S  ANNIVERSARY. 

BY  Ul'OII  AINSLIE. 

Wo  meet  not  here  to  honour  ono 

To  gear  or  grandeur  born, 
Nor  one  whoso  bloodiness  of  soul 

Hath  crowns  and  kingdoms  torn. 

No,  tho'  he'd  honours  higher  far 
Than  lordly  things  have  known, 

His  titles  spring  not  from  a  prince, 
His  honour  from  a  throne. 

Nor  needs  tho  bard  of  Coila  arts 

His  honour  to  prolong; 
No  flattery  to  gild  his  fame; 

No  record  but  his  song. 

0 !  while  old  Scotia  hath  sons 

Can  feel  his  social  mirth, 
So  long  shall  worth  and  honesty 

Have  brothers  upon  earth. 

So  long  as  lovers,  with  his  song, 

Can  spurn  as  shining  dust. 
So  long  hath  faithful  woman's  breast 

A  bosom  she  may  trust. 

And  while  his  independent  strain 

Can  make  one  spirit  glow. 
So  long  shall  freedom  have  a  friend. 

And  tyranny  a  foe  I 

Here's  to  the  social,  honest  man, 
Auld  Scotland's  boast  and  pride ! 

And  here's  to  freedom's  worshippers 
Of  every  tongue  and  tribe. 

And  here's  to  them,  this  night,  that  meet 

Out  o'er  the  social  bowl. 
To  raise  to  Coila's  darling  son 

A  monument  of  soul. 

What  heart  hath  ever  matched  his  flame .' 
What  spirit  matched  his  fire  / 

Peace  to  the  prince  of  Scottish  song, 
Lord  of  the  bosom's  lyre! 


VERSES  TO  THE  MEMORY'  OF  BURNS. 

BY  FITZQREEN  HALLECK,  OF  NEW  YORK. 

ON  VIEWING  THE  REMAINS  OF  A  ROSE  BROUGHT 
FROM  ALLOWAY  KIRK,  IN  AUTUMN,  1822. 

Wild  rose  of  AUoway !  my  thanks— 
Thou  mind'st  me  of  that  autumn  noon, 

When  first  we  met  upon  "  tho  banks 
And  braes  of  bonny  Doon." 


216 


POEMS  WRITTEN  IN  MEMORY  OF  BURNS. 


1 

I 


< 


r!ffi  ( 


Like  thine,  ber'^ath  the  thorn  tree's  bough, 
My  sun."  ^rur  wan  ^:'ad  and  brief; 

We've  crois  II  the  winter  sea,  and  thou 
Art  Aither'd,  flower  and  leaf. 

And  wilt  not  thy  death  doom  bo  mine, 

The  doom  of  all  things  wrought  of  clay, 
*.nd  wther'd  my  life's  leaf  like  thine, 
>V'  '  rose  ol  AUoway  ( 

Not  30  HIS  memory  1  for  whoso  sake 
My  bosom  bore  thee  far  and  long; 

His— who  an  humbler  flower  could  make 
Immortal  as  his  song. 

The  memory  of  Burns — a  name 
That  calls,  when  brimm'd  her  festal  cup, 

A  nation's  glory,  and  her  shame. 
In  silent  sadness  up. 

A  nation's  glory — be  the  reft 
Forgot— she's  canonized  his  mind, 

And  it  is  joy  to  speak  the  best 
We  may  of  human  kind. 

I've  stood  beside  the  cottage  bed 

Where  the  bard-peasant  first  drew  breath— 
A  straw-thatched  roof  above  his  head, 

A  straw-wrought  couch  beneath. 

And  I  have  stood  beside  the  pile, 
His  monument,  that  tells  to  heaven 

The  homage  of  earth's  proudest  isle, 
To  that  bai'd-peasant  given ! 

Bid  thy  thoughts  hover  o'er  that  spot. 
Boy-minstrel,  in  thy  dreaming  hour, 

And  know,  however  low  his  lot, 
A  poet's  pride  and  power — 

The  pride  that  lifted  Burns  from  earth, 
The  power  that  gave  a  child  of  song 

Ascendancy  o'er  rank  and  birth — 
The  rich,  the  brave,  the  strong. 

And  if  despondency  weigh  down 
Thy  spirit's  fluttering  pinions,  then, 

Despair — thy  name  is  written  on 
The  roll  of  common  men. 

There  have  been  loftier  themes  than  his, 
And  longer  scrolls,  and  louder  lyres. 

And  lays  lit  up  with  poesy's 
Purer  and  holier  fires. 

Yet  read  the  names  that  know  lot  death. 
Few  nobler  ones  than  Burns  are  there, 

And  few  have  won  a  greener  wreath 
Than  that  which  binds  Lis  hair. 

His  is  that  laiit  Mage  of  the  heart, 

In  which  the  answering  heart  would  speak. 
Thought,  word,  that  bids  the  warm  tear  start. 

Or  the  smile  light  up  the  ■  hcek: 


And  liis,  that  music,  to  whoso  tone 
The  common  pulse  of  man  keeps  time. 

In  cot  or  castle's  mirth  or  moan. 
In  cold  or  sun  ly  clin  o. 

And  who  hath  heard  his  song,  nor  knelt 
Before  its  spell  with  willing  knee. 

And  listened,  and  believed,  and  felt 
The  poet's  mastery 

O'er  the  mind's  sea,  in  calm  and  storm, 
O'er  the  heart's  sunshino,  an<l  its  showers, 

O'er  passion's  moments,  bright  and  warm, 
O'er  reason's  dark  cold  "i.ours ; 

On  fields  where  bravo  men  "  die  or  do," 
In  halls  where  rings  the  banquet's  mirth, 

Where  mourners  weep — where  lovers  won, 
From  t^.'one  to  cottage  hearth  ? 

What  sweet  tears  dim  the  eyes  tinshed. 
What  wild  vows  falter  on  the  tongue, 

When  "  Scots  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled" 
Or  "  Auld  lang  .syne"  is  sung ! 

Pure  hopes,  that  lift  the  soul  above. 
Come  with  the  Cotter's  hymn  of  praise, 

And  dreams  of  youth,  and  truth,  and  love. 
With  "  Logan's"  banks  and  braes. 

And  when  he  breathes  his  mastor  lay 
Of  ...doway's  witch-haunted  \i'all. 

All  pp^ssions  in  our  frame  of  clay 
C'oi.io  thronging  at  his  call ; 

Imagination's  world  of  air, 

And  our  own  world,  its  gliom  and  glee. 
Wit,  pathos,  poetry,  are  thjre, 

And  death's  sublimity. 

And  Bur.NS — though  brief  tho  race  he  run, 
Though  rough  and  dark  tho  path  he  trod, 

Lived — died — ir  form  and  soul  a  ma-i. 
The  imago  of  his  God. 

Through  care,  and  lain,  and  want,  and  woe. 
With  wounds  that  only  death  could  lual, 

Tortures  tl.e  poor  alone  can  kuov:, 
The  proid  alon)  can  feel ; 

He  kept  b-'s  honesty  and  truth. 
His  independent  tongue  and  pen, 

And  moved,  in  manhood  and  in  youth. 
Pride  of  his  fellow  men. 

Strong  sense,  deep  feeling,  passions  strong, 
A  hate  of  tyrant  and  of  knave, 
I  A  love  of  right,  a  scorn  of  wrong, 
I      Of  coward,  and  of  slave ; 

I  X  kind,  true  heart,  a  spirit  high, 

!  That  could  not  fear,  and  woiilil  not  bow, 

j  Were  written  in  his  manly  eye, 

I  And  on  his  manly  brow. 


•no 

ps  time, 


or  knelt 

leu, 

felt 


storm, 
its  .showers, 
iiul  warm, 

or  do," 
net's  mirtli, 
overs  won, 

unshed, 
tongue, 
iico  bled" 


)ove, 

of  praise, 
1,  and  luve. 
iraes. 


3r  lay 
rail, 


1  ond  glee, 


•aco  he  ran, 
lath  he  trod, 
a  man, 

mt,  ana  woe, 
could  h(  al, 
)V,-, 


pen, 
youth, 


ions  strong, 
d  not  bow. 


POEMS  WRITTEN  IN  MEMORY  OF  BURNS. 


817 


Praise  to  the  bard !— his  words  are  driven. 
Like  flowor-seoda  by  the  fair  winds  sown, 

Wlioro'or  bcnoatli  the  sky  of  heaven 
The  birds  of  fame  are  tiown. 

Praise  to  the  man !— a  nation  stood 

Hosido  his  cotftn  with  wot  eyes. 
Her  brave,  her  beautiful,  hor  good,    . 

As  when  a  loved  one  dies. 

And  still,  as  on  his  funeral  day. 
Men  stand  his  cold  earth-couch  around, 

With  tho  mute  homage  that  we  pay 
To  consecrated  ground. 

And  consecrated  ground  it  is. 
The  last,  the  hallowed  homo  of  one 

Who  lives  upon  nil  memories. 
Though  with  tlie  buried  gone. 

Such  graves  as  his  are  pilgrim-shrines, 
Shrines  to  no  code  or  creed  confined, — 

Tho  Delphian  vales,  the  Palestinos, 
Tho  Meceas  of  tho  mind. 

SaKC;^  with  Wisdom's  garland  wreathed, 
Crowtiod  kings,  and  mitred  priests  of  power. 

And  warriors  with  their  bright  swords  sheathod, 
The  mightiest  of  tho  hour ; 

And  bwlier  names,  whoso  humble  home 

Is  lit  by  fortune's  dimmer  star, 
Are  there — o'er  wave  and  mountain  como — 

From  countries  near  and  far ; 

Piltfrinis,  whoso  wandering  feet  have  press'd 
Tho  S    itzer's  snows,  the  Arab's  sand, 

Or  tn^a  vho  pi'od  leaves  of  tho  west. 
My  own  gveoiiforest  land. 

All  ask  tho  cottage  of  his  birth, 
Gaze  on  the  sf  enos  he  loved  and  .sung. 

And  gather  feelings  not  of  earth 
Hi  ■  fields  and  streams  among. 

They  linger  by  the  Boon's  low  trees. 
And  pastoral  Nith,  and  .vooded  Ayr, 

And  round  thy  sepulchres,  Dumfries ! 
The  pout's  tomb  is  there. 

But  what  to  thcin  tho  sculptor's  art, 
His  funeral  columns,  wreaths,  and  urns? 

Wear  they  not,  gr.aven  on  the  heart, 
The  name  of  RoEEUT  Burns  .' 


FOR  THE  ANNIVERSARY  OF  'lURNS. 

BY  D.'.VID  VEDDER. 

Ushered  by  stormi-  and  tempests  drear. 
Again  tho  auspicious  day  returns; 

A  day  to  Caledonia  dear, — 
The  birth-day  of  immortal  Bums. — 


No  more  the  beauteous  matron  mourns. 
No  more  her  tresses  swoop  tho  earth, 

Hor  poet's  mighty  name  a<iorns 
Tho  happy  land  that  gave  him  birthl 

Ot  for  a  portion  of  that  fire. 

That  pathos,  strength,  and  energy. 
With  which  tho  poet  swept  his  lyre 

While  struggling  with  pale  poverty;— 
Then  should  my  muse  adventurous  try 

Tho  dignified,  the  daring  theme,— 
A  theme  immeasurably  high, — 

Even  Scotland's  mighty  Minstrel's  fame, 

But  that  can  ne'er  forgotten  be;— 

He  bade  her  Doric  numbers  chime. 
And  struck  hor  harp,  whoso  silver  chords 

Shall  vibrate  till  the  end  of  time. 
Tho  pealing,  rapturous  notes  sublime. 

That  rung  from  his  immortal  lyre. 
Shall  over  ring,  through  every  clime, 

Till  blazes  Nature's  funeral  pyre! 

His  lyrics  glad  the  Scottish  swains. 

Where  Ganges  rolls  with  sullen  roar; 
His  nervous,  sonl-ennobling  strains 

Resound  on  Hudson's  icy  shore; 
Beyond  the  Andean  mountains  hoar. 

Where  sacred  freedom's  banners  blaze. 
Our  countrymen  his  loss  deplore. 

And  yearly  crown  his  bust  with  bays. 

His  satire  was  the  lightning's  flash 

Which  purified  our  moral  air. 
His  war  songs  were  the  thunder's  crash 

Which  stirred  the  lion  in  his  lair: — 
Ho  painted  Scotland's  daughters  fair. 

All  beauty,  tenderness,  and  light. 
Like  verdant  wreaths  of  flowerets  rare. 

With  summer  dews  bespangled  bright. 

Then  let  thy  heath-empurpled  plains 

With  Tuscan  vales  for  ever  vie. 
And,  Scotland,  may  thy  dulcet  strains 

Still  rival  Tuscan  melody: — 
Let  thy  maternal  tears  be  dry. 

For  though  his  radiant  course  be  run. 
The  astonished  world  with  plaudits  high 

Proclaims  him  thine  illustrious  son. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  BURNS. 

BY  MRS.  GRANT,  OP  LAGQAN. 

What  adverse  fate  awaits  the  tuneful  train  ? 
Has  Otway  died  and  Spenser  liv'd  in  vain? 
In  vain  has  Collins,  Fancy's  pensive  child, 
Pour'd  his  lone  plaints  by  Avon's  windings  wild  ? 
And  Savage,  on  Misfortune's  bosom  bred, 
Bar'd  to  tho  howling  storm  his  houseless  head  ? 
Who  gentle  Shenstone's  fate  can  hear  unmoved. 
By  virtue,  elegance,  and  genius  lov'd  ? 


i' 


218 


POEMS  WRITTEN  IN  MEMORY  OF  BURNS. 


Yet,  pensive  wand'riti)?  o'er  his  niitivo  plain, 
His  plaints  cunfess'd  ho  luv'd  the  Muse  in  vain. 
Chill  penury  invades  his  favourite  bower, 
Blii.sts  every  scene,  and  withers  every  Hower, 
His  warning  Muse  to  Pnulcnco  turn'd  her  strain, 
But  Prudence  sings  to  thoughtless  bards  in  vain; 
Still  restless  fancy  drives  them  headlong  on 
With  dreams  of  wealth,  and  friends,  and  laurels 

won— 
On  ruin's  brink  they  sleep,  and  wake  undone ! 

And  see  where  Caledonia's  genius  mourns, 
And  plants  the  holly  round  the  grave  of  Hums ! 
But  late  "its  polished  loaves  and  berries  rod 
"  I'lay'd  graceful  round  the  rural  Poet's  head;" 
And  while  with  manly  force  and  native  tiro 
Ho  wak'd  the  genuine  Caledonian  lyre, 
Tweed's  severing  flood  exulting  heard  her  tell. 
Not  Roman  wreaths  the  holly  could  excel; 
Not  Tiber's  stream,  along  Campania's  plain, 
More  pleas'd,  convey'd  the  gay  Horatian  strain, 
Than  bonny  Doon,  or  fairy-huunted  Ayr, 
That  wont  his  rustic  melody  to  share. 
Resound  along  their  banks  the  pleasing  theme. 
Sweet  as  their  murmurs,  copious  as  their  stream : 
And  Ramsay  once  the  Horace  of  the  North, 
Who  charm'd  with  varied  strains  the  listening 

Forth, 
Bequeath'd  to  him  the  shrewd  peculiar  art 
To  satire  nameless  graces  to  impart, 
To  wield  her  weapons  with  such  sportive  case, 
That,  while  they  wound,  they  dazzle  and  they 

please: 
But  when  he  sung  to  the  attentive  plain 
The  humble  virtues  of  the  patriarch  swain, 
His  evening  worship,  and  his  social  meal. 
And  all  a  parent's  pious  heart  can  feol; 
To  genuine  worth  we  bow  submissive  down, 
And  wish  the  Cotter's  lowly  shed  our  own : 
With  fond  regard  our  native  land  wo  view. 
Its  cluster'd  hamlets,  and  its  mountains  blue, 
Our  "virtuous  populace,"  a  nobler  boast 
Than  all  tho  wealth  of  either  India's  coast. 
Yet  while  our  hearts  with  admiration  burn. 
Too  soon  we  learn  that  "man  was  made  to 

mourn." 
Tho  independent  wish,  the  taste  refin'd, 
Bright  energies  of  the  superior  mind,  . 
And  feeling's  generous  pangs,  and  fancy's  glow, 
Aiid  all  that  liberal  nature  could  bestow. 
To  him  profusely  given,  yet  given  in  vain; 
Misfortune  aids  and  points  tho  stings  of  pain. 

How  blest,  when  wand'ring  by  his  native  Ayr, 
Ho  woo'd  "the  willing  Muse,"  unknown  to  care! 
But  when  fond  admiration  spread  his  name, 
A  candidate  for  fortune  and  for  fame. 
In  evil  hour  he  left  the  tranquil  shade 
Where  youth  and  love  with  hope  and  fancy 

play'd; 
Yet  rainbow  colours  gild  the  novel  scene, 
Deceitful  fortune  sweetly  smil'd  like  Jean; 


Now  courted  oft  by  the  licentious  gay, 
With  them  thro'  devious  path.s  behold  him  stray 
Tho  opening  rose  conceals  the  latent  thorn, 
Convivial  hours  prolong'd  awake  tho  morn, 
Kven  reason's  sacred  pow'r  is  droivn'd  in  wiiii; 
And  genius  lays  her  wreath  on  folly's  slirim.'; 
Too  sure,  alas  I  tho  world's  unfeeling  train 
Corrupt  the  simple  manners  of  the  swiiin; 
The  blushing  muse  indignant  scorns  his  Inys, 
And  fortune  frowns,  and  honest  fame  (letnys, 
Till  low  on  earth  ho  lays  his  sorrowing  hciid, 
And  sinks  untimely  'midst  the  vulgar  dead! 

Yet  while  for  him,  belov'd,  adniir'd  in  vain, 
Thus  fond  regret  pours  forth  her  plaintive  strnin, 
While  fancy,  feelinir,  taste,  their  griefs  rclicarsc, 
And  deck  with  artless  tears  his  mournful  liuarsu, 
See  cunning,  dulne.ss,  ignorance,  and  prido, 
Exulting  o'er  his  grave  in  triumph  ride. 
And  boa.st,  "tho'  genius,  humour,  wit  agree," 
Cold  selfish  prudence  far  excels  tho  three; 
Nor  think,  while  grovelling  on  the  earth  they  go, 
How  few  can  mount  so  high  to  fall  so  low. 
Thus  Vandals,  Cloths,  and  Huns,  exulting  cuiiio, 
T'  insult  the  ruins  of  majcKtic  Rome. 
But  ye  who  honour  genius  -sacred  beam! 
From  holy  light  a  bright  ethereal  gleam. 
Ye  whom  his  happier  verse  has  taught  to  glow, 
Now  to  his  ashes  pay  the  debt  you  owe, 
Draw  i)ity's  veil  o'er  his  concluding  scene, 
And  let  tho  stream  of  bounty  flow  for  Jean! 
The  mourning  matron  and  her  infant  train, 
Will  own  you  did  not  love  the  muse  in  vain. 
While  .sympathy  with  liix.'ral  hand  appears, 
To  aid  the  orphan's  wants,  and  dry  the  widow's 
tears ! 


ADDRESS  TO  THE  SHADE  OF  BURNS. 

WRITTEN  FOR  THE  THIUD  ANNIVERSARY  OF  TIIK 
IRVINE  BURNS  CLUB,  1820. 

BY  CHARLES  GRAY,  CAPTAIN,  ROYAL  MARINES. 

Hail,  BuuN.s!  my  native  Bard,  sublime; 
Great  master  of  our  Doric  rhyme! 
Thy  name  shall  last  to  latest  time. 

And  unborn  ages 
Shall  listen  to  tho  magic  chime 

Of  thy  enchanting  pages! 

Scarce  had  kind  Nature  given  thee  birth. 
When,  from  his  caverns  in  the  North, 
Wild  Winter  sent  his  tempests  forth. 

The  winds  propelling  — 
To  level  with  its  native  earth, 

Thy  clay-built,  lowly  dwelling. 

Too  well  such  storm  did  indicate 
The  gloom  that  hung  upon  thy  fatt^  — 


us  goy, 

•c-liold  liiii,  stray. 

itcnt  thorn, 

tlio  iiiorii, 
■o»vn'(l  ill  wiiiu^ 
folly'.>i  Nliriiie; 

iiiK  train 
Hie  .swiiiii; 
oniM  his  liiys, 
fainu  <iuciiys, 
rowhi^,  ia.a(l, 

■iilKiirduiul! 

niir'il  in  vain, 
I'l.'iintive  strain, 

p  Ki'iL'f.s  reiiuarso, 

mournful  licarsf, 

,  and  pride, 

pli  ri<lu, 

ur,  wit  aj,'rue," 

the  three; 

heeartli  tlicyj,'o, 
fail  so  low. 

',  exulting  come, 
Loniu. 
red  beam! 
al  gleam, 
taught  to  glow, 
■on  owe, 
ling  scene, 
i\\  for  Jean! 
infant  train, 
uuse  in  vain, 
nd  ai)i)ears, 

dry  the  widow's 


J  OF  BURX.S. 

KRSARY  OF  TIIK 
1821). 

JYAL  MAKINE.S. 

,  .suVilime; 

mo! 

imc, 


s! 

thee  birth, 
North, 
1  forth. 


POEMS  WUITTEN   IN  MEMORY  OF  BUUNS. 


219 


r'clling. 

te 
fatt  — 


Arrived  at  manhood's  wiHhod  odtiito, 

Whtii  illw  were  rifo, 
Thy  heart  would  daneo  witJi  joy  elate 

At  eluniontal  Htrife! 

Lone-Heated  ))y  the  roaring  Hood, 
Or  walking  by  the  Hheltered  wood, 
liapt  in  devotion's  solemn  mood, 

Thy  ardent  mind 
Left,  whilst  with  generous  thoughts  it  glowed, 

This  sordid  world  behind ! 

Thou  found  man's  sentence  was  to  moil, 
111  turning  o'er  the  stubborn  soil; 
Hut  ne'er  was  learning's  midnight  oil 

By  theo  consumed; 
Yet  humour,  fancy,  cheered  thy  toil, 

Whilst  nature  round  theo  bloomed. 

Though  nurtured  in  the  lowly  shed — 
A  peasant  born    -with  rustics  bred 
Bright  Genius  round  thy  head  display'il 

Her  beams  intense — 
Where  C'oila  found  thee  -loveliest  maid! 

"Hen  i'  the  snieeky  spence!" 

Mute  is  the  voice  of  C'oila  now. 

Who  once  with  laurels  decked  thy  brow; — 

Still  let  us  ne'er  forget  that  thou 

Taught  learned  men; 
The  hand  that  held  the  pond'rous  plough 

Could  wield  the  Poet's  pen ! 

I'pon  thine  eaglc-cour.se  I  gaze, 
And  weep  o'er  all  thy  devious  ways; 
Tho'  peer  and  peasant  jirized  thy  lays 

What  did  it  serve! — 
Orim  Av'rico  said,  "Give  lasting  bays, 

"  But  let  tho  Poet  starve!" 

The  lieartlcss  mandate  was  obeyed;— 
Although  the  holly  crowned  thy  head, 
Yet  wealth  and  power  withheld  their  aid. 

And  hugg'd  tluir  gain; 
While  thy  loved  babes  might  cry  for  bread. 

And  cry,  alas!  in  vain! 

But  now  tfii/  column  seeks  the  skies, 

And  draws  tho  in<iuiring  stranger's  eyes;— 

Art's  mimic  boast  for  theo  may  rise 

Magnificent; — 
Yet  thou  hast  reared,  inidst  bitter  sighs, 

A  prouder  monument ! 

Thy  songs,  "untaught  by  rules  of  art," 
Came  gushing  from  thy  manly  heart, 
And  claim  for  theo  a  high  desert; — 

In  them  wo  find 
What  genius  only  can  impart  — 

A  mood  for  every  mind ! 

The  milkmaid  at  calm  evening's  close — 
The  ploughman  starting  from  repose — 


Tho  lover  weeping  o'er  his  woes— 
The  worst  of  piiins  ! 

Tho  soldier  as  to  tight  ho  goes- 
All  chaunt  thy  varied  strains  I 

Sweet  minstrel,  "of  the  lowly  strain," 
"Wo  never  shall  see  thy  like  again  !" 
May  no  rude  hand  thy  laurels  stain; 

But  o'er  tiiy  bier 
Lot  poets  breathe  the  soothing  strain 

Through  each  revolving  year ! 

Yes !  future  biirils  shall  pour  the  lay, 
To  hail  with  joy  thy  natal  day; 
And  round  thy  head  the  verdant  bay 

Shall  firm  remain, 
Till  Nattire's  handiworks  decay, 

And  "  chaos  come  again !" 


THE  BARD  OF  SONG. 

WKITTKN  FOR  BUIINS'8  ANSIVEHSAIIY,  1S34. 
BY  ROBEUT  OILFILLAS. 

The  bard  of  song  rose  in  tho  west, 

And  gladilened  C'oila's  land. 
The  bailge  of  fame  was  on  his  brow, 

Her  sceptre  in  his  hand. 

The  minstrel  Muse  beheld  her  son, 
Whilo  glory  round  him  shone. 

Walk  forth  to  kindle  with  his  glance 
Whate'er  he  looke<l  upon ! 

She  saw  tho  green  earth  where  ho  strayed 

\c(iuire  a  greener  hue, 
And  sunny  skies  high  o'er  his  licad 

Assume  a  brighter  blue. 

She  saw  him  strike  his  rustic  harp, 

In  cadence  wild  and  strong: 
His  song  was  of  bold  freedom's  land — 

Of  Scotland  was  his  .song! 

He  soared  not  'mong  aerial  clouds, 

Beyond  tho  mortal  ken; 
His  song  was  of  the  moorland  wild, 

Tlio  happy  homes  of  men. 

Or  of  our  battle  chiefs,  who  rose 

To  his  enraptured  view — 
He  knelt  before  tho  Buuce's  crown. 

And  sword  that  Wallace  drew! 

Their  deeds  inspired  his  martial  strains. 

Ho  marked  the  patriot  band 
Who  stood,  'mid  dark  and  stormy  days, 

The  guardians  of  our  land. 

"All  hail!  my  son,"  the  Muse  she  cried, 
"Thy  star  shall  no'er  decline; 

A  deathless  name,  and  lasting  fame, 
Shall  evermore  be  thine!" 


!    i   l|' 


22U 


POKMS   WKITTKN  IN  MKMOliY  OF  BUUN8. 


ill 


\< 


Fiiiii  hail  nIiu  Ndiil,  "lunl  len^fth  of  days," 

Uut  tlam  hIio  butlin^  hiiii^~ 
"  Away,  away,  nor  loii^ur  »tuy, 

Thy  porting  knoll  hath  rung!" 

Tho  MiiiHtrol  Highed,  and  fruin  hU  hurp 

A  few  sad  tones  thoro  foil; 
Tlioy  tolil  of  lioiioin'M    itll  too  lato, 

Am'1  of  his  luHt  farowoU! 

Thoy  told  of  fanio,  wlion  ho  no  niuro 
Would  nood  a  cold  world's  faniu— 


Uf  proud  memorialii  to  Iuh  namo, 
Whon  ho  wuM  but  a  namo!— 

Of  prido,  contunioly,  and  Hcorn  — 
Tho  proud  man's  passing  l>y  - 

Tho  Minstrol  loft  to  dio  on  uartli, 
Yot  laudod  to  tho  sky ! 

'Tis  post!— and  yot  thoro  lives  o  voice 
That  thrills  tho  chords  among: 

'Tis  -Scotland's  song  shall  bo  of  BuuNs, 
VVIk.  ^ovo  to  Scotland  song! 


THE  GRAVE  OF  BURNS. 


BY  ROBEKT  MICOLL. 


By  0  kirkyard-yott  I  stood,  whilo  mony  entor'd  in, 
Mon  bowM  wi'  toil  on'  ago — wi'  hotfots  ould  on'  thin; 
An'  ithors  in  thoir  prime,  wi'  o  boarin'  proud  on'  hie; 
An'  niuidens,  pure  an'  l)onnio  ns  tho  daisies  o'  tho  lea; 
An'  matrons  wrinkled  ould,  wi'  lyart  hoods  on'  groy; 
An'  bairns,  like  things  o'er  fair  for  death  to  wodo  away. 

I  .stood  bosido  tho  yott,  whilo  onword  still  they  wont, — 

The  laird  frao  out  his  ho',  oiul  tho  shepherd  frao  tho  bent ; 

It  soem'd  a  tyjjo  o'  mon,  an'  o'  tho  grave's  domain ; 

But  those  wore  livin'  a'  on'  could  straight  come  forth  again. 

An'  of  the  boilrol  ould,  wi'  nioiklo  courtosio, 

I  spoor'd  what  it  might  moon  I  on'  ho  bodo  mo  look  an'  see. 

On  tho  trodden  path  that  led  to  tho  house  of  worshipping. 

Or  before  its  open  doors,  there  stood  noo  livin'  thing; 

But  awo'  among  tho  tombs,  ilk  comer  quickly  pass'd, 

An'  upon  ao  lowly  grave  ilk  soekin'  oo  was  cast. 

Thoro  wore  .sabbin'  bo.soms  thoro,  and  proud  yet  softcn'd  eyoa, 

An'  a  whisper  breathed  around,  "Thoro  tho  lovod  and  honour'd  lies." 

Thoro  was  no'or  a  murmur  thoro — tho  doep-drawn  breath  was  hush'd  - 

And  o'er  tho  moiden's  cheek  tho  tears  o'  feelin'  gush'd; 

An'  tho  bonnio  infont  face  wos  lifted  os  in  proyor; 

An'  monJiood's  cheek  was  flushed  wi'  tho  thoughts  that  movin'  were: 

I  stood  besido  tho  grave,  and  I  gazed  upon  tho  stone. 

And  tho  nomo  of  "  Robert  Burns"  wius  engraven  thereupon. 


STANZAS  FOR  THE  BURNS  FESTIVAL,  1844.» 

BT  DAVID  MACBETH  MOIR  (DELTA). 


Stir  the  beal-fire,  wave  tho  banner. 
Bid  the  thnu'^ering  connon  .sound. 

Rend  the  skies  with  occlomotion, 
Stun  tho  woods  and  waters  round. 

Till  the  echoes  of  our  gathering 
Turn  the  world's  admiring  gaze 

1  .Some  account  of  this  festival  will  be  found  farther 
on  in  this  volume;  from  it  several  of  the  allusions  in 
the  poem  will  be  better  understood. 


To  this  act  of  duteous  homage 
Scotland  to  her  poet  pays. 

Fill  the  bonks  and  braes  with  music, 
Bo  it  loud  and  low  by  turns— 

Thot  we  owe  the  deathless  gloi-y. 
This  the  hapless  fate  of  Burns. 

Bom  within  the  lowly  cottage 
To  a  destiny  obscure. 


P()EM8  WllITTKN   IN   MEMoUY  OF  BUllNrt. 


221 


10, 


th, 

II  void! 
>f  Ut'llN.S, 


lUSlC, 


Doom'd  tliroiigh  yoiitli'i.  oxiiUint^  sprini^.timo 

Hut  to  labour  oiid  cniluro  - 
Yot  DcMjMiir  lio  olbow'd  from  hitii: 

Nnturo  broiith'il  witli  holy  joy, 
In  tho  huuH  of  morn  utiil  uvuniii);, 

On  tho  oyolids  of  tho  boy; 
And  lii!<  country's  Ooniuit  bound  him 

LuurulH  for  his  Hunburnt  brow, 
Whon  inspirod  nnd  pntud  nhu  found  him, 

Liku  Elisha,  at  thu  plough. 

On,  oxultiuK  in  his  mugio, 

Swoi)t  tho  gifted  puttHiint  on — 
Though  hi.s  foot  woro  on  tho  >,'roon»ward, 

Li^ht  from  Hoavun  iirouncl  him  shono; 
At  his  c'onjuriitjoii,  domons 

Lssuod  from  thuir  diirknoHs  drear; 
Hovering;  round  on  silvor  pinion.-i, 

An^'ulfi  Htoop'd  his  Honys  to  hoar; 
UowM  tho  Passions  to  his  bidding,', 

Terror  piunt,  and  Pity  calm; 
liiko  tho  or),'an  pour'd  liis  thunder, 

Like  thu  luto  his  fairy  psalm. 

1^0 !  wliun  clovor-swathos  lay  round  him, 

Or  his  foot  tho  furrow  pross'd, 
Ho  could  mourn  tho  sover'd  daisy, 

Or  tho  mouso's  ruin'd  nest; 
Woven  of  gloom  and  glory,  visions 

Haunting  throng'd  his  twilight  hour; 
IJirds  enthrall'd  him  with  sweet  music. 

Tempests  with  thoir  tones  of  power; 
Eagle-wing'd,  his  mounting  spirit 

Custom's  rusty  f otters  spurn'd; 
Tasso-liko,  for  Joan  ho  molted, 

Wallaco-liko,  for  Scotland  burn'd  ! 

Scotland  !— dear  to  him  was  Scotland, 

In  hor  sons  and  in  her  daughters, 
In  hor  Highlands,  Lowlands,  Islands, 

llcgal  woods  and  rushing  waters; 
In  tho  glory  of  hor  atory. 

When  tho  tartnns  tired  tho  field, — 
Scotland!  oft  betray 'd —boloaguer'd — 

Scotland!  never  known  to  yield! 
Dear  to  him  hor  Doric  language, 

Thrill'd  his  heart-strings  at  her  name; 
And  ho  left  hor  more  than  rubies. 

In  tho  riches  of  his  fame. 

Sons  of  England — sons  of  Erin! 

Yo  who,  journeying  from  afar, 
Throng  with  us  tho  shire  of  Coila, 

Led  by  Burns's  guiding  star — 
Proud  wo  greet  you — yo  will  join  us, 

As  on  this  triumphant  day. 
To  tho  champions  of  his  genius 

Grateful  thanks  we  duly  pay — 
Carrie— Chambers— Lockhart— Wilson— 

Carlyle — who  his  bones  to  save 
From  the  wolfish  fiond.  Detraction, 

Couch'd  like  lions  round  his  grave. 


Daughter  of  tho  poet's  mother! 

Hero  we  hail  thuo  with  delight; 
Shower'd  bo  every  earthly  blessing 

On  thy  locks  of  silvor-wliitu!— 
Sonn  of  Hums,  a  hearty  welcome. 

Welcome  home  from  India's  strand. 
To  a  heart-loveil  land  far  dearer 

Since  your  glorious  Father's  land.— 
Words  are  worthless— look  around  you — 

Labour'd  tomes  far  less  could  say 
To  tho  sons  of  such  a  father. 

Than  tho  sight  of  such  u  day! 

Judge  not  yo,  whose  thoughts  are  fingers. 

Of  tho  hands  that  witch  tho  lyre  — 
Ureenlund  has  its  mountain  icebergs, 

/Etna  has  its  heart  of  fire; 
Calculation  has  its  plummet; 

Self-control  its  iron  rules; 
Uenius  has  its  sparkling  fountains; 

Dulnoss  has  its  stagnant  pools; 
Like  a  halcyon  on  tho  wators, 

Hurns's  chart  disdain'<l  u  plan- 
In  his  soaring  ho  wa.s  Heavenly, 

In  his  sinkings  ho  was  man. 

As  tho  sun  from  out  tho  orient 

Pours  a  wider,  warmer  light 
Till  ho  Hoods  both  earth  and  ocean, 

lilazing  from  tho  zenith's  height; 
So  tho  glory  of  our  poet. 

In  its  deathless  power  soronc. 
Shines,  as  rolling  time  advances, 

Warmer  felt,  and  wider  seen; 
First  Doon's  banks  and  braes  coiitain'd  it, 

Then  bis  country  form'd  its  span; 
Now  tho  wide  world  is  its  empire. 

And  iis  throne  tho  heart  of  man. 

Homo  returning,  each  will  carry 

Proud  remembrance  of  this  <lay. 
When  exulted  Scotland's  bosom 

Homage  to  her  bard  to  pay; — 
Wlion  our  jubilee  to  brighten, 

Eglinton  with  Wilson  vied. 
Wealth's  regards  and  Rank's  distinctions 

For  the  season  set  aside; 
And  tho  peasant,  peer,  and  poet, 

Each  put  forth  an  ocjual  claim, 
For  the  twining  of  his  laurel 

In  tho  wreath  of  Burns's  fame ! 


BURNS. 

BT  EBENEZER  ELLIOT. 


<M 


That  heaven's  belov'd  die  early, 

Prophetic  Pity  mourns; 
But  old  as  truth,  although  in  youth. 

Died  giant-hearted  Burns. 


222 


POEMS   WEITTEN   IN  MEMORY  OF  BURNS. 


0  that  I  were  the  daisy 

That  sank  beneath  his  plougli, 
Or  "  neighbour  meet,  that  skylark  sweet!" 

Say,  are  they  nothing  now? 

That  mouse,  "our  fellow  mortal," 

Lives  deep  in  Nature's  heart; 
Like  earth  and  sky,  it  cannot  die 

Till  earth  and  sky  depart. 

Thy  Burns,  child-honour'd  Scotland  ! 

Is  many  minds  in  one; 
With  thought  on  tiiought,  the  name  is  fraught. 

Of  glory's  peasant  son. 

Thy  Chaucer  is  thy  Milton, 

And  might  have  been  thy  Tell, 
As  Hampden  fought,  thy  Sydney  wrote, 

And  would  have  fought  as  well. 

Be  proud,  man-childed  Scotland! 

Of  earth's  unpolish'd  gem; 
And  "Bonny  Doiin,"  and  "heaven  aboon," 

For  Burns  hath  hallowed  them. 

Be  proud,  though  sin  dishonour'd 

And  giief  baptized  thy  child; 
As  rivers  run,  in  shade  and  sun. 

He  ran  his  courses  wild. 

Grieve  not  though  savage  forests 

Look'd  grimly  on  the  wave 
Whore  dim-eyed  flowers  and  shaded  bowers 

Seem'd  living  in  the  grave. 

Grieve  not,  though  by  the  torrent 

Its  headlong  course  Wis  riven, 
When  o'er  it  came,  in  clouds  and  flame, 

Niagara  from  heaven! 

For  sometimes  gentry  flowing, 

And  sometimes  chafed  to  foam. 
O'er  sUick  and  deep,  by  wood  and  steep. 

He  sought  his  heavenly  home. 


STANZAS  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  BURNS.' 

BY  ELIZA  COOK. 

Oh,  Robin,  Robin,  child  of  song ! 
The  nobly  poor — the  bravely  strong. 
Warm  hearts  have  met  to  crown  thy  lyre. 
And  mourn  the  fate  that  quenched  its  fire. 
Like  many  another,  rare  and  great. 
Thou  wert  not  treasured  till  too  late; 
Thy  "magic  mantle's"  glowing  sheen 
Burst  through  thy  shroud-cloth  ere  'twas  seen. 

Oh,  Robin,  Robin!  bards  divine 
Fair  wreaths  for  thee  have  loved  to  twine; 
But  none  that  deck  thy  memory-stone 
Eclipse  the  laurels  )f  thine  own. 

'  Inserted  by  permission  of  the  writer's  publisliers, 
Messrs.  Frederick  Warne  &  Co.,  London. 


The  craven  hnnd  would  seek  to  fling 
A  shadow  o'er  thy  richest  string ; 
Hut  never  shall  such  coward  slave 
Shut  out  one  ray  from  Robin's  gi-ave. 

Oh,  Robin,  Robin!  princes  now 

Will  .speak  of  him  who  "  held  the  plough;" 

And  many  a  pilgrim  hails  tne  spot 

JIade  sacred  by  the  "ploughman's  cot." 

The  lips  that  laugh — the  hearts  that  grieve. 

Chant  forth  thy  strains  from  morn  till  eve; 

For  nature  ever  fondly  turns 

To  hear  her  own  sweet  truth  from  Burns. 

Tliough  nought  beside  of  hallowed  worth 
Marked  Scotia's  men  and  Scotia's  earth, 
Since  Burns  has  sung,  she  needs  no  more 
To  sj)rcad  her  fame  the  wide  world  o'er. 
01:    Robin,  Robui!  proudly  dear, 
Thy  spirit  still  is  with  us  here; 
And  glory's  halo  round  thy  hea<l 
Shines  as  wo  laud  the  mighty  dead. 


CENTENARY  ODE." 

BY  ISA  CRAIO. 


Wo  hail  this  morn, 
A  century's  noblu-i  birth; 

A  poet  peasant-horn, 
Wlio  more  of  Fame's  immortal  dower 

Unto  his  country  brings, 

Than  all  her  kings! 

As  lamps  high  set 
Upon  some  earthly  eminence,  •.■ 
And  to  the  gazer  brighter  thence 
Than  the  sphere-lights  they  flout, — 
D  ./indie  in  distance  and  die  out, 
While  no  star  waneth  yet; 
So  through  the  past  far-reaching  night. 
Only  the  star-souls  kccj*  their  light. 

A  gentle  boy, — 
With  moods  of  sadness  and  of  mirth. 

Qtiick  tears  and  sudden  joj',— 
Grew  up  beside  the  peasant's  hearth. 
His  father's  toil  he  shares; 
But  half  his  mother's  cares. 
From  his  dark  searching  eyes, 
Too  swift  to  sympathize. 
Hid  in  her  heart  she  bears. 

At  early  mom, 
His  father  calls  him  to  the  field; 
Through  the  stiff  soil  that  clogs  his  feet, 
Chill  rain  and  harvest  heat, 

s  Inserted  by  permission  from  volume  of  poems 
publislied  l)y  Messrs.  Wm.  Wiifkwooil  &  Sons,  Ediii- 
liuriih.  This  poem  gained  the  first  prize  at  tlii'  Cen- 
tenary celel)ration  of  1859,  over  more  than  COO  luni- 
petitors. 


Wt 


()  Hilly 
nfcS 
ilavo 
8  gi'avc. 

IV 

tlio  plough;" 

spot 

miiu's  cot." 
t»  that  Ki'ieve, 
nioni  till  uvc; 

from  Burns. 

owed  worth 
tia's  earth, 
ids  no  moro 
world  o'er, 
car, 

■i 

ead 
dead. 


DE.» 


dower 


CO 

rtout,— 

out, 

ig  uight, 
ight. 

mirth, 
earth. 


)gs  his  feet, 


volume  of  pdeiiis 
.■00(1  <fc  Sons,  Edin- 
it  prize  at  the  Cen- 
lore  than  COO  iniii- 


POEMS  WRITTEN  IN  MEMORY  OF  BURNS. 


223 


He  plods  all  day;  returns  at  evo,  outworn, 
To  the  rude  faro  a  peasant's  lot  doth  yield; — 
To  what  else  wiia  he  born  ? 

The  God-mado  king 
Of  every  living  thing 
(For  his  great  heart  in  lovo  could  hold  them  all): 
The  dumb  eyes  meeting  his  by  hearth  and  stall,— 
Gifted  to  understand  ! — 
Knew  it  and  sought  his  hand; 
And  the  most  timorous  creature  had  not  fled, 
Coulil  she  his  heart  have  read, 
Which  fain  all  feeble  things  had  blcss'd  and 
sheltered. 

To  Nature's  feast— 

Who  knew  her  noblest  guest 

And  entertained  him  best- 
Kingly  he  came.    Her  chambers  of  the  East 
She  drap'd  with  crimson  and  with  gold, 

And  pour'd  her  pure  joy-wines 
For  him  the  poet-soul'd. 
For  him  her  anthem  roU'd, 

From  the  storm-wind  among  the  winter  pines, 
Down  to  the  slenderest  note 
Of  a  lovo  warble,  from  the  linnet's  throat. 

But  when  begins 
The  array  for  battle,  and  the  trumpet  blows, 

A  king  must  leave  the  feast,  and  lead  the  fight. 
And  with  its  mortal  foes, — 

Grim  gathering  hosts  of  sorrow  and  of  sins,— 
Each  human  soul  must  close. 

And  Fame  her  tnmipet  blew 
Before  him;  wrapp'd  him  in  her  purple  state; 
And  made  him  mark  for  all  the  shafts  of  fate 

That  henceforth  round  him  Hew. 

Though  ho  may  yield 
Hard-jiress'd,  and  wounded  fall 
Forsaken  on  the  field; 
His  regal  vestments  soil'd; 
His  crown  of  half  its  jewels  spoil'd ; 
He  is  a  king  for  all. 
Had  he  but  stood  aloof ! 
Had  ho  array'd  himself  in  armour  proof 
Against  temptation's  darts! 
So  yearn  the  good;— so  those  the  world  calls  wise. 
Triumphant  moralize. 

Of  martyr-woo 
A  sacred  shadow  on  his  memory  rests; 


Tears  have  not  ceased  to  flow; 
Indignant  grief  yet  stirs  impetuous  breasts, 

To  think, — above  that  noble  soul  brought  low, 
That  wise  and  soaring  spirit  fool'd,  enslav'd,— 
Thus,  thus  he  had  been  sav'd  ! 

It  might  not  be! 
That  heart  of  harmony 
Had  been  too  rudely  rent; 
Its  silver  chords,  which  any  hand  could  wound, 
By  no  hand  could  be  tun'd. 

Save  by  the  maker  of  the  instrument. 
Its  every  string  who  knew, 
And  from  profaning    touch  his  heavenly  gift 
withdrew. 

Regretful  love 

His  country  fain  would  prove. 
By  grateful  honours  lavish'd  on  his  grave; 
Would  fain  redeem  her  blame 
That  he  so  little  at  her  hands  can  claim. 
Who  unrewarded  gave 

To  her  his  life-bought  gift  of  song  and  fame. 

The  land  he  trod 
Hath  now  become  a  place  of  pilgrimage; 

Where  dearer  are  the  daisies  of  the  sod 
That  could  his  song  engage. 

The  hoary  hawthorn,  wreath'd 
Above  the  bank  on  which  his  limbs  he  flung 
While  some  sweet  plaint  ho  breath'd; 

The  streams  he  wander'd  near; 
The  maidens  whom  he  lov'd;  the  songs  he  sung; 

All,  all  are  dear. 

The  arch  blue  eyes, — 
Arch  but  for  love's  disguise, — 
Of  Scotland's  daughters,  soften  at  his  strain; 
Her  hardy  sons,  sent  forth  across  the  main 
To  drive  the  ploughshare  through  earth's  virgin 

soils 
Lighten  with  it  their  toils; 
And  sister  lands  have  learned  to  love  the  tongue 
In  which  such  songs  are  sung. 

For  doth  not  song 

To  the  whole  world  belong! 
Is  it  not  given  wherever  tears  can  fall. 
Wherever  hearts  can  melt,  or  blushes  glow, 
Or  mirth  and  sadness  mingle  as  they  flow, 

A  heritage  to  all  ? 


CENTENARY  POEM, 

BY  THE  HON.  MRS.  NORTON  (LADY  STIRLING-MAXWELL). 

A  Hundred  Years!    Does  that  recurring  chime 
Sound  strange  to  those  who  "  take  no  note  of  time?" 
"While  to  the  young  such  slow-returning  day 
Seems  but  a  seal  Time  sets  upon  Decay. 


224 


POEMS  WRITTEN  IN  MEMORY  OF  BURNS. 


Yea,  it  halk  sealed  Decay!    From  mined  walls, 

More  hoar,  more  moss-grown,  many  a  fragment  falls; 

Churchyards,  where  once  the  passionate  mourners  wept, 

Keep  but  faint  trace  of  where  their  loved  ones  slept; 

On  war-fields,  cursed  by  many  a  dying  groan, 

The  partridge  builds  her  nest,  the  corn  is  sown; 

And  for  fierce  clarions  of  a  hostile  throng, 

Lo!  children's  laughter,  and  the  reaper's  song. 

Huge  forest  oaks  are  gone  whoso  age  was  told 

By  palsied  grandsires  linked  with  "  days  of  old ;" 

The  windlestrao  waves  bare  where  once  they  stood. 

And  slender  saplings  screen  a  thinner  wood. 

Change  is  around  us !    Change,  whose  busy  spado 

Lends  the  old  sexton,  Time,  his  younger  aid; 

And,  with  a  brisk  ambition,  buries  all 

Which  Death  can  silence,  or  Decay  enthrall. 

What  do  they  bury?    Men.    They  hide  away 

Dead  hearts,  that  moulder  in  the  kindred  clay; 

But  something  yet  survives  from  sire  to  son — 

Death  cannot  bury  wluit  those  men  hare  done. 

The  holy  Creed  which  vanished  lips  have  taught — 

The  Freedom  which  the  Patriot's  blood  hath  bought — 

The  keen  invention  of  some  vigorous  mind 

Which  gleaned  from  Science  gifts  for  all  mankind — 

The  plans  philanthropy  at  length  matured 

To  lessen  griefs  by  weaker  souls  endured — 

These  are  not  Death's!  nor  Death's  the  POET'a  SONO! 

Vainly  the  centuries  shall  roll  along, 

Vainly  the  generations  disappear — 

That  Life  had  sap  that  springs  from  year  to  year ! 

Who  strikes  one  chord  of  Nature's  music  true 

Fills  the  void  world  with  echoes  ever  now: 

Men  listened  who  are  gone,  but  still  the  sound 

Gathers  the  newer  generations  round ; 

And  the  one  thought  of  ono  man's  brief,  bright  morn 

Fathers  the  thoughts  of  men  as  yet  unborn; 

Leaves  them  a  younger  life  when  his  departs — 

Heritors  of  liis  claim  on  human  hearts. 


A  Hundred  Years  I    When  twice  that  time  has  sped, 

Fresh  be  the  music  of  the  vanished  dead  ! 

Could  we  count  up — instead  of  years— the  souls 

Which,  through  such  years,  poetic  power  controls. 

By  vaguest  millions  could  they  reckoned  be, 

Or  by  thy  sands,  thou  world-encroaching  sea? 

Count  but  ono  Poet — count  the  myriad  throngs 

That  echo  Burns's  words,  and  Burns's  songs; 

How  many  hearts  have  read  with  honest  pride. 

That  "man's  a  man"  with  wealth  and  rank  denied? 

How  many,  woo'd,  through  him,  their  "Bonnie  Jean?" 

How  many,  mourned  their  "  Mary  "  in  his  strain  ? 

How  many,  lingered  o'er  tho  Arcadian  light 

That  made  the  "  Cotter's  Saturday  "  seem  bright? 

How  many,  felt  with  martial  ardour  till'd, 

Hearing  his  "  Scots  wha  hae  "  by  music  thrill'd  ? 

How  many  tears  have  dropped  like  ocean  brine, 

When  clasping  hands  have  hallowed  "  Auld  Lang  Syne?" 


POEMS  WRITTEN   IN  MEMORY  OF  BURNS. 

We  know  not !  but  the  thoughts  that  poets  have 

(Heaven's  part  in  them)  can  till  no  earthly  grave; 

Thought  is  man's  soul,  and  lives  beyond  his  time, 

Immortal — even  when  clothed  in  simplest  rhyme; 

Like  beacon  fires  that  shone  in  days  of  yore, 

Onward  they  shoot,  and  gather  more  and  more, 

Still  waking,  as  they  pass  from  mind  to  mind. 

An  answering  light  to  lights  long  left  behind. 

Nor  let  us  murmur  that  such  fire  must  bo 

Made  of  the  dead  boughs  of  an  earthly  tree. 

For  flickering  flames  alone  to  earth  are  given. 

The  lights  that  moveless  shine  are  set  in  heaven. 

Poet  and  man  (not  angel),  "  earth  to  earth !" 

Dead  are  thy  days  of  sorrow  and  of  mirth; 

Dead,  the  quick  passionate  heart  whose  pulse  beat  full. 

Indifferent  measure  from  the  cold  and  dull. 

And  dead  are  all  thy  faults  !    TLo  reckless  jest. 

Born  of  a  baflfled  hope  and  sad  unrest — 

Love's  wild  delights  that  fevered  every  vein — 

Wit's  careless  words  from  an  excited  brain— 

Thii-st  for  the  laurel-wreath  disdain  might  grudge — 

And  warm  temptations,  which  the  untempted  judge, 

Who  "know  not  what's  resisted"- — these  are  gone; 

Bury  their  memory  'neath  his  funeral  stone; 

Let  the  long  summers  seal  them  in  repose; 

Let  the  drear  winters  blot  them  with  their  snows; 

And  own  him  one  of  those  great  master  minds. 

Set  in  all  stations— made  of  various  kinds — 

But  howsoever  made,  raised  from  our  ken 

Above  the  level  of  more  common  men. 

We  are  blind  judges.     He  shall  judge  who  lends 

The  various  talents  for  mysterious  ends. 

What  though  perverted  sight  can  quick  descry 

The  mote  that  blurs  a  brother's  kindling  eye. 

Enough  for  us  to  hope — enough  to  know 

The  gift  of  genius  is  God's  gift  below. 

In  what  to  us  seem  wavering  sparks,  may  lurk 

Fire  that  yet  glows  to  do  the  Maker's  work: 

And  minor  discords  in  the  Poet's  song 

May  teach  a  lesson,  though  we  learn  it  wrong. 


225 


All  cannot  tread  alike  who  onward  climb 
Through  the  wild  passes  of  the  untracked  Time, 
Nor  all  keep  patient  heart  and  patient  speech, 
While  mountain  tops  still  top  the  heights  they  reach. 
Paths  set  with  flowers  some  tempted  feet  delay — 
Brakes,  rough  with  thorns,  the  weaker  wanderer  stay — 
And  wistful  pauses  of  discouraged  rest 
Come  to  the  wisest,  bravest,  stron?;est,  best. 
Who  see,  with  mournful  eyes  of  fond  regret, 
The  "  meliora  latent,"  latent  yet. 
Enough  for  us,  whatever  flaw  man  sees. 
The  retrograde  is  not  for  feet  like  these; 
The  aggregate  of  thought  in  sentient  man 
Hath  burst  the  gloom,  and  struggled  to  the  van; 
And  though  a  varying  strength  may  arm  the  host. 
Their  heavenly  standard  never  can  be  lost. 


2-26 


, 


POEMS  WRITTEN  IN  MEMORY  OF  BURNS. 

"Onwarda!"  is  written  there  in  gleams  of  light 
The  watchword  of  a  still  unfinished  fight, 
Whoso  wrestling  strength  shall  yet  prevail,  and  be 
Crowned  in  heaven's  breaking  dawn  with  victory ! 

A  Hundred  Years  I    When  this  day  comos  agam. 
Scarce  one  of  all  now  living  will  remain. 
Some  infant,  born  even  while  I  write  this  rhyme. 
Perchance  shall  linger  out  that  stretch  of  time, 
And  all  the  older  of  each  meeting  throng 
Be  dead  like  him — the  Master  of  sweet  song ! 
Within  the  circuit  of  those  hundred  years 
Eyes  that  are  weeping  shall  be  sealed  from  tears; 
Hearts  that  beat  now,  shall  rest — no  records  tell 
The  strong  temptations  under  which  they  fell; 
And  women's  prayers  of  yearning  wild  appeal. 
To  bid  the  men  who  "  loved  "  them  try  to  feel 
Shall  grate  no  more;  but  garnered  up  in  heaven, 
Find  gentler  answer  than  on  earth  was  given. 
But  master  still  of  Time,  dead  Burn.s  shall  be — 
His  words  still  watchwords  for  the  bravo  and  free — 
His  songs  still  love  songs  to  the  young  and  fond — 
His  fame  still  linking  with  the  time  beyond. 
Much  hath  been  lost  within  the  vanished  years, 
But  not  HIS  power  o'er  human  smiles  and  tears; 
And  when  the  Hundredth  Year  again  returns, 
More  shall  be  lost — but  not  the  name  of  BuuNS. 


ROBERT  BURNS,  a  Centenary  Ode. 

BY  JAMES  MACFARLAN. 

In  lonely  hut  and  lordly  hall  a  mighty  voice  is  heard. 

And  'neath  its  wild  bewitching  spell  the  honest  brows  arc  bared; 

From  Scotland's  hills  and  twilight  glens  to  far  Columbian  woods; 

It  stirs  the  city's  streets  of  toil,  and  wakes  its  solitudes; 

It  speaks  no  triumph  reaped  with  swords,  it  brings  no  conijucring  cry 

Of  buried  honours  battle-crowned  and  veil'd  with  victory; 

But  hearts  leap  loving  to  its  note,  and  kindling  bosoms  glow 

To  hail  the  Poet  born  to  fame  a  hundred  years  ago. 

0!  like  a  glorious  bird  of  God,  he  leapt  up  from  the  earth, 

A  lark  in  song's  cxaltcil  heaven,  a  robin  by  the  hearth; 

0!  like  a  peerless  flower  he  sprang  from  Nature's  nearest  sod. 

Yet  shedding  joy  on  every  path  by  human  footsteps  trod. 

How  shall  we  tell  his  wondrous  power,  how  shall  we  say  or  sing 

What  magic  to  a  million  hearts  his  deathless  strains  can  bring ! 

How  men  on  murkest  battlefields  have  felt  the  potent  charm 

Till  sinking  valour  leapt  to  life,  and  stnnig  the  nerveless  arm ; 

How  hearts  in  dreariest  loneliness  have  toil'd  through  barren  brine — 

The  only  glimpse  of  sunshine  then,  his  pictures  o'  langsyne; 

How  far  amid  the  western  wilds,  by  one  enchanting  tune, 

The  wide  Missouri  fades  away  in  dreams  of  "Bonnie  Doon; " 

More  hearts  and  hands  renew  the  pledge— sweet  pledge  of  other  years. 

That  sacred  "auld  acquaintance,"  by  the  light  of  parting  tears. 


PC 


POEMS  WIUTTEN  IN  MEMORY  OF   BURNS. 

O !  blessed  bo  the  brawny  arm  that  tore  presumption  down, 

That  snatched  the  robe  from  worthless  pride,  and  gave  to  toil  a  crown. 

That  smote  the  rock  of  poverty  with  song's  enchanting  rod, 

Till  joy  into  a  million  hearts  in  streams  of  beauty  flow'd. 

And  while  that  arm  could  stretch  to  heaven  and  wield  the  lightning's  dart. 

It  brought  the  glorious  sunshine  down  to  cheer  the  humblest  heart; 

For  free  as  Spring,  his  gladsome  muso  danc'd  o'er  the  daisied  plain. 

Or  rang  in  organ-gusts  of  praise  through  grandeur's  mightiest  fane. 

Then  blest  for  over  bo  the  soul  that  link'd  us  man  to  man — 

A  brotherhood  of  beating  hearts — God's  own  immortal  plan; 

While  Labour,  smiling  at  his  forge,  or  stalking  at  his  plough, 

Looks  up  with  prouder  soul  to  find  God's  finger  on  his  brow; 

Feels  man  is  man  though  russet-robed  and  smacking  of  the  soil, 

And  all  are  brothers  whether  born  to  titles  or  to  toil. 

Then  pledge  his  mem'ry  far  and  near,  although  the  hand  be  dust 

That  oft  has  swept  the  golden  lyre  which  ages  cannot  rust; 

The  sun  of  Time  ne'er  sets  upon  the  empire  of  his  fame, 

And  still  unwearied  is  the  wing  that  bears  abroad  his  name; 

There  may  be  grander  bards  than  he,  there  may  bo  loftier  songs, 

But  none  have  touch'd  with  nobler  nerve  the  poor  man's  rights  and  wrongs; 

Then,  while  unto  the  hazy  past  the  eye  of  fancy  turns. 

Raise  high  the  fame  and  bless  the  name  of  glorious  Robert  Bi'kns. 


•227 


LINES   WRITTEN   FOR  THE  FIRST  ANNIVERSARY  BANQUET  OF  A 
NEWLY-FORMED  BURNS  CLUB  IN  MANCHESTER.i 


BY  JANET  HAMILTON. 


High  Bard  of  Scotia,  brightest  son  of  song, 

Who  boldly  swept  his  master  hand  along 

The  golden  strings  of  Caledonia's  lyre. 

And  pour'd  in  magic  strains  and  words  of  fire 

The  witching  songs  of  love,  its  hopes  and  fears. 

Of  love  in  death,  embalmed  with  burning  tears, 

Of  blooming  nature  in  her  flow'ry  prime; 

Of  pathos  deep,  and  sentiment  sublime, 

Of  humour  quaint,  and  wit's  keen  lightning  glance; 

The  midnight  orgies  of  the  witches'  dance; 

The  song  of  Saturday's  sweet  evening  rest. 

Dear  to  the  cottar,  eve  of  Sabbath  blest. 

No  sweeter  music  poet's  hand  hath  rung 

From  Scotia's  lyre — no  son  of  genius  sung 

In  loftier  strains — no  patriot's  battle-cry 

Like  his  can  nerve  the  arm  when  foes  are  nigh. 

But  time  forbids  that  we  should  longer  dwell 

On  themes  that  thrill  the  heart,  the  bosom  swell— 

The  name,  the  tuneful  fame  of  Robert  Burns, 

Still  to  the  "  Auld  Clay  Biggin'"  memory  turns. 

Where  Scotia's  genius,  robed  in  tartan  screen. 

In  vision'd  beauty,  by  the  bard  was  seen, 

« Inserted  by  permission  of  Messrs.  James  Maclehose  &  Sons,  Glasgow,  from  volume  of  the  author's 
poems  published  by  them. 


r:! 


f    k 


ri 


228 


POEMS   WRITTEN  IN  MEMORY  OF  BURNS. 


Binding  upon  his  brow  the  holy  wreath 

That  crovm'd  him  King  of  Song  in  life  and  death. 

We  hail  with  joy  and  pride  his  natal  day, 

Our  votive  offerings  on  his  shrine  we  lay, 

And  pay  with  honours  meet  and  high  regard 

The  homage  due  to  Scotia's  deathless  bard. 

Deem'd  not  his  sire,  nor  mother  faint  and  worn, 

That  to  their  arms  that  wild  and  wintry  morn 

A  child  of  genius,  heir  of  song  and  fame, 

Was  giveii  ?    The  halo  circling  round  liis  name 

Still  broader,  brighter  grows;  within  its  light 

In  bonds  of  brotherhood  we  meet  to-night, 

And  hail  with  glowing  hearts,  with  song  and  mirth. 

The  day's  return  that  saw  the  poet's  birth. 

Not  now  as  "  Scots  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled," 

Long  laid  to  rest  on  freedom's  gory  bed — 

Nor  as  of  yore  in  battle's  fierce  turmoil: 

We  meet  as  brothers  on  fair  England's  soil, 

And  here  with  clasping  hands  and  hearts  unite. 

While  mingling  round  the  festive  board  to-night, 

To  hail  the  infant  year,  for  then  returns 

The  day  we  bless — the  natal  day  of  Burns. 


ON  k: 

s 

I 

'J 

\ 

I 


ROBERT    BURNS. 


BY  LONGFELLOW. 


I  see  nmid  the  fields  of  Ayr 

A  ploughman,  who,  in  foul  or  fair. 

Sings  at  his  task 
So  clear,  we  know  not  if  it  is 
The  laverock's  song  we  hear,  or  his, 

Nor  care  to  ask. 

For  him  the  ploughing  of  those  fields 
A  more  ethereal  harvest  yields 

Than  sheaves  of  grain ; 
Songs  flush  with  purple  bloom  the  170, 
The  plover's  call,  the  curlew's  cry 

Sing  in  his  brain. 

Touched  by  his  hand,  the  way-side  weed 
Becomes  a  flower;  the  lowliest  reed 

Beside  the  stream 
Is  clothed  with  beauty;  gorse  and  grass 
And  heather,  where  his  footsteps  pass. 

The  brighter  seem. 

He  sings  of  love,  whose  flame  illumes 
The  darkness  of  lone  cottage  rooms; 

He  feels  the  force. 
The  treacherous  imder-tow  and  stress 
Of  wayward  passions,  and  no  less 

The  keen  remorse. 

At  moments,  w^restling  with  his  fate, 
His  voice  is  harsh,  but  not  with  hate; 
The  brushwood  hung 


Above  the  tavern-door  lets  fall 
Its  bitter  leaf,  its  drop  of  gall. 
Upon  his  tongue. 

But  still  the  burden  of  his  song 
Is  love  of  right,  disdain  of  wrong; 

Its  master-chords 
Are  Manhood,  Freedom,  Brotherhood; 
Its  discords  but  an  interlude 

Between  the  words. 

And  then  to  die  so  young,  and  leave 
Unfinished  what  ho  might  achieve! 

Yet  better  sure 
Is  this  than  wandering  up  and  down. 
An  old  man,  in  a  country  town, 

Infirm  and  poor. 

For  now  he  haunts  his  native  land 
As  an  immortal  youth:  his  han<l 

Guides  every  plough; 
He  sits  beside  each  ingle-nook; 
His  voice  is  in  each  rushing  brook, 

Each  rustling  bough. 

His  presence  haunts  this  room  to-night, 
A  form  of  mingled  mist  and  light, 

From  that  far  coast. 
Welcome  beneath  this  roof  of  mine! 
Welcome!— this  vacant  chair  is  thine, 

Dear  guest  and  ghost ! 


POEMS  WllITTEN  IN  MEMORY  OF  BURNS. 


229 


sfall 
gall, 

.10. 

I  song 

F  wrong; 

rds 

Brotherhood; 

ide 

ords. 

,  and  leave 
i  achieve ! 
) 

and  down, 
town, 
r. 

ive  land 
?  liand 
lougli; 
look; 
g  brook, 
oiigh. 

oom  to-night, 

id  light, 

oa.st. 

■  of  mine! 

lir  i.s  thine, 

ghost! 


BURNS. 

ON  RECEIVING  A  SPRIG  OF  HKATIIEU  IN  BLOSSOM. 
UY  JOHN  GllEENLEAK  WIIITTIER. 

No  more  these  simple  flowers  belong 

To  Scottish  maid  and  lover; 
Sown  in  the  common  soil  of  song. 

They  bloom  the  wide  world  over. 

In  smiles  and  tears,  in  sun  and  showers. 

The  minstrel  and  the  hcathur, 
The  deathless  singer  and  the  ticiwers 

He  sang  of  live  together. 

Wild  heather-bells  and  Robert  ]?urns! 

The  moorland  flower  and  peasant! 
How,  at  their  mention,  memory  turns 

Her  pages  old  and  pleasant! 

The  grey  sky  wears  again  its  gold 

,\nd  purple  of  adorning, 
And  manhood's  noonday  shadows  liolil 

The  dews  of  boyhood'.s  morning. 

The  dews  that  washed  the  dust  and  soil 
From  off  the  wings  of  pleasure. 

The  sky,  that  flecked  the  ground  of  toil 
With  golden  threads  of  leisure. 

1  call  to  mind  the  .summer  da\'. 

The  early  harvest  mowing. 
The  sky  with  sun  and  clouds  at  play, 

And  flowers  with  breezes  blowing. 

I  hear  the  blackbird  in  the  corn. 

The  locust  in  tlie  haying; 
And  like  the  fabled  hunter's  horn, 

Old  tunes  my  heart  Ls  playing. 

How  oft  that  day,  with  fond  delay, 

I  sought  the  maple's  shadow. 
And  sang  with  Burns  the  hours  away, 

Forgetful  of  the  meadow ! 

I?ees  hummed,  birds  twittered,  overhead 

I  heard  the  Sfpiirrels  leaping. 
The  good  dog  listened  while  I  read. 

And  wagged  his  tail  in  keeping. 

I  watched  him  while  in  sportive  mood, 
[  read  "  The  Twii  Dogs'  "  story, 

And  half  believed  he  understood 
The  poet's  allegory. 

Sweet  day,  sweet  songs!— The  golden  hours 
Grew  brighter  for  that  singing. 

From  brook  and  bird  and  meadow  flowers 
A  dearer  welcome  bringing. 

New  light  on  homo-seen  Nature  beamed, 

New  glory  over  Woman; 
And  daily  life  and  duty  seemed 

No  longer  i)oor  and  common. 

VOL.  V. 


I  woke  to  find  tho  simple  truth 

Of  fact  and  feeling  better 
Than  all  the  dreams  that  held  my  youth 

A  still  repining  debtor; 

That  Nature  gives  her  handmaid  Art, 
The  themes  of  sweet  discoursing; 

The  tender  idyls  of  the  heart 
In  ovcry  tongue  rehearsing. 

Why  dreams  of  land  of  gold  and  pearl, 

Of  loving  knight  and  lady, 
When  farmer  boy  and  barefoot  girl 

Wore  wandering  there  ah-eady? 

1  saw  through  all  familiar  things 

The  romance  underlying; 
Tho  joys  and  griefs  that  plume  tho  wings 

Of  Fanoy  skyward  flying. 

I  saw  tho  same  blytho  day  return, 

Tho  same  sweet  fall  of  oven, 
That  rose  on  wooded  C'raigieburn, 

And  sank  on  crystal  Devon. 

I  matched  with  Scotland's  heathery  hills 
Tho  sweet-brier  and  the  clover; 

With  Ayr  and  Doon,  my  native  rills. 
Their  wood-hymns  chanting  over. 

O'er  rank  and  ])omp,  as  he  had  soon, 

I  saw  tho  Man  uprising; 
No  longer  common  or  unclean. 

The  child  of  God's  baptizing! 

Witii  clearer  eyes  I  saw  the  worth 

Of  life  among  the  lowly; 
Tlie  Bible  at  his  Cotter's  hearth 

Had  made  his  own  more  holy. 

And  if  at  times  an  evil  strain. 

To  lawless  love  appealing. 
Broke  in  upon  the  sweet  refrain 

Of  pure  and  healthful  feeling. 

It  died  upon  the  eye  and  car, 

No  inward  answer  gaining; 
No  heart  had  I  to  see  or  hear 

The  discord  and  the  staining. 

Let  those  who  never  erred  forgot 
His  worth,  in  vain  bewailings; 

Sweet  Soul  of  Song! — I  owe  my  debt 
Uncancelled  by  his  failings! 

Lament  who  will  tho  ribald  lino 
Which  tolls  his  lapse  from  duty, 

How  kissed  tho  maddening  lips  of  wino 
Or  wanton  ones  of  beauty; 

But  think,  while  falls  that  .shade  between 

The  erring  one  and  heaven, 
That  ho  who  loved  like  Magdalen, 

Like  her  may  be  forgiven. 

81 


■'■■:{ 


'U 


i 


W) 


830 


POEMS  WRITTEN  IN  MF^IORY  0'  BvKNS. 


Not  his  tho  song  whoso  '  aunilLrous  chiino 

Etonml  echoes  render, — 
Tho  mournful  'J'uscivn'a  hauntod  rliynie, 

And  Milton's  starry  splendour! 

But  wlio  his  human  heart  has  laid 

To  Nature's  bosom  nearer  / 
Who  sweetened  toil  like  him,  or  paid 

To  love  a  tribuio  deuror  / 


Throu,^..  ;>ll  hi<  I  neful  art,  now  wtr^jni; 

Tlu!  !ii.i(n.,u  feeliiifir  gushes! 
'lliii  V' ry  ri/  i  alight  of  hi.s  song 

i-    '  um  will)  •>  lilos  and  blushes! 

Give  lettered  pji.ip    o  teeth  of  Time, 
So  "  Hoiniie  Doon  '   but  tuny; 

Blot  out  tho  Epic's  stately  rliyiue, 
But  spare  liis  Highland  Mary  I 


ROBERT  BURNS. 

ON  THE  INAUGURATION  OF  THE  BUKNS  MONUMENT,  KILMARNOCK,  IbTi) 
BY  ALEXANDER  ANDERSON.! 

Ho,  stand  baro-brow'd  with  mo  to-day,  no  common  name  we  sing, 
And  let  the  niu.sic  in  your  hearts  like  thunder-marches  ring ; 
We  sing  a  name  to  which  the  lieart  of  Scotland  ever  turns, 
Tho  master  singer  of  us  all,  the  ploughman  Robert  Burns. 

How  shall  wo  greet  him  as  ho  stands  a  beacon  in  tho  years? 
With  smiles  of  joy  and  love,  or  burets  of  laughter  and  sweet  tears ! 
Greet  him  with  all — a  fitting  meed  for  him  who  came  and  wt>ve 
Around  this  lowly  life  of  ours  the  spells  of  song  and  love. 

What  toil  was  his !  but,  know  yo  not,  that  ever  in  their  pride 
The  unseen  Heaven-sent  messengers  were  walking  by  liis  side ; 
He  felt  their  leaping  tire,  and  heard  far  whispers  shako  and  roll, 
While  visions,  like  the  march  of  kings,  went  sweeping  through  his  soul. 

"  Thou  shalt  not  sing  of  men,"  they  cried,  "  girt  up  in  sordid  life, 
Nor  statesmen  strutting  on  tho  stage  their  hour  of  party  strife, 
Nor  the  wild  battle-field  where  death  stalks  red,  and  whore  the  slaiii 
Lie  thicker  than  in  harvest  fields  the  sheaves  of  shining  grain. 

"  Sing  thou  tho  thoughts  that  come  to  thee,  to  lighten  up  thy  brow, 
When,  with  a  glory  all  around,  thou  standest  by  the  plough ; 
Sing  the  sweet  loves  of  youth  and  maid,  the  stroanis  that  glide  along. 
And  let  tho  music  of  tho  lark  leap  light  within  ttiy  song. 

"  Sing  thou  of  ScotlaTid  till  sho  feels  the  rich  blood  fill  her  veins, 
And  rush  along  like  sudden  storms  at  all  thy  glorious  strains ; 
A  thousand  years  will  come  and  pass,  but  loyal  to  thy  claim, 
Forever  in  lier  heart  shall  glow  the  Pharos  of  thy  fame." 

Ho  came,  and  on  his  lips  lay  firo  that  touch'd  his  fervid  song. 
And  .scathed  like  lightning  all  that  rose  to  skulk  behind  a  wrong ; 
He  sung,  and  on  the  lowly  cot  be.«ide  the  hapjiy  stream 
A  halo  foil  upon  tho  thatch,  with  heaven  in  its  gleum. 

And  love  grew  sweeter  at  his  touch,  for  full  in  him  there  lay 
A  mighty  wealth  of  molting  tones,  and  all  their  soft,  sweet  .sway; 
Ho  sliaped  their  rapture  and  delight,  for  unto  him  was  given 
The  power  to  wed  to  burning  words  the  sweetest  gift  of  Heaven. 


1  Mr.  Anderson,  autlior  of  Hallads  and  Snjmcfs, 
Songs  of  the  Hail,  and  other  vohuiios  of  poetry,  fii'st 
liecaiiie  known  to  tlie  public  by  ihh'uis  to  wl)icli  the 
slKnaturu  ".Surfaceman"  wa.>j  attached.    He  has  not 


only  been  kind  enough  to  allow  the  al)ovc  piece  to 
api)ear  here,  liut  has  also  ciirefiilly  none  over  it,  and 
made  many  improvements  in  view  of  its  present  imr- 
pose. 


rt,  now  Ktr'Hi 

hcs! 

s  .song 

il  blushes! 

;tli  of  'I'iim;, 

t  tiiriy; 

y  rliviiif, 

1  Mtii-y: 

soul, 


in 


ng. 


V  tln'  at)Ovo  piece  to 
iill.v  Hdiie  oVff  it.  mid 
L'W  of  its  iinsent  jiiii- 


POEMS  WUITTFN  IN     rEMwliY  OF  BUUNS. 

0,  blessings  on  this  swarthy  soor,  who  gave  us  such  a  boon, 
And  still  kept  in  his  royiil  breast  his  royal  soul  in  tune ! 
Men  look'd  with  kindlier  looks  on  men,  ami  in  fur  distant  lands 
Hia  very  name  mado  brighter  eyes  and  tinner  clasp  of  hands. 

The  plotighman  stro(lc  behind  the  jilough,  and  felt  within  his  heart 
A  glory  like  a  crown  descend  upon  his  peaceful  art ; 
The  hardy  cotter,  bare  ot  arm,  who  wrestled  with  the  soil, 
Hose  up  his  nigged  height,  and  blossod  the  kingly  guild  of  toil. 

And  sun-brow'd  maidens  in  the  field,  among  the  swayiiii;'  corn. 
Their  pulses  beating  with  the  soft  delight  of  love  new  bom, 
Felt  his  warm  music  thrill  their  hearts,  and  ylow  to  linger  tips, 
As  if  the  spirit  of  him  who  sang  was  throbbing  on  their  lips. 

What  gift  wail  this  of  his  to  hold  his  country's  cherished  lyre. 
And  strike,  with  master  hand,  the  chords  of  passion's  purot  tire ! 
Say,  who  can  guess  what  light  was  shed  upon  his  upturn'd  brow. 
When  in  the  glory  of  his  youth  he  walk'd  behind  the  plough  ! 

What  visions  girt  with  glorious  things,  what  whispers  of  far  fame, 
That  down  the  ladder  of  his  dreams  like  radiant  angels  came  I 
What  potent  spoils  that  held  him  bound,  or  swift,  and  keen,  and  strong, 
Lifted  to  mighty  heights  of  thought  this  peasant-king  of  song ! 

Hush !  think  not  of  that  time  when  Fame  her  rainbow  colours  spi  ead, 
And  the  cool  rustling  laurel  wreath  was  bound  about  his  head; 
When  in  the  city  'mid  the  glare  of  fashion's  luring  liglit. 
Ho  moved — the  momcnt'.s  whim  of  those  that  wished  to  sec  the  sight . 

Oh,  heavens !  and  was  this  all  they  sought  ?  to  please  a  passing  pride, 
Nor  cared  to  know  for  one  short  hour  this  grand  soul  by  their  side ; 
But  Shook  him  off  with  dainty  touch  of  well-gloved  hand,  and  now— 
Oh !  would  to  God  that  all  his  life  had  been  behind  the  plough ! 

And  dare  wo  hint  that  after  this  a  bitter  canker  grew. 
That  all  hi.s  aspirations  sunk,  and  took  a  paler  hue ; 
That  dark  and  darker  gi-ew  the  gloom,  till  in  the  heedless  town 
The  struggling  giant  in  his  youth  heart-wearied  laid  him  down. 

What  were  his  sad  earth-thoughts  in  that  last  hour— ah,  who  can  tell? 
When  by  the  pillar  of  his  song  our  laurell'd  Ciesar  fell .' 
Wo  ask  but  questions  of  the  Sphinx  ;  we  only  know  that  death 
Unclasp'd  his  singing  robes  in  tears,  but  left  untouch 'd  the  wreath. 

Thou  carper ;  well  we  know  at  times  ho  sung  in  wilder  mirth, 
Until  the  mantle  of  his  song  was  trailing  on  the  earth ; 
Hut  not  for  thee  to  lift  thy  voice,  but  leave  the  right  to  Heaven 
To  judge  how  far  this  soul  has  dimm'd  the  splendours  it  had  given. 

For  us  who  look  with  other  eyes,  he  stands  in  other  light, 
A  great  one  with  his  hands  ujiheld  through  shadows  to  the  right, 
Who,  though  his  heart  had  shrunk  beneath  the  doom  that  withers  all. 
Still  wove  a  goklen  thread  of  song  to  stretcli  from  cot  to  hall. 

And  now,  as  when  the  mighty  gods  had  fanes  in  ancient  days, 
And  up  to  carven  roof-work  swept  great  storms  of  throlibing  praise 
So  wo  to  all,  as  in  our  heart,  this  day  with  t.     ler  hand 
Uprear  the  marble  shape  of  him,  the  M<         .   .'f  our  land. 


232 


BURNS   FESTIVAL  ON 


And  swoctor  sounils  are  ours  than  tlionu  which  from  thiit  .Mi'innoii  ciimo, 
Wlieii  tlio  ruil  iircliur  in  tlio  east  smote  it  with  shuft>i  of  tlaiiie ; 
\\\'  hear  those  melodies  tiiat  made  a  tflory  erowii  oiir  j'oiith 
And  Wove  aroimd  the  tinner  man  their  speils  of  love  and  truth. 

And  still  we  walk  within  their  lifrht  -a  li(,'ht  that  cannot  die ; 
It  shines  down  from  a  jiurer  sun  and  from  a  liri^rhter  sky; 
It  crowns  this  heaven-horn  di'imty  of  Son^j's  siijiremist  chords, 
And  leaps  like  altiir-firo  along  his  deep  and  burnint,'  words. 

Lo !  pause  and  for  a  moment  take  the  seer's  keen  reach  of  ken, 
And  see  the  dim  years  stru^'^'lin^,'  ti[)  with  crowds  of  toiling'  men  ; 
They,  too,  will  come,  as  we  this  hoiw,  with  i)assionate  worshiip  wrunp. 
And  place  upon  thoso  white,  mute  lips,  the  grand,  groat  songs  he  sung. 

llo!  then,  stand  hare  of  hrow  to-day,  no  common  name  \vc  sing, 
Ami  let  the  music  in  your  hearts  like  thunder-m.irihes  ring; 
Wo  sing  a  name  to  whieii  the  heart  of  Scotland  ever  turns. 
The  master  singer  of  us  all,  oar  j)loughman— Itohert  Ihu'ns. 


BURNS  FESTTVAL  OX   THE  BANKS   OF  THE   BOON, 

1S44. 


An  interesting  and  imposing  demon.stration 
in  lionour  of  liurns  was  liehl  on  the  banks 
of  tlie  Doon,  on  Gtli  August,  1844,  being  got 
up  for  the  double  purpose  of  honouring  the 
memory  of  the  poet  and  giving  a  fitting  wel- 
come to  his  sons  on  their  return  from  India — 
after  upwards  of  thirty  years'  service.  The  idea 
originated  in  consequence  of  a  visit  paid  by 
Colonel  William  Nicol  Hums,  soon  after  his 
return  from  India,  to  his  aunt,  Mrs.  Hcgg,  the 
youngest  sister  of  the  poet,  who  then,  with  her 
two  daughters,  inhabited  a  neat  cottage  within 
a  stone's-throw  of  the  poet's  birthplace.  It 
was  suggested  that  the  appearance  of  the  son 
among  the  .scenes  consecrated  to  the  memory 
of  his  father  ought  not  to  be  passed  over  as  an 
ordinary  occurrence,  but  that  some  attempt 
should  be  made  to  welcome  him  in  a  worthier 
manner  than  by  the  common  greetings  of  ad- 
miring or  loving  friends.  An  influential  com- 
mittee being  constituted  it  was  re.solved  to 
issue  invitations  which  should  include  not  only 
the  three  surviving  sons  of  Hums,  but  al.so 
many  distinguished  persons  who  might  desire 
an  opportunity  to  render  homage  to  the  memory 
of  the  bard.  The  arrangements  of  the  com- 
mittee included  the  erection  of  a  large  pavilion 
in  a  field  immediately  behind  the  monument 


on  the  banks  of  the  Doon  to  accommodate  the 
princii)al  visitors;  while  at  the  other  e.xtivmiiv 
of  the  inclosure  were  several  less  digiiiliwl 
erections  for  the  use  of  less  privileged  guests. 
The  town  of  Ayr  was  gaily  decorated  with 
flags,  triumphal  arches,  Ac,  and  the  varimis 
clubs,  societies,  and  trades  marchcil  out  to 
take  their  part  in  the  proceedings  on  the  liaiiks 
of  the  IV)on.  A  great  banquet  was  served  in 
the  jiavilion,  covers  being  laid  for  Kititt  guests. 
The  Earl  of  Eglinton  presided,  and  among  tlio.-e 
present  were  liobert  Hurns,the  poet's  eldest  son; 
Colonel  William  Nieol  Hums,  his  second  son; 
Major  JamesCilencairn  Hums,  his  youngest  son; 
Jliss  Hegg,  niece  of  the  poet;  Professor  Wilson; 
Slierifi'(ilassford  Hell;  ^Ir.  and  .Mrs.  Thomson, 
of  I  )unifries,  the  latter  being  t  he  ",l  essie  Lc  wars  " 
.sung  by  the  poet;  .Sir  .John  M'Neill;  Lord- 
president  Hoyle;  Sir  David  Hunter  Blair;  Sir 
Archibald  Alison,  the  historian  ;  Colonel  Mure 
of  Caldwell;  Professor  Aytoun;  Dr.  Moir, 
the  "Delta "  of  "  Hlackwood  ;  "  Itohert  Cham- 
bers, and  other  celebrities.  1  e  chairman  in 
proposing  "The  memory  of  Burns,"  delivered 
an  eloquent  and  sympathetic  address,  in  which 
he  said  :  "The  descendant  of  those  who  dwelt 
in  the  'Castle  of  Montgomery'  feels  himself 
only  too  highly  honoured  in  being  permitted 


THE   BANKS  OF  THE  DOON. 


233 


itno, 


inf. 


TtOO^, 


aironuiiculate  the 
u  oilier  cxtivmity 
nil  less  (li;,'iii(ie(l 
privileged  j;uests, 
y  (iceoriitecl  with 
,  and  (lie  various 
iiiarelieil  out  to 
lings  oil  the  iiaiiks 
net  was  served  in 
(1  for  Hit  Ml  ;;uests. 
,  and  auKiiig  tiiose 
e  poet's  eldest  son; 
s,  Ills  seeond  son; 
,  his  youngest  son; 
I'rofessor  Wilson; 
id  -Mrs.  Thomson, 
ie"JcssieJ,c\vars" 
I  iM'Ncill;  Lonl- 
lunter  Hlair;  Sir 
m ;  Colonel  .Mure 
oun;  J)r.  Moir, 
; "  Hohcrt  (.'hum- 
1  c  ehairniau  in 
Hums,"  delivered 
address,  in  whieh 
'  those  who  (hvelt 
ry '  feels  himself 
being  permitted 


to  propose  tlie  memory  of  liim  wlio  then  wim-  |  xpcttkcr,  and   his  cxcec<lingly  muHleiil  voiuc. 

(j.red  tiiere  unknown  on  the  hanks  of  the  Fail.      In  the  eourse  of  hi*  Hpceeh  he  nn'A  : "  Were 

IJow  lilt  If ''oidd  the  (dour*  old  man  who  dwelt  thin  festival    to  eomnieuiorutu   the  genius  of 

in  yonder  cottage — with  hi.>t 'lyari  hallets' o'er-  IJuriu,  and  it  were  asked  what  need  is  tliere 

Hpreadinir  hi^  venerahle  hrow — when  he  read  of  sueh  eoniinemoration,  ninee  ins  fame  in  co- 

the  'hig  ha'  liihle '  how  lit  lie  eould  he  have  e.xtensive  with- the  literature  of  our  land,  and 

(TiicsM'd  that  the  infant  prattling  on  hU  knee  inherent  in  every  soul,  I  would  answer  that 

Hiis  to  he  the  pride  of  his  naliou — the  eli'ef  though  ailmiration  of  the  poet  he  indeed  uii- 

among  the  poetie  hand — was  to  lie  one  of  the  houndeil  as  the  world,  yet  we,  as  eompatriols 

lirigiitest  planets  that  glows  around  the  mighty  to  whom  it  is  nion,' espeeially  dear,  rcjoiee  to 

sniiof  the  IJardof  ,Vvon — seeond  tonone  in  the  see  that  universal  sentiment  eonoentrated  in 


fervente.xpression  of  deep  feeling,  in  I  In  gen  nine 
perception  of  the  heauticw  of  nature ;  anil  eipuvl 
to  iiny  who  revels  in  the  fairy  land  of  poesy. 
Well  may  we  rcjoiee  that  Hums  is  our  own  ! — 
that  no  other  spot  ean  elaim  to  be  the  birtli- 
plaee  of  our  Homer  e.xecpt  the  spot  on  which 
we  stand.  Oh!  that  he  could  have  foreseen 
the  futurity  of  fame  ereated  for  him  this  day, 
when  the  jioet  ami  tlie  historian,  the  peer  and 
the  peasant,  vie  witli  each  other  in  paying  tlie 
tribute  of  their  admiration  to  the  humble  but 
mighty  genius  of  him  whom  we  hail  as  the 
first  of  Scottish  poets.  Such  a  foresight  might 
have  alleviated  the  dreary  hours  of  his  sojourn 
at  .Mossgiel — might  have  lightened  the  dark 
days  of  his  pilgrimage  on  eartii.     Well  doe.s  he 


the  voice  of  a  great  a.ssend>ly  of  his  own  jieoplo 
— that  we  rejoice  to  meet  in  thousands  to  honour 
him  who  has  delighted  each  single  one  of  ns 
all  at  his  own  hearth.  Hut  this  eomnicmora- 
tioii  expres.ses,  too,  if  not  a  profoundcr,  yet  u 
more  tender  sentiment ;  for  it  is  to  welcome 
his  sous  to  the  land  which  their  father  illus. 
trated — to  indulge  our  national  pride  in  a  great 
name,  while,  at  the  .same  time,  Ave  gratify  in 
full  breasts  the  most  pious  of  aflections.  It 
was  customary,  yo)i  kiu)W,  in  former  times,  to 
crown  great  poets.  No  such  ovation  honoured 
our  bard  :  yet  he  too  tasted  of  human  applause 
— he  enjoyed  its  delights,  an<l  he  knew  the 
trials  that  attend  it.  Which,  think  you,  would 
he  have  lu-eferrcd?    Suen  a  celebration  as  this 


deserve  our  homage  who  has  jjortrayed   the  !  in  his  lifetime,  or  fifty  years  iifter  his  death? 

'Cotter's  Saturda'y  Night' — not  in  strains  of;  1  cannot  doubt  that  he  would  have  preferred 

inecuisiderate  mirth,  but  in  solemnity  and  truth  '  the  posthumous,  because  the  finer  incense. 

— who  breathed  the  patriotic  words  that  tell  I  wouhl  not  even  in  the  presence  of  liis  sons 

of  the  glories  of  our  Wallace,  immortalizing  i>ass  altogether  over  the  father's  faults.     Hut 

alike  the  poet  and  the  Iicro;   he  who  could  surely  they  are  not  to  be  elaborately  dwelt 

draw    ins]iii'ation    from    the    humble    daisy,  upon  in  this  place,  and  upon  an  occasion  like 


breathed  forth  the  heroic  words  of  'The  Song 
of  Death,'  strains  the  incarnation  of  poetry 
and  love,  and  yet  of  the  bitterest  shafts  of 
satire  and  ridicule! — obeying  but  the  hand  of 
nature,despisingalltherulesof  art,  yet  triumph- 


tlie  present.  It  is  consolatory  to  see  how  the 
faults  of  tho.se  whom  the  peoi)le  honour,  grow 
fainter  and  more  faint  in  the  national  memory, 
while  their  virtues  grow  brighter  and  still  more 
bright;  and  if  in  thi.s,  injustice  has  been  done 


ing  over  the  very  rules  he  had  set  at  nought.  |  them — and  who  shall  dare  todeny  that  cruellest 


At  his  name  every  Scottish  heart  lieats  high. 
He  has  liecome  a  household  word  alike  in  the 
palace  and  the  cottage,     of  whom  should  we 


injustice  was  once  done  to  Hurn.s? — the  succeed- 
ing generations  become  more  and  more  chari- 
table to  the  dead,  and  desire  to  repair  the  wrong 


be  proud — to  whom  should  we  pay  homage,  if  !  by  some  profoundcr  homage.    Truly  said,  '  the 

not  to  our  own  immortal  Hums?"  good  which  men  do  It -es  after  them.'     All 

The  great  feature  of  the  banquet  was  the    that  is  etheieal  in  their  being  alone  seems  to 

speech  of  I'rofessor  Wilson  in  introducing  the    survive ;  and,  therefore,  all  our  cherished  me- 


tcast— "  Welcome  to  the  sons  of  Hums."  His 
speech  e.xcited  the  utmost  enthusiasm  through- 
out the  assembly,  its  effect  being  enhanced  by 
the  fervid  style  of  his  delivery,  augmented 
by  the  highly  picturesque  appearance  of  the 


morics  of  our  best  men,  and  liurns  was  among 
our  best,  ought  to  be  invested  witJ!  all  consis- 
tent excellencies ;  for  far  better  do  their  virtues 
instruct  us  by  the  love  which  they  inspire,  than 
ever  could  their  vices  admonish  us.     Burns, 


i":l 


I  .  ,    5» 


I,      ! 


i 


5J:i4 


r.UKNH  FKHTIVAL  ON  THK   JJANKS  OF  THK   DOON. 


wlio,  while  sorely  opprcHHCil  in  hi«  own  KcnerouH 
brcant  hy  the  worwt  of  anxiotie* — the  anxiety 
of  proviiling  tiic  incunH  uf  MubHiHtcncc  to  tiioHu 
of  iiinown  houMchold  und  liix  own  heiirtli — was, 
notwitlirttamlin^,  no  leNH  fititliful  to  tiiut  Huered 
^ift  with  whii'ii  l)y  heaven  lie  hud  been  en- 
dowed. Obedient  tu  the  holy  inMpirution,  he 
ever  nought  it  purely  in  the  paths  of  poverty — 
to  lovj  which  in  indeed  from  heaven.  From 
his  incxhaiiHtiblc  fancy,  warmed  by  the  nun- 
nhinc  of  \m  heart,  even  in  the  thickest  gloom, 
he  strewed  along  the  weary  ways  of  the  worhl 
tlowcrs  so  beautiful,  that  even  to  eyes  that 
weep — thatare  familiar  with  tears — tliey  looked 
us  if  they  were  flowers  dropped  from  heaven. 
Among  mighty  benefactors  to  mankind,  who 
will  deny  that  Robert  Hums  is  entitle<l  to  a 
high  place?  lie  who  reconciled  poverty  to  its 
lot,  who  lightened  the  burden  of  care,  made 
toil  charmed  with  its  very  task-work,  and  almost 
reconciled  grief  to  the  grave ;  who,  by  one  im- 
mortal song  has  sanctified  for  ever  the  i)oor 
man's  cot,  and  by  a  picture  which  genius  alone, 
inspired  by  piety,  could  have  conceived,  a  pic- 
ture so  tender  and  yet  ho  true  of  that  haj)iiy 
night,  that  it  seems  to  pass,  by  some  sweet 
transition,  from  the  working  world  into  that 
liallowed  day  of  (iod's  appointment,  and  made 
to  breathe  a  heavenly  calm — a  holy  serenity. 
Now,  1  hold  that  such  sentiments  as  these 
which  I  have  expressed,  if  they  be  true,  aflbrd 
a. justification  at  once  of  the  character  of  Burns 
— his  moral  and  intellectual  character — that 
l)lacos  him,  beyond  the  possibility  of  detraction, 
amongst  the  highest  order  of  human  beings 
who  have  benefited  their  race  by  the  expression 
of  noble  sentiments  and  glorious  thoughts.  The 
people  of  Scotland  loved  their  great  poet.  They 
loved  him  because  he  loved  his  own  order,  nor 
ever  desired,  for  a  single  hour,  to  quit  it.  Tliey 
loved  him  because  he  loved  the  very  humblest 
condition  of  humanity  so  much,  that  by  his 
connection  he  saw  more  truly,  and  became 
more  distinctly  acquainted  with  what  was  truly 
good,  and  imbued  with  a  spirit  of  love  in  the 
soul  of  a  man.  They  loved  him  for  that  which 
lie  had  sometimes  been,  most  absurdly,  (jucs- 


tioned  for — his  independence,  They  loved  liim 
for  bringing  sunshine  into  il.tik  ]ilaces;  moI  U>r 
representing  the  |ioor  hard-working  man  asim 
object  of  pity — but  for  showing  that  there  wan 
sonietliing  more  than  is  dreame<l  of  in  ilic 
world's  jihilosopliy  among  the  tillers  ol'  ijic 
soil,  and  the  humi)lest  children  of  the  laml." 

Robert  Hums,  junr.,  the  eldest  son  of  the 
poet,  replied  to  the  toast.  In  the  coinx'  nf 
his  speech,  he  said:  "I  am  sure  the  smi^  „( 
Hums  feel  all  that  they  ought  on  an  occa^^ion 
so  gratifying,  on  which  so  nobly  genomus  n 
welcome  has  been  given  tliem  tt)  the  lianks  df 
the  Doon.  Wherever  they  have  gone  they  have 
found  a  reception  prepared  for  them  by  the 
genius  and  fame  of  their  father,  and,  iiiidir 
the  jtrovidcncc  of(iod,  they  owe  to  the  ailiuiriTs 
of  his  genius  all  that  they  have,  and  what  cium- 
petcncies  they  now  enjoy.  W'c  have  no  claiiii 
to  attention  individually — wc  are  all  aware 
that  genius,  and  more  particularly  poetic  genius, 
is  not  hereditary — and  in  this  case  the  nianlle 
of  Klijah  has  not  descended  upon  Klisha.  Tiie 
sons  of  Burns  have  grateful  hearts.  ,id  will 
remember,  as  longasthey  live,  thchonoiiiWiildi 
has  this  <lay  been  conferred  upon  them  liy  liie 
noble  and  the  illustrious  of  our  own  land,  and 
many  generous  and  kind  spirits  from  utlicr 
lands  —  some  from  the  far  West,  a  country 
com[iosed  of  the  great  and  the  free,  and  alto- 
gether a  kindred  peojjle.  Wo  beg  to  return 
our  most  heartfelt  thanks  to  this  nnnienius 
and  highly  respectable  company  for  the  honour 
which  has  been  done  us  this  day."  Anions 
the  other  toasts  were  "The  jioets  of  Knglaiid," 
by  Sir  John  ^I'Neill,  who  paid  a  beautiful 
compliment  to  Wordsworth;  the  "  I'oets  of 
Ireland,"  by  Sheriff filassford  Hell;  the  •'Me- 
mories of  Scott,  Campbell,  and  Byron,"  by  Sir 
Archibald  Alison;  the  "Memories  of  James 
Hogg  and  Allan  Cunningham,"  by  Professor 
Aytoun;  the  "Peasantry  of  Scotland,"  l)y 
Colonel  JIure;  the  "  Land  of  Burns,"  by  Sir 
James  Campbell ;  &c.  &c. 

The  general  crowd  that  had  assembled  to 
take  i)art  in  the  festivities  was  believed  to  have 
numbered  about  50,000  people. 


Tlii-y  loved  liiiu 
■k  iilacfs ;  not  for 
"i-kiiijf  mail  an  an 
"),'  that  tli(i'(Mviu 
•ained  of  ii,  d^ 
lie  tilloix  (if  iii5 
L'll  111'  the  liiliil," 

t'llll'Sl    Mdll    (if    tliQ 

III  the  course  of 
Hure  the  houh  of 
lit  .111  an  O(.'('asioii 
iiolily  fri'iuTouH  a 
in  to  the  lianliK  of 
veKoiie  thuv  Imve 
for  tiicni  liv  the 
tiler,  and,  under 
ivc  to  theadniiriTH 
kc,  and  what  ((nn- 
W'c  liivvc  no  flaiiii 
rtc  are  all  aware 
arlyjioL'tificenitis, 
s  ease  the  mantle 
ipoii  Klinlia.    The 
liearts.    .id  will 
,  tlichoiioii.wiiu'h 
ipon  them  hy  tJie 
nir  own  land,  am! 
pirits  from  other 
West,  a  eoiintry 
lie  free,  and  alto- 
A'o  hei;  to  return 
to  this  niinieroii.s 
my  for  the  honour 
in  (hiy."    AnioiiK 
oetsof  Kiifflaiid," 
paid  a  beautiful 
;    tlic  "  I'oets  of 
1  Hell;  the  "Mc- 
id  Jlyron,"  liy  Sir 
niories  of  .lames 
m,"  by  Professor 
if  Scotland,"    liy 
f  IJurns,"  by  Sir 

ad  assembled  to 
i  believed  to  have 
e. 


CENTKNAUY   iKLKliUATlO.NS. 


CENTENARY   CELEBKATlUNS.  IH.')!). 


230 


Whoever  first  eoneeived  the  thouKlit  of  eele- 
liiatiiiK  the  unnivcrwary  of  Hurns'n  birtii,  eould 
have  formed  Mttlcitlca  of  the  floods  of  L'l()(|ucnee 
anil  enthusiasm  wlii(di  the  institution  he  then 
ontemphited  would  year  after  year  nive  vent  to. 
Since  Jfith  January,  IHOl,  when  Hurns's  bio- 
jtrapher,  the  Ifev.  Ilaniillon  I'aiil,  Win.  Craw- 
ford of  Doonside,  John  Uallantine  of  Ayr,  and 
liobert  .Mtkeii,  liotli  personal  friends  of  Hums, 
and  a  few  others  instituted  the  .\yr  Hums 
Club,  and  held  their  first  mectini?  in  tlio  cot- 
ta!,'e  at  AUoway,  till  the  present  time,  the 
number  of  Hums  elubs  and  similar  assoeiations 
has  iiiercii-ed  to  such  an  extent  that  there  is 
scarcely  a  Scotch  eommunity  in  the  world  but 
has  its  elnb  and  annual  celeliration  on  '2.^itli 
.lanuary.  Though  as  ii  j^eneral  rule  tlicse 
nicetin^s  are  convivial,  and  tliouiih  sometimes 
the  enthusiasm  may  be  due  as  much  to  the 
punch-bowl  as  to  Hurns's  poetry,  yet  at  many 
of  them  the  most  distinguished  men  of  the 
day  have  taken  part — and  done  honour  to  tlie 
"lad"  that  "  was  born  in  Kyle,"  from  pure 
love  ami  admiratron  of  the  man  and  his  work. 
For  instance,  the  Kdinburfrh  celebration  in 
1S19  drew  out  an  array  of  eminent  men  such 
as  is  seUlom  seen  in  any  one  irathering — 
among  the  speakers  beinj?  Scott,  Jeflrey,  Cock- 
burn,  Hofifj,  Wilson,  Hobert  Ainslie,  <ieo. 
Thomson,  &c.  All  previous  celebrations,  how- 
ever, were  eclipsed  by  the  national  commem- 
oration of  the  hundredth  birthday  of  the  poet, 
on  25th  January,  ISf)?,  which  was  a  thinjj;  of  the 
kind  unparalleled.  The  nearest  rescmlilanee 
to  it  previously  was,  perhaps,  the  ,i;ieat  Strat- 
ford Jubilee  of  17(50,  in  which  (larrick  inter- 
ested himself  somuch,  as  the  nearest  approaches 
to  it  since  have  been  the  celebration  of  the 
ter-eentcnary  of  Shakspeare's  birthday  on  23rd 
April,  1864,  and  the  hundredth  anniversary 
of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  birthday  which  was  cele- 
brated in  Angust,  1871.  Hut  despite  the  fact 
that  the  two  formcrof  thesedemonstrations  were 
in  honour  of  the  mighty-minded  Hard  of  Avon, 
and  the  otlier  in  honour  of  the  great  Wizard  of 
the  North,  the  other  fact  remains  that  none 
of  them  were — to  put  it  shortly — a  "succc-    ' 


equal  to  that  im  which  the  nation  united  to  do 
homage  to  the  memory  of  the  peasant  Hard  of 
Ayrshire.     That,  indeed,  was  not  merely  na- 
tional— it  extended  to  every  portion  of  the 
habitable  gloliu  where  the  Knglish  language  is 
spoken— the  festival  being  held  not  in  Scot- 
land alone,    but  in   England,   in   Ireland,   in 
.Vmcrica,  in  India,  Africa,  and  Australia.     It 
may  confidently   be  asserted   that  no  other 
lioet  of  any  time  or  couutrj*  ever  evoked  such 
a  profound,   heartfelt,  and  wide-spread  ex- 
jiressiou   of    love   and    sympathy.      Scotland 
itself  had,  of  course,  by  far  the  greatest  num- 
ber of  celebrations.      A    "  Chroiiiele  "   pub- 
lished during  the  year  liy  James  Hallantine, 
the  poet,  records  C7t)  celebrations  in  Scotland, 
7<)  in  Kngland,  10  in  Ireland,  48  in  the  Colo- 
nies, til  in  America,  and  1   in  Copenhagen, 
but  the  aetual  number  held  would  at  least  be 
twice  as  many.     In   Kdinburgh  the  <lay  was 
kept  as  a  general  holiday.     In  the  evening 
there  were  four  great  puldic  or  open  demon- 
strations, in  the  Music  Hall,  the  Corn   Kx- 
change,  (^ueen  Street  Hall,  and  Dunedin  Hall. 
Ti     most  important  gathering  was  at  the  ban- 
(lut    held  in  the  Musie  Hall,  presided  over,  in 
the  ngretted  absence  of  Lord  Hrougham,  by 
Ijord     \rdmillan,   the  distinguished   Scottish 
judge.     The  chairman — who  used   a  mallet 
made  from  the  wood  of  the  "  winnoek  bunker 
in  the  cast,"  mentioned  in  "  Tam  o'  Shanter," 
and  now  preserved  in  the  Edinburgh  monu- 
ment— was  accompanied  to  the  platform  by 
the  Lord  Provost  (Melville),  the  Lord  Justice- 
Clerk  (Inglis),  Lord  Ivory,  Lord  Neaves,  Ucv. 
])r.  Kobert  Lee,  Mr.  Adam  Hlack,  ^[.P.,  Sir 
Wm.  (iib,son  Craig,  Professor  Hlackie,  ^Ir.  ]). 
().    Hill,    Jfr.    James    Hallantine,    Professor 
Campbell  Swinton.  and  others.    Sheriff  Gordon 
and  Mr.  Hobert  Chambers  acted  as  croupiei-s. 
A  letter  was  sent  by  Lord  Hrougham  to  the 
chairman,  which  dilated  on  the  Scottish  .system 
of  education  and  the  merits  of  the  Scottish 
language,  with  digressions  on  the  dialects  of 
ancient  Greece  and  of  Italy,  but  with  little  or 
no  reference  to  Hums  or  to  the  particular  oc- 
casion.    The  chairman,  in  proposing  the  prin- 


i^l 


n 


r     :!,;! 


r ,:,,  , 


m 


iiiiU 


CENTENAKY  CELEBRATIONS. 


cipal  toast  o*"!  lie  evening,  delivered  an  eloquent  i 
addreiis,  from  wiiich  we  extract  the  following: —  ' 
"Thougli  1  am  deeply  conscious  that  1  shall  : 
most  inaduciuatoly  present  to  you  the  great  ! 
toast  of  this  evening — especially  as  1   am  a  ; 
most  unworthy  substitute  for  the  illustrious  | 
man  whom  we  had  hoped  to  sec  in  the  chair — 
I  shall,  witliout  i)relude,  address  myself  to  the 
sultject  which  lias  evoked  these  simultaneous 
gatherings  in  every  part  of  the  world.     One 
hundred  years  ago,  a  Scottish  peasant,  was  born, 
who  in  his  life  was  first  flatter.;d  and  tempted, 
then  scorned  and  neglected,  by  the  great,  and 
whose  Avorld-wide  fame  now  craves  a  demon- 
stration altogether  without  precedent.     There 
is  a  pretty  impromptu  by  James  Montgom- 
ery— 

Tie  pass'd  throuKli  life's  tcnipcstuons  night, 
A  liiilliaiit  tii'ml)liiiK  .Voithern  Liiilit; 
Tliniuyli  aftt'r  years  lio  sliiiies  from  far 
A  tlx'd  unsuttiiig  Tdlar  .Star. 

To  that  star,  clear  and  bright,  after  the  lapse  of 
a  century — a  glorious  light  and  yet  a  l)eacon 
light^ — all  eyes  are  now  turned.  \o  poet  of 
any  age  or  country  has  obtained  the  same 
position  in  popular  admiration  and  aft'ection  as 
Hums.  Truly  it  is  said  by  Wilson — a  noble 
and  appropriate  eulogist  of  such  a  num — 
'  Hums  was  by  far  the  greatest  poet  who  ever 
sprung  from  the  bosom  of  the  people,  and  lived 
and  died  in  humble  condition.'  As  the  em- 
bodiment of  popular  genius,  the  champion  of 
popular  indejiendeuce,  aiul  the  type  of  pojjular 
elevation,  his  memory — not  the  memory  of  his 
faults  and  his  follies,  but  the  memory  of  liis 
matchless  genius  and  his  noble  spirit — is 
cherisiiod  close  to  the  heart  of  every  Scotti.sh 
man.  In  my  own  county  of  Ayr,  to  my  con- 
nection with  which  I  owe  the  honour  of  my 
present  position,  this  feeling  is  greatly  inten- 
sified. His  memory  there  is  inscribed  on 
every  feature  of  natural  scenery,  and  associated 
with  every  phase  of  domestic  life.  Everything 
there  around  us  is  impressed  by  his  genius  and 
vocal  with  his  name.  We  seem  to  hear  it  in 
the  song  of  every  bird  and  the  murmur  of 
every  stream,  in  the  sough  of  the  night-wind 
that  rocks  the  raven's  nest  at  Alloway  Kirk, 
and  the  rippling  of  the  moon-lit  waves  break- 
ing on  the  coves  of  Culzean;  our  breezes 
whisper,  and  our  rocks  repeat,  all  nature  echoes, 
and  the  heart  of  man  owns  it  with  responsive 


throb.  There  in  a  lowly  cottage,  on  'the 
bank.s  and  braes  o'  bonnic  Doon,'  dwelt  his 
worthy  father — he  who  is  so  touchingly  ami 
beautifully  de.scril)ed  in  'The  Cotter's  Satur- 
day Night,'  as  reading-  to  his  gathered  house- 
hold from  'the  big  ha'  liible,'  and  oll'criui;- 
the  family  prayer,  so  impressive  in  its  simple 
solemnity — 

'J'liat  He,  who  stills  the  raven's  clamorous  nest, 
And  ileelis  tlio  lily  fair  in  llowery  jnide, 

Would,  in  the  way  Jlis  wisdom  sees  the  liest, 
For  them  aiul  for  their  little  ones  proviile; 
liut  ehielly  in  their  hearts  with  grace  divine  preside. 

In  that  cottage  Burns  was  born.  Witiiin  a 
week  of  his  birth  the  'aidd  clay  biiinini;' 
was  partly  blown  over  in  the  night,  and  lio- 
neath  the  midnight  storm  and  howling  wind 
and  flashing  light,  the  infant  poet  and  his 
mother  were  carried  to  a  neighbouring  hovel 
for  protection — meet  ushering  into  life  of  the 
tempest-tossed  .soul  of  Burns — fit  emblem  of 
the  startling  comliination  of  the  wild  and  tlie 
tender,  tiie  terrible  and  the  iiomely,  wiiieli 
swayed  his  heart  and  inspired  his  muse.  Sineo 
.\yrshire  contains  not  merely  the  spot  of  ids 
birth  but  the  scene  of  his  youth  and  his  juinie, 
of  his  sports  and  his  toil,  of  his  loves  and  his 
friendships — the  scene  of  his  nascent  thouirliis 
and  springing  fatuios,  where  his  young  genius 
tried  her  early  wing,  and. 

As  he  walked  in  glory  anil  in  iirido, 
Following  his  plough  upon  tlie  mountain  side, 

his  great  heart  swelled  with  its  high  aspirings 
— amid  such  scenes  an  .\yrshirc  man  may  lie 
forgiven  an  intense  and  peculiar  feeling  on  the 
subject.  But  Burns  belongs  not  to  Ayrshire 
alone,  but  to  Scotland;  and  in  a  sense,  not  to 
Scotland  alone,  but  to  humanity.  In  evoiy 
part  of  the  habitable  world  where  Scottish  en- 
terprise has  penetrated,  aiul  the  Scottish  tonijuc 
is  known,  and  Scottish  hearts  beat  with  nuiidy 
feeling  and  jjatriotic  emotion,  his  works  are 
universally  felt  to  be  a  great  popular  treasure 
— his  famca  great  popular  heritage — his  genius 
a  great  popular  impnlse,  as  it  sheds  gladne>s 
on  the  humble  home,  and  cheers  the  social 
board,  and  inspires  the  dream  of  young  am- 
bition, and  revives  the  couraire  of  sinking  hope. 
To  the  Scottish  peasant  Burns  represents  and 
illustrutes  all  that  lie  i)rizes  most:  his  order 
ennobled;   his  humble  lot  dignified;   his  un- 


ottagc,  on  'tiie 
)oon,'  dwelt  Wu 
toiicliiiigly  and 
Cotter's  Sat  111-. 
,i,"-iit  Iiered  liousc- 
e,'  and  ofleriii!; 
ve  ill  its  simiile 

•laniorons  nest, 
fiy  j)riik', 
iues  tlK'  l)L'»t, 
iiu's  jiiDviilu; 
ULu  (livinu  iiresiilf. 

)oni.      Witiiin  a 

I  (day  biuyiim' 
night,  and  ho. 
id  liowlini;  wind 
lit  poet  and  Ids 
gliljourin^-  hovel 
;•  into  life  of  the 
— fit  onihlcin  of 
the  wild  and  the 

homely,  whieh 
his  muse.  Siiieo 
f  the  si)ot  of  his 

1  and  his  prinie. 
Ids  loves  and  his 
nascent  thoughts 
his  young  genius 

iile, 
iiountain  side, 

Is  hiuh  aspirings 
dre  man  may  he 
ar  feeling  on  the 

not  to  Ayrshire 
n  a  sense,  not  to 
.nity.  Jn  every 
liere  Scottish  en- 
i  Scottish  tongue 
beat  with  manly 
1,  his  works  are 
popular  treasure 
tagc — his  genius 

sheds  gladiu'>s 
lieers  the  social 
ti  of  .young  ain- 
of  sinking  hope. 
s  represents  and 
most:  his  order 
unified;  his  un- 


CENTEXARY  CELEBKATIOXS. 


237 


uttered  aspirations  expressed  in  words  that  .set 
his  heart  on  fire;  his  country  honoured  by  the 
1,'enius  (d"  the  cottage-born,  lint  there  have 
lieen  other  pcasant-banls;  and  it  is  not  alone 
to  his  humble  birth,  his  ri-ral  toils,  and  his 
Sroltisli  dialect,  that  the  name  of  Burns  owes 
iis  popiUar  spell.  'IMie  true  power  of  the  charm 
lies  in  three  iiualities,  characteristic  alike  of 
the  man  and  of  his  poetry — sensibility,  sim- 
jilicity,  anil  reality.  He  was  the  poet  not  of 
tietioii  but  of  trutii.  His  Joys  and  tears,  his 
jiassion  ami  his  pathos,  his  love  and  his  pride, 
tiie  reckless  mirth  of  liis  jovial  hours,  and  the 
reuinisefiil  sadness  of  his  subsc(iuent  reflections 
— all  are  real — tiie  product  not  of  his  fancy, 
lint  of  his  experience;  and  as  he  clothes  in 
Imguage  of  modest  and  nervous  simplicity  his 
natural  and  earnest  thoughts,  his  words  find 
an  echo  in  the  heart.  I'nder  all  the  forms  of 
atreetatioii,  whether  it  be  of  thought,  or  fancy, 
(II-  t'eelinu',  or  style,  the  charm  of  poetry  breaks 
and  the  power  of  genius  withers;  and  of  all 
tnic  poetry  the  ins]iiration  should  be  drawn, 
like  that  of  Burns,  fresh,  dear,  and  gushing, 
from  the  fountains  of  natural  thought  and 
feeling.  i5urns  was  no  mere  song-writer. 
Had  he  never  written  a  song,  his  poems  would 
have  made  him  immortal;  had  he  writtenau  jpic 
or  dramatic  poem,-  the  author  of  •  The  Cott  jr'.s 
Saturday  Xiglit'  and  of  'Tani  o'  Sliaiter' 
ciinld  not  have  failed;  and  in  any  view  he  iinst 
rank,  not  merely  as  the  grcatc-'  poet  of  Inuiible 
station,  but  as  one  of  tlie  greate>t  p'^^is  whom 
tiie  world  has  produced.  In  my  humble  opin- 
ion there  is  more  genius  in  Burns's  .songs  than 
in  volumes  of  our  modern  poetry.  Sometimes 
in  siildimity,  sometimes  in  pathos,  s(jmctiines 
in  graphic  description,  sometimes  in  elevated 
.sentiment,  sometimes  in  exi|uisito  linniour, 
and  always  in  tender  and  passionate  cinntion. 
ISiirns  i>witliout  arival.  Let  petty  fault-finders 
and  carpinir  cavillers  object  ;is  they  may — the 
true  test  of  the  ]iower  of  Burns's  poetry  is,  that, 
like  what  i.  recorded  of  bis  society,  criticism 
is  disarmed  l)y  intense  emotional  impression. 
There  are  dee])  -priiiLrs  in  the  human  heart, 
often  covered  and  bidden  by  the  rubbisl'  and 
ili'liris  wliicli  the  tide  of  life  deposits  as  it  rolls 
aloiiir;  other  poets  pass  over  the  surface  and 
pierce  not  the  interposed  earthiness,  but  these 
hidden  springs  are  stirred  by  the  power  of  a 
s|urit  like  Burns,  and  nature,  evoked  from  her 


deep  and  rarely-reached  recesses,  owns  the 
touch  of  a  master-spirit,  and  bursts  forth  re- 
sponsive to  the  call  of  true  genius.  1  should 
trespass  too  long  on  your  time  if  1  once  began 
to  (|uotc  in  illustration  of  this  peculiar  char- 
acter of  Burns's  poetry.  What  heart  does  not 
feel  that  'The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night,' 
'The  Vision,'  'The  Lament,'  and  the  atl- 
dress  'To  .Mary  in  Heaven,'  with  others  too 
numerous  to  mention,  are  poems  of  the  rarest 
and  highest  order';  What  can  be  finer,  wild 
and  startling  as  it  i.s,  than  the  "Address  to  the 
Deil,"  and  tlie  picture  of  the  great  enemy  as 

Wliyli's  ranging  like  a  roiiriiig  lion, 
l''or  piey  ii'  holes  ami  coi-iiurs  trjin'; 
Wliylus  on  the  sti'Diig-wiin;  il  teiupe.st  llyin  , 

Tiilin'  the  kirks; 
Whyles  in  the  huiiian  tiusuni  piyiii', 

I  iiseeii  thuii  lurksl 

'Taiii  o'  Shanter,'  to  any  one  well  acquainted 
with  the  Scottish  dialect,  i-  magnificent.  It 
is  .scarcely  possible  to  refrain  from  ([noting; 
but  1  must  forbear.  Notwithstandiim  the 
supernatural  ingredients  so  admirably  wrought 
into  the  tale,  it  has  all  Uie  air  of  a  reality. 
Every  Scotsman,  especially  every  Ayrshire- 
man,  with  a  mind  above  the  clods  of  the  val- 
ley, can  dose  his  vision  on  existiui^  objects, 
and  in  his  mind's  eye  can  see  Tain,  and  the 
Souter,  and  the  landlady,  and  the  parting 
ciii>,  and  the  ride  in  the  storm  the  anld  haunted 
kirk,  the  aicnniulalod  lionors  on  the  table, 
the  dance  of  witclio  \>>  the  unearthly  music  of 
the  demon-piiicr  on  the  bunker,  the  furious 
rush  of  the  startled  legion  with  Cutty-sark  at 
their  head,  the  crisis  of  Tarn's  fate  at  the  key- 
stane  of  il  ■  brig,  and  the  gray  mare  skclping 
liamc  wiilioiit  her  tail!  In  the  midst  of  this 
wild  description,  where  horror  and  humour 
jirevail  by  turns,  Innv  beautifully  is  the  vanity 
of  earthly  pleasure  touched  off: — 

But  pleasures  are  like  poppies  siu'ead. 
You  .seize  the  tlowcr.  its  liloom  is  slieil; 
(ii-  like  the  snow-fall  iii  the  liver, 
A  iiioiiient  white— then  melts  fur  ever. 
Or  like  the  lioioalis  race, 
That  Hit  ere  yon  eiiii  jioint  their  place; 
Or  like  the  raiiiliciw's  h.vely  form, 
Evaiiisliiiii;  amid  the  storm. 

But  wonderful  as  'Tam  o'  Shanter'  is,  our 
admiration  is  increased  by  the  extraordinary 
fact  that  the  whole  poem  was  written,  not  in 
Ayrshire,  where  he  was  in  the  midst  of  the 


23« 


CENTENARY  CELEBKATION S. 


\  m ' 


scenes,  but  at  Ellisland,  and  between  break- 
fast and  s\uiset  of  one  day.  Among  the  many 
specimens  of  tlie  broad  and  hearty  humour  of 
liurns,  1  may  mention  'Meg  o'  the  Mill,' 
'Tarn  Glen,'  'JJeath  and  Dr.  Hornbook,' 
where  rare  caustic  humour  alternates  witli  a 
power  almost  sublime;  and  'Hallowe'en,' 
where  the  rustic  sports  of  that  now  almost  for- 
gotten festivity  are  charmingly  described. 
TI  nk  of  the  adventure  of  'Fechtiu'  Jamie 
Fleck,' 

Who  whistled  up  Lord  Lennox'  inarch 

To  keep  liis  courage  clieerie; 
Although  his  hair  began  to  arch, 

He  was  sau  Hej'd  and  eeiie; 
Till  presently  he  hears  a  Hi|\ieak, 

An'  then  a  gnme  and  grnntle, 
He  liy  his  shouthtr  gi'ed  a  keek, 

An'  tumbled  wi'  a  wintle 

Out-owre  that  night. 

[Te  roar  (1  a  horrid  murder  shout 

In  dnadfn'  desjierationl 
And  young  aiul  auld  came  rinnin'  out, 

Ti>  heai'  the  sad  nai\'ation; 
He  swore  'twas  hikbin  .lean  M'Craw 

Or  erouthin'  Meiian  Hnmiihie, 
rill,  stoii!— she  trotted  through  them  a'; 

An'  wha  was  it  Ijut  (irumphie, 
Asteer  that  night! 

Or  call  to  mind  the  scaring  of  Leezic  on  tiie 
l)rae — a  sketch  in  which  the  graphic  and 
humorous  spirit  is  relieved  by  a  bit  of  ex(iui- 
sitcly  beautiful  description: — 

A  wanton  widow  Leezie  was, 

As  canty  as  a  kittlin'; 
lint,  oclil  tliat  night,  amang  the  shaws, 

She  got  a  fearfn'  settlin  ! 
She  throngli  the  whins,  and  liy  tlie  eairn, 

And  ower  tlie  bill  gaeil  serievin  , 
Wliere  three  lairds'  lands  meet  at  a  l)urn, 

To  dip  her  left  sark  sleeve  in. 

Was  lient  that  niglit. 

Whyles  f>wer  a  linn  the  burnie  jilays,  i 

As  throngli  the  glen  it  vvim])!  t. 
Wliyles  r<iunii  a  rocky  scaur  it  strays;  I 

Wliyles  in  a  wiel  it  diiiiiiVt; 
Wliyles  glitter'd  to  the  nightly  rays 

Wi'  bickering,  dancing  dazzle; 
Whjh's  cookit  underneath  the  braes, 

Below  the  spreading  hazel. 

Unseen  that  night. 

.\niang  the  brackens,  (Ml  the  brae, 

IJetween  her  and  the  moon, 
The  deil — or  else  an  outler  iiuey 

(i;\t  up  an'  gac  a  croon: 
Pnii  Leezie  s  heart  niaist  laji  the  hool, 

Near  lav  rock  height  she  juinpit; 
Itut  niiss'd  a  tit,  and  in  the  jiocd 

Out-ower  the  lugs  she  iiluniiiit, 

Wi'  a  plunge  that  night. 


Or  what  say  you  to  his  epigram  on  a  certain 
lawyer? — 

He  cleneh'd  his  pamphlets  in  his  list, 

He  (luoted  and  he  hinted. 
Till  in  a  deelanintiun-mist. 

His  argument  he  tint  it: 
He  gajied  fort,  he  graped  fort. 

He  fand  it  was  uwa',  man, 
Hut  what  his  eomnionsense  cam'  short, 

He  eked  it  out  wi'  law,  man. 

I  cannot  pause  to  give  specimens  of  the  ten- 
der and  passionate  poet  ry  of  Uurns.  11  is  songs 
abouiul  in  stanzas  of  surpassing  l)cauty,  chiefly 
inspired  liy  his  love  to  Bonnie  .lean,  iiis  good 
and  faithful  wife — a  love  which  was,  1  think, 
his  deepest  and  tendcrcst  feeling.  His  fainou-; 
lines  said  to  be  addressed  to  C'larinda,  tnil 
containing  the  stanza  adopted  by  Byron  a-  ihe 
motto  of  t  he  '  Bride  of  Abydos, ' 

Had  we  never  loved  so  kindly. 
Had  We  never  loved  so  blindly, 
Never  met.  or  never  jiartcd, 
We  had  ne  er  been  brokenhearted, 

were  not,  I  liclievc,  meant  for  t'ljuinda,  but 
for  Bonnie  .lean,  whose  image  was  never  long 
absent  from  his  heart.  He  walks  by  the  Imni- 
side  at  night,  and  sings — 

As  in  the  bosom  of  the  stream, 
The  niooiibeam  dwells  at  dewy  e'en. 

.So  trembling,  pure,  is  tender  love 
Within  the  breast  of  lioiuiie  .lean. 

He  plods  his  way  across  the  hills  from  Kllis- 
land  to  Mo.ssgiel,  and  love  prompts  the  cliarin- 
ing  song  to  .lean,  'Of  a'  the  airts  the  wind 
can  i)law.'  When  Lapraik's  verses  are  >ciii 
him,  his  heart  chooses — 

There  was  ae  sang  amang  the  rest 
Aboon  tbeni  a'  it  iilea-^cil  me  best, 
I'liat  some  kind  liiisbiind  had  a<ldresscl 

To  some  sweet  wife; 
It  tlirill'd  the  heart-strings  through  the  breast. 

A'  to  the  life. 

He  sees  in  I'ancy  tiie  (icniii-  of  Coila,  and  .)cun 
recurs  to  his  mind  as  alone  rivalling  the  celes- 
tial visitant — 

flown  flow  d  her  robe — a  tartan  sheen, 
'I'ill  half  a  leg  was  s<rimiily  seen, 
.\nd  such  a  leg-   my  boniiie  .lean 

Alane  could  peer  it; 
Sae  straight  ami  taper,  tight  ami  clean. 

Nane  else  came  near  it. 

.\nd  then,  witii  all  his  liigli  aspiriiiiis.  and  all 
his  love  for  social  pleasures  and  even  social 
excesses,  where  does  he  jdace  the  .scene  of  liis 
highest  duties  and  his  dearest  joys? 


iin  on  a  ccitiiia 


his  flst, 


•t, 

L'niii'  short, 
1. 

icns  of  tlio  tcii- 
iriis.    llissdiiL's 

beauty,  cliiffly 

.Ifiui,  his  gdiid 

li  »iis,  I  think. 

11?.    His  fiiiiKiii- 

ClnriiKJa.  nl 
by  IJyron  a>  iho 

incllv, 
liiitiiv, 
tcil, 

ll-lu'Hltl'(l, 

ir  t'lariiida,  iiut 
'  was  never  Imii: 
lies  1)V  tlic  burn- 


pail'., 

t  (li'wy  c'l'ii. 
U'r  IdVL' 
luiiu  .Ifaii. 

hills  from  Mlli-- 
nipts  the  cliaiiii- 
;  airts  tlie  wiinl 
verses  arc  .-out 


I'l'St 
ll'St, 

idih'css'il 

[■oufili  thi'  lirisLSt. 

'  (Aiila,  ami  .b'a!i 
"ailing  ilie  eek'>- 


11  sheen, 

en, 
an 

iicl  (-loan. 


spiniiii's.  and  all 
and  even  sneial 
the  scene  of  his 
joys? 


CENTENARY  CELEBRATIONS. 


239 


To  make  a  happy  fireside  clime, 

For  weans  and  wife, 
That's  the  true  patlios  and  sublime 

Of  liiiman  life. 

Had  this  man  not  a  heart,  and  a  heart  with 
some  rare  (lualitics — sen.sitive,  passionate,  and 
tender?  I  believe  that,  next  to  the  blessing 
of  a  conscience  divinely  enlightened,  and 
divinely  cleared,  the  greatest  happiness  per- 
mitted to  man  in  this  life  is  the  happiness  of 
loving  and  being  beloved.  The  heart  is  the 
true  spring  of  liappiness,  as  Burns  himself  well 
says — 

It's  no  in  titles  nor  in  rank. 

It's  no  in  wenltli  liko  I.unnon  bank 

To  ])Uielia.se  ])eaic  and  rest. 
It's  no  in  books,  it  .s  mi  in  lair. 
It's  no  in  inakiiiK  miekle  niair. 

To  make  us  truly  Iplest. 
If  liapipiiiess  have  not  her  seat 

.Anil  eentre  in  tlie  breast. 
We  may  lie  wise,  or  rieli,  or  great, 

Wi'  iu'VlM'  can  be  blest. 
Nae  tieasnies,  nae  jilca-sures 

Can  make  us  liaj^pv  lan^;: 
Tlie  la-art  aye's  tlic  part  aye 

That  makes  us  risjht  or  wran;;. 

( >f  tlie  moral  character  of  Hums  I  must  .say  a 
word.  iiCt  me  not  be  misunderstood.  1  am 
no  hero-worshipper,  no  umiualificd  eulogist  of 
Hums.  I  protest  against  the  thought  that  for 
what  is  morally  v.'tong  an  excuse  can  be  found 
ill  the  rarest  talents;  and  deeply  should  I  re- 
gret if  any  word  fell  from  me  tending  to  lower 
the  standard  of  character,  or  loosen  the  oliliga- 
tions  of  religion  and  morality.  There  are  few 
sadder  subjects  of  contemplation  than  a  noble 
generous  spirit  like  that  of  Hums,  manly,  ten- 
der, and  true,  full  of  the  love  of  nature,  of 
country,  ami  of  liberty,  yet  lloatiiig  rudderless 
and  helpless  on  the  tide  of  life,  till  dashed  on 
the  fatal  rocks  which  have  wrecked  so  many 
of  his  countrymen.  His  lot,  indeed,  was  cast 
(111  evil  times.  'I'lie  tone  of  morality  in  Ins 
day  was  not  pure  or  high;  the  tone  of  religion 
was  cold,  and  hard,  and  low.  To  the  prevail- 
ing devotion  of  his  day,  generally  cold,  fre- 
quently ascetic,  sometimes  hypocritical,  there 
was anantagoiiism  in  Murns's nature,  (Jenuine, 
practical,  and  loving  piety  might  liav^;  charmed 
and  won  him.  If,  inHtead  of  the  stern  or  the 
cold  preachers  who  repelled  his  feelings  and 
sliiiiulatcd  his  opposition,  llicrc  had  met  IJunis 
a  pastor  in  whose  large  and  genial  heart  dwells 
love  and  ttympathy  as  well  as  faithfrlnc- .,  who, 


true  to  his  own  convictions,  recognizes  in  others 
the  rights  of  conscience,  who.se  preaching  and 
whose  life  present  religion  in  her  most  attrac- 
tive aspect,  and  who.se  imperi.shable  i  "'norial 
will  be  read  in  the  statistics  of  ished 

crime,  in  the  testimony  of  reclaimed  c.  Idren, 
and  in  the  records  of  converted  souls,  who  can 
tell  what  impression  might  have  been  made  on 
him?  He  was  not  so  fortunate.  To  him  was 
rarely  presented  the  instructive  illustration  of 
the  influence  of  true  religion  on  human 
character.  That  influence  comes  in  no  harsh 
or  ascetic  spirit,  it  diverts  no  noble  aim,  it  ex- 
timjiiishes  no  honourable  ambition,  it  (lueiiches 
no  pure  fire  of  geniu.s,  no  flame  of  virtuous 
love,  no  generous  .sentiment  or  kindly  feeling; 
but,  entering  with  searching  power  into  the 
iieart,  out  of  which  arc  the  issues  of  life,  it 
expels  from  the  'dome  of  thought'  and  the 
fountain  of  feeling  the  dark  spirits  of  evil,  it 
raises  man  to  liis  true  dignity,  and  directs  his 
faculties  to  their  appropriate  aims.  We  must 
dejilore  and  condemn  much  in  the  diaractcr 
and  in  the  writings  of  Burns;  wc  must  laiucnl 
tliat  the  spl'-it  in  whicli  he  wrote  the  -Cotter's 
Saturday  Night'  did  not  always  prompt  his 
))en  or  guide  his  life;  but  there  was  much  to 
deplore  in  the  character  of  the  times  in  which 
he  lived.  Time  has  not  pa.s.sed  in  vain  over 
the  influence  of  Burns.  As  a  mountain  torrent, 
depositing  its  earthiiie.ss  as  it  flows,  comes  after 
a  long  course  to  reflect  the  face  of  heaven  on 
its  bosom,  time  has  cleared  and  mellowed  the 
influence  of  Bums — like  an  old  and  rich  wine, 
the  coarse  and  impure  jiarticlcs  have  sulisidcd, 
and  wc  now  rejoice  only  in  the  pure  and  gen- 
erous qualities  whicli  remain.  I  do  not  seek 
to  disguise  or  to  palliate  his  faults — but  who 
among  us  is  without  faults?  Charity,  whicli 
liopeth  all  things  and  thinkcth  no  evil,  ought 
to  lie  our  monitor.  Let  us  'gently  scan  our 
brother  man' — let  us  judge  ourselves  severely, 
and  others  leniently — let  us  gather  the  good 
we  can,  though  it  be  intermingled  with  evil — 
let  us  use  aright  the  more  favourable  appliances 
which  surround  us — let  ns  strive  ourselves  to 
cultivate  a  purci'  morality,  and  adorn  by  onr 
lives  a  sounder  religious  profession;  but  let  us 
admire  in  Burns  whatever  is  worthy  of  admir- 
ation, and  lioiiour  his  genius  as  it  deserves. 
Tho.se  who  object  to  this  dcmonstrati'ii  must 
remember  that  tlie  power  of  Burns  over  the 


P  ;>l 


it  I 


Y 


w 


III  i 


I 


'\i 


HI 


5 

'   f    ' 


1   l 


240 


CENTENARY  CELEBKATIONS. 


t  " 


popular  mind  of  Scotland  is  a  great  fact  which 
cannot  lie  ignored.  Uurns  has  lived,  and  has 
written,  and  liiis  a  liold  upon  the  heart  of  Scot- 
land. It  is  well  to  qualify  our  prai.ses,  and  to 
inculcate  the  warning  lessons  of  his  life.  IJut 
surely  it  is  not  the  part  of  wisdom  or  of  virtue 
so  to  repudiate  such  a  man  as  to  consign  to  the 
cause  and  the  friends  of  mischief  a  name  and 
fame  so  attractive  and  so  potent.  Let  us  rather 
deal  with  the  power  of  Burns's  name  as  .science 
has  dealt  with  the  electric  element.  Science 
has  not  stood  afar  off,  scared  by  each  flash, 
mourning  each  shivered  tower;  science  has 
caught  and  purified  the  power,  and  chained  it 
to  the  car  of  conimcrcc  and  the  chariot  of  l)ene- 
ticence,  and  applied  it  to  the  noble  purpose  of 
consolidating  humanity — uniting  all  the  world 
by  the  interchange  of  thought  and  feeling. 
On  this  day  IJurns  is  to  us,  not  the  memory  of 
a  departed,  but  the  presence  of  a  living  power 
— the  electric  chain  which  knits  the  hearts  of 
Scotsmen  in  every  part  of  the  world,  stirring 
us  not  only  to  admiration  of  the  poet's  genius, 
but  to  the  love  of  country,  of  liberty,  and  of 
home,  and  of  all  things  beautiful  and  good. 
Therefore,  I  call  on  you  to  i)Iedge  me,  not  in 
solemn  silence,  but  with  our  heartiest  honours, 
to  'The  Immortal  Uoltcrt  Hums.'" 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  chairman's  speech 
Afr.  James  Baliantine  read  a  poetical  address 
composed  by  himself  for  the  occasion. 

The  genial  Lord  Neaves,  in  pro])osing  "The 
Biographers  of  liurns,  and  Mr.  Itoltert  Cham- 
bers," said — "  It  has  been  said  that  a  hero  is 
nothing  without  a  jjoet  to  colcljrate  his  achieve- 
ments; and  it  may  be  a<'  '■  '  that  a  poet  is  not 
wholly  himself  without  a  i  io'jri'anher  to  lOm- 
memorato  his  character  and  co;(d;i(i.  So.n< 
poets  there  may  have  been  so  fortunate  as  to 
afford  few  materials  for  i/iotoiphy— 'vjio,  blest 
with  a  decent  compet  incc  auvl  e\*cmpt.  iroiu 
violent  passions,  have  rcur  :l  <  tb>;  Michnlcd 
contcmj)lation  of  nature,  oi'  iiuve  l^>o|.:r,d  -.1  c'lc 
world  through  the  Iooj)lniles  o\  '^i  ne  i'  ;lm  re- 
treat where  they  miirht  l)eliold  tin:  [)er  )^  C(  fjfo 
without  partaking  of  them — 

Witli  friendly  stars  tlicir  safety  -.otx, 
Witliiii  sdiiR'  littk'  wiiiiliiiy:  creek, 

And  see  tin;  stnrni  ii.sliore. 

But  with  those  who  are  cast  fortli  upon  the 
billows  and  breakers  of  human  existence,  who, 
with  feelings  as  (|uick  and  i)assions  as  power- 


ful as  their  genius,  are  exposed  to  all  the  trials 
and  temptations  that  flesh  is  heir  to;  aijove 
all,  with  those  who,  with  manly  souls  and  gciiiuj 
dispositions,  have  known  the  heights  and  liol- 
lows  of  worldly  fortunes,  the  task  of  the  bio- 
grapher is  nece.s.sary  not  only  to  make  us  know 
the  poet,  but  to  make  us  know  his  iioenis. 
With  all  its  imperfections,  there  is  no  literary 
work  more  delightful  than  Johnson's  Lives, 
and  there  has  seldom  been  a  life  more  deserv- 
ing of  commemoration  than  that  of  the  great 
man  in  whose  honour  we  are  now  met.  I  sluill 
not  attempt  to  enumerate  all  his  biograjilu  rs, 
for  their  name  is  Legion.  I  shall  select  four 
names  out  of  the  list  as  specially  descrvinu: 
notice.  The  .services  of  Dr.  James  Currlc.  as 
the  first  great  biograjthcr  of  Burns,  were  nearly 
as  valuable  as  they  were  meritorious  and  dis- 
interested. I  do  not  enter  on  the  controversy 
whether  Currie  was  too  forward  to  do  what 
another  great  man  forbade — 

To  draw  his  frailties  from  their  dread  abode, 
The  bosom  of  his  father  and  his  God. 

If  he  erred  in  this  respect,  it  was  not  througli 
want  of  charity  or  from  bad  intention;  and  aii\ 
accusations  there  admitted  have  since  been 
answered  by  anxious  and  am|)le  vindications, 
which  have  enabled  the  cooler  hands  of  our  own 
days  to  hold  the  balance  impartially.  \Vc 
now  know  the  man  as  he  was,  with  many 
errors  that  in  him  were  unhappy,  and  in  us 
would  be  unpardonable,  but  with  virtues  at  the 
same  time  that  far  outweigh  all  his  faidts. 
lint  Currie  was  especially  useful  in  helping 
iiicn  to  form  a  true  estimate  of  Burns's  uenius 
and  works.  Even  in  Scotland,  Burns  was  thou 
imperfectly  appreciated.  ]5ut  in  Kntrland  he 
needed  an  interpreter  to  introduce  him.  Currie 
(I'schargcd  tlutt  office  successfully,  ami  thereby 
it  once  did  '.Miour  to  the  Scottish  name,  and 
rendered  good  service  to  Hn,<;lish  literatiiro. 
Towards  tlu  end  of  the  last  century  there 
scorned  at  )nc  time  a  great  risk  that  all 
n  .inly  and  noble  poetry  would  be  extinct.  By 
the  influence  of  some  silly  women,  and  .some 
iillier  men,  a  school  arose  uiuler  the  luime  of 
the  Delia  Crnscan,  of  the  most  sickly  and  .sense- 
less .sentimentalitv;  while,  oil  the  other  hand, 
a  return  to  the  old  style  of  Pope  and  Dryden 
was  hopeless.  At  this  juncture  there  aro-<e 
two  men  especially  qualified  to  regenerate  the 


to  all  the  triiils 

lieir  to;  iiijove 

souls  and  genial 

leights  ami  hoi. 

tusk  of  the  liii). 

0  make  us  know 

low  his  pocnis. 

re  is  m)  literary 

ohnson's   Lives, 

ifu  more  dosorv- 

hat  of  the  great 

ow  met.     1  shall 

his  biograiiliers, 

ihall  select  four 

eially  dcservin!? 

ames  Currie,  as 

irns,  were  nearly 

torious  and  dis- 

;  the  controversy 

ard  to  do  what 

ir  dread  abotlo, 
is  God. 

was  not  through 
tention;  and  any 
have  since  lieen 
pie  vindications, 
hands  of  our  own 
nii)artially.  We 
was,  with  many 
appy,  and  in  us 
ith  virtues  at  the 
1  all  his  faults. 
<eful  in  helping 
if  Hnrns's  genius 

Hums  was  then 
^  in  Kmrland  lie 
ui'chini.  (.'urrie 
dly,  and  tlierchy 
ittish  name,  and 
glish  literature. 
t  century  there 
t  risk    that   all 

he  extinct,  liy 
)men.  and  some 
ler  the  name  of 
iickly  and  sense- 
the  other  hand, 
)pe  and  Dryden 
urc  there  arose 
)  regenerate  the 


CENTENARY   CEIiEBRATIOXS. 


241 


public  taste,  and  give  it  a  truer  and  firmer 
tun'!  than  it  had  long  e.xhiliited.  Cowper 
published  his"  'Task'  in  178.'),  and  in  1786 
there  appeared  in  the  obscure  town  of  Ivilniar- 
nock  a  volume  of  '  I'oems  chiefly  in  the  Scot- 
tish Dialect,'  which  needed  only  to  be  known 
in  order  to  be  admired.  These  two  men  were 
very  (litl'erent,  and  were  suited  to  reach  very 
(liHercnt  minds;  lint  they  agreed  in  tins,  that 
they  were  men  of  manly  intellects  and  noble 
hearts,  and  it  was  impossible  that  where  their 
poetry  could  penetrate  there  could  he  any 
room  for  afl'ectation  or  imposture.  The  ditl'u- 
sion  of  a  relish  for  liurns  was  in  this  way  a 
safeguard  against  fal.sc  taste,  and  a  preparation 
for  whatever  of  genuine  nature  or  feeling  we 
have  since  welcomed  in  the  i)oetry  of  the 
present  century.  Xor  would  it,  perhaps,  be 
a  had  tiling  if  some  of  the  poets  of  the  ])rescnt 
day  would  revert  to  those  models,  and  imitate, 
without  copying,  the  native  force  and  straiglit- 
fiirward  sim]dicity — the  intelligible  feelings 
and  the  trans]»areiit  diction — by  which  they 
are  so  eniineiitly  characterized.  It  should 
never  he  forgotten  as  to  Currie,  that  while  he 
devoted  to  his  friendly  task  the  time  and 
sirengih  which  might  have  been  occupied  in 
his  jirofess;":.,  lie  generously  gave  up  to  Hurns's 
family  the  whole  profit — a  very  considerable 
sum — which  was  thus  realized.  The  next 
names  I  shall  couple  tngetlier— Lockhart  and 
Wilson — have  both  done  Justice  to  our  great 
l)ard;  and  the  eulogy  of  Wilson  is  one  of  the 
noblest  pieces  of  criticism  in  the  language. 
These  men,  adorned  with  all  the  learning  of 
classical  studies,  and  accomplished  in  all  the 
arts  that  confer  literary  skill,  recognized  fully, 
by  an  instinctive  sympathv,  the  merits  of  him 
who  had  'followed  his  plough  upon  the  moun- 
tain side;'  and  they  gave  him  their  admiration, 
not  as  a  sentiment  of  relative  wonder  due  to  a 
show  or  a  ]irodigy,  having  reference  to  his 
origin  and  position,  but  as  a  tribute  of  just 
jtraise  to  an  e(|ual — to  one  who,  in  his  own 
(lei>artment,  was  absolutely  and  abstractly, 
lioth  in  sentiment  and  in  expression,  an  un- 
rivalled master  of  his  art.  1  now  come  to  the 
last  of  the  list — one  who.  in  (dosing  the  j)ro- 
cossiou,  has  done  his  work  so  fully  and  so  ex- 
haustively, that  he  seems  to  have  made  it 
impossible  than  lie  can  have  a  successor.  Our 
friend  and  fellow-citizen,  Mr.   Robert  Cham- 


bers, has  brought  to  liear  on  this  task  that 
power  of  industry  and  skill  of  research  wliicii 
in  otlier  departments,  and  particularly  in  tlie 
.Vutitjuities  and  in  the  domestic  Annals  of 
Scotland,  have  rendered  such  services  to  his 
country.  In  prei>aring  his  Life  of  Hums, 
every  source  of  information  has  been  visited, 
every  track  that  promised  any  advantage  has 
been  followed  uji,  every  documeiii,  has  been 
collected  that  could  thro\.-  a  ray  of  light  on  the 
truth.  We  have  thus,  J  think,  a  perfect  his- 
tory and  representation  of  the  man,  while  the 
occasion  and  motive  ot  all  his  poems  have  been 
admirably  illustrated.  To  .Mr.  Chambers  we 
thus  owe  a  full  and  final  development  of  the 
truth  (as  to  Hums),  and  we  can  there  learn 
the  lesson  to  avoid  his  errors,  to  ailinire  liis 
virtues,  and  to  cherish,  as  we  now  .seek  to  do, 
the  memory  of  his  genius.  I  ought  to  add  that 
Chaniber.s,  like  Currie,  has  literally  made  his 
work  a  labour  of  love,  and  generously  surren- 
dered the  profits  of  his  great  exert  ions  in  [iro- 
mote  the  comfort  of  those  of  Hurns's  surviving 
relatives  who  needed  a.ssistaiiec. " 

y\r.  Kobert  Chambers,  in  returning  thanks, 
said  that  he  must  attribute  his  having  entered 
into  the  same  field  with  such  men  as  Currie, 
Wilson,  and  Lockhart,  to  Hums  himself,  and 
to  the  public,  because  there  was  no  name  in 
tlic  past  which  he  had  been  accustomed  to  re- 
gard with  so  much  veneration  and  love  as  that 
of  Jvobert  Hums.  In  his  (Mr.  Chamiiers's) 
early  days,  liurns  was  in  the  jiosition  of  Sliak- 
speare  in  the  days  of  Rowc  and  I'ojie;  but  since 
then  men  had  learned  to  a))preciate  his  work.s 
more  thoroughly  and  to  take  greater  interest 
ill  the  incidents  of  his  life.  That  was  the 
reason  that  had  led  him  to  look  more  narrowly 
into  the  life  of  Hums,  and  to  prepare  his  bio- 
graphy of  the  poet.  If,  In  executing  that  book, 
he  .should  have  gratified  the  curiosity  of  the 
present  or  of  any  future  generation,  he  should 
be  amply  rewarded  for  his  laborious  days  and 
nights. 

The  chairman,  in  the  absence  of  the  Dean 
of  Faculty  (J.  Moncriefi;  M.l'.,  LL.l).,  after- 
wards liord  ^toncrieft"),  proposed  the  toast  of 
"The  Peasantry  of  Scotland."  Not  being 
able  to  find  any  or„  to  undertake  that  toast, 
he  would  venture,  he  said,  to  do  so  himself. 
lie  therefore  proposed  the  fountain  from  which 
the  .stream  flowed  in  which  they  were  all  re- 


HJ 


M 


•242 


CENTENARY  CELEBRATIONS. 


1:1 


y\i 


■    i 

'• 

If 

1 

i      )   ' 

f 

1 

i  i\ 

Ij 

1 

T 

joicing.  The  influence  of  Burna's  poetry  on 
the  people  of  Scotland  subsisted  at  tliat  moment; 
it  att'ected  tlicm  in  their  liome.s;  it  affected  them 
in  tlieir  pulilic  .iratiierings;  it  affected  the  heart 
and  mind  of  tiie  people  of  Scotland;  and  not  of 
Scotland  only,  but  of  the  whole  world  at  that 
day.  lie  thought  that  it  could  be  nothing  but 
a  generous,  jiobie,  and  virtuous  sentiment 
which  came  so  home  to  the  hearts  of  men  in 
every  stage  of  their  lives  and  in  every  part  of 
the  globe.  Therefore,  with  very  warm  wishes 
for  the  prosperity,  advancement,  advantage, 
and  elevation  of  the  peasantry  of  Scotland,  he 
proposed  their  health.  No  good  could  befall 
tluMU  they  did  not  wish  them;  no  good  could 
hapi^cn  to  them  they  did  not  deserve;  no  good 
coulil  be  thuir  lot  which  Burns  would  not  have 
desired;  no  good  could  be  theirs  which,  on  this 
hundredth  anniversary  of  Burns's  birth,  they 
did  I'ot  earnestly  and  with  their  whole  hearts 
wish  for  them,  lie  proposed  "The  Peasantry 
of  Scotland."  He  hoped  they  might  retain 
the  feeling  and  fervent  affections  of  Burns, 
with  firmer  principle  and  more  .self-denial. 

The  chairman  then  introduced  to  the  com- 
pany Mr.  William  Glover,  an  old  man,  aged  a 
Imndred  years  and  six  months,  who  had  been 
a  contemporary  of  Burns,  had  heard  his  voice, 
and  seen  him  face  to  face. 

Mr.  Glover,  who  appeared  remarkably  hale 
for  his  years,  was  received  with  much  cheering; 
and  recited  a  portion  of  "Tarn  o'  Shanter," 
with  a  good  deal  of  spirit  and  humour. 

Among  the  other  toasts  were  "The  memory 
of  Sir  Walter  Scott,"  by  Professor  Blackie; 
' '  Scottiih  Art  and  the  Royal  Scottish  Academy, " 
by  Prof.  Campbell  Swinton;  &c. 

The  "grand  citizen  bantpiet"  in  the  Corn 
Kxchange,  Edinburgh,  under  the  auspices  of 
the  Total  Abstinence  Society,  was  likewise  a 
great  success.  The  chairman  was  Mr.  Dun- 
can AI'Laren,  long  member  of  parliament  for 
Kdinburgh.  I'art  of  his  address  ran  a-;  fol- 
lows:— 

"It  is  not  for  me  to  depict  the  laraeter 
of  ikirns  in  all  its  parts.  1  will  on!;-  saj'  that 
the  poetry  of  Burns  has  sunk  into  the  character 
and  hearts  of  the  people  of  Scotland.  I'lvery 
one  knows  more  or  less  of  it.  Every  one  knows 
so  much  of  it,  that  I  have  no  doubt  whatever 
that  if,  by  some  extraordinary  event,  the 
writings  of  Burns  were  to  be  all  burnt,  they 


could  be  reproduced  from  the  memories  of  the 
people  of  Scotland.    The  power  of  his  writings 
is  somethi    :  extraordinary.     They  have,  as  it 
were,  been     oven  into  the  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings of  the  people.    His  whole  character  seems 
to  have  been  embued  wi.li  the  most  intense 
love  of  country — with  the  most  ardent  patri- 
otism.    I    know  many  people  blame  us  for 
coming  here  to  celebrate  the  anniversary  of 
liurns,  because,  as  they  justly  say,  he  was  not 
an   immaculate  character.      No  doubt,  ladies 
and  gentlemen,  many  things  could  be  pointed 
out  which  are  deserving  of  severe  criticism; 
but  when  we  consider  the  character  of  the 
man,  we  must  consider  it  in  reference  to  the 
times  in  which  he  lived.    We  must  not  measure 
a  man  like  Burns  by  the  gauge  of  the  customs 
and    sentiments   of    the    present    day   alone. 
For  example,  if,  in  the  days  of  Ihirns,  .some 
great  meeting  had  been  called  to  celebrate  the 
heroes  whom  he  idolized  and  almost  worshii>pe(l 
— I  mean  Wallace  and  Bruce — had  a  meeting 
been  called  for  this  or  any  other  purpose  when 
Hums  lived  and  was  in  the  zenith  of  his  fame, 
I  ask  you,  would  it  have  been  possible  to  have 
called  "2500  persons  together  in  a  hall  like  this, 
where  they  had  nothing  stronger  to  drink  than 
tea  and  water?    Those  who  read  the  contem- 
porary history  of  that  time  !./iow  that,  nuieli 
as  he  is  beamed  for  the  l)acchanalian  sentinientN 
to  be  foui'd  in  many  of  his  songs,  and  for  tlie 
effect  which  those  in  many  instance^  have  pro- 
duced,   he   must   be   measured    by    the   men 
amongst  whom  he  li\i(l;  and  if  you  look  ar 
contemporary   history   and    inquire    into   the 
customs  that  then  prevailed,  by  reading  the 
lives  of  men  who  lived  in  these  times — take. 
for  example,  the  glimpses  ■vhich  are  given  of 
life  in    Edinburgh  at   the  beginning  of  the 
present  century  in   that  interesting  work  of 
Lord  Cockburn's — you  will  fiiul  that  men,  I'ai' 
more  elevated,  in  a  worldly  point  of  view,  tlian 
Burns — men  most  distinguished  at  the  bench 
and  at  the  bar — indulged  as  much,  I  fear  some 
of  them  even  more,  in  those  bacchanalian  orgies 
for  which    Mums   became,    unfortunately,   so 
distinguished.     There  is  one  part  of  his  char- 
acter which  1  HJiould  like  to  notice — the  deep 
and  heart-felt  sympathy  which  he  had  for  any- 
thing to  elevate  man;  his  ardent  love  of  lilicrty; 
his  .sympathy  with  every  just  and  good  cause: 
his  utter  abhorrence  of  evervthing  like  obse- 


CENTENA  R Y  CELEBRATIONS. 


243 


memories  of  the 
r  of  his  \vrltiii£rs 
They  Imve,  as  it 
'11,1,'hts  jiiul  feu), 
eharaetur  seems 
le  most  iiite-iiso 
)st  ardent  jiatri- 
e  Maine  us  for 
iuiniversary  of 
iiy,  he  was  not 
o  (loul)t,  ladies 
•oiild  l)e  pointed 
icverc  entiei>ni; 
haracter  of  tiie 
refercnee  to  tlie 
lust  not  measure 
e  of  the  euslonis 
icnt    day   alone, 
of  Uurns,  some 
to  celebrate  the 
niostworshiiiiied 
—had  a  meeiim,' 
er  purpose  when 
nitii  of  his  fame, 
possible  to  have 
1  a  hall  like  this, 
tor  to  drink  than 
ead  the  eonteni- 
/low  that,  niiieh 
ulian  sentiments 
n.trs,  and  for  tln' 
ilance^  have  jiro- 
d    by    the   men 
I  if  yon  look  ar 
iquire    into   tht 
by  readintr  tht 
se  times — take, 
leh  arc  jriven  of 
',e;innini;:  of  iln' 
restini,'  work  (if 
d  that  men.  fa'' 
nt  of  view,  than 
cd  at  the  beneii 
iieh,  f  fearsome 
I'iianalinn  ori,''ies 
ifortunatcly,    so 
art  of  his  ehar- 
Dtiee — the  deep 
he  had  for  any- 
:.  loveof  liiierty; 
iiid  good  eause; 
ling  like  obse- 


quieney,  and  falling  down  and  worsliipping  the 
rieli  and  the  great  in  whatever  .soeiety  he  was 
placed.  When  lie  came,  for  example,  to  this 
great  city  to  have  a  second  edition  of  his  works 
piiblisheil,  he  was  taken  into  the  iiighest  circles; 
lie  was  idolized;  and  no  man  could  have  been 
more  noticed  and  petted  (if  1  may  say  ho)  than 
was  Hums.  And  yet,  from  all  that  we  know 
ol  tiiat  period  of  his  life,  we  have  every  reason 
to  believe  that  he  took  his  place  amongst  the 
liidiest  of  tiic  land,  standing  erect  and  calling 
no  man  master,  lie  tells  us  himself  in  a  short 
sketch  of  the  early  period  of  his  life  which  is 
preserved,  that  the  first  books  which  he  ever 
read  after  he  left  the  ,-<cliool,  were  the  Life  of 
HhiiiiIIkiI,  and  the  Lif'  o/"  Wnllttci'  by  IJliiid 
Harry;  and  he  tells  us  the  eflect  of  the  reading 
of  the  last  of  these  work.s  was  extraordinary 
u|)on  his  mind.  Ife  says, — *  The  story  of 
Wallace  poured  Scottisii  prejudices  into  my 
veins,  which  will  boil  and  run  over  until  the 
tlood-gates  of  life  shut  in  eternal  rest.'  This 
wa>  iniinitely  the  ca.se.  This  may  be  regarded 
as  the  key  to  his  character.  To  his  intense 
love  of  country  as  a  Scotsman,  his  intense  ad- 
miration of  his  patriot  hero,  and  for  all  those 
who,  like  him,  stood  in  defence  of  liberty,  we 
are  no  doubt  indebted  for  that  beautiful  song, 
'Scots,  wha  hac  wi'  Wallace  bled!'  In  no 
circumstances  of  his  life  did  he  forget  that  self- 
respect  to  which  he  was  entitled  from  his  tal- 
ents and  genius.  When  he  came  to  Kdinburgh, 
ill'  was  taken  by  the  hand  and  met  with  an 
amount  of  kindnijss  which,  1  tiiink,  has  been 
greatly  underrated.  Many  people  say  he  did 
not  get  justice  from  tho  more  distinguished 
men  who  lived  in  his  time.  My  impres.sion  is 
that  he  could  hardly  have  c.vpeeted  to  meet 
with  greater  attention,  greater  respect,  or 
greater  patronage  (as  it  was  then  called)  than 
he  did  when  he  came  to  Edinburgh."  After 
refrrring  to  what  had  Ijeen  done  for  the  suc- 
cc-s  of  Hurns's  second  edition  of  his  works  by 
the  gentlemen  of  the  Caledonian  Hunt,  ^fr. 
M  'Laren  said  —  "  In  the  dedication  to  that  edi- 
tion of  his  works,  we  do  not  find  that  fawning, 
ilattering,  cringing  to  the  great,  which  we  find 
in  the  dedications  of  many  works  of  that  period 
liy  many  distinguished  literary  men.  In  that 
dedication  he  .says,  in  words  ■which  should  never 
l)e  forgotten:  '  I  was  bred  to  the  plough,  and 
I  am  independent. '    That  was  Burns's  idea  of 


independence.  Hums  was  one  of  the  people. 
He  knew  that  to  every  man  health  and  strengtii 
were  real  independence,  if  he  could  only  earn 
his  bread;  and  that  independence  he  would 
not  have  exchanged  for  the  most  di.stingnisiicd 
position  which  the  world  could  give.  That  is 
the  kind  of  man  with  which  the  people  at  that 
time  had  to  deal;  and  hence  the  ardent  love 
of  liberty  which  is  to  be  found  woven  into  the 
very  heart  of  all  his  poetry,  and  which  has 
done  so  much,  in  my  opinion,  to  nourish,  to 
cherish  that  ardent  love  of  liberty,  which  exists 
to  so  great  an  extent  amongst  the  people  of 
.Scotland.  I  believe  that,  Jiext  to  the  spirit 
that  was  infused  into  this  country  at  the  time 
of  the  Coveiumters  (to  whom  we  can  never  be 
sufficiently  grateful),  I  think  that  to  Hurn> 
we  are  more  indebted  than  to  any  other  single 
individual,  for  cherishing,  and  j'reserving,  and 
increasing  that  inten.se  patriotism  and  love  of 
country  and  love  of  liberty  that  characterize 
Scotsmen,  not  only  in  their  own  country,  but 
in  any  other  country  in  the  world  to  which  it 
may  bo  their  fortune  to  go." 

y\r.  Thomas  Knox,  a  well-known  citizen 
of  Kdinburgh,  said: — "  It  seems  to  me  that  we 
sometimes  .speak  of  Hums  as  our  national  bard 
without  realizing  how  transeendently  glorious 
the  title  is;  lOr  only  think  how  big  that  great 
soul  of  his  must  have  been  which  can  fill  np 
the  vast  space  of  a  century — 1  might  even  say 
of  the  wide,  wide  world  of  civilization  itself. 
For  where  is  the  habitable  nook  of  creation 
that  the  enterprising  and  daring  feet  of  our 
countrymen  have  ever  trodden,  that  has  not 
also  been  penetrated  and  gilded  by  the  sun- 
like rays  of  his  resplendent  genius?  Wher- 
ever Scotsmen  go,  he  goes — dwell,  and  he 
dwells — ay,  laugh,  and  he  lauglis;  and  it  is 
becau.se  of  this  moral  ubiquitousness  of  Burns 
that  he  is  emphatically  our  national  poet,  and 
that  we  eeleiirate  his  centenary  in  a  manner 
that  has  never  been  before,  and  may  never  be 
again.  If  I  were  asked  to  define  in  one  simple 
and  significant  word  the  great  supreme  char- 
acteristic of  Robert  Hums,  1  would  define  it 
as  universality — universal  love.  He  loved  all 
mankind,  without  reference  to  creed,  country, 
or  colour,  a.s  perhaps  no  man  ever  did.  No 
man  ever  gave  such  overflowing  fulness  of  ex- 
pression to  the  idea  of  universal  brotherhood 
as  did  Robert  Burns. "    Mr.  Knox  having  cited 


2-14 


CENTENARY  CELEBRATIONS. 


n  I 


1^', 


"  A  man's  a  roan  for  a'  that"  as  an  illustration 

of  the  idea  of  universal  i)rotherliood  whieh  so 

larjrely  disliuifuislRMJ  Hums,  said,  in  conclusion 

—  ■•And  since  Hums  fell  asleep,  what  mighty 

forces  have  been  wakened  up  by  Providence, 

and   launched   into   the  arena  oV  the  world's 

lii>ttiry,  and  jire   hurryinic  on  the  epoch   for 

which    he   so    fervently    huiged!    The   penny 

postage  has  opened   its  lips,  and  proclaimed 

the  ilawn  of  the  proijheey — '  It's  coining  yet 

for  a'  thrt;'  the  ]irinting-engine,  with  untiring 

ettergic  <   .  :  .  Uerprise,  cries  out  by  night  and 

by  u.vy — 'iLr,  coming  yet   for  a'   that;'    tiie 

railway  train,   bound    ■       nd  "areering  along 

tiie  valleys  of  England,  .ilong  the  valleys  of 

Europe,   ay,   and  along   the  valleys  of  every 

continent  in  the  world,  merrily  whistles  the 

strain,    'It's   coming   yet   for  a'   that.      The 

fleets  of  steamships,  scudding  along  the  Mgh- 

(,eas,  l)oat  jtaddlc-time  as  they  bear  to       'ry 

shore  the  millennial  music,  'It's  coming  ,\lI 

for  a'  that;'  and  the  electric  telegraph,  as  if 

impatient  of  the  progress  of  its  great  compeers 

in    civilization,   speeds   lightning-footed,   and 

careers  from  shore  to  shore,  proclaiming  the 

same  heaven-born  message — 

It's  coniinp  yet  for  a'  that, 
WliL'U  man  to  iiiioi,  tlic  wiuM  o'er, 
Shall  liritliprs  lie  for  a'  that. 

In  the  name  of  our  national  bard,  Robert 
Hums — in  the  name  of  his  and  our  own  de.ar 
auld  mother,  Scotland — in  the  name  of  uni- 
versal manhood — and  in  the  name  of  our  uni- 
versal Fatlier,  God,  Amen — so  let  it  universally 
and  ([uickly  be." 

The  liev.  Alexander  Wallace  of  01a.sgow 
also  delivered  an  eloquent  address,  in  which  he 
.said — "This  is,  in  some  respects,  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  nights  in  the  history  of  Scot- 
land. The  country  is  stirred  to  its  very  depths, 
and  not  only  so,  but  a  sympathetic  chord  is 
struck  which  vibrates  in  the  breast  of  every 
Scotsman  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  What  is  it 
that  has  led  to  such  a  national  demonstration 
on  the  part  of  a  peoide  not  easily  moved  to 
such  meetings  as  the  present?  The  gatherings 
in  every  town  and  village:  to-night,  from  .lohn 
O'Groat'a  to  ilaidenkirk,  are  not  sectional  or 
party  gatherings,  but  national.  Tlioy  brcat  he 
the  spirit  of  an  entire  people,  for  Robert  Burns 
was  the  most  intensely  national  poet  that  ever 
lived.     The  Sujireme  Giver  of  all  good  gave 


Scotland  a  rtch  ami  rare  gift — we  may  nuvur 
seethe  likeof  it  again — in  that  immortal  geiiius 
wlneli,  when  it  rose  to  the  high  pur]io>o  fur 
which  it  was  given,  men  felt  -  us  I  hey  fevj 
I  still,  and  must  ever  do,  so  long  as  huiuuii 
I  hearts  can  feel  the  [)o\vcr  of  genius— that  iliis 
'  gift  was  truly  the  'ti>uch  of  nature  that  nwikis 
the  «vorld  kin.'  We  can  never  forget  iIku 
Hums  was  born  a  poet,  that  he  was  a  poet  hy 
nature,  that  the  gift  which  was  in  him  w;is 
not  the  result  of  art,  but  a  gift  of  nature,  as 
much  as  is  the  song  of  the  linnet  or  (he  lurk. 
lie  poured  the  rich  melody  of  his  genius  over 
broad  Seotlaml,  because,  like  the  birds,  he 
could  not  but  sing.  There  was  in  him,  hy 
nature,  what  could  not  fail  to  attract  and  (!,.■. 
light,  and  make  him  a  power  amonest  tlm 
people.  In  that  humble  homestead  in  wliicli 
he  was  reared,  cotijugal  love  and  all  the  geiille 
ministrations  of  the  iiomeaHeetioiis  brighlciied 
the  stern  face  of  jioverty,  strenglhened  every 
noble  sentiment,  iind  cheered  the  drndgeiy  (pf 
ceaseless  toil.  No  man  knew  better,  or  ('(1111(1 
better  describe,  the  home  inlluenccs  of  huiiililo 
cottage  life,  lie  knew  the  straits,  the  priva- 
tions, the  joys  and  the  sorrows,  the  indepen- 
dence and  the  worth,  the  maidy  virtues  us 
well  as  the  weaknesses,  that  were  to  be  fdund 
in  the  cottage  homes  of  Scotland;  ami  ntiwlieie 
does  his  marvellous  genius  ajipear  to  greater 
I  advantage — nowhere  does  it  shine  with  greater 
I  brightness  and  jiurity  than  when  he  starts  into 
life  those  .scene.*  and  feelings  whieh  tipiteal  to 
the  common  heart  of  man.  This  is  the  seciot 
of  his  power,  especially  with  the  mass  of  the 
people.  They  love  him  notwithstamling  all 
his  failings.  You  have  but  to  witness  the 
effect  produced  in  any  circle,  or  in  any  great 
promiscuous  gathering  of  the  people,  by  the 
singing  of  one  of  Hurns's  si)ngs,  in  whieh  manly 
independence,  or  the  love  of  freedom,  or  patri- 
otism, or  conjugal  affection,  or  the  juirity  of 
virgin  love,  is  set  forth,  to  be  convinced  of  the 
jiower  and  vitality  of  his  genius,  and  of  the 
hold  whieh  he  has  upon  the  hearts  of  men. 
The  popularity  of  his  best  lyrics  does  not  arise 
from  the  music  to  which  they  have  been  wed, 
as  is  the  case  with  many  songs,  but  from  the 
inherent  power  of  genius  itself  Take  away 
from  his  writings  all  that  is  objectionable,  all 
that  in  his  last  hours  he  would  have  blotted 
out,    and    which   he   would    have   consigned, 


1  I 


t — \vu  may  iicv^r 
It  iniiiiortalf,'oiiins 
liiyli  puriiosu  for 
V'lt — iiM   Ihcy  foi.| 
'   Ii'i^'  as   liuiiiaii 
Koiiiiis— tliat  I  Ills 
naliirc  that  iiiakw 
iK'vcr   (iiryvt    iliat 
lit'  Was  a  )Mit'i  liv 
"as  in   liim  n;,jj 
i-'ii'i  III'  iiaturo.  a> 
iniu'i  or  ihc  lark, 
)!'  liis  .trcnius  over 
kc   tlio   liinls,   he 
was  ill   iiim,  Ity 
to  attnu't  ami  dj. 
iwer  aiiioimsi  tin. 
inostcad  in  which 
111(1  all  tiic  uciille 
u'ctioiis  liriulitoiiud 
H'oimlhuiidl  every 
li   I  lie  (Innluery  nf 
w  lietter,  or  eoiild 
liieneesof  limiilile 
straits,  tiio  jiriva- 
nvs,  the  indejicii. 
manly  virtues  as 
L  were  to  lie  loinul 
and;  and  nowhere 
ajipear  to  frreater 
sliine  with  irreaicr 
"hen  he  starts  into 
:s  which  appeal  to 
Tliis  is  the  seeiet 
li  the  mass  of  the 
twithstandintr  all 
it  to  witness   the 
3,  or  ill  any  jxreat 
le  people,  by  the 
ts,  ill  which  manly 
freedom,  or  patri- 
or  the  ]iiirity  of 
;  convinced  of  the 
enius,  and  of  the 
e  hearts  of  men. 
rics  does  not  arise 
y  have  been  wed, 
iffs,  but  from  the 
self.     Take  away 
objectionable,  all 
)iilil  have  Idoticd 
have   consigned, 


CENTENAltY  CKLEBHATIONS. 


246 


could  bitter  regret  have  done  it,  to  the  deepent 
.shades  of  oiilivion — take  away  nil  which  the 
best  of  men  and  his  firmest  admirers  regret 
slioiilil  ever  have  been  written,  and  after  this 
is  done  there  will  si  ill  remain  much,  very 
much,  that  will  endear  his  f,'eiiius  to  the  com- 
iiKiii  heart  of  man,  ,'iiid  which  that  heart,  as 
loiiiras  it  beat>  in  unison  with  noble  Hentimcnt, 
will  not  willin;j:ly  let  die." 

At  tin;  meetiiif?  in  t^uecu  Street  Hall  the 
cluiir  was  taken  by  Professor  (Jeori?e  Wil.son 
(professor  of  technolop:y  in  the  university), 
who  ill  the  course  of  hi.s  speech  .said: — "We  arc 
met  toi;ctlicr  this  ni,i,'ht,  not  to  criticise  IJiirns, 
not  tojuilge  Hums,  not  to  apologize  for  Bums 
— no,  not  even  to  praise  Hurn.s.  He  is  now 
ill  the  land  of  the  great  departed,  and  when 
we  consider  that,  we  shall  be  slow  to  call  him, 
whom  the  Merciful  .Fudge  has  already  Judged, 
before  our  unauthorized  tribunal  to  judge  him 
anew.  If  you  think  that  in  that  world  of 
spirits  they  know  what  happens  here,  you  will 
be  slow  to  call  before  you  him  who  has  been 
already  judged;  and  if,  on  the  other  hand,  you 
believe  that  no  message  goes  from  this  earth  to 
that  other  spirit  world  except  liy  those  who 
themselves  have  also  put  ofl"  the  mortal  flesh, 
yiui  will  the  more  feel  tliat,  as  he  cannot  hear 
our  praises,  as  little  .should  he  be  calleil  before 
us  to  hear  his  faults.  You  will  also  agree  with 
iiic  that  we  should  be  sparing  of  judgment, 
and  that  wc  need  not  otter  laudation;  yet,  let  mc 
.say  that  it  is  not  because  we  tire  afraid  to  sub- 
mit him  to  critii'ism.  All  know  the  incident 
that  happened  when  bis  grave  was  opened  to 
lay  Ills  widow  beside  him.  When  his  moulder- 
ing remains  were  exposed,  they  took  up  that 
wondrous  example  of  l)iviiie  architecture — his 
skull-  and,  perhaps  unseemly — I  will  not  say 
irreverently — they  tried  whether  their  hats 
would  fit  it.  And  that  very  skull,  which  bare 
the  Hesli  that  once  covered  it,  and  the  noble 
black  locks  that  had  curled  around  it,  was  too 
biir  for  their  liat.s.  Ay,  let  us  be  warned  by 
that;  let  us  not  try  to  cover  Hurns's  head  with 
our  caps.  I.,et  us  not  seek  to  show  that  his 
organ  of  veneration  was  not  .so  big  as  ours — 
that  his  organ  of  benevolence  was  not  so  large 
— imt  that  his  organ  of  self-approbation  was 
larger  than  ours.  Ah  me!  he  was  beyond  most 
of  us;  and  let  us  cheerfully  concede  that,  and 
waive  aught  of  judgment.     And  yet  we  might 

VOL.   V. 


submit  him  to  judgment,  and  not  be  afraid  to 
prai.-e  him.     We  are  not  here  to  be  partakers 
of  other  men's  sins.     It  is  not  the  faults  of 
Mums  that  have  brought  us  together;  no,  it  is 
the  superabouiiding  excellence  of  his  virtues 
that  has  coin)iellcd  us  to  come  here  to-night. 
No  man  denies  that  he  had    his  faults;    ho 
would  rise  himself  from  his  grave  tind  condeiun 
him  if  he  did.     Nevertheless,  let  mc  remark 
that  he  was  a  shining  star.     In  that  noble 
Iioem  which  was  read  to-day  in  the  Crystal 
I'alace,  Hums  is  called  a  'star  soul,'  ami  the 
word  will  be  acknowledged.      1   would  have 
said  he  was  a  'burning  ami  a  shining  lii,dit,' 
did  I  not  fear  that  1  should  be  called  irreverent 
in  quoting  Scripture  about  him.     Yet  he  was 
a  true  star,  and  'dwelt  alone;'  and,  as  a  star, 
so  as  a  sun.     Now,  you  know  tliat  our  sun  has 
spots  in  it— great  blanks  of  darkness,  great 
areas  out  of  which  no  light  comes.     There  arc 
some  who  judge  Burns  as  an  astronomer  would 
the  sun,  if,  when  be  was  asked  about  it,  he 
said  there  were  only  si)ots  of  darkness  in  it. 
Y(Ui  do  not  judge  so.     As  the  sun  heats  as 
well  as  illuminates,   1  ask  you  if  Bums  has 
not,   from  our  earliest  childhood  forward  to 
manhood,  been  alike  the  source  of  intellectual 
light  and  moral  heat,  thouuli  we  do  not  refu:-.c 
to  acknowledge  that  there  arc  spots  of  darkness 
in  liim.    There  is  a  seemlincss  in  our  commem- 
orating his  birthday,  for  1  ask  you  if  it  is  not 
the  case  that  Burns  lives  amongst  \is  to  a  far 
greater  extent  than  many  a  man  whose  heart 
is  still  beating,  and  his  blood  still  flowing  in 
his  veins?     lie  is  so,  inasmuch  as  he  was  that 
great   thing — a  poet.     .And   what  does  that 
mean?     It  means  that  be  could  create  what 
others  could  not;  it  means  a  man  Avho  can  see 
a  greater  light  about  all  things  than  other  men 
can  .see — a  sweeter  sound  in  all  music  than 
they  can  hear — a  deeper  loveliness  in  all  that 
is  lovable   than  they  can   feel — who  can,  in 
fact,  day  after  day.  feel  and  realize  what  oilier 
men  do  only  at  short  seasons  and  at  brief  in- 
tervals.    And    then   this   Burns,    who  was  a 
marvel  of  nenius — who  had  the  power  to  .sec 
what  other  men  could  not  .sec,  was  no  poet- 
laureate  with  a  liberal  pension — no  titled  lord 
occupying  his  leisure  hours  with  verses — no 
idolized  youth  with  his  collar  turned  down — 
b\it  a  hard-worked  ploughman,  'following  his 
plough  upon  the  mountain  side,'  who  could 

82 


ih 


.    n 


I   I' 


(i  I 


I      ■!■ 


S46 


CENTENARY  CELEBRATIONS. 


r^ 


1 

'I 


I-'* 


only  steal  an  evening  for  somctliing  to  liKliten 
the  luinlMJiips  of  liis  dully  toil  by  thrashing  ho 
many  more  sheaves  in  the  burn —one  whose 
bread  was  seanty  and  ecarse,  whose  sleep  was 
short — who,  in  bearing  on  his  jihouldcru  the 
bunLr  '•".  -^  i  lisii  iieusant's  life,  had  enough, 
and  yet  who  rose  to  be  a  higher  light  than  the 
most  idolized  and  most  regal  Heotsman  of  them 
all.  Yet  we  are  all  jtoets  in  sonic  degree. 
The  ehild  who  tiiinks  it  ean  elinib  the  rainbow, 
wiio  believes  that  the  moon  ean  be  cut  into 
filiccs,  or  who  looks  into  his  i)illow  and  sees 
wondrous  things  there,  is  a  poet;  every  ehild 
who  reads  the  Arabian  Nigiits,  who  believes 
in  Aladdin's  lamp,  or  who  goes  to  a  pantomime, 
isa  i>oet.  And  in  latcryears  weall  bei'onie  poets 
— love  makes  us  poets.  Every  man  lover  is  a 
poet;  every  gentle  sweetheart  isa  ]ioetess;  every 
mother  bending  over  her  suckling  ehild  is  a 
poetess;  every  son  comforting  his  old  mother  is 
a  poet.  There  is  a  poetry  in  all  our  lives,  if  we 
can  feel  it;  and  if  we  cannot,  no  JJurns  or  any 
one  ean  teach  it.  Mut  we  want  .some  one  to 
sec  it  for  us,  and  this  Burns  did;  and  how  did 
ho  do  it?  lie  so  sung  that  we  not  only  enter 
intensely  and  syniputhizingly  into  ull  his  feel- 
ings, but  he  sung  in  the  very  wuy  thut  we 
ourselves  would  have  done  hud  we  had  the 
power.  Think  of  this — that  he  has  sung  o\ir 
native  land  into  greater  glory  in  the  earth 
because  it  h  the  birth-land  of  Hums.  There 
is  not  anywhere  over  the  civilized  world  wiicre 
men  arc  able  to  appreciate  genius,  or  worth, 
or  reality — who  do  not  say  that  Scotland,  in 
producing  a  ploughman  like  Murns,  who  did 
not  jiretcnd  to  s]icak  more  than  the  feelintrs 
of  his  own  countrymen,  but  spoke  it  with  the 
poet's  power,  must  be  a  grand  land.  And  ho 
sang  our  Scottish  tongue  into  a  repute  that  it 
never  had  before,  and  secured  for  it  a  longev- 
ity that  otherwise  it  never  would  have  had,  so 
that  he  would  be  a  bold  man  who  would  pre- 
dict the  time  that  mother  sjieech  will  die, 
wlien  J'^nglishmen  learn  it  for  nothing  but  to 
read  the  songs  of  Burns."  The  profe.s.sor  also 
touched  on  some  of  the  sorrowful  features  of 
the  life  of  Burns,  in  which  respect  he  compared 
liim  with  Scott,  Southc}',  Moore,  Byron,  Keat.s, 
Shelley,  Chatterton,  and  other  poets.  An 
obligation  lay  on  all,  he  said,  to  receive  the 
instruction  and  edification  from  the  lives  of 
our  poets  that  they  were  fitted  to  give,  as  it 


wa»  only  by  suHering  that  they  learned  what 
they  hud  luught  in  song. 

The  greatest  of  the  gatherings  in  (ila>i,'ow 
to  do  honour  to  the  Nutional  Bard  took  jilaou 
in  tiie  City  Hall,  under  the  presidency  of  Sir 
Archibald  Alison. 

The  ehiiirinan  in  jiroposing  "The  Inmioiial 
Memory  of  Robert  Burns,"  said: — "  In  ap- 
jiroaching  this  great  subject,  I  kmiw  imt 
whether  to  feel  most  iin]Ucssed  with  the  lowli. 
ne.ss  of  the  origin  from  which  our  great  national 
])oet  sprung,  or  the  colossal  magnitude  of  the 
lame  which  be  has  since  attained.  On  this  day 
one  hundred  yeurs — 'jrtth.hmuary  17.19 — acliJM 
was  born  in  a  cottage  near  the  now  classic  Kirk 
of  Alloway,  in  Ayrshire,  intended  apparently 
for  a  huniiple  lot,  and  to  be  gathered  at  length 
to  his  fathers,  unknown,  unsung,  in  the 
simple  eh'irchyard  where  'the  rude  fore  fat  lie  is 
of  tile  hamlet  slejif.'  But  tlii>  child  was  des- 
tined to  immortality — Nature  bad  given  liiiii 
the  patent  of  true  nobility,  the  pass]tort  Id 
eternal  fame;  and  while  all,  or  nearly  all, 
contemporary  reiuitalitms  have  iilie.ady  passed 
away,  ills  alone  is  hourly  mi  the  incretise,  ami 
now  shines  like  I  lie  li.Ncd  stars  with  imperi.-h- 
able  lustre.  His  l'u!iie  has  been  like  the  swell- 
ing eddy,  which  rises  round  a  pebble  thrown 
by  a  child — the  child  of  nature — into  a  stream; 
but  that  stream  has  descended  to  the  ocean 
and  become  a  mighty  wave,  which  hus  nillc'l 
across  the  Atlantic,  and  broke  on  the  American 
and  Australian  shores.  \'ast  as  is  this  a.-sem- 
bly  which  I  now  aildress,  it  is  but  the  rciue- 
seulalive  of  inillinns  in  the  Hast  and  in  the 
West,  in  the  North  and  in  the  South,  who  are 
now  found  together  in  the  expression  of  com- 
mon feeling;  and  the  pulse  which  now  thi'itis 
so  violently  at  the  very  name  of  Burns  uiidcr 
this  roof,  is  beating  also  at  the  same  moineiii 
in  the  extremities  of  the  earth,  afarofl'in  Aus- 
tralian and  Transatlantic  wilds.  Mr.  I'itt  .said 
at  Lord  i^iverpool's  table,  shortly  after  liurns's 
death,  that  'since  the  time  of  Shakespeare, 
jioetry  had  never  come  so  sweetly  from  tlcj 
hand  of  Nature  us  ir.  his  rhyme;'  and  that 
was  literally  true,  anil  true  just  because  Na- 
ture had  been  his  only  teacher.  Self-taught, 
untutored,  he  poured  forth  in  unpremeditaied 
lays  '  the  short  and  simple'  annals  of  the  [loor;' 
but  in  their  short  and  simple  annals  he  fomnl 
means  to  descend  to  the  inmost  depths  of  the 


they  Icuriioil  what 

leriiii,',-*  in  (iliisi;o\v 
ill  IJiinl  tdiik  iilai'f 
c  itrcsidt'iii'V  of  Sir 

lit;  "Tin'  liimi.iiiai 

Miiid; — "  III  aji. 

>.jpct,    I    know   i;iit 

-seil  witii  thu  Idwlj. 

ii  (iiir.urciit,  iialidiial 

li  iiiii,t,'iiitu(lc  dl'  liie 

iiiiKMl.    On  this  (lay 

niiarylTrit)— iicliilij 

lie  now  classii'  Kir); 

iilomlcd  apparnitiy 

.Uatliercd  at  li'iii;di 

uiisuiiu-,    ill    tlio 

the  nidu  forefatlicis 

this  I'll i Id  was  (|i<- 

iii'o  liud  .nivcn  hiiu 

y,    the  iiass|iiirt  lo 

all,    or  iicail.v  all, 

have  already  iia>M'il 

II  the  inercase,  and 

itars  with  iiinicri.di- 

been  like  the  shuIj. 

id  a  pehltie  thrown 

lire — intoastivani; 

.■iided   to  the  ocean 

L',  uliieli  has  ri'llcl 

ike  oil  the  American 

ii.st  as  is  this  a-scm- 

it  is  hut  the  rc]iie- 

le  East  and  in  ilic 

the  South,  who  are 

expression  of  c  nu- 

c  which  now  thi'ihs 

nic  of  IJurns  uiidcr 

t  the  .same  moiiieiii 

.rtli,  afar  ofl'  in  Ans- 

ihls.    .Mr.  I'itt  .-aid 

hortly  after  Hurns's 

lie  of  Shakespeare, 

I  sweetly  from  ticj 

rhyme;'  and  thai 

e  just  beeaiisc  Na- 

ehcr.     Self-tauuht, 

in  unpremediiaied 

annals  of  the  jioor;' 

lie  annals  he  found 

imost  depths  of  the 


CENTENAllY  CELKUUATIONS. 


t4T 


liiiiTiaii  heart,  to  a>ceiid  to  tiie  iofticut  heights 
of  huiimii  feeiiiiu:.  'The  CotterV  Huturday 
Nij^ht'  is  the  moM  perfect  picture  that  ever 
was  drawn,  not  merely  of  iiidividiiid  life,  hut 
of  the  mec  of  man,  inferior  to  none  in  tlic 
worhl  ill  virtue  and  riimiiesS"  tlu;  peasantry 
of  the  land.  '  .\uld  Lanusyiie'  h;ts  Ueeome 
ilic  national  uir  id"  Seotland  — the  expression 
(if  the  love  of  hoiiu-  and  of  t  he  scenes  of  infancy 
iK  the  entire  ivili/.ed  world.  'Scots,  wha  hae 
wi'  Wailaee  bled,'  is  already  the  wnr-sonu;  td' 
the  bold  and  the  patriotic  in  every  e(Mintry  of 
the  earth — and  the  passion  of  love  in  its  purest 
foriii  was  never  so  finely  e.xpressed  as  in 
his  iniinorlal  lines  to  llitcliiand  'Mary  in 
Heaven.'  To  us,  and  to  Scotsmen  In  every 
part  of  the  world,  who  e;iii  ajipreciate  tin;  lidel- 
itv  of  his  pictures,  'ho  poems  of  Munis  ])ossess 
a  p(.'euliar  and  indescriliable  charm:  they  re- 
call scenes  of  early  youth,  loiiir  unseen,  but 
still  unforKolten,  and  rcali/e  in  waking'  hours 
the  beautiful  words  of  the  ]ioet  in  the  Soldier's 
Dream: — 

I  flew  to  till'  iiliiisaiit  llclils  traversed  so  oft 
111  life's  nionilii;,'   iiiiiicli,   when   my  '"woni  was 
.vonii«; 
I  lieai'il  my  own  iiionntitln  i;oat.s  lileatiiit;  aloft, 
And  knew  tlie  sweet  strains  wliieli  tlie  corn  reaiiers 
snii);. 

Hut  the  universal  admiration  with  which  the 
poems  of  Hums  have  iie^'ii  hailed,  not  merely 
ill  his  own  eouiitiy,  but  over  the  \rhole  civil- 
ized world,  jirovi^  that,  ^reat  as  his  f^raidiie 
jiowers  were,  they  were  the  least  of  his  varied 
iiift.s.  It  was  the  depth  of  his  feelinu;,  his 
warm,  expansive  love  for  all  mankind,  the 
touehinic  pathos  which  >hoiie  forth  in  his 
pieces,  wliicli  everywhere  went  lo  the  heart. 
His  tenderness  extended  even  to  inanimate 
iibjecLs.  Tlui  hanjs,  the  lield-mouse,  the 
mountain  dai.sy,  have  been  celebnited  in  iiis 
sonjis.  Above  all,  he  possessed  in  the  liinhest 
(leu;rec  that  .ureat  (imilily  without  uliicli,  in 
the  trial  of  Time,  all  others  are  but  as  tinkling 
In-a.ss — a  due  appreciation  of  the  dignity  of 
human  nature,  and  a  linn  deterniination  to 
assert  it.  To  him  we  owe  those  noble  lines 
now  become  as  houseiiold  words  in  every  land 
of  freedom — 

The  rank  is  but  the  guinea's  stamp; 
Tlie  man's  the  gowd  for  a'  that. 

To  this  quality  also  he  owed  many  of  the  mis- 


fortunes with  which  his  life  was  embittered. 
Had  he  condescended  to  flutter  the  j^reat — to 
conciliate    tlie   alllueiit     to    fawn    upon    the 
multitude     \m  iiiiKht  have  earned  case  ami 
comfort  in  life;  but  he  di.sdained  to  do  any  of 
the  three.     Therefore  lie  was  nc^ileclcd  by  his 
contemporaries — therefore  wc  are  now  rai>im,' 
statues  to  Ids  memory,     (ientlemcn,  it  is  said 
that  Munis  was  a  I'adical.     1  know  he  was; 
but  1  do  not  respect  him  tliele>soii  that  ac- 
count.     I    wish   wc  had   more   Itiidicals   like 
Mums.      Most  men  of  his  ardent  and  poetic 
temperament  are  inclined  to  those  o]diii(iii*, 
and  were  so  especially  in  his  day.     They  see 
in  others  the  >;eiierous  feelinns  of  which  they 
are  con.seious  in  themselves.     It  is  well  they 
are  so;  they  would  miss  their  mission  if  they 
weiv  not.     (leniiis  is  th(>  niovinn-  power  of  the 
nnu'al    W(U'Id.     Kxpcrieiice    is    the    fly-wheel 
whicii  regulates  the  movements  of  the  mi!:hty 
ma(diiiie;  without  the  first  it  wotdd  stand  still; 
witiioiit  the  second  it  would  b-;  tiou  in  pioec.s. 
It  is  by  the  counteractinLr  inlluence  of  the 
two,    as    by   the   antagonistic   action   of    (ire 
and  wiiter   in    the   material   world,    that   the 
e<|uilibriiim  of  initure  is  preserved;  and  thus 
is  secured  at  once  the  life,  the  jnonress,  and 
the  stability  of  nations.      Mut  if  Mums  was  a 
I'adical,  he  was  not  less  a  patriot.     He  was 
no  advocate  for  domestic  broils  or  forei,u:n  in- 
terference; for  what  said  he  to  the  Dumfries 
\'olunteers,  of  whom  he  was  a  nu  mber"; — 

tie  KritoiH  still  td  liritons  true, 

AmaiiK  ouisehes  united; 
For  never  lint  by  I'.ritisli  hands 

Mann  liritisli  wraiigs  be  riuliteil. 

A  more  .serious  charue  brouirht  airainst  Munis 
is  that  his  life  was  sometimes  irreiriilar,  and 
.some  of  his  poems  effusions  which,  however 
admired  at  the  moment,  his  warmest  friends 
must  now  lament,  (lentlemen,  in  reference 
to  this  eharirc  1  will  not  repeat  the  eommoii 
excuse,  that  his  frailties  were  those  to  which 
men  of  ardent  and  poetic  mind  have  in  all  asies 
been  most  subject.  1  disdain  any  such  apol- 
oiry.  I  recognize  no  exemption  from  moral 
responsibility  in  the  sons  of  genius.  I  know- 
rather  that  from  him  to  whom  much  is  iriveii 
much  also  will  be  expected.  15ut  I  say  he  was 
a  son  of  Adam,  and  let  him  that  is  without 
sin  amom,'  you  throw  the  first  stone.  I  would 
answer  in  the  words  of  Bolingbroke,  when  re- 


1^ 


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248 


CENTENARY  CELEBRATIONS. 


minded  of  the  faults  of  his  great  political  an- 
tagonist, Marlborough — •  Yes,  I  know  he  had 
faults;  but  he  was  so  great  a  man  that  I  have 
forgot  what  they  were.'  And  I  would  recom- 
mend his  detractors  to  imitate  his  example — 
to  expiate  jiassing  faults  by  lasting  benefits  to 
the  species,  .uiil,  like  him,  to  cause  the  spots 
on  the  sun  to  be  forgotten  in  the  lustre  of  his 
rays.  Hut  one  great  moral  truth  1  extract 
from  the  fate  of  Hums,  and  that  is  that  no 
lasting  fame  is  to  be  acquired,  even  by  the 
brightest  genius,  save  that  which  is  devoted  to 
tiie  purposes  of  Virtue;  for  the  few  poems  of 
Hums  which  we  now  lament  have  long  since 
passed  into  ol>livion,  and  those  on  which  his 
immortal  fame  is  resteil  are  as  pure  as  the 
driven  snow.  And,  as  such,  they  will  form 
an  unseen  bond  which  will  for  ever  unite 
Hritons  and  their  children  in  every  part  of  the 
world — a  bond  which  wiJI  survive  the  maturity 
of  colonies,  the  severance  of  empires;  and 
'  Auld  Langsyne'  will  hold  together  the  wide- 
spread descendants  of  tiie  Hritish  empire,  when 
grown  into  independent  states — 

Tho'  seas  atween  them  since  liae  row'il. 

Ocntlemi.:i,  I  iiave  detjiined  you  too  long;  and 
1  conclude  in  the  words  of  the  poet — 

A  last  request  permit  rue  liere 
Wlien  yearly  ye  asseiiilile  a'. 

One  roinitl,  1  ask  it  witli  a  tear, 
To  him  the  bard  that's  far  awa." 

The  poet's  son  Colonel  James  Glencaim 
Burns,  who  formed  one  of  the  company,  said — 
"I  humbly  thank  my  (Jod  that  lie  has  spared 
me  to  live  and  sec  this  glorious  day,  a  day  on 
whicli  so  many  tiiousands  in  almost  every  part 
of  tiie  globe  are  paying  liomage  to  the  genius 
of  the  Hard  of  Scotia.  My  mother  told  the 
late  Mr.  M'Diarmid  of  Dumfries  that  my  father 
once  said  to  her — 'Jean,  one  iiundred  years 
hence  they'll  think  mair  o'  me  than  they  do 
now.'  How  truly  this  prophecy  has  been 
fulfilled  the  proceedings  here  and  elsewhere 
amply  testify.  1  feel  most  grateful  to  you  for 
tlie  opportunity  you  have  afforded  me  of  being 
present  at  this,  one  of  the  most  influential  of 
tiiese  gatherings,  presided  over,  as  it  is,  by  the 
celebrated  and  talented  autlior  of  the  Jfixfori/ 
of  Europe — supported  by  such  well-known 
and  distinguished  men  as  Judge  Ilaliburton, 
Trineipal   Barclay,  Sir  David   Brewster,   Jlr. 


..lonckton  Milnes,  and  Mr.  Glassford  Hell.  In 
no  place  will  the  day  be  hailed  and  celebrated 
with  more  enthusiasm  than  in  the  far  Kast, 
where  I  spent  so  many  and  such  happy  years. 
In  proof  of  this  I  may  quote  a  few  lines  written 
by  my  old  friend.  Colonel  tSeorge  Anderson 
Veitch,  the  author  of  many  a  Hurns's  birtlulay 
ode.  In  a  poem  of  his,  entitled  'The  K.xile 
in  India,'  he  says — 

The  music  of  .Scotia  is  sweet  'midst  the  scene, 
Hut  nhl  conld  you  hear  it  when  seas  roll  lietwcen! 
'Tis  then,  and  then  only,  the  sonl  can  divine 
The  rapture  that  dwells  in  the  songs  o'  lanKsyne. 

.Vs  a  leal  and  true  Scot,  and  a  warm  admirer 
of  the  genius  of  the  bard,  I  have  joined  in  do- 
ing honour  to  his  memory.  As  his  son,  per- 
mit mo  to  return  you  my  most  sincere  tiianks 
for  the  same." 

Mr.  Henry  Glassford  Hell,  himself  well- 
known  as  a  poet,  gave  the  toa.stof  "The  i'oets 
of  England."  "  Kvcry  one,"  he  said,  '-lias 
felt  that  it  is  not  always  on  those  occiisions 
wlien  he  is  most  anxious  to  say  something 
worthy  of  being  listened  to,  that  he  is  best 
able  to  siitisfy  his  own  wishes.  J  confess  tiiat 
to-night  I  feel  my  mind  almost  overpowered 
when  I  reflect  on  the  grandeur  of  the  devotion 
— not  national  only,  but  world-wide^that  is 
being  paid  to  the  memory  of  one  man.  I 
question  whether  such  an  amount  of  grateful 
and  aflfectionate  rememljrance  was  ever  before 
so  concentrated  and  so  extended.  The  question 
luiturally  occurs— Whence  all  t'.is  gratitude? 
— lionouralde  alike  to  him  who  occasions  and 
him  who  cherishes  it;  surely  no  unworthy  sen- 
timent, since  it  a.><cends  to  the  Creator  tiirough 
tiie  person  of  one  of  his  created.  Whence  tliis 
gratitude?  Simply  because  that  Scottish  peas- 
ant added  more  than  most  men  to  the  stock  of 
human  happiness;  and  he  did  so  by  throwing 
wider  open  the  gate  of  human  knowledge. 
The  most  valuable  of  all  knowledge  is  know- 
ledge of  lurselves,  and  it  is  f/irii  the  poet  teaches. 
Great  as  the  benefactor  of  his  species  is  who 
extends  the  confines  of  science,  not  less  great 
is  he  whose  finer  eye  looks  with  a  clearer  jier- 
ception  into  all  the  subtle  mechanism  of  the 
human  heart.  Robert  Hums  invented  no 
steam-engine,  but  he  knew  the  secret  iource 
of  tears  and  smiles;  he  discovered  no  new 
planet,  but  he  called  up  thoughts  that  twinkled 
in  the  soul  like  stars,  for  he  touched,  as  Mith 


:r.  Glassford  ndl.  In 
Imiled  and  celebrated 
,han  in  the  far  llasi, 
nd  Buch  happy  years. 
ote  a  few  lines  written 
iicl  George  Anderson 
nya  Hurns's  birt  Inlay 
,  entitled  'The  Exile 

!et  "midst  the  scene, 
wlien  seas  roll  liiawi'cnl 
liu  siiul  can  divinu 
1  the  songs  o'  lanKsyne. 

,  and  a  warm  admirer 
,  I  have  joined  in  do- 
ry. As  his  son,  per- 
y  most  sincere  thanks 

1  Hell,  himself  wcU- 
le  toast  of  "The  I'oets 

one,"  he  said,  "has 
ys  on  those  occasions 
)iis  to  say  something 
:d  to,  that  ho  is  best 
•ishes.  J  confess  that 
d  almost  overpowered 
uideur  of  the<levotion 
it  world-wide — that  is 
nory  of  one  man.  1 
xn  amo\int  of  jrratefid 
lirance  was  ever  before 
:tended.  The  question 
ICC  all  t'lis  ^ratitmle? 
lim  who  occasions  and 
irely  no  unworthy  sen- 
to  the  Creator  tiirouudi 
created.  Whence  tins 
lu.'ic  that  Scottish  peas- 
)st  men  to  the  stock  of 
he  did  so  by  throwin;; 
if  human  knowlcdce. 
1  knowledge  is  know- 
is  f/int  the  poet  teaches. 

of  his  species  is  who 
science,  not  less  groat 
oks  with  a  clearer  per- 
)tle  mechani.sm  of  the 
Mums  invented  no 
new  the  secret  source 
ic  discovered  no  new 
Jioughts  that  twinkled 
or  he  touched,  as  with 


CENTENARY  CELEBKATIONS. 


249 


a  fiery  finger,  every  latent  emotion  until  it 
started  into  light;  he  made  us  no  richer  in 
worldly  wealth,  hut  he  taught  us  how  divine 
a  thing  human  love  may  be;  he  taught  us  the 
noliility  of  eaniest  patriotism  and  unflinching 
niaidiness;  he  taught  us  how  these,  or  any  of 
these,  may  make  the  darkest  life  re.splendent 
with  a  gleam  of  inward  lustre.  Hence  comes 
it  I  hat  thou.sands  of  his  fellow-men,  whc  never 
saw  him  in  the  He.sh,  have  to-day  met  in  every 
(juarter  of  the  globe  to  do  him  honour;  hence 
comes  it  that 

The  mi)!lit 
Of  the  whole  world's  good  wishes  with  him  goes; 
IMi'ssiiigs  and  imiyers,  in  nobler  retinue 
'I'l'an  scepteroil  Iviiig  or  Inurell'd  conqueror  knows, 
Follow  tliis  wondrous  potenatcl 

In  Scotlanil  all  this  feeling  if  intensified  by 
the  consciousness  that  Burns  was  essentially, 
aiul,  from  his  cradle  to  his  grave,  our  country- 
man— a  Caledonian.  The  country  to  which 
other  great  men  li.ive  belonged  .seems  often  to 
have  been  an  accident  of  birth.  There  appears 
no  reason  why  Shakspcre  might  not  have  been 
born  iit  Scotland,  and  Heattic  or  Campbell  in 
England.  IJut  Hums  never!  He  was  a  con- 
centration of  the  genius  of  Scotland.  His 
patriotism  was  .Scottish. — 

Wha  for  .Scotland'.s  i\ln<;  and  law 
Freedoms  sword  will  sfronnly  draw, 
Frcenuui  stand,  or  frconian  fa'. 
Let  Idui  on  wi'  nie! 

His  delight  in  the  beauties  of  external  nature 
wius  Scottish — 

Their  proves  o'  sweet  myrtle  let  foreign  lands  reckon, 
Where  l)rlght-lieaniingsununers  exalt  the  perfume; 

Far  ilearer  to  me  yon  lone  (tlen  o'  green  lireekan, 
Wi'  the  burn  stealing  under  tlie  lang  yellow  broom. 

His  loves  were  Scottish,  and  his  happiest  mo- 
ments with  the  objects  of  his  love  were  in  the 
midst  of  Scottish  .scenery — 

Ve  banks  and  liraes  and  streams  around 

The  i'astle  o'  Montg.imery, 
Green  be  your  woods  and  fair  your  flowers. 

Your  watei-s  never  dnuulie; 
Tliere  siiinner  Hrst  inifald  her  robe. 

An'  there  the  langest  tarry, 
For  there  I  took  tlie  last  farewell 

O'  my  sweet  Highland  Mary. 

His  noble  indcpondence  was  Scottish — 

Is  there  for  honest  Povert.v 
Wha  hangs  his  head,  and  a'  that? 

The  cownrd-slave,  we  pass  him  by. 
We  daur  be  poor  for  a'  that! 


His  earliest  and  his  latest  aspirations  were 
Scottish — 

Even  then  a  wish,  I  mind  its  power, 
A  wish  that  to  my  latest  hour 

Shall  strongly  lieave  my  breast, 
Tliat  I  for  poor  aidd  .Seotliuid'H  sake 
.Some  useful  plan  or  lionk  could  make, 

Ur  sing  a  sang  at  least! 

Shall  Scotland  not  be  proud  of  her  peasant 

poet — 

Who  murmnr'd  to  the  rumnng  brooks 
A  music  sweeter  than  tiieir  own. 

Show  me  a  song-writer,  from  the  days  of  Ana- 
creon  to  the  days  of  Berangcr,   who  comes 
within  a  thou.sand  miles  of  him.     All  social 
and  friendly  gatherings  do  good  to  the  hearts 
of  care-worn  men;  but  we  have  a.isembled  here 
to  night  with  a  nobler  motive  than  to  eat  and 
drink  iind  be  merry.     We  have  assemlded  to 
do  justice  to  the  better  part  of  our  own  nature, 
by  declaring  our  veneration  for  a  true  bard 
who  died  in  poverty,  but  who  has  made  as 
heirs  to  the  priceless  riches  of  his  own  effulgent 
mind.    I  leave  the  theme  with  reluctance;  but 
it  has  already  been  descanted  on  with  an  elo- 
((uencc  that  has  charmed  us  all,  with  a  copious 
grace  and  beauty  peculiar  to  the  rich,  genial, 
and  refined  mind  of  an  .\lison.     The  toast  I 
have  the  honour  to  propose  is  '  The  Poets  of 
England. '    I  do  not  know  whether  it  is  meant 
to  be  limited  to  tlie  living  poets;  if  so,  their 
number,  I  fear,  is  small,  taking  the  word  poet 
in  its  true  and  proper  sense.     Hut  I  think  it 
may  be  understood  to  comprehend  all  those 
poets  who  shed,  about  five-and-twenty  j-ears 
ago,  so  brilliant  a  light  over  the  literary  hori- 
zon.    Their  bodily  presence  has  been  taken 
from  us,  and  it  is  a  somewhat  sad  thought  for 
those  who,  like  myself,  have  been  privileged 
to  look  upon  their  fine  and  thoughtful  fore- 
heads, and  to  hear  their  living  voices,  that 
nothing  mortal  now  remains  of  a  Hyron,  a  Cole- 
ridge, a  Wordsworth,  a Southey,  a  Shelley,  a  Ro- 
gers, a  Hemans,  and  a  Landon,  but  the  moulder- 
ing dust  in  thcirgraves.    Yet,  though  dead,  they 
still  speak  to  us  solemnly  and  sweetly;  none 
with  more  solemn  sweetness  than  Wordsworth, 
because  none  with  a  truer  and  purer  human 
love  and  understanding.     The  sacred  key  was 
intrusted  to  the  keeping  of  them  all  by  which 
the  deeper  heart  of  man  is  unlocked;  and  the 
electric  thrill  emanating  from  them  diffuses 
itself  through  all  lanud — 


■Jli 


250 


CENTENARY  CELEBRATIONS. 


One  touch  of  nature  makes  the  whole  world  kin! 

Of  living  poets  I  must  not  pretend  to  speak; 
but,  as  Wordsworth  in  his  beautiful  sonnets  on 
personal  feelings  says  he  will  mention  two 
female  portraitures  '  pre-eminently  dear' — 

Tilt'  gentle  lady  wedded  to  the  Moor, 
And  heavenly  Una  with  her  milk-white  lamb- 
so  I  shall  venture  to  name  two  poets  as  stani!- 
ing  consi)icuously  out  among  all  our  liv!  ig 
minstrels,  and  sending  abroad  from  their  re- 
sounding lyres  richer  and  nobler  melodies  than 
any  of  their  eompeers.  You  will  not  doubt 
that  I  mean  Alfred  Tennyson,  and  the  higii- 
minded  lady,  Mrs.  Barrett  Browning.  Their 
styles  are  altogether  different,  each  marked  by 
its  own  originality;  but  in  the  works  of  both 
there  is  a  repertory  of  dignified  and  graceful 
thoughts,  of  deep  and  glowing  feelings,  of  sug- 
gestive and  lofty  imaginings,  which  have 
worthily  won  for  them  a  jjlace  far  up  the  sacred 
mount.  Of  them,  and  of  all  who  labour  at  the 
sjimc  delightful  task,  we  say  with  universal 
voice — 

Blessings  be  with  them,  and  eternal  prais  :, 
Who  gave  us  nolder  loves,  and  nobler  cares; 
Tlie  poets,  who  on  earth  have  made  us  heirs 
Of  truth,  ond  i)ure  delight,  by  heavenly  lays! 

Permit  me  to  couple  with  my  toast  the  health 
of  an  English  poet  now  present,  whose  English 
heart  is  not  the  less  .ound  that  it  has  in  it 
some  Scottish  affections,  which  inspirc.l  him 
with  a  poet's  yiMirning  to  do  honour  with  us  to 
Scotia's  i)ard.  Mr.  Moncktoii  .Milncs— .so  well 
known  for  Ids  more  recent  exertions  in  the  cause 
of  legi.slative  and  .sociid  improvement,  has  writ- 
ten, among  other  effusions  of  great  energy  and 
beauty,  JA('wo/vV.s'  of  Afmiy  Scenen.  I  ho^e 
that  to-night  will  enable  him  to  add  to  them 
a  fresh  memory  which  he  may  deem  worthy  of 
cherishing,  and  that  he  will  at  Iea.st  believe 
that  'poor  auld  Scotland,'  whilst  it  remem- 
bers departed,  welcomes  living  genius." 

Mr.  Monckton  Jlilncs  (afterwards  Lord 
Houghton)  was  received  with  cordial  .applause, 
and  siiid — "Nurtured  in  the  love  and  admira- 
tion of  Burns,  and  accidentally  connected  with 
the  fortunes  of  his  family,  I  accepted  the  pro- 
positi to  act  as  one  of  the  arbiters  of  the  merits 
of  the  poems  composed  in  his  honour,  and  for 
my.self,  the  distinction  of  being  your  guest  to- 
day.    Many  of  you  will  have  seen  the  poem 


to  which  the  prize  has  been  adjudged,  and 

have,  I  hope,  not  considered  it  unworthy  of 

the  occasion ;  but  it  becomes  me  here  to  say  a 

word  respecting  the  unsuccessful   candidates 

for  the  crown,  many  of  whom  have  produced 

works  of  deep  feeling  and  noble  expression, 

and  all  of  whom  appeared  impressed  with  the 

real  greatne.ss  of  the  character  it  was  proposed 

to  them  to  celebrate.     In  the  phrase  of  one, 

they  all  recognized 

The  glorious  nnd  poetic  peasant 
Driving  his  iiuirell'd  jilough. 

I  n  the  words  of  another,  they  appreciated  the 
character  of  the  people  who  read  by  turns 

The  I'salms  of  David  and  the  Songs  of  Burns. 

Two  impressions  indeed,  which  seem  to  nic 
altogether  erroneous,  prevailed  in  many  of  tlic 
poem.s — the  neglect  of  the  poet  by  his  contem- 
poraries, and  the  connection  between  his  poetic 
gifts  and  the  .sorrows  and  discomforts  of  his 
life.  Now,  I  believe  that  the  worth  of  a  poet 
never  received  a  more  rapid  acknowledgment 
from  a  nation  than  Scotland  h.is  given  to  Burns, 
from  the  first  letter  of  Dr.  Blacklock  to  tliu 
celebration  of  this  hundredth  anniversary.  I 
am  ccjually  convinced  that  the  poetry  of  Burns 
was  the  joy  and  sustenance  of  an  existence 
not  otherwise  favoured  by  fortune.  True,  the 
lights  of  the  poetic  temjicrament  cast  tlieir 
shadows,  iis  they  will  always  do;  true,  there 
was  in  him  that  earnest  melancholy,  which  is 
ever  the  reverse  of  the  true  medal  of  genuine 
humour.  But  without  his  poetry  Burns  must 
have  been  as  much  an  exile  from  his  native 
land  as  Dante,  whereas  with  it  he  is  as  identified 
with  his  country  as  Shakespeare.  Those,  in- 
deed, who  desire  to  combine  the  pleasures  of 
the  composition  of  verse  with  the  duties  of 
.active  life,  will  rejoice  to  remember  that  Burns 
made  .an  excellent  and  diligent  exciseman,  as 
Wordsworth  an  accurate  stamp-distributor;  and 
instead  of  lamenting  that  such  men  were  so 
employed,  they  will  delight  in  every  combina- 
tion of  rare  talents  and  honest  toil.  Who  shall 
say  whether,  if  the  outward  circumstances  of 
the  life  of  Burns  had  been  tho.sc  of  comfort  and 
repose,  his  wonderful  powers  might  not  have 
been  obscured  and  contracted?  But  be  this  as 
it  may,  I  am  sure  that  the  psissionate  admiration 
which  brings  together  the  multitudes  of  this 
evening  would  not  have  been  excited.     The 


CENTENAllY  CKLEBRATIONS. 


251 


been  adjudged,  and 
ired  it  unworthy  of 
nca  me  here  to  say  a 
KTCssful  candidates 
liom  liave  produced 
d  noble  expression, 

impressed  witii  ilio 
cter  it  was  proposed 

the  phrase  of  one, 

letic  peasant 

plollgll. 

hey  appreciated  the 
10  read  by  turns 

the  Soii(,'s  of  llurns. 

whicli  seem  to  nie 
ailed  in  many  of  liic 

poet  by  Ills  conteni- 
)n  between  his  poetic 
1  discomforts  of  jiis 

the  worth  of  a  poet 
)id  acknowledjrnicnt 
1  has  given  to  Hums, 
ir.  Hlacklock  to  the 
;dth  anniversary.  1 
,  the  poetry  of  IJurns 
nee  of  an  existence 
■  fortune.  True,  tJie 
jierament  cast  their 
vays  do;  true,  there 
nelancholy,  which  is 
le  medal  of  genuine 
s  jioctry  Hums  must 
(ile  from  his  native 
h  it  he  is  as  identified 
espeare.  Those,  in- 
ine  the  pleasures  of 

with  the  duties  of 
emcmber  that  Hums 
ligent  exciseman,  as 
imp-distributor;  and 
:.  such  men  were  so 
it  in  every  combina- 
iiest  toil.  ^V  ho  shall 
,rd  circumstances  of 
those  of  comfort  and 
r'ers  might  not  have 
ted?  But  be  this  as 
assionate  admiration 
;  multitudes  of  this 
been  excited.     The 


sorrows  of  the  great  have  ever  been  the  aliment 
of  the  veneration  of  mankind;  and  the  victims 
of  misfor'.une  in  high  places  have  even  attained 
sujicrnatural  powers,  without  any  very  close 
scrutiny  into  their  character  and  conduct. 
IJut  the  time  comes  when  even  the  'sad  stories 
of  the  deaths  of  kings'  fail  to  move  the  popu- 
lar inia.i:ination;  and  yet,  even  then,  the  heart 
of  a  nation  is  stirred  to  its  depths  by  the  re- 
collection of  sufl'cring  jicnius,  and  something 
of  a  sacred  halo  surrounds  the  jioet  who  has 
endured  and  striven  like  a  nnin." 

.Mr.  Hlancliard  Jerrold  then,  in  a  few  words, 
pniposed,  "The  I'oets  of  Scotland;"  a  toast 
which  he  cotii)led  with  the  name  of  I'eter 
(.'uniiingham,  the  son  of  .\llan  t'unnintrhani. 

Mr.  I'etcr  Cunningham,  in  his  vv\)]\,  .said — 
•'  1  have  a  slender  claim  to  return  thanks  for 
the  jioets  of  Scotland.  My  father  was  a  Scot- 
tish poet,  and  was,  moreover,  a  Scottish  peas- 
ant. To  him  1  owe  everything,  and  my 
brothers,  who  fought  in  the  East,  like  the 
sons  of  your  chairman — to  him  they  owe  every- 
thing. Our  destiny  hiw  been  cast  very  much 
like  the  destiny  of  the  sons  of  Hums.  My 
friend,  .Mr.  James  (ilencairn  iiurns,  derives 
his  name  from  a  Cunningham;  and  my  father 
also  was  one  of  the  best  friends  the  poet  had, 
for  he  wrote  his  life,  and  wrote  it  well,  and 
vindicated  his  character.  My  dear  friend  Col- 
onel Hums  here,  left  his  native  Dumfries,  and 
became  a  scholar  in  Christ's  Hospital  like 
myself.  The  two  sons  of  Hums  went  to  India 
and  came  back  with  honour.  Two  sons  of 
.Ulan  Cunningham  went  there  too,  and  ac- 
<|uitted  themselves  with  honour  to  their 
country.  I  have  this  claim  also  to  return 
thanks  for  the  jjoets  of  Scotland,  that  I  have 
.shaken  hands  with  Sir  Walter  Scott,  and  for 
twenty  years  I  sat  with  Archibald  llastie, 
and  drank  to  the  immortiil  memory  of  Scot- 
land's jtoet  out  of  Hurns's  own  punch-bowl.  I 
have  perhaps  another  claim  to  reply  to  tiiis 
toiist.  I  have  sat  with  Thomas  Campbell,  the 
poet  of  Hope  and  Hohenlinden,  and  drank 
whisky-toddy,  very  well  brewed,  from  that 
silver  bowl  given  to  the  great  poet  by  the  stu- 
dents of  this  university.  I  have  also  sat  and 
drank  with  the  Kttrick  Shepherd  from  a  silver 
bowl  given  to  him  by  a  true-hearted  Scot,  and 
honoured  aiid  prized  as  it  deserved  to  be. 
There  is  a  genealogy  in  song.     Our  friend, 


Mr.  Monckton  ^lilnes,  will  recollect  how 
beautifully  that  idea  is  expre.<.sed  by  Dryden, 
who  says  that  Chaucer  was  the  poetical  father 
of  Spen.ser,  and  Spenser  of  .Milton.  There  is 
a  hereditary  descent  in  song  as  natural  as 
'.\braham  begat  Isaac,  and  l.saac  begai  Jacob.' 
I  will  even  say  that  Allan  Uamsay  was  the 
father  of  Hobert  Hums,  and  Itolicrt  Hums  the 
father  of  the  "ttrick  Shepherd,  and  Allan  Cun- 
ningham of  Kdmonstone  Aytoun  and  Charles 
Mackay.  In  this  belief,  that  poetry  never 
dies,  1  return  thanks  for  the  poets  of  Scotland." 

Mr.  Haillie  Cochrane  of  Lamington  (now 
Lord  Lamington),  in  proposing  "The  I'oets 
of  Ireland,"  said — "It  docs  not  require  any 
assurance  to  persuade  us  of  the  extreme  beauty 
of  the  Irish  melodies.  The  lyrical  power  has 
hapjiily  not  expired  with  Cormac  an<l  Carolan 
— the  names  of  Sheridan  and  of  Moore,  of 
Sheridan's  illustrious  granddaugiiters,  of  (!old- 
smith,  of  Lever,  of  ilorgan,  of  the  author  of 
tlic  '.\ngers  Whisper'  and  of  '  Hory  O'  ^lore,' 
our  honoured  guest  of  this  night,  .Samuel 
Lover — all  these  testify  that  the  cunning  has 
not  departed  from  the  land,  and  that  the  fire 
of  Irish  tiilent  still  bums  like  the  inextinguish- 
able lamp  of  Kildare's  shrine." 

Mr  Samuel  Lover,  in  reply,  said — "Hefore  I 
attempt  to  allude  to  the  subject-matter  of  the 
toast  you  have  just  heard,  1  must  first  give 
expression  to  a  feeling  that  has  been  struggling 
at  my  heart  all  this  night,  increasing  in  warmth 
and  magnitude  as  the  evening  has  jtrogressed; 
and  that  feeling  has  been  one  of  more  than  a 
fulness  of  joy — an  overflow  of  joy — at  the  glo- 
rious sight  I  have  seen  to-night  of  a  nation's 
juide  in  her  poet.  That  I  have  been  invUed 
to  this  banquet  to-night,  and  for  such  a  pur- 
pose as  to  speak  on  the  part  of  the  jioets  of 
Ireland,  1  look  upon  as  the  highest  honour  of 
my  life.  It  is  an  honour  every  man  might  be 
proud  of,  and  this  medal  I  wear  as  steward  of 
this  meeting  I  look  upon  as  an  order  of  poetic 
merit  whicli  I  shall  treasure  as  long  as  I  live. 
Ireland  is  as  proud  of  her  poets  as  Scotland  is, 
and  Great  Britain  ought  to  be  well  pleased, 
and  regard  it  as  one  of  the  happiest  circum- 
stances attendant  upon  the  triumphal  march 
of  our  language,  that  it  has  become  the  vehicle 
of  thought  and  expression  for  such  men  as 
(lOldsmith,  and  Sheridan,  and  Moore.  That 
the  potis  of  Ireland  should  be  remembered 


S62 


CENTENARY  CELEBRATIONS. 


here  docs  not  surprise  me,  l)eeaunc  there  is 
mucii  in  common  between  the  people  of  the 
two  countries.  They  are  both  of  Celtic  origin, 
both  gifted,  as  all  the  Celtic  races  are,  with 
the  gift  of  .song,  l)oth  clinging  aft'cctionatcly 
to  national  observances,  both  excelling  in  na- 
tional glory,  both  rejoicing  in  a  generous  and 
hilarious  hospitality,  both  .sending  round  the 
shells  of  joy,  often  filled  with  mountain  dew — 
that  dew  that  distils  so  plentifully  in  the  even- 
ing, but  docs  not  always  so  fast  evaporate  in 
the  morning.  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  there 
is  an  old  saying  that  states  that  an  Irishman 
has  leave  to  speak  twice  for  another  man's 
once.  Hut  the  minutes  are  so  precious  that 
really  1  feel  that,  though  an  Irishman  with 
that  privilege,  I  must  speak  only  once,  and 
that  as  short  as  po.ssible.  It  lias  been  of  late, 
in  these  utilitarian  days,  common  to  ridicule 
nationalities,  to  think  lightly  of  those  dear  re- 
membrances that  every  man  of  warm  sympa- 
thies must  wish  to  cherish,  and  it  has  been  too 
much  the  fa.shion  to  look  upon  poets  as  merely 
the  ornamental  appendages  of  society  rather 
than  things  to  be  honoured  and  remembered. 
Hut  if  any  man  of  so  cold  a  nature  will  not 
listen  to  a  generous  argument  on  the  subject, 
if  they  will  accept  of  nothing  less  than  an  argu- 
ment of  stonewalls,  let  me  refer  them  back  to  the 
Listory  of  fircece,  and  point  to  the  ruins  of 
the  Parthenon,  and  let  me  ask  what  is  the  cause 
♦'lat  the  glory  of  Greece  luw  passed  away,  and 
liiat  the  conquests  of  Alexander  are  but  as 
dust,  while  Homer  and  S  phoclcs  hold  their 
sway  as  strongly  as  ever  in  the  human  mind? 
No,  let  us  never  give  up  our  poetical  memories. 
What  should  Me  be  without  these  endearing 
remembrances?  Where  is  the  man  that  has 
not  some  sacred  place  in  his  heart  for  dear 
memories,  and  who  would  be  solitary  and 
desolate  without  them?  The  ship  in  mid 
ocean,  without  compas.s,  quadrant,  or  rudder, 
would  not  be  more  utterly  desolate  without 
some  tender  recollections  in  his  heart.  No, 
let  us  never  give  up  our  heart  memories,  or 
forget  our  poets.  I  hope  and  believe  the  time 
is  coming  when  those  evil  feelings  will  be  dis- 
persed, and  when  poets  will  be  cherished  as 
dear  things;  and  if  any  are  sceptical,  I  should 
like  to  show  them  this  meeting,  and  I  think 
that  it,  in  the  shape  of  an  argument,  would  be 
what  is  called  a  elencher." 


The  Hon.  Judge  Haliburton  proposed  the 
next  toast — "  The  Scottish  Clergy."  In  doing 
so,  he  said — "I  have  accepted  the  invitation 
to  appear  here  to-night  with  peculiar  i)lcasurc. 
A  hundred  and  fifty  years  have  elajwcd  winie 
my  family  left  the  borders  of  .Scotland  to  seek 
their  fortune  in  the  wilds  of  America,  and  1 
am  the  first  of  that  family  that  has  made  his 
appearance  in  his  fatherland — and  that  you 
have  been  so  good  as  to  call  me  hore  to-niudit 
as  your  guest,  overpowers  me  in  a  way  I  hat  I 
cannot  well  exjjress.  1  have  been  honoured 
by  being  requested  to  i)ropo.sc  a  toast,  which, 
I  am  sure,  every  one  who  hears  me  will  receive 
with  a  most  cordial  and  atVcctionate  respnii-c, 
since  it  is  the  clergy  of  Scotland.  When  it 
was  first  projiosed  to  nie  to  give  this  toast.  1 
confess  that  i  was  considerably  embarrasscil. 
It  did  not  appear  to  me  particularly  aj)proiiriiiic 
that  so  venerable,  so  pious,  so  zealous,  and  so 
learned  a  body  as  the  Church  of  .'Scotland  should 
be  given  by  the  Innnble  author  of  Smn  SlUk. 
I  thought  perhaps  that  it  might  have  been 
given  more  appropriately  by  one  nearer  homo 
and  better  able  to  do  justice  to  such  a  sulycct; 
but  a  moment's  reflection  t;iught  me  that 
nothing  was  re(|uired  of  me  but  to  i)roposc  it, 
becau.se  it  was  a  toast  that  spoke  for  itself,  as 
the  clergy  had  their  bond  of  union  with  the 
country  in  the  feelings,  and  synii)athies,  and 
hearts  of  the  people.  Nothing,  therefore,  re- 
mained for  me  to  do  but  to  propo.se  it,  for 
theireulogium  islikethat beautiful  inscri])tioii, 
sublime  from  its  simplicity,  in  the  cryjit  of 
St.  I'aul's  Cathedral — the  in.scription  to  the 
immortid  architect  who  raised  it — 8i  iiiunn- 
incut  inn  i/meris  cirriiin!<i>ici'." 

The  genial  Dr.  Norman  M'Leod,  of  tlic 
Harony  Church,  in  replying  to  the  toast,  said — 
"The  clergy  couM  not  have  their  merits  tricil 
by  a  more  discriminating  judge  than  the  hon- 
ourable gentleman.  Yet  I  for  one  would  not 
have  objected  had  the  duty  which  he  has  so 
eloquently  performed  been  a.ssigned  to  an  illus- 
trious friend  of  his,  who,  if  less  venerable,  is, 
if  possible,  bettor  known  over  the  world  than 
himself,  and  who  is  everywhere  admired  for 
his  accurate  knowledge  of  men  and  manners 
— his  keen  perception  of  character — his  most 
excellent  wit  and  genial  humour;  and  who, 
if  he  could  not,  perhaps,  spare  the  weaknesses 
of  the  clergy,  would  certainly  not  forget  their 


urton  proposed  the 

Clergy."    Indoing 

ptcd  the  invitaiioii 

li  i>eeuliar  ploanmo. 

hiive  ehipsed  siiu'o 

of  ScotliiiKl  to  si'ek 

of  America,  ami  1 

that  has  ina<lt'  l:;.s 

md — ai)d   that  ymi 

II  me  li'M'o  t(>-iiii;lit 

me  in  a  way  thai   I 

ave  been  lionoiirod 

pose  a  toast,  whii'h, 

cars  me  will  receive 

Icciionatc  respoiix', 

•Scotland.     When  it 

to  frive  this  toast,  1 

eralily  cinhjirrassnl. 

ticnhuly  appropriate 

I,  so  zealons,  and  so 

h  of  Scotland  shoiiM 

ithor  of  Smii  Sliik: 

t  mi^'ht  hiive  hccn 

hy  one  nearer  home 

L'e  to  such  a  siihjcct; 

n   t^miiht    nie   that 

e  hut  to  i)roposc  it, 

t  spoke  for  itself,  as 

I  of  union  with  the 

nd  synipiithies,  and 

thinj^r,  therefore,  rc- 

:.  to  propose  it,  for 

icautiful  inseri]>linii, 

ty,  in  the  crypt  of 

:  inscription  to  the 

aiscd  it — tit  iiioini- 

m  .^I'Lcod,  of  the 
C  to  the  toast,  said — 
e  their  merits  tried 
iu(l<;e  than  the  hon- 
I  for  one  would  not 
ly  which  he  has  so 
assif^ncd  toan  illus- 
f  less  vcner!d)le.  is, 
)ver  the  world  than 
•where  admired  for 
men  and  manners 
diaracter — his  most 
humour;  and  who, 
larc  the  weaknesses 
illy  not  forget  their 


CENTENARY  CELEBRATIONS. 


S68 


virtues — I  mean  his  distinguished  friend  the 
Cloekmaker.  It  is  now  more  than  ten  years 
since  I  en,joyed  the  privilege,  which  the  Judge, 
no  doubt,  cannot  remember,  but  which  1  can- 
not forget,  of  receiving  a  shake  of  his  hand 
in  Halifax,  and  a  welcome  to  Nova  Scotia.  1 
now  in  (ilasgow  reciprocate  that  welcome  to 
old  Scotia;  and  where  could  Old  and  New 
Scotia  more  appropriately  meet  than  when 
coniniemoriiting  Robert  Uurns?  There  are 
two  things  which  to  me  make  Burns  sutKcicntly 
memorable.  One  is — his  noble  protest  for  the 
independence  and  dignity  of  humanity,  as  ex- 
pressed, for  exam|de,  in  that  heroic  song,  '  .\ 
man's  a  man  for  a'  that.'  Another  is — his 
intense  nationality — a  noble  sentiment,  spring- 
ing, like  a  nhmt  deeply  rooted  for  ages  in  the 
.soil,  and  bearing  fruit  which  nourishes  the 
manliest  virtues  of  a  people.  Few  men  have 
dene  for  any  country  in  this  respect  what  Hums 
has  done  for  Scotland.  He  has  made  our  Doric 
for  ever  poetical.  Kverything  in  our  land 
touchcfl  with  the  wand  of  his  genius  will  for 
ever  retain  the  new  Interest  and  beauty  whicii 
he  iias  imparted  to  it.  .\nd  yet,  sir,  liow  can 
;i  clergymen,  of  all  men,  forget  or  fail  to  ex- 
press his  deej)  sorrow  on  such  an  occasion  as 
the  present  for  some  things  that  Burns  has 
written,  .md  .vhich  deserve  the  uncompromis- 
ing condemnation  of  those  who  love  him  best? 
I  ani  not  called  upon  to  pa.ss  any  judgment  on 
him  as  a  man,  but  only  as  a  writer;  and  witli 
reference  to  some  of  his  poems,  from  my  heart 
I  say  it — for  his  own  sake,  for  the  .sake  of  my 
country,  for  the  sake  of  righteousness  more 
than  all — wouhl  (iod  they  were  never  written, 
never  printed,  and  never  read!  And  I  would 
rejoice  to  .sec,  as  the  result  of  these  festivals 
in  honour  of  Burns,  a  centenary  edition  of  his 
poems  from  which  everything  would  be  ex- 
cluded which  a  Christian  father  could  not  read 
aloud  in  his  family  circle,  or  the  Christian 
cotter  on  his  'Saturday  night'  to  iiis  sons 
and  daughters!  One  thing  I  feel  assured  of 
is — that,  righteously  to  condemn  •.vhatever  is 
inconsistent  with  purity  and  piety,  while  it  can- 
not lessen  one  ray  of  his  genius,  is  at  once  the 
best  proof  we  can  give  of  our  regard  for  his 
memory,  and  the  best  .siicrifice  wc  can  offer  to 
his  departed  spirit.  If  that  spirit  is  cognisant 
of  what  is  done  upon  earth,  mo.st  certainly  such 
a  judgment  must  bo  in  accordance  with  its 


most  solemn  convictions  and    most  earnest 
wishes." 

.Mr.  J.  I'.  Trotter,  advocate,  proposed  "Col- 
onel Burns  and  other  existing  IJehaives  of  the 
I'oet."  In  doing  so,  he  said — "  1  cannot  help 
remarking  that  it  isamatterof  eongnitulation 
to  this  as.sembly  that,  at  a  time  so  far  removed 
from  that  in  which  the  poet  lived,  we  are  priv- 
ileged  to  honour  him  in  the  presence  of  his 
son.  I  have  often  been  privileged  to  visit  our 
honourei' guest  and  his  no  less  honoured  brother 
at  their  delightful  residence  in  Cheltenham, 
and  I  have  often  thought  how  it  would  have 
gladdened  the  heart  of  his  father  if  he  had  been 
permitted  to  see  his  sons,  after  lives  passeil 
honourably  in  the  pursuit  of  an  honourable 
profession,  spending  the  evening  of  their  lives 
in  the  enjoyment  of  each  other's  society,  living 
under  the  .same  roof,  engaged  in  the  siime  pur- 
suits, and  devoted  to  each  other  with  a  love  so 
strong  OB  is  only  to  be  transcended  by  that 
still  stronger  love  which  they  bear  to  the  great 
name  of  their  father.  The  other  relatives  bear 
about  them  the  impress  of  worth  and  of  talent 
with  which  the  poet  himself  was  so  strongly 
stamped,  which  nuirks  and  verities  their  dis- 
tin^niishcd  lineage.  To  u.se  a  familiar  Scottish 
phrase,  they  are  all  come  of  a  good  kind;  and 
there  i.-;  much  meaning  in  that  phrase." 

Colonel  Burns  was  again  received  with  great 
applau.se.  1 1  e  .siiid — ' '  1  have  to  thank  my  friend 
Trotter  very  heartily  for  the  way  in  which  he 
has  introduced  the  toast,  and  you  for  the  hearty 
manner  in  which  you  have  responded  to  the 
toast  of  '  The  Sons  and  lielatives  of  the  Bard.' 
I  may  as  well  here  enumerate  them,  as  far  as 
my  knowledge  extends.  There  are  my  brother 
William  Nicol  and  my.self;  my  two  daughters, 
Mrs.  Hutchison,  with  her  two  children,  in 
Australia,  and  Annie  Burns,  now  in  J'klinburgh; 
and  my  late  brother  IJobert's  daughter,  Mrs. 
Everett,  wi.h  her  daughter,  in  Belfast.  These 
are  the  direct  descendants.  Jly  uncle  Gilbert 
left  a  large  family,  of  whom  .survives  one 
daughter  (Ann)  and  three  sons  (William, 
Thomas,  and  Gilbert).  The  three  brothers 
have  many  olive  branches.  For  tlie  survivors 
of  my  late  dear  aunt,  Jlrs.  Hegg,  I  leave  my 
cousin  Robert  to  thank  you  himself." 

Mr.  Robert  Burns  Begg,  nephew  of  the  poet, 
also  responded  to  the  toast. 

Mr.  Samuel  Lover  in  a  humorous  speech 


iii 


I"  J 


|f:;i 


254 


CENTENARY  CELEBRATIONS. 


i 


proposed  "  Tlic  liO^^scH,"  in  the  coufhc  of  which 
lie  read  iin  udditionai  verse  to  "(Jrccn  g'"j*i^ 
the  riwlics,  (»,"  eoinposed  by  Robert  Uurns, 
son  of  tile  great  poet: 

Frne  man's  nin  side  God  made  his  wark 

Tliat  a'  the  lave  surimgRcg,  (I; 
The  man  liut  lu'ea  his  ain  heart's  bluld 

Wha  dearly  lo'es  the  liusiies,  O! 

A  select  jiarty  of  forty  genticnien  dinei;  in 
tlie  Royal  Hotel  under  the  presidency  of  Mr. 
.lames  llcdderwiclv,  of  the  Citizen,  and  autlior 
of  the  LniiH  of  MidiHe  Life,  kv.  There 
were  also  present,  the  distinijnished  painter, 
Air.  (afterwurds  Sir  Daniel)  Macnee,  and  Mr. 
Alexander  Smith,  author  of  tlie  Life  Dmiiui 
and  other  poems. 

The  chairman,  in  proposing  the  toast  of  ♦'.e 
day,  said — "(Sentlemen,  \>ln;n  i  -flflo  „  that 
wherever  any  half-dozen  Scotsmen  arc  assem- 
bled, tliere  this  night  mu.st  be  a  iJurns's  festival, 
I  find  myself  haunted  by  a  fear  that,  great  as 
our  national  poet  undoubtedly  was,  the  lan- 
guage of  eulogy  may  reach  such  a  pitch  as  to 
defeat  its  end.  (ircat  rei)utations  are  at  all 
times  liable  to  be  assailed  by  the  intellects 
which  they  dwarf.  Now,  what  if  a  reaction 
should  ensue,  in  connection  with  this  Burns 
centenary,  the  risult  of  a  too  exuberant  apo- 
theosis? To  be  confidential  with  you,  1  had 
some  notion  of  trying  to  throw  a  little  shade 
into  the  picture.  I  began  to  muse  upon  the 
weaknesses  and  the  abberations  of  genius. 
l..ike  Wordsworth — but  in  a  more  critical 
mood — 

I  thought  of  Chatterton,  the  marvellous  hoy, 
The  sleepless  soul  that  perish'd  in  his  pride; 

Of  him  who  walk'd  in  glory  and  in  joy 
Behind  his  plough  upon  the  mountain  side. 

My  purpose  was,  like  the  Poet  of  the  Lakes,  to 
be  calm,  unimpa-ssioncd,  and  a  good  deal  more 
stern;  but,  1  may  iis  well  confess  to  you  at 
once,  that  it  melted  before  the  fire  of  Burns's 
genius.  To  siiy  the  truth,  the  time  is  past  for 
attempting  to  lower  the  position  of  Burns 
among  the  immortals.  At  the  outset  I  find 
my.self  confronted  by  a  success  I  cannot  gain- 
say, and  for  which  1  dare  only  try  to  account. 
The  enthusiasm  which  now  prevails  is  not  a 
thing  of  yesterday.  It  began  during  his  life. 
It  turned  the  heads  of  the  'Tarbolton  lassea' 
and  the  'belles  of  Mauchlinc.'  It  shook  the 
rafters  of  many  a  masonic  lodge  and  jovial 


liowff  in  various  parts  of  Ayrshire.  On  the 
wings  of  the  Kilmarnock  press  it  spread  over 
all  Scotland,  penetrated  the  high  places  of 
I-i.m; -g  in  classic  Kdinburgh,  'throned  on 
crugs,  ai:J  broke  in  tears  and  iicnitence  over 
the  poet's  gnivc  at  Dumfries.  1  say  penitence, 
not  because  1  consider  that  the  contemitoraricH 
of  Burns  were  particularly  to  blame  for  his  lite 
of  struggle,  but  because  his  countrymen, 
touched  i)y  his  early  death,  thought  bitterly 
on  wiiat  he  had  sutlered.  It  is  not,  1  hold, 
the  business  of  any  age  to  seek  <mt  and  elevate 
its  men  of  genius.  Such  enterprise  would  be 
(Quixotic,  and  liable  to  all  the  errors  of  caprice 
and  fashion.  <<enins  of  the  highest  kind  can 
never,  indeed,  be  known  until  proved  by  its 
own  immortalnes.s.  But  if,  from  inevitable 
causes.  Burns  found  Scotland  a  poor  cnougii 
land  to  live  in,  it  at  least  j)rovcd  for  him  a 
sufficiently  glorious  land  to  die  in.  Ten 
thousand  people  thronged  tohis  funeral.  Kvery 
scrap  of  his  burly  hand  writing  l)ecamc  a  treasure 
The  public  sorrow  took  visible  sliape  in  stoin. 
and  marble.  Notafavouritehaunt  ofhis  but  be- 
came immediately  and  for  ever  classic.  .  .  . 
In  the  universality  of  this  commemoration 
there  is  an  eloquence  which  enfeebles  all  speech, 
and  a  glory  which  dims  all  display.  Suffice 
it  that  we,  as  Scotsmen,  feel  a  debt  of  grati- 
tude to  him  who  was  the  first  to  popularize  the 
sentiment  of  'daring  to  be  poor,'  the  first  to 
cause  the  truth  to  be  widely  and  proudly  re- 
cognized among  his  countrymen,  that,  apart 
from  the  accidents  of  fortune,  '  a  man's  a  man 
for  a'  that.'" 

Various  other  meetings  of  somewhat  Ics.ser 
note,  but  none  the  Ies.s  enthusiastic,  were  held 
in  (ilasgow. 

In  Ayr  the  festival  was  celebrated,  as  might 
have  been  expected  from  its  proximity  to  the 
poet's  birthplace,  with  remarkable  enthusiasm. 
I>uring  the  day  there  was  a  great  procession  of 
the  freemasons  to  the  Cottage  and  Monument. 
In  the  evening  there  were  large  gatherings  at 
the  Cottage,  presided  over  by  the  Hev.  1*. 
Hately  Waddell,  who  has  since  been  an  editor 
of  the  poet's  works.  A  soiree  was  held  in  the 
As.sembly  Hoom,  while  the  masonic  body  dined 
in  the  Corn  Kxchange  Hall.  In  the  theatre 
a  large  meeting  was  also  held. 

The  principal  banquet,  however,  was  held 
in   the  County  Buildincs,   where  about  two 


Ayrshire.     On  the 

■CSS  it  sprciitl  oviT 

ill-   lii;;li   pliiccrt  of 

ru'li,    'throned  on 

nil  peiiitenc-e  over 

I  sii.v  pcniteiuo, 

the  eoiiteniporaries 

o  Illume  for  his  life 

his    eoni)trvnien, 

I,   tlioil;;ht  i)ittcrly 

It   is  not,  I   hold", 

;ek  out  iind  elevate 

ilcrprise  would  he 

ic  errors  of  eaiiriee 

a  liiu'hest  kiiul  can 

ntil  proved  liy  its 

f,    from  incvitaljje 

nd  a  poor  enouj^h 

jtroved  for  him  a 

to   die    in.      Ten 

his  funeral.    Kvery 

ijlieeame  a  treasure 

ibie  shape  in  stoin. 

haunt  of  his  hut  he- 

ver  i-iiissie.    .    .    . 

is   eominemoratiim 

•nl'eehlesall  speech, 

II  display.     Suflicc 

el  a  dehl  of  grati- 

<t  to  pojnilarize  the 

•  poor,'  the  first  to 
ily  and  proudly  re- 
rymen,  that,  ajiart 
ic,  '  a  man's  a  man 

)f  somewhat  le.sser 
lusiastie,  were  iicid 

ilehrated,  as  mi.nlit 
s  jiroximity  to  the 
rkahle  enthusiasm, 
great  procession  of 
ire  and  Monument. 
large  gatiicrings  at 

•  l.y  the  Rev.  1'. 
nee  heen  an  editor 
ec  was  held  in  the 
iiasonic  hody  dined 
1.  In  the  tlieatre 
d. 

lowever,  was  held 
where  about  two 


CKNTKNAUY  C'ELEHUATIONS. 


U6 


hundred  nnd  fifty  gentlemen  sat  down  to  din- 
ner— Sir  Jamett  Fergusson  of  Kilkerran  in  the 
chair;  Professor  Aytoun,  eroupier. 

The  ehairman,  in  giving  the  toast  of  the 
evening,  said — "Wholly  unequal  as  1  am  to  do 
justice  to  this  oceasion,  1  have  felt  that  to 
shrink  from  the  proud  and  enviable  olUce  that 
had  Iteeii  oH'ered  to  me  would  be  to  eonfe.ss  my 
inaitility  to  unite  with  my  fellow-countrymen 
in  their  great  nnanimotis  rejoicing.  1  know 
that  1  speak  in  the  presence  of  the  living  poet 
of  Scotland — whose  gloriou;*  lines  cause  every 
one's  cheek  to  glow  with  pride  and  i>leasure — 
of  him  who  has  drank  deep  at  the  fountain 
whence  IJurns  derived  his  insjiiiation — who 
has  restored  to  us  so  many  of  tho.se  noble  old 
Scottish  lays  from  the  perusal  of  which  Uurns 
imbibed  the  nurture  of  his  genius.  Also,  1 
speak  to  many  upon  whose  cars  must  linger 
the  burning  words  of  the  panegyrics  of  Kglin- 
toun,  of  Wilson,  and  of  Aytoun,  delivered  on 
the  Hanks  of  Doon  at  the  first  great  celebration 
in  honour  of  the  I'oet's  memory,  and  whose 
hearts  must  have  been  struck  in  their  tender- 
csl  chord  by  the  written  praises  of  Jeflrey,  of 
Carlylc,  of  Wordsworth,  and  of  Montgomery. 
The  meeting  which  I  now  address  is  not  so 
large  as  that  which  as.semblcd  on  the  banks  of 
the  Doon.  It  is  not  even  graced  by  so  many 
men  who  have  rendered  themselves  famous  by 
their  success  in  science,  in  poetry,  or  in  art.  Hut 
it  is  the  great  central  meeting  of  a  vast  inim- 
ber  of  meetings,  lield  in  every  town,  and  vil- 
lage, and  hamlet  throughout  the  country,  and 
in  different  parts  of  the  world.  The  demon- 
stration of  to-day  makes  me  feel  proud  of  being 
a  Scotsman.  It  is  as  the  poet  of  Scotland  that 
I  call  upon  you  to  do  honour  to  Hums  this 
day;  and  let  not  our  children's  children,  to 
whom  Hurns's  songs  will  be  as  dear  as  to  us, 
have  cause  to  wonder  at  the  littleness  of  the 
minds  of  those  who,  while  regarding  the  shell 
in  which  the  pearl  was  hid,  forgot  the  bright- 
ness of  the  jewel.  It  is  our  peculiar  right  and 
privilege  in  Ayrshire  to  show  how  much  we 
value  the  poet.  What  Stratford  was  to  Shak- 
speare — what  Weimar  was  to  Schiller  and 
(ioethe — so  is  Ayrshire  to  Hums.  This  is  a 
spot  dear  to  us,  and  but  for  the  genius  of  Hums 
it  would  have  been  comparatively  unknown; 
but  now  it  has  gained  a  world-wide  fame. 
Burns  holds  the  first  place  in  popular  favour 


— in  the  estimation  of  all  who  have  a  heart 
and  a  soul  to  value  and  appreciate  him — by 
the  scholar  and  the  critic- -iiy  the  simple  and 
unlettered  —his  memory  lives  and  shall  live 
with  us;  ami  to-day  we  lay  a  gift  at  his  shrine 
— t  he  oH'ering  of  a  nation's  grat  itude  and  love. " 

Professor  Aytoun  in  course  of  his  sjicech 
said — "  It  was  on  a  cold  night  like  this,  when 
the  wind  howled  us  it  docs  now,  and  the  sleet 
was  beating  as  it  docs  now,  when  within  a 
humble  cottage,  was  heard  the  feeble  cry  of  a 
baiie  just  brought  into  a  world  wherein  it  was 
to  find  so  much  fame,  and  to  suHer  so  much 
distress.  It  is  with  unmingled  satisfaction 
that  1  have  Joined  the  demonstrations  that 
are  being  made,  not  only  in  this  his  native 
district,  but  all  over  Scotland,  beyond  the 
Holder,  in  America  I  know,  and  in  Australia 
I  believe,  in  honour  of  our  greatest,  of  our 
self-reared,  of  our  most  ]iopular  poet.  1  have 
heard  it  said  that  in  meeting  together  in  this 
way  we  are  perpetrating  iilolatry  and  man- 
worship,  and  we  are  attempting  to  pass  over, 
or  rather  to  varnish,  frailty  in  the  individual 
man.  Sir,  1  am  no  idolater,  no  man-worshiiijier. 
I  am  not  here  to  varnish  over  frailty,  or  to 
defend  it;  but  I  say  to  those  men  who  have 
made  the  accusjition,  that  if  they  would  judge 
him  in  a  more  kindly  spirit  tliey  would  act 
more  in  accordance  with  the  dictates  of  Christ- 
ianity." The  learned  jyrofcs.sor  concluded  an 
eloquent  speech  by  proposing  "The  Memory 
of  Sir  Walter  Scott." 

The  demonstrations  at  Dumfries  in  honour 
of  the  centenary  were  not;ibly  enthusiastic. 
There  were  at  the  time  a  few  old  people  living 
in  Dumfries  who  had  a  vivid  recollection  of 
the  la.st  days  of  Hums,  who  remembered  his 
appearance,  and  could  point  out  the  spots 
where  he  was  generally  seen.  In  the  course 
of  the  day  there  was  a  pulilic  procession;  and 
in  the  evening  there  were  two  dinner  parties 
— one,  that  of  the  local  Hums  Club,  the  other 
a  great  public  dinner.  The  business  of  the 
town  was  entirely  suspended,  and  the  shops 
were  shut  all  day.  In  many  of  the  streets 
triumphal  arche.s,  adorned  witli  evergreens, 
were  erected.  The  town  was  thronged  with 
strangers  from  all  parts  of  the  country.  In 
the  procession  the  provost,  magistrates,  and 
town  council,  the  incorporated  trades,  free- 
masons, tradesmen,  &c.,  took  part.     At  night 


•2Mi 


CENTENAUY  CELKUUATIf  NS. 


thcro  were  illuniiimtioiiM,  fircworkH,  and  buii' 
tircri. 

At  tlio  dinner  liuld  under  tlic  auxjiii'cs  of  the 
IJurnn  Club,  tlic  cimir  wuh  occupietl  l>y  Dr.  \V, 
A.  F.  HroH  lie.  Tlio  miwt  notcwortliy  of  tlione 
prcHci'*  were,  Mr.  Thoiniw  Aird  of  the  Diim- 
J'riin  .  'mill  (the  poet);  and  Colonel  William 
Nicol  Darii!*.  The  latter,  in  replying  to  the 
toantof  "The  Health  of  the  Horn  of  Huriw," 
returned  liiM  moxt  grateful  thankM.  }le  re- 
ferrcfl  to  the  pi-oi,'iens  of  liini.'<elf  and  his 
brother  in  the  army  in  India.  Ah  ha<l  been 
the  case  in  every  distriet  of  Sootlaiiil,  so  in 
India,  from  the  genius  of  Robert  Burnn,  they 
had  rceeived  an  enthimiastie  reception.  From 
the  Hnme  eaii.sc  he  himself  and  hU  brother  hail 
received  an  appointment  in  the  start"  of  one  of 
their  generals.  Having  spent  a  long  residence 
in  India,  they  had  now  come  to  spend  the 
evening  of  their  life  in  this  their  native  land. 
And  wherever  the  sons  of  Hums  had  gone, 
wliether  into  Fnglaiul,  Scotland,  or  Ireland, 
they  had  always  been  received  with  the  great- 
est enthusiasm.  Kven  in  .Vmerica,  the  jieople 
had  almost  as  enthusiastically  responded  to  the 
names  of  the  sons  of  Burns  an  in  their  own 
country.  Colonel  Burns  also  presented  him- 
self at  the  general  or  town's  meeting  held  in 
the  sheds  of  the  N'ithsdale  Mills.  He  was  re- 
ceived with  most  rapturous  demonstrations, 
and  his  health,  as  well  as  that  of  his  brother, 
was  the  occasion  of  extreme  enthusiasm.  In 
rising  to  respond  he  was  so  deeply  moved  that 
he  could  only  utter  a  few  words  of  thanks. 

Similar  celebrations  were  held  in  almost 
every  town  and  village  of  Scotland;  while 
Manchester,  Liverpool,  Southampton,  Oxford, 
Bristol,  Newcastle,  Carlisle,  &c. ,  among  Knglish 
towns  vied  with  each  other  in  doing  honour  to 
Burn.s.  In  London  the  Caledonian  Society 
celebrated  the  day,  as  the  accredited  represent- 
atives of  the  Scotch  resident  in  Kngland,  by  a 
dinner  held  in  the  London  Tavern.  Mr.  \V. 
Chambers  of  Edinburgh,  who  appeared  as  one  of 
a  deputation  from  the  body  of  gentlemen  by 
whom  the  centenary  festival  had  been  got  up  in 
Edinburgh,  exhibited  several  very  interesting 
relics  of  the  poet.  The  chair  was  occupied  by  M  r. 
R.  Slarshall,  the  president  of  the  Caledonian 
Society;  and  among  the  gentlemen  present 
were  Mr.  Charles  Knight,  Profes-sor  Masson, 
Dr.  W.   B.   Hougson,  David  Roberts,  R.A., 


Mr.  Hepwortli  Dixon,  kc.  Mr.  Hepburn,  mic 
of  the  vice-presidentH,  proposeil  "The  .Memory 
of  Burns,"  which  was  drunk  with  every  deiium. 
stration  of  respect.  A  variety  of  other  toasts  tul. 
lowed — such  as  "  liritish  Literature,"  coiipinl 
with  the  name  of  Professor  Masson;  "The 
Fine  Arts;"  "The  Kdinburgh  Depulution," 
coupled  with  the  name  of  Mr.  W.  Chambers, 
who  replied,  anil  describfil  the  nature  of  .some 
of  the  relics  of  Burns  which  he  had  brought 
for  the  inspection  of  the  company;— "Our 
(iuests,"  replied  to  by  .Mr.  Charles  Knight; 
"The  Land  o'  Cakes,"  Ac. 

\  cv  iisiderablc  number  of  gentlemen  dincil 
together  at  the  (iuildhall  Hotel  under  the  pre- 
sidency of  Mr.  James  Hannay  (the  novelist), 
who  in  the  course  of  his  sjieech  proposim; 
"The  Memory  of  Burn.s,"  said: — "He  liiil 
not  rise  without  some  hesitation  and  ajipre- 
hension  to  bring  before  them  the  toast  of  the 
evening.  He  could  not  but  feel  the  great 
dirticiilty  of  doing  justice  to  the  memory  uf 
that  jioet  who,  perhajis  alone,  of  all  the  poets 
in  the  world,  was  honoured  by  such  a  celelini- 
tioii.  He  would  speak  of  him  not  only  as  a 
poet,  but  as  one  of  the  greatest  men  that  the 
race  of  which  they  were  all  proud  had  ever 
proilueed.  He  would  not  simply  look  upmi 
him  as  a  man  of  letters,  but  as  a  great  Scots- 
man, and  as  part  of  the  history  of  that  great 
Scottish  land  which  was  the  mother  of  them 
all.  They  would  do  Burns  a  great  injustjiL' 
if  they  set  him  up  against  great  poct.s,  ami 
compared  his  easi:<il  writings  and  poems  with 
the  writings  of  literary  cclul.rities  By  doing 
that  they  would  not  only  do  an  injustice  to 
Burns,  but  also  do  an  injustice  to  the  country 
from  which  he  came.  He  preferred  to  look 
at  him  as  the  product  of  the  nation  to  which 
he  belonged,  and  as  part  of  it — a  man  whose 
writings  and  life  became  as  much  a  part  of 
Scottish  nationality  as  the  Castle  of  Edinburgh 
or  the  I'alaec  of  Holyrood.  They  were  not 
merely  met  to  eclebnitc  the  memory  of  a  great 
man.  They  might  have  centenaries  in  honour 
of  many  great  men  amongst  their  countrymen. 
If  they  held  a  centenary  for  every  Scotsman  of 
importance  in  Europe  they  would  never  be 
sober.  There  was  some  reason  why  one  par- 
ticular man  should  be  selected  for  honour  all 
over  the  world.  It  wa.s  not  merely  in  conse- 
quence of  the  force  of  his  understanding  and 


MONUMENTS  TO  BUllNS. 


m 


Mr.  IIc[)liuri),  one 
Kud  "The  MciiKin- 

with  every  (lu'iuoii- 
yofothertouf*i.><|„I. 
iteniture,"  n)ii|ili.,| 
>r  .MunHon;  "The 
ir^li  Dcputulioii,' 
Mr.  W.  Chainliir^, 
the  nntiirc  of  nmic 
li  he  had  hrouKlit 

lonipimy;— "Oiir 
Charles  Knight; 

f  f,'<'iitlemcii  (liiuil 
otcl  under  the  pro- 
nay  (the  novel i;*!), 
speeoh    propoMin;; 
Maid:— "He  did 
itation  and  ajijire- 
m  the  ♦oust  of  the 
Hit   feel    the  Krcat 
to  the  nu-niory  of 
ic,  of  all  the  poets 
i)y  Kueh  a  celehra- 
him  not  only  as  a 
ite.st,  men  that  the 
11   proud   had  ever 
simply  look  upon 
It  as  a  txrctit  Seois- 
story  of  that  Kri'.it 
0  mother  of  ihein 
■1  a  liwal  injustice 
t  >;reat  poet.s,  and 
;h  and  poems  with 
Lr!tie^'      Uy  doin;; 
ilo  an  injustice  to 
ticc  to  the  country 
preferred  to  look 
IC  nation  to  whieh 
it— a  man  whose 
s  much  a  part  of 
istle  of  Kdinhurph 
They  were  not 
memory  of  a  prcat 
Lcnarics  in  honour 
their  countrymen, 
every  Scotsman  of 
would   never  he 
.son  why  one  par- 
'ed  for  honour  all 
merely  in  conse- 
ndcrstanding  and 


intellect.  No  man  would  doubt  that  David  held  on  the  Houth  of  the  Tweed— took  place 
lluino  M  a  man  aa  remarkable  in  natural  at  the  Crystal  I'alaee,  Hydur.ham.  Trains  were 
jfifis,  anu  they  mij,'ht  just  ao  well  expect  an-  run  from  a  very  early  hour,  and  loiiff  before 
other  Hume  as  another  Mums;  but  they  ilid  the  time  for  the  commencement  of  the  cere- 
not  attend  there  to  drink  old  David'n  health,  monies  nn  immense  multitude  hail  assend)led 
lie  was  a  much  frreater  man  than  Hums  in  in  the  Central  Transept.  The  proceeilingn 
some  respects,  and  yet  they  met  to  celebrate  bewin  at  twelve  o'clock,  when  a  colossal  bust 
liie  memory  of  Hum.s,  and  not  of  David,  be-     of  ihepoet,  by  Mr.  Caldcr  Marshall  the  sculptor, 

was  unveiled.  \'arious  relics  of  the  poet  were 
also  exhibited,  sucli  as  portraits,  autof^raphs, 
been  su>,'i,'csted  by  some  writers  on  the  subject  i  and  other  articles.  In  the  lecture-room  of 
of  the  centenary  meet ini?  that  nothing  should  I  the  bnililing  "Tarn  o'  Shanter"  was  recited 
be  said  about  Uurns's  life  and  character,  but  at  intervals  to  a  succession  of  audiences,  the 
he  (tiie  chairman)  contended  that  there  was  [  i)rincipal  "situations"  being  illustrated  by 
nothing  in  the  whole  course  of  Hurns's  bio-  dissolving  views.  This  was  one  of  the  most 
graphy  of  which   they   should    be  ashamed.  '  pojudar  incidents  of  the  day.     The  Crystal 


cause  there  was  about  Mums  a  humanity  and 
manhood  bcvond  all  intellectual  traits.    It  had 


Murns's  heart  was  good;   his  head  was  good; 
his  princijdcs  were  good;  he  displayed  fidelity 


i'alaee  Company  having  oH'cred  a  juize  of  fifty 
guineas  for  the  best  poem  on  ..lie  occasion,  no 


to  his  friends,  and  both  kindness  and  iitlection  '  fewer  than  six  hundred  and  twenty-one  poems 
towards  his  c<|uals.      Very  few  men  that  ever  '  were  put  in  competition.     The  great  event  of 


had  been  known  could  be  compared  with  him. 
Whose  friendship  did  he  betray?     Whose  wife 


the  day  was  the  announeenient  of  the  author 
of  the  jirize  poem  and  the  recital  of  the  verses. 


did  he  seduce?  Whose  honour  did  he  calum-  '  The  a<ljudicators,  Mr.  1!.  Monckton  Jlilnes 
niate?  Whose  generosity  did  he  neglect?  j  (Lord  Houghton),  Sir  Theodore  Mtirtiu,  and 
The  worst  that  could  be  said  of  him  was  that  ,  Tom  Taylor,    assigned   the  prize  to  the  ode 


he  was  too  indulgent  of  his  animal  capacity. 
He  was  not  the  man  to  say  thiit  tliese  things 


written  by   Isa  (-'raig  (now   l.sa  Craig  Knox), 
the  author  of  a  small  volume  of  poetry  pub- 


were  defensible;  and  if  they  thouirht  him  a  lished  some  little  time  previously,  but  whose 
very  biid  man,  the  mere  fact  that  he  had  writ-  |  name  was  utterly  new  to  most  people.  It  will 
ten  clever  poems  would  not  justify  them  in     be  found  in   the  present  volume  among  the 


honouring  his  memory.  He  felt  convinced, 
however,  that,  taking  into  consideration  the 
notions  that  prevailed  in  the  days  when  Murn.s 


"  I'ocms  written  in  memory  of  Mums."  The 
poem  was  read  by  Mr.  I'hclps,  the  actor,  and 
was  received  with  the  greatest  applause.     The 


lived,  and  all  thecireumstances  that  surrounded  I  visitors  durimr  the  latter  part  of  the  day 
him,  an  expression  of  kindness  and  affection  '  amused  themselves  with  singing  Scotch  songs, 
was  due  to  his  memory  on  personal  as  well  as  dancing  Scotch  reels,  and  eating  dinners,  from 
on  literary  grounds.  which  the  Scotch  delicacies  of  haggis,  eoek- 


The  most  popular  and  general  commemora- 
tion in  London — in  fact  by  far  the  greatest 


a-leekie,   Ayrshire  puddings,    &c.,   were  not 
omitted. 


MONUMENTS    TO   BURNS. 


The  first  monument  erected  to  the  memory 
of  liurns  was  a  simple  slab  of  freestone  placed 
over  the  grave  in  the  north  corner  of  St. 
Michael's  Churchyard,  Dumfries,  where  the 
remains  of  Mums  and  two  of  his  children  were 
originally  interred.  This  tombstone,  which  la 
now  preserved  in  the  neighbouring  mausoleum, 


was  erected  by  his  widow,  and  bears  the  fol- 
lowing inscription: — "In  memory  of  Uobcrt 
Burns,  who  died  the  Slst  July,  1796,  in  the  37th 
year  [38th]  of  his  age;  and  Maxwell  Burns,  who 
died  the  25th  April,  1799,  aged  2  years  and 
9  months ;  also  of  Francis  Wallace  Mums,  who 
died  the  9th  of  July,  1803,  aged  14  years." 


i;:l 


n 


2SH 


MONUMKNTS  TO  IllTKNS. 


J    1 


A  general  niovenicnt  for  thu  erection  of  u 
pulilit'iiioiiiiiiK'iit  wii.Hiiot  miidutill  Olh.lanuiiry, 
IMM,  wlieiiu  iiu'ciiii.;  took  pliu'-j  lit  DumiricK, 
at  wliii-li  it  \\i\*  <l('ierniliieil  l)y  tiioxo  preneiit 
tliat  "a  iiiiiiiKoltMini  oiii;iit  to  lie  reared  over 
the  Krave  of  limns."  A  eoimnittee  was  at  tlio 
same  time  fi>riiK'il  ini'lutliiiK  iioltieineii,  ^eiitle- 
iiieii,  eler^'.Yiiit'ii,  anil  noiiio  of  the  principal 
eilizen.s  of  l)innlVies,  for  the  piir]>ose  of  eollect- 
lun  Miii)Hcriplii>ns  and  )«iiperi\  teiidinu'  the  erec- 
tion of  the  proposed  liuiidinK.  .Money  liein^ 
iiherall.v  forwarded,  not  only  from  the  vuriouM 
parts  of  Scotland,  Imt  from  other  parts  of 
tlic  I'luted  Kinu'diim,  from  the  Kasl  and  West 
Indies,  and  in  m  .Vniorica,  tho  eonunitteo  were  i 
soon  enabled  to  prucced  to  the  more  interesting 
part  of  their  duly.  .\  plan  by  Mr.  Tiiomas 
Frederick  Hunt,  of  London,  of  a  plain  Doric  | 
temple  reared  above  i;  .-cpuhdiral  vault,  liaviiif; 
been  selected  from  those  furnished  by  various 
competini;  architects,  the  foundation-stone  was 
lai<l  with  masonic  honours  by  Mr,  William 
Miller  of  i>alswinion,  provincial  Ki'and-master 
of  tho  Dumfries  district,  on  the  .Mh  of  June,  | 
ISlf).  The  procc.-sion,  which  was  escorted  liy 
the  Dumfries  yeomanry  cavalry,  was  composed 
of  the  nuii;isl rales,  committee  of  mana;;ement, 
subscribers,  and  llie  irrand  committee  of  the  ^ 
seven  incorporated  trailes  witii  their  colours, 
aiul  about  I'jn  freemasons.  A  disa]ipointin^ 
l>ieccof  .sculpture  l)yan  artist  named  Turnerelli, 
reprc.sentin<{  liurns  at  the  ploiiKb,  while  his 
genius  Coila  in  very  sul)slanee  is  throwin}^  an 
actual  mantle  of  inspiration  over  him,  is  placed 
against  the  back  wall  of  the  mausoleum.  All 
that  can  be  said  in  its  favour  is  that  its  meaning; 
is  intclligilde,  and  that  if  it  does  not  satisfy 
fastidious  art  critics,  it  appeals  successfully  to 
the  popular  eye  and  heart.  The  spot  where 
Burns  was  oritrinally  iiuried  at  the  north  corner 
of  the  ehurchyard  was  too  confined  for  tho 
ereetion,  which  was  consequently  built  on  a 
site  in  the  south-east,  thus  necessitating  the 
removal  of  the  poet's  remain.s  and  those  of  his 
two  .SOILS — a  duty  which  wa.s  performed  with 
all  delicacy  on  10th  .^^eptember,  1815,  as  de- 
scribed in  vol.  i.  pp.  l(i8-70.  The  whole  cost 
of  the  building  was  about  £1500.  The  remains 
of  Mrs.  Hums  were  deposited  in  the  vault  be- 
side those  of  her  husband  in  April,  1834 ;  and 
it  also  contains  the  remains  of  the  poet's  sons, 
Robert,  who  died  in  1857,  James  Glencairu, 


who  died   in  1805,  and  William  Nicol,  wiio 
died  in  1872. 

Tho  credit  of  originating  a  monument  tn 
liurns  on  the  spot  of  his  birtli|ilace  is  due  In 
Sir  .Alexander  lioswell  of  Auchinleek,  son  nl 
tho   biographer  of  Johnson.     Sir   Alexandii 
(then  only  .Mr.  Hoswell),  in  concert  with  one 
other  gentleman,  iieing  deeply  impressed  uiih 
the  claims  of   Hums    upon    his  countrynu  ii. 
and  believing  that  an  appeal  for  fuiuls  lo  erect 
a  memorial  for  him  on  the  banks  of  the  hmm 
would  bo  heartily  resi)oniled  to,  ventured  lo 
call  a  pulilic  meeting  in  ,\yr  for  the  purpose 
of    taking    the   (jueslion    into   <-oiisideriiiii>ii. 
Tho  day  arrived  and  with  it  the  hour  of  mci  i- 
ing;  but  not  a  single  individual  except  .Mr. 
Hoswell  aiul  his  friciul  came  to  take  part  in  il. 
To  all  appearance  they  ha<l  miscalcidated  i In- 
public  feeling  on  the  subject ;  and,  under  sucii 
circumstances,   the  most  of  men  would  have 
retired   from  the  field  and   thought  lU)  more 
about  the  matter.     Mr.  Hoswell  and  his  frieini 
thoughtdiHerently;  they  believed  that  acciden- 
tal circumstances  might  be  in  a  great  ineasiire 
the  cause  of  the  failure  of  the  meeting     tlmt 
even  in  .\yr  there  was  no  want  of  feelii\u'  on 
the  subject- but  that,  sboidd  local  sympailiy 
fail,  there  were  Scottish  hearts  uinler  all  lati- 
tudes which  would  throb  at  the  idea  of  rearini: 
a  suitable  iiuirk  of  the  fame  of  Hums  besiilc 
the  banks  and  braes  of  bonnie  Doon.      .\ccoi'. 
dingly,  with  all  due  formality,   .Mr.    Hc»\\ell 
was  voted  by  his  friend  into  the  chair;  a  resolu- 
tion to  commence  a  sub>cripl ion  for  the.  monu- 
ment was  moved  by  the  same  friend,  and  passed 
unanimously;  a  minute  of  the  |iroceedings  was 
driiwn  up  and  signed   by  the  chairman,  iind 
the  meeting  was  then  dis.solved.     The  friends 
next  advertised  the  resolution  which  had  been 
unanimously  passed  at  the  meeting,  and  sidi- 
scriptions  began  to  pour  in.     Hy  the  lieginning 
of  l.S'20  the  sum  of  .ilGOO  was  collected,  and 
it  wiw  resolved  to  commence  the  building  on 
the  anniversary  of  the   poet's   birthday  that 
year.     Accordingly  on  the  iippointed  <lay  the 
foundation-stone  was  laid  by   Mr.  Hoswell  as 
deputy  grand -master,  a  number  of  masonic 
bodies  having  marched  in  procession  from  .\yr 
to  the  place  selected  betwec      he  new  and  old 
bridges  over  the  Doon,  accompanied  by  a  vast 
concourse  of  spectators.     The  monument  was 
finished   on   the  4th  July,   1823,   when   Mr. 


Villiam  Niool,   who 

^g  a  monuinunt  Id 
l>ii'tlii>lai-o  Ih  due  ti> 

Aucliiiiluck,  Noii  (i| 
111.  Sir  Alcxiiiiilii 
n  concert  with  out' 
i'|iiy  ini|ircssc(l  wiili 
n  hiM  CDiiiitiyiiM  II, 
111  for  t'lmilM  to  iTuct 
!  Itiiiiiis  1)1'  tiie  hiKin 
lud  to,  vcnluri'il  to 
\yr  tor  the  jJiiriicKc 

into  considcratiiiii. 
it  the  hour  of  nicit^ 
lividual  except  Mr. 
le  to  lake  jiart  in  it. 
I  mlHcalcuiatcd  iIk; 
c't;  and,  under  siuii 
d'  Mien  would  have 
I  tln>ui;iit  no  more 
swell  and  lii.-i  friend 
L'lieved  thai  aceidiii- 
!  in  a  great  nieasuiu 

tiic  nieotiiijr     tiial 

want  of  feelini:  mi 
iild  loeai  synipaihy 
earts  under  all  lali- 
t  the  idea  of  reariiiLC 
me  of  Hiirn.s  liesidc 
iinie  Doon.  .Vecm- 
lality,  .Mr.  Iio>wrll 
)  the  chair;  a  resolii. 
ption  for  the.  nioim- 
10  friend,  and  jiassed 
tile  proceedings  was 

the  cliairnian,  and 
olved.  Tlic  friends 
ion  wliieh  had  lieen 
:  nicetinir,  and  siili- 
.  By  the  lieginniiii; 
)  was  collected,  and 
lee  the  liiiildin^  on 
Oct's  i)irthday  that 
'.  ajipointed  day  the 

hy  Mr.  Uoswell  as 
iiuniticr  of  masonic 
proecs.sion  from  .\yr 
;c  he  new  and  old 
ompanied  by  a  vast 
The  nionunicnt  was 
■,    1823,   when   Mr. 


m 


ii  i 


pi 


•4 


MONUMENTS  TO  BURNS. 


969 


Fullarton  of  Skeldon,  in  the  presence  of  a  nume- 
rous assemblage  of  freemasons  and  subscribers, 
placed  the  tripod  on  the  summit  and  delivered 
an  appropriate  address.  The  building,  which 
was  designed  gratuitously  by  Mr.  Tliomas 
Hamilton,  junr.,  of  Edinburgh,  recalls  the 
purest  days  of  Grecian  architecture.  It  was 
meant  by  Mr.  Hamilton  to  be  in  some  measure 
ii  revival  of  the  celebrated  choragic  monument 
of  Lysicratcs  at  Athens.  It  consists  of  a  tri- 
angular basement  (representative  of  the  three 
divisions  of  Ayrshire,  Cunningham,  Kyle,  and 
Carrick),  upon  which  rises  a  circular  peristyle 
supporting  a  cupola.  The  peristyle  consists 
of  nine  Corinthian  pillars  30  feet  in  height, 
representative  of  the  number  of  the  muses. 
Tijcy  were  designed  from  the  three  remaining 
columns  of  the  Comitium  in  the  Forum  at 
Rome.  Above  the  cupola  rises  a  gilt  tripod, 
supported  by  three  inverted  dolphins — fishes 
sacred  to  .\pollo,  and  hence  selected  aa  orna- 
ments proper  to  tlic  monument  of  a  poet.  The 
whole  building,  wiiich  is  60  feet  in  height, 
stands  in  an  inclosed  plot  of  ground  about  an 
acre  in  extent,  beautifully  laid  out  and  well 
stocked  with  shrubs  and  flowers,  and  in  which 
is  a  grotto  containing  Thom's  statues  of  "  Tam 
o'  Shantcr"  and  "Souter  Johnny."  A  small 
chamber  in  the  basement  of  the  pile  forms  a 
kind  of  Ikirns  museum,  among  the  relics  pre- 
served being  "  Higiiland  Mary's  "  Bible.  The 
total  cost  of  the  monument  was  £3350. 

The  idea  of  erecting  a  monument  to  Burns 
in  Edinburgh  originated  with  Mr.  John  Forbes 
Mitchell  of  Bombay;  and  the  object  at  first 
conteinplatcil  was  a  colossal  statue  of  the  poet, 
to  be  raised  in  the  open  air  in  some  conspicuous 
part  of  the  Scottish  capital.  A  considerable 
sum  was  collected  in  India,  chiefly  through  the 
exertions  of  Mr.  Mitchell,  who  after  his  return 
to  England  continued  these  exertions,  and  did 
not  rest  till  ho  had  placed  the  business  in  the 
h^uuls  of  a  rcspectatde  committee.  The  first 
of  a  series  of  "festivals"  to  promote  the 
subscriptions  was  held  in  London  on  24th 
April,  1819,  under  the  presidency  of  the  Duke 
of  Sussex,  son  of  George  III.,  and  supported 
!>y  Sir  James  Mackintosh;  Sir  Francis  Burdett; 
Flaxman,  the  sculptor;  Crabbc,  the  poet;  Tom 
Moore ;  Robert  Owen ;  John  Gladstone ;  &c. ; 
while  Scott  and  Campbell  were  prevented  by 
illnesd  from  attending.     In  1824  the  state  of 


the  subscriptions  warranted  a  start  being  made 
with  the  work,  so  an  agreement  was  made  with 
John  Flaxman,  the  first  British  sculptor  of  his 
day,  not  for  a  colossal  bronze  statue,  as  origi- 
nally  intended,  but  for  a  marble  statue  of  tlie 
size  of  life.  To  enable  the  .sculptor  to  transmit 
the  features  of  the  poet  to  posterity  as  faithfully 
as  possible,  he  was  supplied  with  Na-smyth's 
well-known  portrait.  The  engraving  made 
from  that  portrait  by  Beuuo  was  likewise  sent 
him,  being  considered  to  po.sscss  excellencies 
of  its  own.  In  portraying  his  figure  and  general 
appearance,  the  sculptor  was  guided  by  descrip- 
tions furnished  by  several  friends  who  had  a 
vivid  recollection  of  the  poet.  As  a  whole, 
the  statue  may  be  accepted  as  presenting  a 
fair  characteristic  representation  of  the  general 
aspect  of  the  poet,  as  well  as  being  an  excellent 
work  of  art.  When  the  statue  was  completed, 
thecommittee  found  they  had  a  surplus  of  about 
£1300  in  hand,  with  which  they  resolved  toerect 
a  monumental  structure  for  its  reception.  \n 
elegant  design  was  furnished  gratuitously  by 
Mr.  T.  Hamilton,  the  architect  of  the  Ayr 
monument,  and  the  structure,  which  is  in  the 
style  of  a  Greek  peripteral  temple  inclosing  a 
cella  on  a  quadrangular  base,  and  surmounted 
by  a  cupola  supporting  a  tripod  with  wingeil 
fabulous  creatures,  was  erected  on  a  prominent 
site  on  the  southern  terrace  of  the  Calton  Hill. 
It  was  finished  in  1831,  the  total  cost  of  statue 
and  temple  being  about  £3300.  It  Avas  found 
that  the  space  within  the  monument  was  too 
confined  for  the  statue,  which  was  first  removed 
to  the  library  hall  of  the  university,  and  after- 
wards to  the  National  (iallery,  where  it  forms 
a  prominent  feature  among  the  works  of  sculp- 
ture. The  interior  of  the  monumental  struc- 
ture is  now  appropriated  as  a  museum  for  de- 
positing Burns  memorials — prominent  among 
which  is  a  fine  bust  of  the  poet  by  W.  Brodie 
— and  is  one  of  the  well-known  sights  of  the 
city. 

At  the  formation  of  the  Glasgow  Burns  Club 
in  1859,  and  at  every  .successive  anniversary 
meeting,  the  desirability  of  erecting  a  monu- 
ment to  the  memory  of  Burns  in  the  western 
metropolis  was  mooted,  but  the  project  assumed 
no  definite  shape  till  1872,  when  Dr.  Hedder- 
wick  of  the  Ercnimj  Citizen  was  the  means  of 
organizing  a  shilling  subscription  for  this 
object.     The  scheme  was  heartily  responded 


m\ 


260 


MONUMENTS  TO  BURNS. 


to  by  the  public.  Subacriptiona  flowed  in 
from  all  parts  of  the  civilized  world,  including 
t'liina,  India,  New  Zealand,  Australia,  South 
Africa,  the  United  States,  Canada,  and  other 
distant  places.  When  the  success  of  the  move- 
ment was  assured,  the  committee  decided  that 
the  memorial  should  be  placed  in  George 
Square— wiiere  a  number  of  eminent  men 
were  already  represented  in  a  similar  way — 
and  that  it  should  take  the  form  of  an  upright 
statue.  Mr.  George  E.  Kwing,  a  prominent 
local  sculptor,  was  invited  to  submit  a  design 
model,  which  met  with  the  approval  of  the 
committee,  and  lie  was  commissioned  to  proceed 
with  the  work.  The  working  men  of  the 
West  of  Scotland  having  entered  so  heartily 
and  spontaneously  into  the  movement,  the 
committee  thought  proper  to  consult  the  re- 
presentatives of  the  trades  of  Glasgow  as  to 
what  part  the  working  men  might  like  to  take 
in  the  inauguration  ceremonies.  These  were 
fixed  to  take  place  on  25th  January,  1877, 
being  the  118th  anniversary  of  the  poet's 
birth,  and  it  was  decided  that  there  should  be 
a  muster  of  the  trades  and  other  bodies  on  the 
Green,  whence  there  should  be  a  procession 
through  some  of  the  princijial  streets  to  George 
Square.  The  committee  had  secured  the  ser- 
vices of  the  late  Lord  Houghton  to  unveil  the 
statue,  a  task  for  which  he  had  the  double 
qualifications  of  holding  a  high  social  position 
and  a  distinguished  place  in  literature.  On 
the  day  fixed  the  ceremony  took  place  in 
presence  of  over  30,000  .spectators.  The  statue 
is  9  feet  high,  and  placed  on  a  pedestal  of 
g''ay  granite,  12  feet  high,  which  has  four  in- 
dentations with  basno-rilieros.  The  poet  stands 
musing  in  contemplative  mood  over  the  daisy 
which  he  holds  in  his  left  hand,  while  a  Kil- 
marnock bonnet  is  held  lightly  in  liis  riudit. 
Tlie  pose  is  easy  and  unconsciously  dignified, 
while  the  face  bears  a  pensive  expression.  The 
poet  leans  on  the  stump  of  a  tree,  over  which 
hangs  a  Scottish  plaid.  His  dress  is  that  of 
the  well-to-do  farmer  of  the  period — loosely 
hanging  coat,  long  open  vest,  knee-breeches, 
rough  worsted  stockings,  and  buckled  shoes. 
The  figure  presents  in  point  of  physique  a 
splendid  specimen  of  the  Scottish  peasant.  As 
a  work  of  art  the  statue  is  all  that  could  be 
desired,  though  a  section  of  the  public  has 
been  disappointed  with   it  as  a  likeness  of 


Burns.  The  features  are  fuller  and  heavier 
than  what  people  have  been  accustomed  to 
consider  the  Burns  face — the  Nasmyth  portrait 
and  the  engraving  from  it  being  the  most 
common  standard;  but  we  have  Sir  Walter 
Scott's  declaration  that  Burns's  countenance 
was  more  massive  than  it  looks  in  any  of  his 
portraits,  so  the  sculptor  may  have  hit  the  real 
Burns  closer  than  is  generally  supposed. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  following  the 
inauguration  of  the  Glasgow  monument,  a 
public  meeting  was  held  at  Kilmarnock,  at 
which  it  was  unanimously  agreed  that  a  statue 
be  erected  in  some  suitable  place  in  this  town 
in  honour  of  the  poet.  In  June  the  same  year 
it  was  suggested  at  a  meeting  of  the  general 
committee  that,  as  the  subscriptions  had  far 
exceeded  expectfitions,  an  ornamental  liuildiiig 
should  be  erected,  and  a  marble  statue  of  tlie 
poet  placed  in  it.  A  prominent  site  was  se- 
cured in  the  Kay  I'ark,  and  the  memorial  stone 
of  the  monumental  building  was  laid  with. 
mfisonic  ceremony  by  Mr.  Cochran- Patrick  of 
Woodside,  on  14th  Sept.  1878.  It  is  a  two- 
story  building,  Scotch  baronial  in  style,  witii 
a  tower  rising  to  a  height  of  80  feet.  Tiie 
situation  is  elevated,  and  from  the  top  of  tlic 
tower  fine  views  are  obtained  of  the  town 
and  the  surrounding  districts.  A  handsome 
stone  staircase  leads  up  in  front  to  a  projecting 
portion  of  the  upper  story,  and  here  in  a  sliriiie 
is  a  fine  marble  statue  of  Burns  by  W.  (i. 
Stevenson  of  Kdinl)urgh.  The  figure,  which 
is  8  feet  high,  represents  the  poet,  attired  in 
a  tight-fitting  coat  .and  knee-breeches,  leaning 
against  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  with  a  book  in  the 
one  hand  and  a  pencil  in  the  other.  Tiie  head 
is  turned  slightly  to  the  right,  which  gives  the 
spectator  in  fi  -nt  of  the  figure  the  view  of  the 
features  as  they  arc  shown  in  the  familiar  por- 
trait by  Nasmyth.  Behind  are  three  rooms 
used  as  a  museum,  and  containing  a  n<iml)er 
of  interesting  relics  connected  with  the  poet. 
The  inauguration  took  place  on  irai  unlay  Ktli 
August,  1879,  in  presence  of  from  40,000  to 
50,000  persons,  and  the  statue  was  unveiled 
by  Colonel  .Uexander,  M.P.,  a  descendant  of 
the  family  to  which  belonged  the  lady  who 
in.spired  Burns's  poem,  "The  lasso'  Halloch- 
myle."  The  building  co.st  over  £1500,  and  the 
statue  £800.  In  connection  with  the  inaugu- 
ration, the  committee  offered  a  silver  medal 


MONUMENTS  TO  BURNS. 


261 


fuller  and  heavier 
:en  accustomed  to 
e  Nasmytli  portrait 
it   bein-r  the  most 
e  liave  Sir  Walter 
urns's  countenance 
looks  in  any  of  his 
\y  have  hit  the  real 
lly  supposed, 
day  following  the 
jow   monument,   a 
at   Kilmarnock,  at 
igrced  that  a  statue 
place  in  this  town 
June  the  same  year 
ing  of  the  general 
liscriptions  had  far 
rnamcntal  liuilding 
larWo  statue  of  the 
minent  site  was  se- 
tlie  memorial  stone 
ing  was   laid  with. 
Cochran- Tatrick  of 
1878.     It  is  a  two- 
)nial  in  style,  with 
t  of  SO  feet.     The 
from  the  top  of  the 
iiined   of  the   town 
ricts.     A  handsome 
Front  to  a  projecting 
and  here  in  a  shrine 
r   Burns  liy   W.   (i. 
The  figure,  which 
the  poet,  attired  in 
ic-breeches.  leaning 
with  a  book  in  the 
10  other.     The  head 
;ht,  which  gives  the 
ure  the  view  of  the 
in  tlie  familiar  por- 
id  are  three  rooms 
ntaining  a  number 
;ted  with  the  poet, 
ce  on  i^ai unlay  Hth 
of  from  4(1,000  to 
tatue  was  unveiled 
i'.,  a  descendant  of 
iged  the  lady  who 
^he  lass  o'  Malloch- 
)ver  £1500,  and  the 
n  with  the  inaugu- 
rcd  a  silver  medal 


for  the  best  piece  of  poetry  suitable  to  the 
occasion.  Sixty-five  competing  poems  were 
sent  in,  and  the  first  place  was  assigned  by  the 
adjudicators  to  Mr.  Alexander  Amlerson,  but 
as  his  poem  considerably  exceeded  the  pre- 
scribed limit,  the  committee  felt  bound  to 
award  it  to  the  author  of  tlie  second  best  poem, 
Mr.  .Vle-xander  (1.  Murdoch.  They  at  the  same 
time  recommended  another  medal  to  be  pre- 
sented to  Mr.  .\nderson  in  recognition  of  the 
high  merit  of  his  poem.* 

When  the  replica  in  bronze  of  Sir  John 
Steell's  colos.sal  statue  of  Sir  Walter  Scott, 
which  graces  the  Edinburgh  monument,  was 
presented  to  the  city  of  New  York  by  resident 
Scotsmen  in  August,  1871,  the  suggestion  was 
made  that  Hums  should  have  a  place  beside 
him.  The  outcome  of  this  suggestion  was  t!ut 
a  commission  was  given  to  Stccll  for  a  colossal 
sitting:  statue  of  iJurns  which  was  to  cost  2000 
guinciis.  The  statue  is  erected  immediately 
opposite  that  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  in  the  Central 
Park,  and  represents  the  poet  at  the  moment 
of  the  composition  of  ".Mary  in  Heaven." 
The  poet  is  represented  in  sitting  posture,  his 
seat  being  the  fork  of  an  old  elm-tree,  with 
broken  limb  rising  on  either  side  .so  as  to  form 
the  arm -rests  of  a  rustic  chair.  With  head 
thrown  back  he  is  understood  to  be  gazing  at 
the  "lingering  star:"  and  while  the  pensive 
abstraction  of  the  features  is  in  a  manner  em- 
phasized l)y  the  erect  position  of  the  body,  a.s 
of  one  whose  attention  is  thoroughly  aroused, 
the  idea  of  complete  preoccupation  is,  at  the 
same  time,  admirably  carried  out  in  the  care- 
less disposition  of  the  limbs.  The  right  elbow 
rests  on  one  limb  of  the  tree,  which  is  hidden 
by  drai)ery;  the  hand  being  held  in  front,  with 
a  pen  between  the  fingers,  as  if  ready  to  record 
the  poet's  ([uick-springing  fancies.  The  right 
leg  is  drawn  back,  and  the  left  thrust  consid- 
era!)ly  forward;  both  having  an  appearance  of 
muscular  rela.xation,  which  is  significantly  re- 
peated in  the  left  arm,  as  it  rests,  with  droop- 
ing hand,  upon  the  projecting  stump.  In  the 
head  as  well  as  in  the  costume  the  artist  has 
been  mainly  guided  by  the  Nasmyth  portrait. 
The  antiquated  coat  and  waistcoat  appear  at 
the  throat;  while  the  ample  .skirt  of  the  former 
falls  freely  behind ;  and  the  legs  are  encased 

*  Jlr.  Anderson's  poem  will  be  found  in  the  present 
volume,  p.  230. 

VOL.    V. 


in  knee-breeches  and  coarse  worsted  stockings, 
through  which  the  leg  mu.scles  plainly  a.sscrt 
them.selves.  The  poet's  connection  with  agri- 
culture is  suggested  by  the  ploughshare  lying 
near  his  right  foot;  this,  again,  being  half 
hidden  by  a  scroll  bearing  the  first  two  stanzas 
of  "Mary  in  Heaven."  The  pedestal  is  of 
Aberdeen  granite,  and  measures  6  feet  high, 
by  8  feet  4  inches,  by  9  feet  8  inches.  The 
statue  was  unveiled  in  the  presence  of  a  very 
large  assemblage  on  '2d  October,  1880,  when 
Mr.  George  W.  Curtis  delivered  a  powerful 
oration  on  the  life  and  character  of  the  great 
peasant  poet. 

A  movement  to  erect  a  memorial  to  Burns 
in  Dundee  was  set  on  foot  30th  January, 
1877,  at  a  preliminary  meeting  at  which  a 
committee  was  appointed.  In  a  few  months 
i700  was  .subscribed,  and  at  a  public  meeting 
held  in  October  a  resolution  to  erect  a  monu- 
ment was  cordially  passed.  The  committee 
were  much  struck  with  the  statue  Sir  John 
Steell  was  engaged  on  for  New  York,  and 
negotiations  with  the  American  committee 
resulted  in  permission  being  granted  to  Sir 
John  Steell  to  give  a  replica  of  the  statue  he 
was  then  preparing  for  the  Central  Park,  at 
the  reduced  price  of  1000  guineas — one  half  of 
the  price  agreed  on  for  the  American  contract. 
The  statue  occupies  a  site  within  the  grounds 
of  the  Albert  Institute,  and  rests  on  a  pedestal 
of  red  Peterhead  granite  weighing  about  20 
tons.  The  pedestal  is  6^  feet  high,  while  the 
statue  (which  is  described  above  in  the  N^w 
York  monument)  measures  rather  over  9  feet 
in  height.  The  inauguration  took  place  on 
Saturday,  16tli  October,  1880,  when  there  was 
a  great  procession  of  the  trades  and  other 
bodies,  the  statue  being  unveiled  by  ^Mr.  Frank 
Heiulerson,  M.  P. 

The  year  1877  also  witnessed  the  organiza- 
tion of  a  movement  for  the  erection  of  a  statue 
of  Burns  in  Dumfries.  At  first  the  movement 
was  looked  on  with  much  fivvour,  but  soon 
the  interest  began  to  wane;  and  had  it  not 
been  for  the  enthusiasm  of  Mr.  Hamilton,  a 
member  of  the  town  council,  Mr.  M'Dowall, 
the  author  of  the  Hidori/  of  Dumfries,  and 
one  or  two  others,  the  whole  scheme  would 
have  been  a  failure.  By  their  exertions  the 
subscriptions  continued  slowly  to  come  in  from 

all  parts  of  the  country,  and  also  from  admirers 

83 


262 


MONUMENTS  TO  BURNS. 


of  the  poet  in  disUint  parts  of  the  world.  In 
the  autumn  of  1880  a  bazaar  was  held  in  Dum- 
fries ill  aid  of  tlie  fund,  and  the  sum  thus 
realized  assured  the  success  of  the  si-hemc. 
Mrs.  D.  ().  J I  ill  was  commissioned  to  execute 
the  monument,  which  was  at  last  inaugurated 
on  6th  April,  1882.  The  statue,  which  is 
erected  on  the  open  space  in  front  of  Grey- 
friars  Church,  is  cut  in  Sicilian  marble  and 
stands  on  a  pedestal  of  Hinnie  stone.  It  re- 
presents the  poet  as  in  the  act  of  meditating 
one  of  his  immortal  lyrics.  Resting  easily 
upon  an  old  tree  root,  the  figure  has  a  slight 
forward  stoop,  the  right  foor  being  firmly 
planted  on  the  ground,  while  the  left  leg, 
drawn  up  so  that  the  heel  rests  on  a  project- 
ing knob  of  the  old  stump,  supports  the  elbow 
of  the  corresponding  arm,  leaving  the  hand 
to  hang  free,  with  just  enough  of  muscular  ten- 
sion to  keep  hold  of  a  bunch  of  daisies.  Tlie 
right  hand  again  is  thrust  into  the  folds  of  a 
plaid  which  crosses  the  body  diagonally  from 
the  left  shoulder,  one  end  being  partially  shown 
in  front,  the  otiier  falling  behind,  wliere  it  hius 
been  turned  to  account  as  a  piece  of  drapery. 
The  head  is  turned  towards  the  right  shoulder, 
with  the  eyes  set  as  if  gazing  into  the  dis- 
timce,  as  one  may  do  when  wrapped  in  reverie. 
A  collie  snuggles  at  tlie  right  foot  in  an  atti- 
tude finely  expressive  of  canine  affection. 
Near  by  lies  a  broad  bonnet  half  covering  a 
well-thumbed  song-book,  a  rustic  flageolet 
being  added  in  further  suggestion  of  his  rela- 
tions with  the  muses.  The  costume  other  than 
the  plaid  is  that  derived  from  the  Nasmyth 
portrait,  which  has  also,  of  course,  been  refer -ed 
to  as  the  chief  authority  for  the  features.  The 
cost  of  the  statue  was  jESOO,  with  £120  addition- 
al for  the  pedestal.  As  was  the  case  at  the 
Kilmarnock  demonstration,  a  silver  medal  was 
offered  for  the  best  poem  relating  to  the  statue. 
Thirty-two  competed;  and  the  medal  was 
gained  by  Mr.  AV.  Stewart  Ross,  a  native  of 
Caerlaverock,  a  second  prize  being  given  to  Mr. 
Robert  Hunter,  Hawick.  As  usual  an  enor- 
mous procession  formed  the  chief  feature  of  the 
inaugural  proceedings.  The  unveiling  cere- 
mony was  performed  by  the  Earl  of  Rosebery, 
who  delivered  an  eloquent  speech  on  the  oc- 
casion, concluding  thus:— "There  he  is  (point- 
ing to  the  statue),  the  image  of  the  man  who 
once  stood  shunned  in  your  streets,  to  stand 


for  ever  ap  the  glory  of  your  burgh.  The  re- 
spectabilities who  shunned  him  have  disap- 
peared. His  troubles,  his  sorrows,  his  faults, 
his  failings,  have  vanished;  the  troubles  of  his 
life  are  no  more,  the  clouds  that  surroumled 
hisdeath-bedhavodisappeared,  but  hisnieniory, 
his  triumph,  and  his  tomb  abide  with  you  for 
ever. " 

On  Saturday,  26th  July,  1884,  the  Karl  of 
Rosebery,  in  the  unavoidable  absence  of  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  who  was  to  have  iJicsided  on 
the  occasion,  unveiled  a  monument  lo  IJurns 
on  the  Thames  Embankment,  London,  in  pre- 
sence of  the  late  Lord  Houghton,  Robert  Hrown- 
ing,  and  a  host  of  notabilities.  The  monument 
was  the  gift  of  iMr.  John  Gordon  Crawford,  a 
retired  (Jlasgow  merchant,  for  many  years 
resident  in  London.  The  statue,  which  is  by 
Sir  John  Steell,  is  a  replica  with  some  varia- 
tions of  those  erected  in  Dundee  and  New 
York.  It  rests  on  a  pedestal  of  Peterhead 
granite  with  a  lower  base  of  Aberdeen  granite, 
and  bears  the  inscription,  "Robert  Hums: 
1759-1796,"  with  the  toUowing  ijuotation  from 
the  author's  preface  to  the  first  Edinburgh 
edition  of  his  poems: — "The  poetic  genius 
of  my  country  found  me  as  the  prophetic  bard 
Klijah  did  Elisha — at  the  plough;  and  tiirew 
her  inspiring  mantle  over  me.  She  bade  me 
sing  the  loves,  the  joys,  the  rural  scenes  and 
rural  pleasures  of  my  natal  soil,  in  my  native 
tongue :  I  tuned  my  wild  artless  notes  as  she 
inspired." 

The  suggestion  to  place  a  bust  of  Burns  in 
Westminster  Abbey  was  made  at  the  time  the 
Gla.sgow  monument  was  erected,  and  was  re- 
ceived with  the  greatest  favour.  In  order  to 
extend  the  movement  as  widely  as  po.ssible, 
the  amount  of  individual  subscriptions  was 
limited  to  not  more  than  one  shilling.  When 
the  lists  were  closed  they  contained  some 
?0,000  contributors,  belonging  to  all  parts  of 
the  world,  and  including  all  ranks,  from  the 
Prince  of  Wales  downwards.  The  bust,  which 
is  by  Sir  John  Steell,  is  erected  on  a  corbel, 
ornamented  in  harmony  with  the  style  of  the 
surrounding  portions  of  the  building.  It 
stands  about  15  feet  from  the  Abbey  floor,  and 
about  3  feet  from  the  bust  of  Shakspeare,  while 
on  the  left  of  the  great  dramatist  is  the  memo- 
rial of  another  eminent  Scottish  poet,  James 
Thomson,   author  of  "The  Seasons."     The 


PORTRAITS  OF  BURNS. 


2G3 


sculptor  in  liis  treatment  of  the  wubject  has 
larj;ely  adhered  to  the  leading  features  of  the 
Xasmytli  portrait,  modified  by  information 
from  other  sources.  The  inaugural  ceremony 
was  j)erformed  by  the  Karl  of  Kosebery  on  7th 
Alarcli,  188f),  in  presence  of  a  large  and  influ- 
cntial  gathering.  Tiie  Earl  having  unveiled 
the  bust  and  handed  it  over  to  the  safe-keeping 
of  Dean  Bradley  and  the  chapter  of  Westmin- 
ster, the  dean  accepted  the  charge  in  a  grace- 
ful speech,  and   the  proceedings  terminated 


with  a  dinner  given  by  the  London  Hums 
club  to  the  committee  and  the  representatives 
of  Burns  clubs  and  societies  present  on  the 
occasion. 

Tlie  committee  who  erected  the  monument 
to  the  memory  of  Tannahill  at  I'aisley  by 
means  of  the  proceeds  of  annual  open-air  con- 
certs on  Gleniffer  Braes,  have,  since  their  o!)ject 
was  attained,  continued  these  concerts  with  the 
view  of  erecting  a  suitable  monument  to  Burns 
in  that  town. 


PORTRAITS   OF   BURNS. 


Alexander  Nasmyth,  who  is  accounted  the 
father  of  .Scottish  lanuscape  painting,  was  a 
fashionable  portrait  painter  at  the  time  liurns 
made  his  appearance  in  Edinburgh.  They 
l)robab]y  became  intimate  tlirough  Miller  of 
Dalswinton  (subsequently  Burns's  landlord), 
to  whom  Nasmyth  owed  many  a  favour,  and 
a  portrait  of  the  poet  was  immediately  com- 
menced for  the  adornment  of  the  forthcoming 
Edinburgh  edition  of  the  poems.  The  portrait 
painted  by  Nasmyth  was  engraved  in  stipple  by 
.lohn  Beugo,  anotlier  familiar  friend  of  the 
poet's.  He  took  the  greatest  pains  with  the 
face,  and  had  the  advantage  of  special  sittings 
from  Burns,  the  result  being  that  the  engraving 
was  regarded  by  some  who  knew  liurns  a  i  the 
most  faithful  likeness  in  existence,  not  even 
excepting  Nasmyth's  original.  The  picture 
is  painted  on  canvas,  its  size  being  ICJ  by 
I'ijj  inches  upright.  It  was  bequeathed  to  the 
nation  by  the  poet's  la.st  surviving  son,  Colonel 
\Vm.  Nicol  Burns,  and  is  preserved  in  the 
National  Gallery,  Edinburgh.  It  has  been  fre- 
quently engraved,  and  is  the  most  familiar  of 
all  the  portraits  of  the  poet.  An  excellent 
engraving  of  it  by  H.  T.  Hyall  accompanies 
this  work.  On  the  back  of  the  picture  is  the 
following  inscription  by  Nasmyth  himself: — 
' '  Painted  from  Mr.  Robert  Bums,  by  his 
friend,  Alexander  Nasmyth,  Edinbro',  April, 
1787;"  and  also  a  certificate  written  by  the 
poet's  eldest  son: — 

"I  hereby  certify  that  this  is  the  original  portrait 
of  the  poet  iiy  Alexander  Nasmyth,  landscape  painter 
in  Edinburgh,  and  is  the  only  authentic  portrait  of 


him  in  existen^ie,  or  at  least  the  only  portrait  of  the 
poet  whose  authenticity  is  indisputable.  Dumfries, 
April  8tli,  1834.    (Signed)  Roljcrt  Burns." 

Nasmyth  executed  two  copies  of  thisoriginal, 
one  for  George  Thomson,  which  was  afterwards 
touched  up  by  Sir  Henry  Raeburn,  and  is  now 
in  the  National  Portrait  Gallery,  London,  and 
another,  in  1824,  for  Mr.  Elias  Cathcart  of 
Auchendrane,  near  Ayr.  A  copy  of  this  por- 
trait by  Steven  is  in  the  cenotaph  at  Alloway. 
Nasmyth  also  prepared  a  small  drawing  in 
pencil  of  Burns,  from  which  an  engraving  was 
made  for  I.iockhart'8  Life  of  Btirm,  in  1828. 
Of  this  picture  Lockhartsays: — "Mr.  Nasmyth 
has  prepared  for  the  present  memoir,  a  sketch 
of  the  poet  at  full  length,  as  he  appeared  in 
Edinburgh  in  the  first  hey-day  of  his  reputa- 
tion: dressed  in  tight  jockey  boots,  and  very 
tight  buckskin  breeches,  according  to  the 
fashion  of  the  day,  and  (Jacobite  as  he  was) 
in  what  was  considered  as  the  Fox  livery,  viz. 
a  blue  coat  and  butf  waistcoat,  with  broad  blue 
stripes.  The  surviving  friends  of  Burns,  who 
have  seen  this  picture,  are  unanimous  in  pro- 
nouncing it  to  furnish  a  very  lively  represen- 
tation of  the  bard  as  he  first  attracted  public 
notice  on  the  streets  of  Edinburgh.  The 
scenery  of  the  background  is  very  nearly  that 
of  Burns's  native  spot — the  river  and  bridge 
of  Doon,  near  Alloway  Kirk."  Nasmyth  also 
painted  for  himself  a  cabinet  full-length  por- 
trait of  Burns  on  panel,  size  24  by  17^  inches 
upright,  as  a  memento  of  his  friend,  which  was 
acquired  after  Nasmyth's  death  by  Sir  Hugh 
Hume  Campbell,   Bart,  of  ilarchmont.     In 


i!m 


204 


PORTllAITS  OF  BURNS. 


reference  to  tliia  portrait  iMr.  James  NuRinyth, 
Hon  of  tlic  artist,  and  inventor  of  the  ntcam- 
hammcr,  wrote  to  Sir  Hugh  Hume  Camp- 
bell :— 

"I  perfectly  remember  my  fiither  painting  the 
smiill  full-leiiKtli  put'ti'uit  uf  lUirng  to  wliieli  yuu  refer. 
80  fur  lis  my  memory  Herves  me  a»  to  tlie  ilute  it 
wuiilil  l)e  about  1827  oi'  1828.  Tlie  above-named 
pietmc  was  executed  after  tlie  peneil  sicetcli  now  in 
tlie  possession  of  Mi'.  iMvid  Laintj.  The  vinuetto  [in 
l,oel<liart's  Li'ej  was,  I  believe,  done  from  this  draw- 
iuK,  <>r  a  small  copy  of  it.  Tlie  small  fiiU-luiiKtli 
portrait  paiuting  now  in  your  possession  was  done 
without  any  direct  eoi)yiiiK  from  the  drawing;  n  ' 
fathers  motive  in  iiiddiRiiii?  tliis  painting  was  t 
enulde  liim  to  leave  his  record,  in  that  way,  of  his 
remembrance  of  the  general  personal  apjiearance  of 
Burns,  as  w  as  his  style  of  dress,  which,  in  fact, 
was  simiily  tli:it  of  tlie  period." 

Jlr.  Colin  Rae-IJrown  possesses  a  portrait  of 
Burns  which,  he  says  (on  what  evidence  we 
know  not),  was  specially  paintnd  by  Nasmyth 
for  the  landlord  of  a  well-known  tavern — "The 
Howff,"  in  George  Square,  Glasgow.  When 
the  building  of  which  "the  Howff "  formed 
part  wa.s  taken  down,  in  1857,  the  portrait, 
witii  the  rest  of  the  tavern  furniture,  was  sold, 
and  passed  into  the  possession  of  Mr.  Malcolm 
Rankine,  carver  and  gilder,  Glasgow,  by  whom 
it  was  presented  ♦;»  Mr.  Hae-Hrown.  The 
picture  is  a  life-sized  half-length  and  when 
cleaned  of  the  tavern  smoke-grime  in  186'2 
displayed  an  oval  setting  in  red,  with  the 
corners  filled  in  by  representations  of  roses, 
convolvuluses,  heart's-ease,  and  the  thistle — 
also  a  bagpipe,  shepherd's  reed,  rake,  reaping- 
hook,  and  a  roll  of  printed  music. 

Another  portrait  of  Burns  in  oil  was  painted 
by  Mr.  Peter  Taylor,  an  artist  of  whom  little 
is  known.  It  is  of  kit-kat  si^e,  half  length,  and 
represents  thepoet  withbuckskin  breeches,  blue 
coat,  and  broad-brimmed,  low-crowned  hat.  Its 
existence  was  unknown  to  the  public  till  1829, 
when  Constable  published  an  engraving  of  it 
under  the  auspices  of  Sir  Walter  Scott.  It 
would  appear  from  Mrs.  Taylor's  story,  that 
the  poet  gave  her  husband  three  sittings  for 
this  portrait,  Avhich,  after  her  husband's  death, 
she  jealously  preserved.  Gilbert  Burns,  Kobcrt 
Ainslie,  Mr.  Gray,  and  others  who  inspected 
the  painting,  expressed  their  opinion  that  the 
painting  was  a  free,  bold,  and  striking  like- 
ness of  Burns.  On  seeing  the  engraving  Mrs. 
Bums  declared  she  had  no  doubt  that  the  por- 


trait was  an  original,  and  as  to  the  likeness, 
the  upper  part  of  the  face  was  very  strikiiit,', 
though  there  was  an  undue  fulness  about  the 
lower  part.  It  represents  the  poet  with  a 
somewhat  more  aquiline  countenance  than  lie 
is  usually  represented  with,  and  has  thus  been 
declared  to  bear  a  striking  resemblance  ti> 
Gilbert  Hums.  The  correctness  of  the  likeness 
to  Burns  was,  however,  testified  to  without  tlie 
slightest  qualification  by  Jessie  Lewars,  Clar- 
inda,  John  Syme,  and  Mrs.  Dunlop.  t)n  Mrs. 
Taylor's  death  the  portrait  was  bequeathed  to 
Mr.  William  Taylor  of  Scotston  Park,  Linlitli- 
gowshire,  who  lent  it  for  exliil)ition  to  the 
Crystal  Palace  committee  at  the  Centienary, 
1859. 

When  Burns  was  in  Kdiiiburgh,  a  person 
named  Jliers  was  practising  there  as  a  producer 
of  silhouette  portraits,  which  he  professed  to 
execute  at  a  two-minutes'  sittini;',  aiul  wliicii 
co.st  in  frames  from  sixshillings  to  half  a  guinea. 
Their  felicity  as  likenesses,  and  their  chcap- 
nes.s,  brought  many  sitters,  and  amoni;  tlio 
rest  Burns,  who  was  glad  of  an  opportunity  of 
obtaining  portraits  of  himself  which  he  could 
distribute  among  his  intimate  friends.  One 
of  Miers's  "shades"  may  be  seen  in  the  Huriis 
monument  at  Edinburgh. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  portraits  of 
Burns  is  a  drawing  executed  on  tinted  paper 
with  red  chalk  by  a  notable,  though  little 
known,  portrait  painter,  Archibald  Skirvinir, 
son  of  the  author  of  "  Johnnie  Cope. "  Its  size 
is  21.^  by  1(5^  inches.  It  represents  tltc  jmct 
in  one  of  his  more  thoughtful  mood.s.  His 
features  display  that  massiveness  which  his 
friends  and  biographers  have  always  desc.iiicd 
as  peculiarly  characteristic  of  his  vi.sage,  and 
the  want  of  which  in  Nasmyth's  portrait  has 
always  been  considered  its  principal  defect. 
The  head  is  nearly  life-size,  with  a  portion  of 
the  neck  and  shoulders  merely  indicated. 
Though  at  first  sight  it  appears  as  if  executed 
in  a  slight  and  sketchy  manner,  closer  exami- 
nation reveals  the  conscientious  carefulness 
with  which  it  has  been  wrought.  The  touch 
is  extremely  delicate,  the  treatment  broad  and 
massive,  combined  with  great  clearness  of 
effect.  As  a  work  of  art  it  rivals  the  produc- 
tions of  the  very  foremo.st  artists  of  later 
times.  It  is  not  supposed  that  Burns  ever 
gave  Skirving  any  formal  sittings  for  this 


as  to  the  likeness, 

wa.s  very  strikini,', 

fulness  about  lliu 

tiic  poet  with  ji 

untcnancc  than  liu 

anil  has  thus  bcLii 

iig  reseniblanco  to 

iicssof  the  likcni'-s 

ifieil  to  without  the 

cssie  i-ewars,  L'lar- 

Dunlop.     On  .Mrs. 

was  beiiucathcil  to 

ston  Park,  Linlitli- 

exhibition  to  the 

at  the  Centienary, 

linburgh,  a  persdn 
;•  there  as  a  ijroducir 
it'll  he  professcil  to 
sittiuL"-,  and  which 
n.!j;s  to  half  a  guinea. 
s,  and  their  eliwiii- 
rs,  and  anioni;  tiie 
if  an  ojjportunity  of 
self  whieh  lie  could 
mate  friends.  One 
ic  Rccn  in  the  Hums 

irkable  portraits  of 
ted  on  tinted  jJiipLr 
table,  though  little 
Archibald  Skirviuir, 
inie  Coi)e. "    Its  size 

represents  tltc  ])out 
jhtful  moods,  ilis 
isivencss  which  his 
ivc  always  desciijcd 
c  of  his  visage,  and 
myth's  portniit  has 
ts  principal  defect. 
;c,  with  a,  portion  of 

merely  indicated, 
ipears  as  if  executed 
vnner,  closer  exami- 
lentious  carefulness 
rought.  The  touch 
reatmcnt  broad  and 

great  clearness  of 
it  rivals  the  produc- 
ost  artists  of  later 
;d  that  Burns  ever 
U  sittings  for  this 


rollTKAITS  OF  BURNS. 


265 


portrait,  but  the  artist  liad  full  opportunities 
for  observing  IJurns  under  a  variety  of  cireum- 
stances,  and  of  noting  the  changes  of  expres- 
sion which  under  different  impulses  so  altered 
his  appearance.  iSkirving  set  so  much  store 
by  this  portrait  of  Burns,  and  a  portrait  he 
had  made  of  the  herculean  John  Kennie,  the 
eminent  engineer,  that  ho  would  not  part  with 
cither  of  them,  though  often  solicited  by  ad- 
mirers of  the  poet  for  the  one,  and  by  Mr. 
Hennie  himself  for  the  other.  On  the  decease 
of  Skirving,  the  two  portraits  were  purchased 
by  Mr.  Hennie,  and  this  portrait  of  the  poet 
is  now  in  the  jiossession  of  Sir  Theodore 
JIartin.  It  has  been  "ell  engraved  in  stipple 
by  William  lloll,  size  14  by  11.J  inches'  (the 
cngnvving  being  published  in  185!)),  but  the 
most  jierfect  translation  of  this  jjicture  is  the 
engraving  in  line  by  Herbert  Bourne  which 
adorns  the  present  work. 

James  Tannock  of  Kilmarnock,  a  painter  of 
moderate  attainments,  executed  several  por- 
traits of  Burn.s,  the  best  known  of  which  was 
painted  for  the  Kilbarchan  Burns  Club. 

David  Allan,  the  distinguished  painter  of 
Scottish  life,  introduced  a  portrait  of  Burns 
intoadrawingofthc  "Cotter's  Saturday  Night," 
which  he  executed  for  Thomson,  who  presented 
it  to  Burns.  The  latter  says  of  it: — "  Jly  phiz 
is  sac  kenspeckle,  that  the  very  joiner's  ap- 
prentice whom  Mrs.  Burns  employed  to  break 
up  the  parcel    .     .     knew  it  at  once. "  ^ 

Writing  to  Mrs.  Walter  Kiddcll  from  Dum- 
fries, 2iHh  January,  1796,  Burns  says: — "Apro- 
po.s  to  pictures,  I  am  just  sitting  to  Ueid  in 
this  town  for  a  miniature,  and  1  think  he  has 
hit  by  far  the  best  likeness  of  me  ever  taken. 
When  you  are  at  any  time  so  idle  in  town  as 
to  call  at  Keid's  painting-room,  and  mention 
to  him  that  I  spoke  of  such  a  thing  to  you, 
he  will  show  it  to  you,  else  he  will  not ;  for 
both  the  miniature's  existence  and  its  destiny 
are  an  inviolable  secret,  and  therefore  very 
properly  trusted,  in  part,  to  you. "  This  minia- 
ture has  con.iiiued  in  its  original  mystery. 

It  must  not  bcconfounded  with  the  miniature 
mentioned  in  a  letter  to  George  Thomson  dated 

1  The  shoulders  and  portion  of  the  bust  that  appear 
ill  the  engraving  by  Holl  are  not  in  the  original 
picture. 

»  See  letter  In  present  volume,  p.  170. 


May,  1795,  in  which  Burns  says: — "There  iH 
an  artist  of  very  considerable  merit  just  now 
in  this  town  )iimfries]  who  has  hit  the  most 
remarkable  likeness  of  what  I  am  at  this  mo- 
ment, that  I  think  ever  was  taken  of  anybody. 
It  is  a  small  miniature,  and  as  it  will  be  in  your 
town  getting  itself  be-crystallizcd,  kc,  I  have 
some  thoughts  of  suggesting  to  you  to  prepare 
a  vignette  taken  from  it,  to  my  song,  "Con- 
tented wi'  little,  and  cantie  wi'  mair,"  in  order 
that  the  portrait  of  my  face  and  the  jiicture 
of  my  mind  may  go  down  the  stream  of  Time 
together."  This  jiortrait  is  also  probably 
lost. 

The  late  Mr.  Henry  G.  Bohn  was  in  posses- 
sion of  a  miniature  whi -h  may  be  one  or  other  of 
the  above-mentioned.  He  describes  it  as  dif- 
fering from  Nasmyth's  and  the  numerous  small 
copies  of  it,  in  "having  an  inclination  of  the 
head  towards  the  left  shoulder  instead  of  the 
right,  as  well  as  in  being  more  intellectual,  and 
of  a  later  period,  probably  when  he  was  thirty, 
five  or  thirty-six  years  of  age.  It  is  set  in 
gold,  with  hair  at  the  back,  which  seems  too 
gray  to  have  been  his  own;  is  glazed  on  both 
sides,  and  on  the  frame  is  cngraveo  "  Robert 
Burns." 

Dr.  Hately  Waddell  identifies  the  "small 
miniature  "  mentioned  by  Burns  to  Thomson 
with  what  he  calls  the  "  Kerry  portrait,"  from 
its  posses.sor,  an  Irish  gentleman,  styling  him- 
self "the  O'Connor- Kerry."  This  portrait  is 
painted  on  a  panel  8J  inches  long  by  7  inches 
broad  (not  exactly  the  size  of  miniature  one 
would  "be-crystallizc"),  and  rv,prescnts  a  re- 
pulsive-looking man— certiiinly  not  Burns — 
dressed  in  a  dark-brown  coat  with  bright  fancy 
buttons;  the  waistcoat  double-brea.sted,  of  a 
quiet  pattern,  and  the  neckcloth,  of  white 
cambric,  rolled  carelessly  about  the  neck.  It 
is  painful  to  look  at  the  face,  it  has  such  a 
weary,  worn-out,  defeated  look — like  the  flice 
of  a  man  within  sight  of  the  grave.  There  is 
a  companion  picture  by  the  siime  hand,  done 
also  on  mahogany,  which  is  believed  by  Dr. 
Waddell  to  be  a  portrait  of  the  poet's  eldest 
son.  Dr.  Waddell  is  also  possessor  of  what  is 
said  to  be  a  portrait  of  Burns  painted  at  Irvine 
when  the  poet  was  quite  a  young  man.  It  is 
a  poor  work  of  art  and  of  doubtful  authenti- 
city. 


! 


i 


!'! 


26(J 


THE  BIOUUAPHIKS  OF  BUUNS. 


THE    BIOGRAPHIES    OF    BURNS. 


Immediately  nflcr  the  death  of  BiirnR  nume- 
rous hioKraphidil  Hkctchcs  bepan  to  appear  in 
the  periodical  press.  In  Oct.  and  Nov.  179C, 
there  appeared  in  the  Ahcnhrn  Mmjazine 
a  sketch  of  his  l.ifc  and  Writings,  Haid  to  be 
from  the  pen  of  llisiioi'  John  Ski.nneh,  son  of 
the  author  of  "  Tullochc;orum,  '  and  who  had 
met  tiic  poet  during  iiis  Northern  tour.  In 
January,  1797,  "Sonieaccount  of  the  I.ifcand 
Writings  of  Jiobcrt  Hums,  the  .\yrshire  poet" 
formed  the  leading  paper  in  the  Scotfi  Mn<in- 
zine,  while  in  the  Monthly  Md'/dziiii'  for  March 
and  July  of  the  same  year  an  "Oriuinal  Memoir 
of  the  late  ltol)ert  Burns,"  initialed  "11.," 
formed  an  important  item.  The  author  waa 
RouKUT  Hkuox,  a  personal  acquaintance  of  the 
poet,  and  his  memoir  'vas  published  afterwards 
in  a  thin  octavo  volume  (Hdin.  1707).  Cham- 
bers characterizes  it  as  "  a  very  rare  and  inter- 
esting composition,  wliich  is  often  quoted,  but 
seldom  seen, "and  which  presents  "not only au 
uncommonly  clear  view  of  the  life  and  charac- 
ter of  Hums,  but  also  a  specimen  of  the  ani- 
mated  and  nervous,  though  somewhat  turgid, 
style  of  Heron,  whose  literary  history  is  scarcely 
less  remarkal)le  than  that  of  Burns." 

In  1800  appeared  Currie's  celebrated  edition 
with  Life  by  the  editor.  Dr.  Cirhie  beciimo 
personally  accjuainted  with  Burns  in  17i)'2,  and 
upon  the  death  of  the  poet  he  was  induced,  at 
the  request  of  his  old  friend  Mr.  Syme,  to  be- 
come the  editor  of  a  complete  edition  of  the 
poet's  works,  to  which  he  added  a  memoir. 
This  memoir  was  executed  with  surprising 
delicacy  towards  the  memory  of  the  poet  and 
the  feelings  of  his  surviving  friends,  as  well 
as  with  due  consideration  for  the  interests  of 
truth  and  virtue.  Currie's  edition  long  re- 
tained its  place  as  the  standard  version  of  the 
Life  and  AVorka  of  Burns. 

In  1804  the  Liven  of  Scollixh  Poets,  by  David 
Ikving,  afterwards  librarian  to  the  Advocates' 
Library,  Kdinburgh,  was  published.  It  in- 
cluded a  memoir  of  Burns,  a  somewhat  able 
though  sketchy  performance. 

Alexander  Chalmers,  the  editor  of  the 
British  Essayists  and  the  English  Poets  from 


Chaucer  to  Cowper,  wrotea"Mcmoirof  Burns," 
which  was  prefixed  to  an  edition  of  the  poet's 
works,  published  by  Ci'.ilell  in  18ti4. 

JosiAH  Walker,  latterly  professor  of  Ihi- 
manity  in  the  University  of  CJlasguw,  was  in- 
troduced to  Burns  by  Dr.  Blacklock  in  Kdin- 
burgh  in  1787.  They  again  met  at  Blair  during 
Burns's  Northern  tour.  Walker  being  then 
acting  in  the  capacity  of  tutor  in  the  Duke  of 
•Vthole's  family.  He  also  visited  the  poet 
towards  the  end  of  17!'5  in  Dumfries.  Iu 
1811  he  produced  a  Life  of  Burns,  which  w;h 
published  in  the  edition  of  Burns  issued  at 
Edinburgh  for  the  trustees  of  James  Morison 
(of  I'erth,  who  had  projectc<l  it)  in  two  vols. 
8vo.  This  life  is  severely  handled  in  Profes- 
sor Wilson's  Kssay,  p\iblished  in  this  ediliun. 

Alexander  1'kterkin,  Sherifr-s\ibslitutu  of 
Orkney,  published  an  edition  of  Burns  in  lM;i 
with  a  Life,  which,  among  other  new  maltcr, 
contained  letters  relating  to  the  later  years  of 
the  poet's  life  by  Findlater,  and  .lames  (Iray. 

The  Uev.  Hamilton  1'all,  tlie  .Vyrshiro 
clerical  humorist  and  poet,  prefixed  a  Life  of 
Burns  to  an  edition  of  his  works  published  at 
Ayr  in  1819.  It  contained  a  variety  of  par- 
ticulars inaccessible  to  previous  biographers. 

TfioMA.s  Camimiell,  the  poet,  gave  a  short 
"  Life  of  Robert  Burns"  in  his  Sixriincns  of 
the  British  Poets:  with  hiogruji/iiail  ami  critical 
notices,  1819. 

John  Uibson  Lockhart's  "  Life  of  Robert 
Burns"  was  written  for  ('onsfahle's  MisceUnuij 
and  was  published  in  1828  in  two  forms — the 
one  in  16mo  (vol.  xxiii.  of  the  Miscellanij), 
and  the  other  in  8vo  to  match  with  the  volumes 
of  Curric  and  Cromek.  A  revised  and  enlarged 
edition  appeared  in  1830.  This  biography  is 
written  with  a  perfect  understanding  and  feel- 
ing of  Burns's  genius  and  character,  and  with- 
out that  exaggeration  of  weak  enthusiasm 
which  is  so  sickening  in  many  of  the  biographies 
of  the  poet.  It  is  given  entire  with  explana- 
tory and  corrective  notes  in  this  edition. 

Allan  Cunninoham  wrote  the  "Life  of 
Bums"  prefixed  to  his  edition  of  the  poet 
published  in  1834.    A  great  deal  of  the  matter, 


THE  BIOGRAPHIES  OP  BURNS. 


187 


Mcnioirof  Miirns," 

itioii  of  the  pout'n 

in  18(14. 

j)rofcsH(tr  of  I  III- 

tJliisgdw,  was  in- 

Uiiokluck  ill  ildiii- 

net  lit  Hliiirdiiriiii,' 

iilki'i-   lieiii!,'   tiiL'ii 

tor  in  tlie  Duke  of 

vi.sited    tiie  poet 

n   Diimfrii's.     In 

nuriij*,  wiiicii  was 

f  IJiinis  issued  at 

of  .lames  M orison 

cd  it)  in  two  vols. 

landled  in  I'rofes- 

hI  in  this  edition. 

iierifr-sui)stitute  of 

n  of  iSiirns  in  1M:S 

other  new  matter, 

I)  tile  later  years  of 

and  .lames  (iray. 

\ui,,   the    Ayrshire 

prefixed  a  Life  of 

ivorks  puhlislied  at. 

1  a  variety  of  jiar- 

ious  hioj^jraphers. 

poet,  j^ave  a  sliort 

\  liis  Sjxcitiiciis  of 

uplikal  and  critical 

'a  "  Life  of  Kohert 
iMahle's  Mixrcllaiiy 
in  two  forms — the 
(f  the  Miircl/aii;/), 
h  witii  tlic  volumes 
;vised  and  enlarged 

This  biography  i» 
rstanding  and  feel- 
haraeter,  and  with- 

wcak  enthusiasm 
yoftliebiugrapliies 
[itire  with  explana- 

thit)  edition, 
•ote   the   "Life  of 
iition  of  the  poet 
>  deal  of  the  matter, 


and  many  of  the  aneedotcs  in  this  "Life," 
were  altogotiicr  new  if  Homo  were  not  alto- 
gctiier  true. 

.Iamkh  Houo,  the  Ettriek  Shepherd,  pub- 
lisiied  a,  life  of  Huras  in  tiic  edition  known  as 
JIoiJU  and  Mothi'rwclt'8  in  1835,  but,  witli  the 
cxecption  of  tlic  extensive  importations  from 
Loeklmrt't*  />{/(■  and  Curly le's  Kssay  whieh  it 
contains,  it  is  nearly  worthless. 

UouKUT  CHA.M11KUS  published  Lifi-  ami 
IVoik^  of  ISurnH  chronologically  arrange<l, 
1861.  For  this  work  Dr.  Chambers  made 
diligent  and  laborious  original  investigations, 
gathering  many  hitherto  unrecorded  facts  from 
the  surviving  ac(|uaintances  of  the  poet,  and 
especially  from  liis  sister  Mrs.  Hegg,  to  wlioso 
benefit  and  that  of  her  daughters  the  whole 
l)rofits  of  the  work  were  generously  devoted. 

The  Rev.  Ueokue  Uilfili,an  published  a 
"  liife  of  Burns"  in  coiineetion  with  .Xichol's 
British  Ports  in  1850,  and  his  last  work  was 
a  new  "  Life"  for  the  Natiomd  JiurnH  (1878- 
79),  the  latter  portion  of  whieli  was  not  pub- 
lished for  some  time  after  his  death. 

Alexandeu  Siimi,  poet  and  es.sayist,  wrote 
a  "Biographical  Memoir"  for  the  Golden 
Treamry  Hums  in  18t)5:  it  also  appears  in 
the  Ololic  edition,  1868.  It  is  one  of  the  finest 
biographical  essays  in  the  language. 

I'lUNCU'Ai,  SHAiKi'of  St,  Andrews:  "Robert 
Burns"  {Enijliah  Men  of  Letters),  1879.  A 
readable  and  fairly-accurate  biography,  but 
narrow-minded  and  unsympathetic. 


John  Stl'aiit  Bi-ackik,  Emcritus-I'rofcsHor: 
"Life  of  Robert  Hums,"  1888,  "(ireat 
Writers  "  series  (edited  by  Erie  8.  Hobertson). 
An  excellent  biography  of  the  poet — fresh, 
readable,  sympathetic,  and  reasonably  full  and 
accurate. 

Among  other  biographers  mav  be  mentioned: 
— Sill  Uakkim  Nicolas:  "  Memoir  of  Burns" 
in  the  Aldine  edition  of  the  poet,  1839. — ,Iohn 
.loHNsTONE:  "Memoir"  in  Siiccintenn  of  the, 
Li/rical,  Dexcrijitire,  and  Xarnttire  I'ovl/i  of 
Great  Britain,  1828.-l)u.  Uoukkt  Cauuutiieus: 
"Life"  in  i'h<tml)ers'.i  Ci/clQjxrdla  of  Knijlith 
Literature,    1843. — Samlei,    Tylku,    LL.  I). : 
"  Burns  as  a  I'oet  and  as  a  Man,"  1849. — 
John  Tim.ot.son:  "  Life  of  Burns"  in  Liren  of 
Eminent  Men,  1856.  —  I'atkick  Edwauu  Dove: 
"  liiographical  Sketch  of  Itobert  Hums,"  IS.SO. 
— Hev.  James  White,   Bonchurch:  "  Hobert 
Bums,  a  Memoir, "1859.— William  (J unnvon: 
"Original  Memoirof  Bums,"1865, inNimmo's 
edition  of   the    poet's   work. — Du.    IIatei.y 
"A'auuell:    "Life  of  Burns,  a  Spiritual  Bio- 
graphy," in  Critical  and  An(di/tic(d  edition, 
1867. — Wm.  M.  Ro.ssetti:  "Critical  Memoir 
of   Burns,"  1871,   accompanying  the  poems 
in    Moxon's    series    of   poets. — Wm.    Scott 
Douulas:  "Chronological  Summary  of  the  Life 
and  Writings  of  Burns,"  Kilmarnock  Burim, 
1871  (improved  edition,  1876).— Puof.  John 
Nichol:  "Burns,"  in  Enci/.  Brit.  (9th  ed.), 
1876.— Leslie   Stephen,   "Burns"  in  Dic- 
tionary of  National  Bioyrajihy,  vol.  vii.  1886. 


LIST  OF  THE  PRINCIPAL  EDITIONS  OF  BURNS'S   WORKS, 

AND  t)K 

WORKS  CONNECTED  WITH  THE  POET. 


Poems,  Chiefly  in  the  Scottish  Dialect,  by 
l!oI)crt  Uiirns.  Kilmarnock,  printed  by  .lolin 
WiUon.     1786.1 

Poems,  chiefly  In  tlie  Scottish  Dialect,  by 
Uobcrt  liurns.  Edinburj^h:  printed  for  the 
author  and  sold  by  Williom  Creech.     1787.^ 

i  TlilH  L'llition  wns  piiblighcd  Slat  July,  1780,  the 
iinpruHBlon  consigting  of  (11*2  copies.  .So  rnru  liuvu 
uupieg  now  liecoiiio  tlint  In  tlio  JUirnt  Caleiular  pub- 
lisliud  ill  1874,  £17,  £18,  18«.,  ami  £10  nro  (juotL-d  as 
prices  given  (or  single  copies.  Mlnco  tlien,  however, 
fnr  higlier  prices  have  been  realized.  At  the  Uar- 
dyne  sale.  In  July,  1885  a  copy  lirouglit  £49;  two 
copies  were  Bold  In  London,  nhout  1880,  (or  £6,'i  and 
£70;  while  at  the  Laing  sale,  in  December,  1870,  a 
copy  brought  £90.  'I'lie  latter,  however,  contained 
some  lines  In  Durr.s's  autngrapli,  and  had  a  hologrnidi 
letter  o(  John  Gibson  Locklmrt's  prefixed.  It  is 
curious  to  note,  looking  ai  these  prices,  that  the 
whole  expense  o(  printing  ond  publishing  the  entire 
edition  was  but  £35,  170.  One  copy  o(  the  author's 
"proposals  (or  publishing"  has  been  preserved;  it 
runs  as  follows: 

"  April  14lh,  1786. 
"rnapoBAiJi  roR  ri'ni.iaiiiiia 
iir  sriucRimoN, 
SCOTTISH  POKMS,  BY  KOBKKT  BURNS. 

"  The  work  to  be  elegantly  printed.  In  one  volume 
octovo.  Price,  stitched.  Three  Shillings.  As  the 
Author  has  not  the  most  distant  mercenary  view  In 
publishing,  as  soon  as  so  many  Subscribers  appear  as 
win  de(ray  the  necessary  expense,  the  work  will  be 
sent  to  the  press. 

'  Set  out  the  l>nint  aide  of  your  shin, 
For  pride  la  poeta  ia  nae  ain : 
Glory's  tlie  prlie  (or  which  they  rin. 

And  Fame's  their  joe: 
And  wha  blaws  Iwct  his  horn  shall  win, 
An  wherefore  no?' 

Allan  Rahsat. 

"  We  undersubscribers  engage  to  take  the  above- 
mentioned  work,  on  the  conditions  specified." 

Then  (ollows  the  names  o(  sixteen  subscribers,  to 
one  o(  which,  "William  Lorrinier,"  is  added,  appar- 
ently in  the  poet's  handwriting,— "Copy  sent  per 
Charles  Crichton.    The  Blockhead  re(used  it." 

In  I8G7  a  (ac-slrolle  reprint  o(  this  rare  volume  was 
produced  by  Mr.  M'Kle,  Kilmarnock,  and  a  London 
publisher  has  also  issued  a  (ac-slmile  reprint  In  com- 
memoration o(  the  centenary  of  the  publication  (1886). 

3  Reprinted  by  Creech  during  the  same  year. 


Poems,  chiefly  in  i,ho Scottish  Dialect,  by  Hobcrt 
Hums.  London,  printed  for  A.  Strnehttn ; 
T.  Cadell,  in  the  Strand;  and  W.  Creech, 
Kdinburgh.     1787.3 

Poems,  Ac,  12mo.  Dublin,  W.  Gilbert.  1789. 
I'oems,  &c., '2  vols.  8vo.  Edin.,  Creech.  1790. 
ToEMH,  &c.,  12mo.    Helfast,  Wm.  Magec.  1790. 

s  1'he  (ollowing  document  concerning  the  above 
edition  is  o(  interest:— 

"  Memorandum  o(  agreement  betwixt  Mr.  Creccli 
and  Mr.  liurns,  respecting  the  property  o(  Mr.  Burns'H 
I'oems. 

"  Hy  advice  o(  (riends,  Mr.  Burns  having  r"  olvcd 
to  dispose  o(  the  iiroperty  o(  hli  Poems,  and  liaving 
consulted  with  Mr.  Henry  M'Kenzio  upon  the  sub- 
ject, Mr.  Creech  met  with  Mr.  Burns  at  Mr.  .\l  'Keiizle's 
house  upon  Tuesday,  the  17th  April,  1787,  in  the 
evening,  and  they  three  having  retired  and  conversed 
uiHMi  the  subject,  Mr.  Hums  and  Mr.  Creed)  ru(erreil 
the  sum  to  be  named  b;,  Mr.  M'Kenzie,  as  being  well 
ac(|uainted  with  matters  o(  this  kind,  wlicn  .Mr. 
.M'Kenzie  said  he  thought  Mr.  Burns  should  liave  a 
Hundred  Onincas  (or  the  property  o(  his  Poems. 
•Mr.  Creech  said  that  he  agreed  to  the  proposal,  but 
as  Scotland  was  amply  supplied  with  ttie  very  nu- 
merous edition  now  printed,  he  would  write  to  Mr. 
Cadell  o(  London,  to  know  i(  he  would  take  a  share 
o(  the  book ;  but,  at  any  rate,  Mr.  Bums  should  have 
the  money  named  by  Mr.  M'Kenzie,  which  Mr.  Burns 
most  cordially  agreed  to,  and  to  make  over  the  pro- 
perty upon  these  terms  wjjenever  Mr.  Creech  recfjired 
him.  Upij.T  Monday,  the  23rd  April,  1787,  Mr.  Creech 
Intormed  Mr.  Burns  that  he  had  remained  in  town, 
expecting  Mr.  Cadell's  answer  (or  three  days  as  to 
his  taking  a  share  o(  the  property  o(  the  Poems,  but 
that  he  received  no  answer,  yet  he  would  do  ai  (or- 
merly  proposed,  and  agreed  to  take  the  whole  upon 
himself,  that  Mr.  Burns  might  be  at  no  uncertainty 
in  the  matter. 

"  Upon  this  both  parties  considered  the  transaction 
as  finished. 

"  Edihbvroo,  October  33rd,  1787. 

"On  demand,  I  promise  to  pay  to  Mr.  Robert 
Bums,  or  order,  One  Hundred  Guineas.  Value  re- 
ccivcd 

(Signed)      William  Crkech. 


"  Received  the  content*, 
(Signed) 


ROBERT  Burns.' 


LIST  OP  PUINCIPAL  EDITIONS. 


2(11) 


WORKS. 


iaicct,  by  Robert 
or  A.  Strnclmn; 
and  W.  Creech, 

Gilbert.  1780. 
.,  Creech.  1790. 
m.  JIagcc.  1790. 

■crning  the  above 

ctwixt  Mr.  Creccli 
lertyof  Mr.  Burns'a 

na  linvlng  r"  olveil 
i'dcms,  und  having 
izio  upon  tliu  gut)- 
sntMr.  .M'Kunzle's 
Vprll,  1787,  in  tliu 
:irc(l  nnd  conversed 
ilr.  Creecli  referred 
enzle,  as  being  well 
!  kind,  wlicn  .Mr. 
irns  should  have  a 
rty  of  Ids  I'uenis. 
}  tlie  proposal,  but 
wltli  tlie  very  nu- 
ould  write  to  Mr. 
voiild  take  a  share 
Burns  sliouid  have 
e,  which  Mr.  Burns 
iiako  over  tlie  pro- 
Ir.  Creech  required 
11, 1787,  Mr.  Creech 
remained  in  town, 
r  three  days  as  to 
of  the  1'oenig,  but 
e  would  do  oT  for- 
ke  the  whole  upon 
at  no  uncertainty 

'ed  the  transaction 

,  October  S3rd,  1787. 

ly  to  Mr.  Robert 
iiineas.    Value  re- 

[LLiAM  Creech. 


BERT  Burns." 


The  Scots  Musical  Mumkum,  a  Collection  of 
Six  Hundred  ScotH  HonKs,  &i-.,  0  voIh.  8vo. 
Kdinburgh,  JaniuM  Juhnxon.     1787-1803.' 

I'OKMH,  &c.,  2  voIh.  8vo.    Kdin.,  Creech.  1793. 

The  Mblowikh  or  Scotland:  with  Cym- 
phonicH  and  Accompaniments  for  the  I'iano- 
forte.  Violin,  &c.  The  whole  collected  by 
ticorgo  Tiiomson,  f.a.s,  e.  6  voIh.  music 
folio  (to  which  a  Hixtli  wan  finally  added). 
1793-1841. '■' 

I'oEMM,  &c,,  2  voIh.  8vo.    Edin.,  Creech.    1794. 

I'oKM.H,  Ac,  2  vols.  8vo.  London,  Cadell  and 
DaviH.     1797. 

I'oE.MH,  &c.,  2  vols.  8vo.    Edin.,  Creech.  1798. 

I'oEMs,  &e.,  2  voIh.  8vo.    Edin.,  Creech.    1800. 

I'HE  WouKS  OP  KoiiEUT  BuuNs :  with  an  ac- 
count of  hill  Life,  and  a  Criticism  on  his 
Writinjfs:  to  which  are  prefixed  some  ob- 
servations on  the  character  and  condition  of 
the  Scottish  pcas.Tiitry,  4  vols.  8vo.  Liver- 
pool: printed  by  J.  M'Crcery,  for  T.  Cadell, 
Junr.,and  \V.  Davics,  Strand,  London;  and 
W.  Creech,  Kdinburgh.     1800.3 

I'OEMH  A.'icKinED  TO  KoDEUT  HcuNs,  the  Ayr- 
Bhire  Hard,  not  contained  in  any  edition  of 
his  works  hitherto  published.  (llasgow, 
printed  by  Chapman  &  Lang,  for  T.  Stewart. 
1801. « 

PoE.Ms  nv  UoBEUT  BuuN.s,  with  his  Life  and 
Character,  2  vols.  18mo,  ei.ibellished  with 
engraving.s.    Edinburgh,  Oliver  &  Co.   1801.' 

Lettek-s  adduessed  to  Clauinda.  By  Uobert 
Durns,  the  Ayrshire  I'oet.  Never  before 
published,  12mo.     Glasg.,  Stewart.     1802." 

Poems,  &c.,  including  a  number  of  Original 
Pieces  never  before  published.  To  which  is 
added  an  Appendix,  consisting  of  his  Cor- 
respondence with  Clarinda,  &c.,  18mo. 
Glasgow,  Stewart  &  Macgown.     1802. 

I  This  work  Included  about  180  songs  written  or 
collected  by  Robert  Burns. 

*  This  collection  includes  about  100  congs  by  Burns. 

*  Currie's  celebrated  edition.  A  seiiond  edition  was 
published  in  1801,  "  Printed  by  R.  Noble,  in  the  Old 
Bailey,  for  T.  Cadcll,  Junr.,  and  W.  Davies,  Strand, 
London;  and  W.  Creech,  Edinburgh."  The  second 
edition  contains  some  poems  and  letters  not  in  the 
first,  and  also  an  essay  by  Gilbert  Burns,  on  the 
effects  of  refinement  of  taste  among  labouring  men. 
A  third  edition  was  issued  the  same  year ;  a  fourth 
in  1803 ;  a  fifth  in  1806 ;  c  sixth  in  1809 ;  and  a  seventh 
in  1813. 


Burnh'h  Pobus,  with  his  Life  and  Character. 
Portrait  and  Knuravings  liy  It.  Scott,  2  voli. 
18mo.     Kirkcaldy,  J.  Crerar.     1802. 

The  Poetical  Wokks  ok  l!(»iiEitT  Bcu.nm:  a 
new  edition:  including  the  Pieces  published 
in  his  Correspondiiicu,  with  his  Songs  ano 
Fragments.  Kditcd  by  Alex.  ChalmcrH. 
3  vols.  18mo.  London,  Cadell  and  Davics. 
1804. 

IlELiguEsor  KoBEKT  Buhnm;  consisting  chiefly 
of  original  Letters,  I'oenis,  and  Critical  Obser- 
vations on  Scottish  Songs:  collected  and 
published  by  R.  11.  Cromok,  8vo.  London, 
printed  by  J.  M'Crecry,  for  T.  Cadcll  and 
W.  Davies,  Strand.     1808. 

Select  Scottish  Sonoh,  Ancient  an<l  Modern; 
with  Critical  Observations  and  Biographical 
Notices,  by  Uobert  Burns.  Kditcd  by  1{.  H. 
Cromek,  2  vols.  8vo.   London,  Cadell.   1810. 

PoEMH  UY  RoDEKT  BuiiNH:  with  an  Account  of 
his  Life,  and  Miscellaneous  Itcmarks  on  his 
Writings.  By  .losiali  Walker.  2  vols.  8vo 
(portrait  and  other  eni;ravings).  Edinburgh, 
printed  for  the  trustees  of  the  late  James 
Morison.     1811. 

LiFK  AND  Works  of  Bdhns  (as  by  Currie),  with 
a  Review  of  his  Life  and  Writings,  by  Alex- 
ander Pcterkin,  4  vols.  Svo.  Edinburgh, 
Maeredie  &  Co.     1813. 

Poems  ANu  Sonus  of  Robert  Burns:  with  a 
Life  of  the  Author,  &c,,  by  the  Rev.  Hamil- 
ton Paul,  12mo.     Ayr.     1819. 

Works  of  Robert  Burns,^  with  many  addi- 
tions by  Gilbert  Burns,  4  vols.  8vo.  Lon- 
don, Cadell  and  Davies.     1820. 

Poems,  &c.,  2  vols,  f'cap.  8vo.  Pickering, 
London.     1830. 

Works  of  Robert  Burns;  with  his  Life  by 
Allan  Cunningham,  8  vols.  fcap.  Svo, 
London,  Cochrane  and  Macrone.     1834. 

included  the  "Jolly  Beggars,"  "Holy  Willies 
Prayer,"  dec,  here  printed  for  the  first  time. 

'  Life  abridged  from  Currie. 

<  Clarinda  intrusted  twenty-five  of  Burns's  letters 
to  a  person  who  professed  to  be  writing  a  life  of  the 
poet.  By  a  gross  breach  of  confidence,  however,  an 
entire  copy  of  the  lot  was  made  ind  here  published. 
The  edition  was  interdicted,  but  notwithst.  ding  the 
letters  continued  to  appear  in  various  editio..^  up  till 
Clarinda's  death  'r  '<841. 

'  Currie's  eigh . . .  edition. 


270 


LIST  OF  PRINCIPAL  EDITIONS. 


WoKKs  OF  RoBEKT  BuRNS.  Edited  by  the 
Ettrick  Shepherd  and  William  Motherwell, 
with  a  new  Memoir  by  the  former,  5  vols, 
f cap.  8vo.    Glasg.,  FuUarton  &  Coy.     1835. 

The  Tuose  Wouks  op  IIobeut  Hukns.  With 
the  Notes  of  Currie  and  Cromek,  and  many 
by  Kobert  Ciiambers,  roy.  8vo.  Edinburgh, 
Chambers.     1838-9. 

The  Complete  WouKa  of  IIobekt  Uurns. 
Illustrated  by  Bartlett,  AUom,  and  other 
artists.  With  a  new  Life  of  the  Poet,  and 
Notices  Critical  and  Biographical.  By  Allan 
Cunningham,  -2  vols.  4to.  London,  ^'irtue. 
1839. 

The  Life,  Letteks,  and  I.iAnd  op  Burns. 
Illustrated  by  IJartlett,  AUom,  &c..  with 
Memoir,  &c.,  by  Allan  Cunningham,  4to, 
2  vols.     Loudon,  Virtue.     1839. 

Johnson's  Scottish  Musical  Museum,  with 
Notes  and  Illustrations  by  the  late  William 
Stenhousc,  and  additional  Illustrations  by 
David  LaingandCliarles  KirkpatrickSharpe. 
6  vols.  8vo.     Edinburgh,  Blackwood.    1839. 

The  Poetical  Works  of  Robert  Burns,  with 
Memoir  by  Sir  Harris  Nicolas.  (Aldine 
Poets. )  3 vols.  12mo.  Lond. ,  Pickering.  1839. 

The  Contemporaries  of  Burns,  and  thf;  more 
recent  poets  of  Ayrshire,  with  Selections 
from  their  Writings.  By  James  Paterson. 
Hdin..  Paton.     1840. 

The  Land  of  Burns,  a  Series  of  Landscapes 
and  Portraits,  illustrative  of  the  Life  and 
Writings  of  the  Scottish  poet.  The  Land- 
scapes from  paintings  made  expressly  for  the 
work,  by  D.  O.  Hill,  r.s.a.  The  Literary 
Department  by  Professor  Wilson  and  Robert 
Chambers,  2  vols.  4to.  Glasgow,  Blackie  & 
Son.     1«40. 

Works  of  Robert  Burns;  with  Tiife  by  Cun- 
ningham, and  Notes  by  Gilbert  Burns, 
Byron,  Cami  bell,  Carlylc,  Chambers,  Cro- 
mek, Hazlitt,  Hogg,  Lockhart,  Motherwell, 
Scott,  Wilson,  Woi'dsworth,  °i\,  1  vol.  8vo. 
London,  Tcgg.     1840. 

Correspondence  between  Burns  and  Cla- 
einda;  with  a  Memoir  of  Mrs.  M'Lehose 
(Clarinda).  Arranged  and  Edited  by  her 
grandson,  W.  C.  M'Lehose,  8vo.  Edin., 
Tait.     1843. 


The  Works  op  Robert  Burns:  with  Dr. 
Currie's  Life  of  the  Poet,  and  an  Essay  ou 
his  Genius  and  Character,  by  Professor  Wil- 
son;  also  numerous  Notes,  Annotations,  and 
Appendices.  Illustrated  by  twenty-one 
authentic  portraits  and  sixty-one  views  by 
D.  0.  Hill,  R.S.A.  2  vols,  super-roy.  8vo, 
Glasgow,  Blackie  &  Son.     1846. 

Notes  on  hi.s  Name  and  Family:  by  James 
Burncs,  k.h.,  f.r.s.  Edin.,  printed  for 
private  circulation.     18f>l. 

Life  and  Works  of  Robert  Burns,  Edited 
by  Robert  Chambers,  4  vols.  r2mo.  Edin., 
W.  &  R.  Chambers.     1851.1 

The  Same  Work  (Library  Edition),  4  vols.  roj-. 
8vo.     1856. 


Poetical  Works. 
Nichol.     1856.2 


2  vols.  8vo.      Edinburuh, 


Poems  and  Songs  of  Burns.  (Elzevir  edi- 
tion.) 2  vols.  24mo.  London,  Bell  & 
Daldy.     1863. 

Poetical  Works,  with  Life  by  Wm.  Gunnyon, 
8vo.     Edinburgh,  Nimmo.     1865. 

The  Poems  of  Rodkkt  Bi;uns.  Edited  from 
the  best  printed  and  manuscript  authorities, 
with  Prefatory  Memoir  by  Alex.  Smith, 
((iolden  Treasury  Series.)  2  vohiiuos, 
12mo.  London  and  Cambridge,  JIacmillan. 
1865. 

Life  and  Works  of  Robert  Burns:  Critical 
and  Analytical  Edition,  by  V.  Hatcl\  Wad- 
deli,  LL.D.  Illustrated.  2  vols.  4to.  Cilas- 
gow,  Wilson.     1867. 

Poems  and  Songs  by  Robert  Burns:  witii 
Illustrations  by  eminent  Scottish  Artists. 
(The  Edina  Burns.)  4to.  Edinburgli, 
Nimmo.     1868. 

Poems,  Songs,  and  Letters,  being  the  Com- 
plete Works  of  Robert  Burns,  edited  from 
the  beat  printed  and  manuscript  ar.thorities 
witii  Glos.sarial  Index  and  a  Biographical 
Memoir  by  Alexander  Smith.  London, 
Mac-     Ian.     1868.     (Globe  edition.) 

1  In  this  edition  the  life  and  worlcs  are  interwoven, 
80  OS  to  present  the  latter,  prose  and  poetry,  in 
chronological  order. 

s  "Nicliol's  Jiritinh  Poets:"  with  Memoirs  and  Dis- 
sertations by  the  Bev.  Geo.  OUdliiin. 


Burns:  with  Dr. 
St,  and  an  Essay  ou 
r,  by  Professor  Wil- 
a,  Annotations,  and 
id    by    twenty-one 

sixty-one  views  by 
ola.  supcr-roy.  8vo. 
1846. 

Family:  by  James 
Kdin.,  printed  for 
il. 


EUT  Ik'KNS,  Edited 
ols.  l'2mo.  Edin., 
51.1 


Kdition),  4  vols.  roy. 

1.  Svo.      Edinburgh, 

RNs.      (Klzevir  edi- 
liondon,    Ikll   & 

e  by  Wm.  Gnnnyon, 
mo.     18t)5. 

iJUN.s.  Edited  from 
inuscrii>t  autlioritics, 
r  by  Alex.  Sniiili. 
•ies. )  2  voluiuos, 
mbridgc,  Macmillun. 

lEUT  Ik'KN'S:  Critical 

by  )'.  Hatel\  Wad- 

2  vol8.  4to.    tilas- 

OBEUT  Burns:  with 

nt   Scottish   Artists. 

4to.       Edinburgh, 

JRS,  being  the  Corn- 
Burns,  edited  from 

iniiscript  ar.thorif  ies 

and  a  Biographical 
Smith.        London, 

lobe  edition.) 

I  works  are  interwcvcn, 
prose  and  poetry,  in 

with  Memoirs  and  Dis- 
iiaiiun. 


LIST  OF  PRINCIPAL  EDITIONS. 


Poetical  Works  of  Robert  Burns,  edited  by 
W.  M.  llossetti.  Illustrated.  London, 
Moxon.     1871. 

The  Complete  Poetical  Works  of  Robert 
Burns:  with  New  Annotations,  Biographi- 
cal Notices,  &c.,  by  W.  Scott  Douglaa. 
Kilmarnock,  M'Kie.     1871. 

The  Same.  Revised  and  i'rtendcd  edition. 
Kilmarnock.     1876. 

Some  Account  of  the  Glenriddell  MSS.  of 
BuRNs's  Poems,  with  several  poems  never 
before  publisiied.  Edited  by  Henry  A. 
Bright  (printed  for  private  circulation). 
Liverpool,  post  4to.     1874. 

Burns  Calendar  :  a  Manual  of  Burnsiana:  re- 
lating events  in  the  poet's  history,  names  asso- 
ciated with  his  Life  and  Writings,  a  concise 
Bibliography,  &c.,  4to.    Kilmarnock.    1876. 

The  National  Burns,  edited  by  Rev.  George 
Gilfillan,  includini^  the  Airs  of  all  the  Songs, 
and  an  original  Life  of  Burns  by  the  editor. 
Illustrations.  2  vols.  4to.  Glasgow,  Mac- 
kenzie.    1878. 

Complete  Works  of  Robert  Burn.s,  in  Prose 
and  Vcr.se,  edited  by  W.  Scott  Douglas,  with 
E.xplanatory  Notes  and  Glossary,  Portraits, 
Vignettes,  Frontispieces,  Facsimiles,  Maps, 
and  Music,  6  vols.  Svo.  Edinburgh,  Pater- 
son.     1877-79. 

Bibliotheca  Burnsiana.  Life  and  Works  of 
Burns,  title-pages  and  imprints  of  the  various 
editions,  &c.,  8vo.  Kilmarnock,  M  .^ie. 
1880. 


SOME  AMERICAN   EDITIONS. 

Philadelphia,  Stewart  & 


New   York,    J.    &   A. 


Poems,  &c.,  12mo. 
Hyde.     1788. 

PoKMs,   &c.,    I'imo, 
M'Lean.     1788. 

Poems,  Ac,  12mo.    New  York,  Tiebont.  1789. 

Poems,  &c.,  4  vols.  r2mo.     Philadelphia,  Dob- 
son.     1801. 

Poems,    &e. ,    3   vols. 
Fairbairn.     1804. 


12mo.      Philadelphia, 


Poems,    &c.,   2  vols.   18mo. 
Warner.     1818. 


271 
Philadelphia, 


Poems,  &c.,  4  vols.  ISmo. 
1815. 


Baltimore,  Lucas. 


Poems,  &c.,  1  vol.  Svo.     Philadelphii.  Chap- 
man.    1823. 

Poems,  &c.,  4  vols.  24mo.     New  Y'ork,  King. 
1824. 

Poems,  &c.,  4  vols.  18mo.    New  York,  Bartow. 

1824. 

Poems,  &c.,  1  vol.  Svo.     Philadelphia,  Crissy 
&  Grigg.     1831. 

Poems,  &c.,  1  vol.  Svo.     New  York,  Booth  & 
Son.     1832. 

Poems,  &c.,  4  vols.  18mo.     Boston,  Hilliard, 
Gray,  &  Co.     1834. 

Poems,  &c.,  2  vols.  18mo.  Boston,  Dow.   1834. 

Poems,  &c.,  1  vol.  Svo.     Philadelphia,  Crissy. 
1837. 

Poems,  &c.,  1  vol.  Svo.     New  York,  Robinson 
&  Franklin.     1839. 

Poems,  &c.,  1  vol.  12mo.    New  York,  Langley. 
1841. 

Poems,  &c.,  1  vol.  Svo.     Philadelphia,  Apple- 
ton.     1851. 

Poems,  &c.,  4  vols.  12mo.    New  York,  Harper. 

1852. 

Poems,  &c.,  1  vol.  4to.    New  York,  Appleton. 

1858. 

Poems,   &c.,   1  vol.   Svo.      Boston,   Phillips, 
Sampson  &  Co.     1858. 

Poems,  &c.,  1  vol.  Svo.     Cincinnati,  James. 
1858. 

Poems,   &c.,  3  vols.   12mo.     Boston,   Little, 
Brown,  &  Co.     1863. 

Poems,  &c.,  2  vols.  18mo.     Boston,  Ticknor 
&  Fields.     1866. 

Poems,  &c.,  1  vol.  Svo.     Philadelphia,  Lip- 

pincott.     1867. 
Poems,  &c.,  1  vol.  Svo.    New  York,  Appleton. 

1873. 

Poems,  &c.,  3  vols.  Svo.   Boston,  Osgood.  1873. 

Poems,  &c.,  1  vol.  Svo.     Philadelphia,  Lip- 
pincott.     1880. 

Poems,  &c.,  5  vols.  Svo,  Hluatrated.     Phila- 
I     delphia,  Gebbie.     1886-1887. 


272 


LIST  OF  PRINCIPAL  EDITIONS. 


GERMAN  EDITIONS  AND  TRANSLATIONS. 

Choice  op  Buuns'  Poems:  with  a  Glossary, 
roy.  8vo.     Ansbach,  Dollfus.     1831. 

Works,  &c.,  with  Cunningham's  Not«s,  and 
a  Biographical  and  Critical  Introduction, 
and  a  Comparative  Etymological  Glossary, 
by  AdolphuB  AVagner,  roy.  Svo.  Leipsic, 
Frederick  Fleischer.     1835. 

Burns:  Geuichte.  Phil.  Kaufmann,  Svo. 
Stuttgart,  Cotta.     1840. 

Burns:  Lieder  u.  Balladen.  Uebertragen 
V.  Heinr.  Jul.  Heintze,  12mo.  Braun- 
schweig, AVestermann.     1840. 

Burns:  Gedichte,  Deutsch  v.  Gerhard,  Svo. 
Leipzig,  Barth.     1840. 

Burns'  Select  Poems  and  Songs,  chiefly  in 

the  Scottish  Dialect,   with  Glossary,   Svo. 

Berlin,  Schlesinger.     1841. 
Burns:  12mo.     Leipzig,  bernhard Tauchnitz. 

1845. 
Burns  :  Translation  by  Pertz.     1859. 
Burns:    Lteder    und    Balladen,   Ubersetzt 

von  Karl  F.  Bartsch.  Hildburghausen.  1865. 

Lieder    und    Balladen,   v.    Robert  Burns. 

Deutsch,  V.  Adolf  Laun,  Svo.    Berlin,  Open- 

heim.     1877. 
Robert  Burns'  Werke,  Otto  Barsch,  12mo- 

Stuttgart.     N.  D. 


FRENCH  TR..NSLATIONS. 

Morceaux  Choisis  de  Burns,  Poete  Ecossaie: 

traduits  par  MM.  James  Aytoun  et  J.  B. 

Mesnard.     Paris.     1826. 
PoisiEs  Completes  de  Robert  Burns,  tra- 

duites  de  I'Ecossais,  par  L6on  de  Wailly; 

avec  une    Introduction  du  m6me,    12mo. 

Paris,  Cliarpentier.     1843. 
PolsiES  imitees  de  Robert  Burns,  par  Louis 

Demonceaux,  12mo.   Paris,  Tardieu.    1866. 

Burns,  traduit  de  I'Ecossais,  avec  Pri'face,  par 
Richard  de  la  Madelaine,  Svo.  Rouen, 
Cagniard.     1874. 


SWEDISH  TRANSLATION. 

Burns:  Sanger  och  Ballader,  OfversUttning. 
Prisbelontafhistorisk-filologiskaFakulteten, 
Svo.     Helsingfors.     1854. 


GAELIC  TRANSLATION. 

Tomas  Seannsair,  Maile  ri  Naoidh  dain  Eile 
Le  Roibeart  Burns,  air  an  cuir  an  GJielig  le 
Rob.  Mac-Dhughaill,  agus  oraran  ura  leis 
an  Eadar-Theangair.     Glascho.     1840. 


LATIONS. 


INS,  Poete  Ecossais: 
8  Aytoun  et  J.  B. 


INDEX  TO  FIRST  LINES  OF  POEMS  AND  SONGS. 


OBEUT  Burns,  tra- 
r  L6on  de  Wailly; 
(111  meme,  12mo. 
t3. 

;t  Burns,  par  Louis 
ris,  Tardieu.    1865. 

s,  avec  Pn'face,  par 
ne,    8vo.      Kouen, 


:SLATION. 

ider,  Ofversiittning. 
ologiska  Fakulteten, 
)4. 


SLATION. 

ri  Naoidh  dain  Eile 
an  cuir  an  GJielig  le 
gus  oraran  ura  leis 
ilascho.     1840. 


Adieu !  a  lieart-wami,  fond  adieu !  . 
Admiring  Nature  in  her  wildest  grace, 
Adown  winding  Xith  I  did  wander, 
Ae  day  a  braw  wooer  came  down  the  lang 

glen 

Ae  day,  as  Death,  that  gruesome  carl, 

Ae  fond  kiss  and  then  we  sever, 

Afar  the  illustrious  exile  roams, 

Again  rejoicing  nature  sees,     . 

Again  the  silent  wheels  of  time, 

A  guiil  N'ew-year  I  wish  thee,  Maggie ! 

Ah,  I'hloris !  since  it  may  na  be. 

Ah,  woe  is  nie,  my  mother  dear! 

All  hail  I  inexurubic  lord ! 

All  villain  as  I  an\— a  danuibd  wretch, 

Altlio'  my  back  be  at  the  wa',  . 

Altho'  my  bed  were  in  yon  niuir, 

Amang  the  trees,  where  hunnning  bees, 

Among  the  heathy  hills  and  ragged  woods, 

Ance  mair  I  hail  thee,  thou  gloomy  December 

And  O !  my  Epjne 

An  honest  man  here  lies  at  rest, 

Anna,  thy  charms  my  bosom  lire,    . 

An'  0,  for  ane-and-twenty,  Tani, 

A  rose-bud  by  my  early  walk,  . 

As  cnuUl  a  wind  as  ever  blew,  . 

As  father  Adam  llrst  was  fuol'd. 

As  I  cam  by  Orochallan,    . 

As  I  cam  in  l)y  our  gate-end,    . 

As  I  stood  by  yun  rootless  tower, 

As  I  was  a-wandering. 

Ask  why  Hod  made  the  gem  so  small. 

As  Mailic,  an'  her  lambs  tliegither, . 

As  on  the  banks  o'  wandering  Nith, 

As  Tani  the  Chapman  on  a  day, 

A'  the  lads  o'  Thornie-bank,     . 

Auld  chuckle  Reekie's  sair  distrest, 

Auld  to'urade  d<>.-.r  and  brither  sinner, 

Awa',  Whigs,  awa' 

Awa  wi'  your  witchcrait  o'  lieauty's  alarms, 
A'  ye  wha  live  by  sowps  o'  drink,     . 

Bannocks  o'  bear  meal,  bannocks  o'  barley. 
Beauties  rose-bud,  young  and  gay,  . 
Behind  yon  hills,  where  Lugar  flows. 
Behold  the  Hour  (two  versions). 
Below  thir  stancs  lie  Jamie's  banes. 
Bless  Jesus  Christ,  O  Cardoness, 
Blest  be  M' Jlurdo  to  his  latest  day ! 
Blythe,  blythe,  and  merry  was  she, 
Blythe  hae  I  been  on  yon  hill,  . 
Bonnie  lassie,  will  you  go, 
Bonnie  wee  thing,  cannie  wee  thing, 
Braw,  braw  lads  on  Yarrow  braes,  . 


vol.  and  page 
iilCO 
it  218 
iil  157 


iii  222 

1229 

iii  121 

ii23G 

iil36 

ii200 

ii   8(i 

iii  189 

1193 

iil39 

1192 

11118 

1194 

iii  1G7 

ii  223 

iii  122 

iii   42 

i220 

11254 

iii  108 

ii  230 

iii  120 

1228 

iii  243 

iii  1S9 

lilies 

iii  247 

iii   98 

1210 

iii  103 

1229 

ii  226 

11211 

iii   25 

iii  242 

iii  231 

iiiei 

iii  182 
11231 
1216 

iii  254 
1228 

iii  188 

Iii  1.53 
11229 

iii  149 
11219 

iii   98 

iii  139 


Bright  ran  thy  line,  0  Galloway,  . 
But  lately  seen  in  gladsome  green,  . 
But  rarely  seen  since  nature's  birth, 
By  Allan  stream  I  chanc'il  to  rove, . 
By  all  I  lov'd,  neglected  and  forgot. 
By  yon  castle  wa',  at  the  close  of  the  day, 


vol.  aud  iiage 
.  iii  153 
.  iii  1!)2 
.  111237 
.  iii  150 
iii  21 
iii   90 


Canst  tho"  leave  me  thus,  my  Katie?  .  .  iil  193 
Ca'  the  yowes  to  the  knowes,  .  .  .  iii  183,  245 
Cauld  blaws  the  wind  frae  east  to  west, .       .    ii  245 

Cauld  is  the  e'enin'  blast, m  203 

Cease,  ye  prudes,  your  envious  railing,   .        .    ii  -im) 

Clarinda,  mistress  of  my  soul ii  239 

Come,  let  me  take  thee  to  my  breast,      .        .  ill  158 

Comin'  through  the  Rye Hi  252 

Contented  wi'  little,  and  cantie  wi'  mair,  .  iil  197 
Curs'd  be  the  man,  the  poorest  wretch  in  life,  iii  18 
Curse  on  ungrateful  maUj  that  can  be  pleas'd,   ii  202 


Daughter  of  Chaos'  doting  years,     . 

Dear ,  111  gie  ye  some  advice,   . 

Dear  Sir,  at  ony  time  or  tide,   . 
Dear  Smith,  the  sleest,  pawkie  thief. 
Dire  was  the  hate  at  old  Harlaw,     . 
Does  haughty  Gaul  invasion  threat? 
Dost  thou  not  rise  indignant  shade, 
Duncan  Gray  cam  here  to  woo. 
Dweller  in  yon  dungeon  dark, . 

Edina !  Scotia's  darling  seat !    . 
E.\pect  na,  sir,  in  this  narration,     . 

Fair  Empress  of  the  Poet's  soul. 
Fairest  maid  on  Devon  banks, . 
Fair  fa'  yuur  honest,  sonsie  face,     . 
Fair  maid,  you  need  not  take  the  hint,   . 
Fair  the  face  of  orient  day, 
Fareweel  to  a'  our  Scottish  fame,    . 
Farewell,  dear  friend !  may  guid  luck  hit  you 
Farewell,  old  Scotia's  bleak  domains. 
Farewell,  thou  fair  day,  thou  green  earth  and 

ye  skies,       

Farewell,  thou  stream  that  winding  flows, 

Farewell,  ye  dungeons  dark  and  strong, . 

Fate  gave  the  word,  the  arrow  sped, 

Fill  with  me  the  rosy  wine, 

Fintry,  my  stay  in  worldly  strife,    . 

First  when  llaggy  was  my  care. 

Flow  gently,  sweet  Alton,  among  thy  green 

braes,  .       .  .... 

For  lords  or  kings  I  dinna  mourn,  . 
Forlorn,  my  love,  no  comfort  near, . 
Frae  the  friends  and  land  I  love,  . 
Friday  first's  the  day  appointed. 


iii  27 
11208 
iii  24 
iil05 
iii  230 
iii  216 
iii  133 
iii  134 
iii    1& 

iil90 
iil55 

ii24S 
iii  283 
iil98 
ii211 
iii  33 
iii  114 
11107 
11168 

iii  118 
iii  194 
ii  242 
11259 
iii  2.S7 
iii  71 
iii    41 

iii  109 
iii  13 
iii  220 
iii  113 
iilOO 


274 


INDEX  TO  FIRST  LINES  OF  POEMS  AND  SONGS. 


Friend  of  the  Poet,  tried  and  leal,  . 
From  thee,  Eliza,  I  must  go,    . 
From  those  drear  solitudes  and  frowsy  cells, 
F}',  let  us  a'  to  Kirkcudbright, 


vol.  and  page 
ill  2'29 
iil63 
ill  171 
iii  211 


Gane  is  the  day,  and  nilrlc's  the  night,  .  .  iii   70 

Go,  fame,  an'  canter  lilce  a  Ally,       .  .  .  ii  190 

Go,  fetch  to  me  a  pint  o'  wine,        .  .  .iii   12 

Grant  me,  indulgent  Heaven,  that  I  may  live,  iii  147 

Green  grow  the  rashes,  0 !        .       .  .  .  i  218 

Guid  mornin'  to  your  Majesty !        .  .  .  ii  151 

Guid  speed  an'  furder  to  you,  Johnnie,  .  .  ii  46 

Had  I  a  cave  on  some  wild,  distant  shore,  .  iii  155 
Hail,  Poesie !  thou  nymph  reserv'd !  .  .iii  102 
Hail,  thttinu-inspirin',  rattlin'  Willie  !  .  .  ii  190 
Has  aiild  Kilmarnoclv  seen  the  dell?  .  .  ii  187 
Ha  !  wliare  ye  gaun,  ye  crowlin'  ferlie?  .  .  ii  124 
Health  to  the  Maxwells' vet'ran  chief !  .  .  iii  118 
Heard  ye  o'  the  tree  o'  France,  .  .  .iii  180 
Hear,  Land  o'  Cakes,  and  tirithcr  Scots, .  .  iii  42 
He  clench'd  his  pamphlets  in  his  fist,  .  .  ii  200 
Hec  baluii !  my  sweet  wee  Donald,  .       .        .iii  176 

Her  Daddie  for))ad, iii  239 

Here  awa',  tliere  awa',  wandering  Willie — 

Three  versions iii  141,  142 

Here  Brewer  Gabriel's  fire's  extinct,  .  .  iii  203 
Here  cursing,  swearing,  Burton  lies,  .  .  iii  188 
Here  Holy  Willie's  sair  worn  clay,  .  .  .  i  238 
Here  is  tlie  glen,  and  here  the  bower,  .  .  iii  169 
Here  lies  a  mock  Marquis,  whose  titles  were 

sliamm'd iii  189 

Here  lies  .lolni  Bushby,  AouesO/irt)!.'  .  .  iii  174 
Here  lies  .Toliny  Pigeon ;  what  was  Iiis  religion,  ii  110 
Here  lies,  now  a  prey  to  insulting  neglect,  .  iii  171 
Here  lie  Willie  Michie's  banes,  .  .  .  ii  209 
Here's  a  liealth  to  ane  I  lo'e  dear,  .  .  .iii  233 
Here's  a  Iiealth  to  tliem  that's  awa',  .  .  iii  137 
Here  souter  Hood  in  death  does  sleep,  .  .  i  221 
Here's  to  thy  iiealth,  my  bonnie  lass,      .  i  108 

Here  Stuarts  once  in  glory  reign 'd, .       .  ii  217 

Here,  where  the  Scottish  muse  innnortal  lives,  iii  183 
Her  flowing  locks,  the  raven's  wing,  .  .  ii  61 
He  who  of  Kankine  sang,  lies  stiff  and  dead,  i  230 
Honest  Will  to  heaven's  gane,  .  .  .  .  ii  230 
How  can  my  poor  heart  be  glad,  .  .  .iii  184 
How  cold  is  that  bosom  which  folly  once  flr'd,  iii  170 

How  cruel  are  the  Parents iii  255 

How  lang  and  dreary  is  the  night,  .  .  .iii  191 
How  long  and  dreary  is  tlie  night,  .  .  .  ii  245 
How  pleasant  the  banks  of  the  clear  winding 

Devon, ii  231 

How  shall  I  sing  Drumlanrig's  Grace,  .  .  iii  105 
How  Wisdom  and  Folly  meet,  mix,  and  unite,  iii   31 

Humid  seal  of  soft  affections iii   15 

Husband,  husband,  cease  your  strife,     .        .  iii  164 


I  am  my  mammy's  ae  bairn,     . 

I  call  no  goddess  to  inspire  my  strains,  . 

I  coft  a  stane  o'  haslock  woo',  . 

I  do  confess  thou  art  sae  fair,  . 

I  dream'd  I  lay  where  flowers  were  springing 

If  ye  gae  up  to  yon  hill-tap. 

If  you  rattle  along  like  your  mistress's  tongue 

I  gaed  a  waefu'  gate  yestreen,  . 


11240 
iii  49 
iii  208 
iii  124 
1191 
i  193 
iii  174 
iii   50 


vol.  and  page 
I  gat  your  letter,  winsome  Willie,   .       .       .     i  25o 

I  hae  a  wife  o'  my  ain ii  2ri3 

I  hold  it,  sir,  my  bounden  duty,      .       .       .    ii  142 
I  lang  hae  thought,  my  youthfu'  friend, .        .    ii  140 

I'll  aye  ca'  in  by  yon  town iji  -'W 

111  fated  Genius !  Heaven-taught  Fergusson,  .  iii  12a 

I'll  kiss  thee  yet,  yet i  igg 

I  mind  it  weel,  in  early  date,  .       .        .       .    ii  202 
I'm  three  times  doubly  o'er  your  debtor,        .    ii   f,o 

In  coming  by  the  Brig  o'  Dye ii  227 

Inhuman  man !  curse  on  thy  l>ar'brous  art,    .  iii   32 
In  Mauchline  there  dwells  six  proper  young 

belles 

Iii  politics  if  thou  would'st  mix, 
In  se'enteen  hunder  and  forty-nine. 
In  simmer,  wiien  the  hay  was  mawn, 
Instead  of  a  song,  boys,  I'll  give  you  a  toast. 
In  Tarbolton  ye  ken,  there  are  proper  young 

men, 

In  this  strange  land,  this  uncouth  clime, 

In  wood  and  wild,  ye  warlding  throng,   . 

I  sing  of  a  Whistle,  a  Whistle  of  wortli, . 

Is  there  a  whim-inspir6d  fool, . 

Is  there  for  honest  Poverty, 

It  is  na,  Jean,  thy  bonnie  Face, 

It  was  a'  for  our  rightfu'  king, . 

It  was  the  charming  month  of  May, 

It  was  upon  a  Lammas  night,  . 


Jamie,  come  try  me 

Jockey's  ta'en  the  parting  kiss, 
John  Anderson,  my  jo,  John,   . 

Kemble,  thou  cur'st  my  unbelief,    . 
Ken  ye  ought  o'  Captain  Grose? 
Kilmarnock  wabsters  fldge  an'  claw. 
Kind  Sir,  I've  read  your  naper  through, . 
Know  thou,  O  stranger  to  the  fame. 

Lament  aim,  JIauchlinc  husbands  a'. 
Lament  in  rhyme,  lament  in  prose, 
Landlady,  count  the  Lawin',    . 
Last  May  a  braw  wooer  cam  down  the  lang 

glen 

Late  crippl'd  of  an  arm,  and  now  a  leg,  . 
Let  half-starved  slaves,  in  warmer  skies. 
Let  not  woman  e'er  complain,  . 
Let  other  heroes  boast  their  scars,  . 
Let  other  poets  raise  a  fracas,  . 
Life  ne'er  exulted  in  t,o  rich  a  prize. 
Like  Esop's  lion.  Burns  says,  "  sore  I  feel. 
Lone  on  the  bleaky  hills  tlie  straying  flocks. 
Long  life,  my  lord,  un'  health  be  yours,  . 
Long,  long  the  night,  heavy  comes  the  morrow. 
Lord,  we  thank  an'  thee  adore. 
Loud  blaw  the  frosty  Ijreezes,  . 
Louis,  what  reck  I  by  thee, 

Mally's  meek,  Afally's  sweet,    . 

Mark  yonder  pomp  of  costly  fashion. 

Maxwell,  if  merit  here  you  crave,    . 

Musing  on  the  roaring  ocean,  . 

My  blessings  on  you,  sonsy  wife,     . 

My  bottle  is  a  haly  pool,  . 

My  Chloris,  mark  how  green  the  groves. 


i  227 
iii  138 
iii  188 
iii  127 
iii  148 

1195 
11251 
iii  154 
iii  ri3 
ii  103 
iii  2(10 
iii  247 
iii  177 
iii  250 
1214 

iii  36 
iii  228 
iii   38 

iii  187 
iii    78 

ii  102 
iii   67 

iil64 

ii  110 

1212 

iii  241 

iii  221 
iii  116 
ii  1(H) 
iii  190 
1117: 
ii  83 
iii  87 
ii  218 
ii  234 
ii  149 
iii  219 
iii  153 
ii  234 
ii  253 

iii  227 
iii  217 
iii  187 
11247 
11208 
iii  203 
iii  193 


1 


GS. 


INDEX  TO  FIRST  LINES  OF  POEMS  AND  SONGS. 


vol.  and  [lago 

Je,   .       .       . 

il!5(i 

. 

ii  203 

,      .       .       . 

iil42 

i'  friend, . 

iil46 

• 

iii  ■•m 

it  FergUBSun,  . 

iii  Va 

. 

il99 

ii  202 

iir  ilebtor, 

ii    fiO 

. 

ii  227 

ai'brous  art,    . 

iii   32 

proper  young 

. 

i  227 

I, 

iii  138 

nine, 

iii  188 

innwn, 

iii  127 

e  you  a  toast, 

iii  148 

1  iiroper  young 

il95 

iitli  clime. 

ii  251 

tlirong,  . 

iii  154 

of  wortli, . 

iii   53 

ii  103 

.        . 

iii  200 

!, 

iii  247 

• 

iii  177 

May, 

iii  250 

•  .      • 

1214 

iii    30 

1                '              * 

iii  228 

iii   38 

ief,     .        . 

iii  187 

!?          . 

iii    78 

claw. 

ii  102 

through, . 

iii   07 

fame, 

.    ii  104 

nnds  a', 

.    iilio 

rose. 

.      i  212 

. 

iii  241 

down  the  lan( 

. 

'  iii  221 

ow  a  leg,  . 

.   iii  lie 

rnier  skies. 

.    ii  100 

•              ■ 

.   iiiliW 

tars,  . 

.    ii  171 

. 

.    ii   M 

prize. 

.   Iii   87 

'  sore  I  feel. 

.    ii218 

traying  flocliS, 

.    ii234 

lie  yours,  . 

.    iil49 

ines  the  morrov 

ir,  iii  210 

.   iii  153 

'. 

.    ii234 

. 

.     ii253 

.   iii  227 

ashion, 

.   iii  217 

ive,    . 

.   iii  187 

.     ii  247 

fe,     .       . 

.    ii208 

.   iii  203 

he  groves, 

.   iii  103 

vol.  and  iiage 
My  curse  upon  your  venom'd  stang,        .       .    ii  172 
Jly  fiitlier  was  a  farmer  upon  tlie  Carrick  bor- 
der, 0 i  206 

>Iy  god-like  friend— nay,  do  not  stare,  .  .  ii  254 
My  Harry  was  a  gallant  gay,  .  .  .  .  iii  51 
Jiy  heart  is  a-l)ieaking,  dear  Tittle !  .  .iii  40 
My  heart  is  sair— I  dare  na  tell,  .  .  .iii  200 
My  heart  is  wae,  and  unco  wae,  .  .  .  ii  237 
My  lieart's  in  tlie  Iliglilands,  my  heart  is  not 

here iii   52 

My  lieart  was  ance  as  blythe  and  free,  .  .  ii  241 
My  lionour'd  Colonel,  deep  I  fed,  .  .  .  iii  232 
My  lady's  gown  tliere's  gairs  upon't,  .  .  ii  200 
Aly  Lord,  I  know  your  noble  car,  .  .  .  il  220 
My  lov'd,  my  lionourcd,  mucli  respected  friend,  ii  74 
My  love  slie's  l)Ut  a  lassie  yet,  .  .  -  .  iii  39 
My  Peggy's  face,  my  I'eggy's  form,  .       .       .    ii  233 

Nae  gentle  dames,  tlio'  e'er  sae  fair,  .  .  ii  144 
Xae  lieatlien  name  shall  I  prefix,  .  .  .  Ii  210 
No  Cliurcliman  am  1  for  to  rail  and  to  write, .  i  208 
No  more  of  your  guests,  be  they  titled  or  not,  iii  229 
No  more,  ye  warblers  of  the  wood,— no  more  I  iii  174 
>'(>  scuiptur'd  marble  liere,  nor  pompous  lay,  ii  201 
No  song  nor  dance  I  bring  from  yon  great 

city iii   C3 

No  Spartan  tube,  no  Attic  shell,      .        .       .iii  178 

No  Stewart  art  tliou,  Galloway,       .        .       .iii  153 

Now  in  lier  gi'een  numtle  Itlytlie  Nature  arrays,  iii  199 

Now,  Kennedy,  If  foot  or  liorse. 

Now  Nature  deeds  tlie  flowery  lea. 

Now  nature  liaiigs  her  mantle  gi'een. 

Now  Robin  lies  in  his  last  lair. 

Now  rosy  May  comes  in  wi'  flowers. 

Now  spring  lias  clad  tlie  grove  in  green, 

Now  westlin  winds  and  slaught'ring  guns, 


275 

vol.  and  page 
.   iii  106 


O  aye  my  wife  slie  dang  me,     . 

O  a'  ye  pious  godly  Hocks, 

<)  lioniiy  was  yon  rosy  brier,     . 

(»  cam  ye  liere  tlie  flglit  to  shun,      . 

O,  could  I  give  thee  India's  wealth, 

0  deatli,  liadst  thou  but  spared  liis  life, , 

O  Death',  tliou  tyrant  fell  and  bloody! 

Of  all  the  numerous  ills  that  liurt  our  peace. 

Of  u'  tlie  airts  the  wind  can  Idiiw,    . 

O  Goudie !  terror  o'  tlie  Wiiigs, 

O  had  tlie  malt  thy  strengtli  of  mind, 

Oil !  had  eacli  Scot  of  ancient  times, 

Oil!  I  am  come  to  tlie  low  countrie, 

Oh,  open  tlie  door,  some  pity  to  sliow, 

O  liow  can  I  lie  blytlie  and  glad, 

O  liow  sliall  I,  unskilfu",  try,     . 

Oil,  Tibliie,  I  liae  seen  tlie  day. 

Oh,  wert  thou  in  the  cauld  blast,     . 

O  Keiimure's  on  and  awa,  Willie !    . 

O  ken  ye  wliat  Meg  o'  the  Mill  has  gotten? 

O,  Lady  Mary  Ann,    .... 

O  lassie,  are  ye  sleepin'  yet, 

O  lassie  art  tliou  sleepin'  yet,  . 

O  l.iy  thy  loof  in  mine,  lass,      . 

Old  Winter,  with  his  frosty  beard,  . 

O  leave  novels,  ye  Mauchline  belles, 

O  Iceze  me  on  my  spinnin'-wheel,    . 

O  Logan,  sweetly  didst  thou  glide,  . 


ii  123 
iii  194 
iii    88 

ii   42 

iii  159 

iii  224 

1215 

iii  204 

1233 

iii  225 

iii  244 

iii    24 

1228 

Iii    74 

i219 

,    ii  250 

ii    43 

,  iii  203 

,     ii  214 

.   iii  176 

.   iii  143 

.    ii  248 

.   iii    97 

.     il90 

.  iii  234 

.   iii  115 

.   iii  144 

.   iii  248 

.   iii  205 

.   iii  161 

.   iii  234 

.   iii  163 

.      i227 

.   iiil20 

.   111150 


0  lovely  Polly  Stewart ! 

0  luve  will  venture  in  where  it  daurna  weel 

be  seen iii   00 

0  ilary,  at  thy  window  be i  200 

0  May,  tliy  morn  was  ne'er  so  sweet,  .  .  iii  120 
0  meikle  tliinks  my  iuve  o'  my  beauty,  .  .  iii  107 
0  merry  hae  I  been  teetliin'  a  heckle,  .  .  ii  73 
0  mirk,  mirk  is  tlie  midniglit  liour,         .        .   iii  140 

0  mount  and  go, iii   38 

0  my  luve's  like  a  red,  red  rose,  .  .  .iii  251 
On  a  bank  of  flowers,  in  a  summer  day,  .  .  iii  34 
Once  fondly  lov'd,  and  still  icniember'd  dear,  ii  160 
On  C'tssnock  banks  a  lassie  dwells,  .       .        .     i  100 

One  night  as  I  did  wander ii   43 

One  Queen  Artemisia,  as  old  stories  tell,        .     i  229 

0,  once  I  lov'd  a  bonnie  lass i  1S9 

O  Philly,  happy  be  that  day iii  195 

O  poortith  cauld  and  restless  love,  .  .  .iii  138 
Oppress'd  with  grief,  oppress'd  with  care,  .  ii  140 
0  raging  Fortune's  withering  blast,  .  .  1  205 
0  rough,  rude,  ready-witted  Kankine,  .  .  i  224 
Orthodox,  orthodox,  wlia  believe  in  John  Knox,  iii  45 
O,  sad  and  heavy  should  I  part, 

O  saw  yu  bonny  Lesley 

O  saw  ye  my  dearie,  my  Eppie  il'Nab?  . 

O  saw  ye  my  dear,  my  Piiilly?  . 

O  sing  a  new  song  to  the  Lord, 

O  stay,  sweet  warbling  wood-lark,  stay, . 

0,  steer  her  up,  and  hand  lier  gaun, 

O  TIkiu  dread  Pow'r,  who  rcijiu'st  above ! 

0  Thou  Great  Being !  what  TIkmi  art,      . 

0  Thou  in  whom  we  live  and  move, 

0  thou  pale  orb,  that  silent  shines, . 

0  Thou,  the  first,  the  greatest  friend,     . 

O  'I'liou  unknown,  Almighty  Cause, . 

0  Thou,  wha  in  the  heavens  does  dwell, . 

0  tliou !  whatever  title  suit  thee,     . 

O  Thou,  who  kindly  dost  provide,    . 

0  thou  whom  Poetry  abhors,    . 

Out  over  the  Forth  I  look  to  the  north,  . 

0  wat  ye  wlia's  in  yon  town,     . 

O,  were  I  on  Parnassus'  hill !    .       .       . 

O,  were  my  love  yon  lilac  fair, 

O  wha  is  she  that  lo'es  me, 

O  wha  my  babie  clouts  will  buy? 


iii  123 
iii  128 
iii  107 
iii  100 
iii   29 
iii  219 
iii  204 
iilS3 
1201 
iii  121 
iil37 
1204 
i  202 
,      1236 
.     ii   79 
.  iii  121 
.     ii  209 
.   iii   00 
.  iii  207 
.    ii  252 
.   iii  253 
.   iii  227 
.      i  223 


O  whar  did  ye  get  that  hauvor-meal  bannock,   iii  238 
0  wha  will  to  Saint  Stephen's  House,      . 
O  whistle,  and  I'll  come  to  you,  my  lad, . 
O  why  the  deuce  should  I  repine,    . 
O  Willie  brew'd  a  peck  o'  niaut, 

O,  wilt  thou  go  wi'  me, 

0  ye  wha  are  sae  guid  yourseV, 

0  ye  wliose  cheek  the  tear  of  pity  stains, 

Peg  Nicholson  was  a  good  bay  mare. 

Bash  mortal,  and  slanderous  poet,  thy  name. 
Raving  winds  around  her  blowing,  . 
Reverfed  defender  of  beauteous  Stuart, 
Right,  Sir !  your  text  I'll  prove  it  true, 
Robin  shure  in  Hairst,     . 
Rusticity's  ungainly  form. 

Sad  thy  tale,  thou  idle  page,    . 
Sae  flaxen  were  her  ringlets,    . 


ii  2.57 
iii  1.56 
1207 
iii  49 
iii  37 
illl9 
1220 

iii   69 

11218 
11244 
11210 

iino 

iii  239 
iil92 

il215 
111186 


276 


INDEX  TO  PIRST  LINES  OF  POEMS  AND  SONGS. 


vol.  and  paRo 
Say,  sages,  what's  the  charm  on  earth,  .  .  iii  237 
Scots,  whii  hat)  wi'  Wnlhicc  bid,  .  .  .ill  IbO 
SeurchiiiB  auhl  wives'  barrels,  .  .  .  .  iii  51 
.Sensibility  liow  tlmniiiiijj;,         .        .        .       .iii  119 

She  is  11  winsuaiu  wee  thin); iii  130 

She's  fair  and  fause  thut  ciuisos  my  smart,  .  iii  20 
Should  auld  ac(|uaintnnce  lie  forgot,  .  .  iii  11 
Shrewd  Willie  .Siiiellie  to  Crochnllan  came,  .  ii  201 
Sic  a  reptile  was  Wat,  sic  a  miscreant  slave,  .   iii  173 

Simmer's  a  pleasant  time iii  243 

Sing  on,  sweet  thrush,  upon  the  leafless  bough,  iii  140 
Sir,  as  your  mandate  did  reiiucst,    .        .        .    ii  121 

Sir,  o'er  a  gill  1  gat  your  curd ii  125 

Sleep'st  thou,  or  wak'st  thou,  faireit  creature?  iii  191 
Some  books  are  lius  frae  end  to  end,  .  .  i  243 
Some  hae  meat,  and  canna  eat,  .  .  .iii  37 
Spare  me  thy  vengeance,  (Jalloway,  .  .  iii  104 
Stay,  my  charmei',  can  yon  leave  me  ?  .  .  ii  243 
Still  anxious  to  secure  your  partial  favour,  .  iii  1(>5 
Stop,  possenger !  my  story's  brief,  .  .  .iii  77 
"Stop,  thief!"  dame  Nature  cried  to  Death,  .  iii  174 
Streams  that  glide  in  orient  plains,  .       .    ii  225 

Sweet  are  the  banks— the  l)anks  o'  Doon,  .  iii  91 
Sweet  closes  the  evening  on  Craigieburn-wood,  iii   96 

.Sweetest  May iii  240 

Sweet  fa's  tlie  eve  on  Craigieburn,  .  .  .iii  202 
Sweet  Floweret,  pledue  o'  meikle  love,  .  .  iii  86 
Sweet  na'ivet^  of  feature iii  134 

Talk  not  to  me  of  savages,  .  .  .  .ill  236 
Tarn  Samson's  weel-worn  clay  here  lies, .  .  ii  190 
That  there  is  falselioiid  in  his  looks,  .  .  iii  188 
The  ))lude-red  rose  at  Yule  may  blaw,  .  .  11  247 
The  lioiniiest  lad  that  e'er  I  saw,  .   iii  252 

The  Catrine  woods  were  yellow  seen,  .  .  ii  52 
The  day  returns,  my  liosom  l)urns,  .  .  .  ii  259 
The  Ueil  cam  fiddlin'  tliro'  the  town,  .  .  iii  120 
The  devil  got  notice  that  Oko.sk  was  a-dying,  iii  44 
The  friend,  whom,  wild  from  wisdom's  way,  .  iii  107 
The  gloomy  night  is  gath'ring  fast,  .  .  .  ii  184 
The  greybeard,  old  wisdom,  may  boast  of  his 

treasures, iii  148 

The  heatlier  was  blooming,  the  meadows  were 

mawn ii  207 

Their  gi-oves  o'  sweet  myrtle  let  foreign  lands 

reckon iii  218 

The  King's  most  humble  servant,  I,  .  .  iii  148 
The  Laddies  by  the  l)anks  o'  Nith,   .  .iii    62 

The  lamp  of  day,  with  ill-presaging  glare,  .  ii  214 
The  last  time  I  came  o'er  the  moor,  .  .  iii  149 
The  lazy  mist  hangs  from  the  brow  of  the  hill,  ii  200 
The  lovely  lass  o'  Inverness,  .  .  .  .iii  175 
Tlie  man,  in  life  wlierever  plac'd,  ...  1  203 
The  nolde  Maxwells  and  their  powers,  .  .  iii  112 
The  Ploughman  he's  a  boiniie  lad,  .  .  .iii  240 
The  poor  man  weeps— here  Gavin  sleeps,       .    ii  165 

There  lived  a  carle, iii  249 

'I'here's  auld  Rob  .Morris  tliat  wons  in  yon  glen,  iii  134 
There's  a  youth  in  this  city,  .        .        .   iii    41 

There's  death  in  tlie  cup— sae  beware !  .  .iii  202 
There  was  a  bonnie  lass,  an-'  a  bonnie,  bonnie 

lass iii  205 

There  was  a  lad  was  born  in  Kyle,  .  .  .  ii  41 
There  was  a  lass,  and  she  was  fair, .       .       .iii  161 


There  was  a  lass,  they  ca'd  her  Meg, 

There  was  live  Cartins  in  tlio  south. 

There  was  onuu  a  day,  but  old  Time  then  was 

young 

There  was  three  kings  into  tlie  east. 

The  simple  iiard,  roiigli  at  the  rustic  plough, 

The  small  birds  rejoice  in  tlie  green  leaves 

returning, 

The  smiling  spring  comes  in  rejoicing,    . 

Tlie  Solemn  League  and  Covenant,  . 

The  sun  had  clos'd  the  winter  day,  . 

The  sun  he  is  sunk  in  tlie  west, 

The  Tlianies  (lows  proudly  to  the  sea, 

The  weary  pund,  the  weary  pund,   . 

The  wind  blew  hollow  frac  the  hills, 

The  wintry  west  extends  his  blast,  . 

Thickest  niglit,  o'erhang  my  dwelling  1   . 

Thine  am  I,  my  faithful  fair,    . 

Thine  be  the  volumes,  .Tcssy  fair,     . 

This  day,  Time  winds  th'  exhausted  chain. 

This  is  no  my  aiii  lassie,    .... 

This  wot  ye  all  whom  it  concerns,   . 

Thou  tlatt'ring  mark  of  fiiendshii)  kind. 

Though  cruel  f»te  should  bid  us  part,     . 

Thou  hast  left  me  ever,  Jamie ! 

Thou,  Liberty,  tliou  art  my  theme,  . 

Thou  ling'ring  star,  with  less'niiig  ray,    . 

Thou,  Nature,  i)artial  Nature,  I  arraign. 

Thou  of  an  independent  mind, . 

Thou's  welcome,  wean !  mishantcr  fa'  me, 

Thou  whom  chance  may  hither  lead, 

Thou,  who  tliy  honour  as  thy  Ood  rever'st, 

Through  and  tlirougli  the  iiisiiiicd  leaves, 

'Tis  Friendship's  plc<lKc,  my  young,  fair  fricul 

To  Riddell,  much  lamented  man,    . 

To  you,  sir,  this  summons  I've  sent. 

True  hearted  was  he,  the  sad  swain  o'  the 

Yarrow 

Turn  again,  thou  fair  Eliza, 
'Twas  even— the  dewy  fields  were  green, 
'Twas  in  that  place  o'  Seotland's  isle, 
'Twas  in  the  seventeen  bunder  year, 
'Twas  na  her  bonnie  blue  ce  was  my  ruin, 

Upon  a  simmer  Sunday  morn, . 
Upon  tliat  night,  wlieii  fairies  light. 
Up  wi'  the  carles  o'  Dysart, 

Wae  is  my  heart,  and  the  tear's  in  my  ee, 
Wae  worth  thy  power,  tlmu  cursed  leaf, 
We  cam  na  here  to  view  your  warks, 
Wee,  modest,  crimson-tipped  flow'r. 
Wee,  sleekit,  cow'rin',  tim'rous  beastie, . 
Wha  is  that  at  my  bower  do(U-'/ 
Wliare  hae  ye  been  sae  braw,  lad?  . 
Whare  live  ye,  my  bonnie  I.ass? 
What  ails  you  now,  ye  loiisie  b— h, . 
What  can  a  young  lassie,  what  shall  a  young 

lassie 

What  dost  thou  in  that  mansion  fair? 

What  needs  tliis  din  about  the  town  o'  Lon'on 

What  of  earls  with  whom  you  have  supp'd 

What  will  I  do  gin  my  Iloggie  die?  . 

Wha  will  buy  my  troggin,  fine  election  ware, 

When  biting  Boreas,  fell  and  doure, 


vol.  aD<l  piigo 
ii  24(i 
iii    51) 


Hi    22 

1  21111 
iilTO 

11  241) 
iii  112 
iii  202 

iiUl 
i  2(15 

iii  :!(j 
iii  124 
iii  93 
i  2(11 
ii  224 

iii  l<i3 
iii  237 
iii  (14 
iii  22,'J 

ii  185 
ii  120 
ii   43 

iii  l.v.) 
iii  100 
iii  5S 
iii  15 
iii  l>;t 

i  •-'■-';{ 
iii  13 
iii   115 

ii  2119 
iii  -JJO 
iii  175 

ii  158 

iii  144 

iii  1119 
ii  105 
ii  89 
iii  214 
iii  220 

ii  127 
ii  53 
iii  248 

iii  19!) 
ii  108 
ii  21V 
ii  134 
ii  02 
1217 
iii  ,52 
iii  240 
ii  174 

iii  98 
iii  153 
iii  (15 
iii  120 

ii  243 
iii  235 

iil93 


JS. 


INDEX  TO  FIRST  LINES  OF  POEMS  AND  SONGS. 


Meg, 

utii, 

I'line  then  wus 

uust, 

rustic  pluugli, 
green  leaves 


Vol.  mill  p:i|jo 
.     ii'J4(i 


uicing,    . 
mt,  . 
lay, . 

lu  sua, 
1(1,   . 
hilU, 
list,  . 
Bellini;  1    . 

ir,     . 
isted  chain, 

'lis,   . 
Iiip  Icind, 
s  part,     . 

MHO,  . 

ill),' ray,    . 
I  arraign, 

liter  fa'  mo, 
lead, 

■  (i<l  rever'st, 
lircii  leaves. 


iii   .VJ 

iii  2-2 
i  -im 
am 

il  -IM 
iii  112 
iii  -M 

iiUl 
i  iur, 
iii  ;i(; 
iii  l-.'J 
iii  <J3 

I  2(11 
ii  224 
iii  1(13 
iii  237 
ili  C4 
iii  223 
ii  IS,-) 
ii  120 
ii  43 
iii  ij'.i 
iii  1(11) 
iii  M 
iii  15 
Hi  iN'i 
i  223 
iii  13 
iii  '.i.'i 
ii  2(1'.) 


luiig,  fair  fric'id,  iii  22(1 


an,  . 
sent, 
d  swain  o'  tlie 


ere  green, 
I's  isle, 
year, 
us  my  ruin, 


liglit. 


s  ni  my  ee, 
iraed  leaf, 
ivarlis, 
luw'r, 
i  beastie, . 


ad?  . 

-h, ;   '.   . 

;  sliall  a  young 

ill  fair?     . 
town  ()'  Lon'on, 
liave  supp'd,    . 
die? . 

election  ware, 
oure, 


iii  175 
ii  158 

iii  144 
iii  1(K) 
ii  105 
ii  SI) 
iii  214 
iii  220 

ii  127 
ii  53 
iii  248 

iii  101) 
ii  108 
ii  21V 
ii  134 
ii  02 
1217 
iii  52 
iii  240 
ii  174 

iii  98 
iii  153 
iii  05 
iii  120 

ii  243 
iii  235 

iil93 


vol.  nud  imgo 
When  by  a  generous  Puldic's  kind  acclaim,  .  ii  205 
When  chapman  billies  leave  tlie  street,  .  .  iii  79 
When  chill  November's  surly  blast,  .  .  1  230 
When  dear  Clarinda,  mntcliless  fair,  .  .  ii  238 
AVhen  death's  dark  stream  I  ferry  o'er,  .  .  ii  224 
When  first  I  came  to  Stewart  Kyle,  .  .  i  228 
When  first  my  brave  Johnnie  lad,  .  .  .ill  241 
When  Quilford  good  our  pilot  stood,  .  .  1  221 
When  lyart  leaves  Ijestrew  the  yird,  .    fi  63 

When  Morine,  deceased,  to  the  devil  went 

down, 111154 

When  Nature  her  great  master-piece  dcsign'd,    ii  255 
When  o'er  the  hill  the  eastern  star,        .       .   iii  130 

\Vhen  Princes  and  Prelates iii  136 

When  rosy  May  comes  in  wi'  flowers,  .  Iii   35 

When  wild  war's  deadly  blast  was  blawn,  .  iii  145 
When  winter's  wind  was  blawing  cauld, .  .  iii  209 
Where  are  the  joys  I  have  met  in  the  morning,  iii  102 
Where,  braving  angry  winter's  storms,  . 
Where  Cart  rins  rowin'  to  the  sea,  . 
While  at  the  stook  the  shearers  cow'r,  . 
While  briers  an'  woodliines  bu'lding  green,  . 
While  Europe's  eye  is  flx'ii  on  miglity  things. 
While  larks  with  little  wing,  fann'd  the  pure 

air 

While  new-ca'd  kye  rowte  at  the  stake,  . 
While  virgin  Spring,  by  Eden's  flood. 
While  winds  frae  aft  I3en  Lomond  blaw, 
Whoe'er  he  l)e  that  sojourns  here,   . 
Whoe'er  thou  art,  O  reader,  know, . 


11232 
III  106 
il  47 
1249 
ill  132 

ill  155 
1263 

iii  111 
1239 
11213 
U165 


vol. 


V.Tiom  will  you  send  to  London  town. 

Whose  Is  that  noble,  dauntless  browY    . 

Why  am  I  loth  to  leave  this  earthly  scene? 

Why,  yo  tenants  of  the  lake,    . 

wr  braw  new  branks  in  mickle  pride,    . 

Willie  Wastle  dwalt  on  Tweed, 

Will  ye  go  to  the  Indies,  my  Mary, . 

Wilt  thou  be  my  dearie?  .... 

With  Pegasus  upon  a  day, 

Wow,  but  your  letter  made  me  vauntie ! 


277 

and  page 

.  111210 

.  11200 

.  1203 

.  11227 

.  11 173 

.  111125 

.  11  146 

.  111106 

.  lil    60 

.  lil    60 


Ye  banks,  and  braes,  and  streams  around,  .  Hi  131 
Ye  banks  and  braes  o'  bonnie  Doon,  .  .  ill  92 
Ye  flowery  banks  o'  bonnie  Doon,  .  .  .Ill  91 
Ye  gallants  bright,  I  rede  you  right,  .  .  lil  25 
Ye  hypocrites!  are  these  your  pranks?  .  .  111148 
Ye  Irish  lords,  ye  knights  an'  squires,  .  .  ii  96 
Ye  Jacobites  by  name,  give  an  ear,  give  an  ear,  ill  113 
Ye  maggots,  feed  on  Nicol's  brain,  .  .  .  il  229 
Ye  men  of  wit  and  wealth,  why  all  this  sneering,  iii  148 
Ye  sons  of  old  Killie,  assembled  by  Willie,  .  Ii  136 
Yestreen  I  had  a  pint  o'  wine, .  .  .  .  Hi  68 
Ye  true  "  Loyal  Natives,"  attend  to  my  song,  lil  147 
Yon  wild  mossy  mountains  sae  lofty  and  wide,  II 196 
Young  Jamie,  pride  of  a'  the  plain,  .  .  Hi  170 
Young  Jockey  was  the  blythest  lad,  .  .  Hi  35 
Young  Peggy  blooms  our  bonniest  lass,  .  .  ii  51 
You're  welcome,  Willie  Stewart,  .  .  .Hi  106 
Your  News  and  Review,  Sir,  I've  read,  .  .  HI  24 
Yours  this  moment  I  unseal ii  142 


VOt.  V. 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


[iSiee  aUo  Index  of  First  Lines  of  Poems  and  Songs.] 


AberfeUly,  Blrks  of,  ii  219;  view  of,  220;  Hermit  of, 

ill  258. 
Adair,  Dr.,  letter  to  Currie  descriptive  of  Burns's  visit 

to  Claclcmannan,  i  183. 
Address  of  Beelzebulj  to  tlie  President  of  tlie  High- 
land Society,  ii  149. 

Address  of  Scotcli  Distillers  to  Kt.  Hon.  William 
Pitt,  iv  126. 

Address  spolien  by  Miss  Fontenelle  on  her  Beneflt 
niKht,  iii  166. 

Address  to  Edinburgh,  ii  106. 

Address  to  the  Deil,  ii  79;  note  by  Jeffrey,  82. 

Address  to  the  Shade  of  Thomson,  iii  111. 

Address  to  the  Toothache,  ii  172. 

Address  to  the  Unco  Ouid  or  the  Rigidly  Righteous, 
ii  110. 

Address  to  the  Wood-lark,  iii  219 ;  v  169. 

Adown  Winding  Nith,  v  141. 

Afton,  Glen,  iii  110;  view  o/,  110, 

Ah,  Chloris,  iii  189. 

Aiken,  Andrew,  ii  140. 

Aiken,  P.  F.,  ii  146. 

Aiken,  Robert,  writer,  Ayr,  i  47,  54,  236;  ii  74, 164; 
iii  46;  letters  to,  iv  24,  33,  66, 144. 

Ainslie,  Hugh,  On  Burns's  Anniversary,  v  215. 

Ainslie,  Miss,  Epigram,  ii  211. 

Ainslie,  Robert,  companion  in  B\irn8'8  Border  Tour, 
i  71, 176, 178;  iii  239 ;  letter  and  note,  iv  63;  letters, 
66,  67,  82,  01,  98,  100,  106,  121,  139,  148,  199,  222. 

Albanie,  Bonnie  Lass  of,  ii  237. 

Alexander,  Mius,  of  Balloclimyle,  1  51;  ii  105;  iv  37. 

Alison,  Rev.  Archibald,  letter,  iv  178. 

Alison,  Sir  Archibald,  centenary  address,  v  246. 

Allan,  David,  painter,  iv  237;  v  138, 163, 166, 170, 176 
265. 

AUoway  Kirk,  iii  80  (note);  legends,  iv  174,  view  of, 
174. 

American  Editions  of  Burns,  v  270. 

An  Excellent  New  Song,  iii  235. 

Anderson,  Alex.,  "Robert  Burns,"  v  230,  261. 

Anderson,  Dr.,  letter,  iv  168. 

Anna  wi'  the  Gowden  Locks,  i  118  (note). 

Annan,  iii  60. 

Answer  to  an  Invitation,  iii  148. 

Answer  to  a  poetical  Epistle  from  a  Tailor,  11 175. 

Ardmillan,  Lord,  centenary  address,  v  236. 

Armour,  James,  Mauchline,  letter,  Iv  253,  266. 

Armour,  Jean,  i  45,  73,  81;  marriage,  83;  validity  of 
the  irregular  marriage,  86;  takes  up  house  at 
EUislnnd,  87  ;  nurses  the  poet's  illegitimate  child, 
118;  birth  of  posthumous  child,  131;  widowhood, 
166 ;  portrait  of,  166 ;  sale  of  household  effects, 


167;  174,  227;  ii  43, 139,  103, 168,  241;  iii  105,  218; 

iv  23,  20,  28,  20,  80,  02,  1U2,  104;  letter  to,  109,  110, 

255;  letter  from,  to  Mr.   Burness,  Montrose,  265; 

279;  v26. 
Arnold,  Matthew,  note  by,  ii  164. 
Arnot,  Jolm,  of  Dahiuliatswood,  letter  to,  iv  26. 
As  I  cam'  by  Crocliallan,  iii  243. 
As  I  was  a-wandering,  iii  247. 
Auchtertyre,  view  of,  ii  226;  227  {note). 
Auld  Brig  of  Boon,  view  of,  iii  78. 
Auld  Farmer's  New- Year  Morning  Salutation  to  his 

Auld  Mare  Alaggie,  ii  86 ;  Prof.  Wilson  on,  v  44. 
Auld  Lang  Syne,  iii  11 ;  Iv  118;  v  147 
Auld  Light,  i  36,  233 ;  ii  43. 
Auld,  Rev.  Mr.,  Minister  of  Mauchline,  i  35, 46  (note), 

234,  236 ;  iii  46. 
Auld  Rob  Morris,  iii  134 ;  v  126, 127. 
Autlior's  (The)  Earnest  Cry  and  Prayer  to  the  Scottish 

Rei)resentatives  in  tlie  House  of  Commons,  ii  96. 
Autobiograpliical  Letter  to  Dr.  Moore  Burns,  1  142 ; 

note  regarding,  148. 
Awa',  Wliigs,  Awa',  iii  242. 
Aye  waukin',  0,  iii  243. 
Ayr— The  Twa  Brigs,  view  of,  11 176. 
Ayr  and  the  Firth  of  Clyde,  view  of,  iii  Frontit.;  the 

Market  Cross,  view  of,  iv  Frontis. 
Ayr  Moiuiment  to  Burns,  v  258. 
Aytoun,  Prof.,  v  255. 

Babington,  Dr.,  Epigram,  iii  188 

Bachelors'  Club,  i  29. 

Bailey,  Lesley,  Iv  204,  223. 

Baird,  Rev.  G.,  letter,  iv  179. 

Ballad  on  the  American  War,  1 221. 

Ballad  on  the  close  of  the  Election  Contest  for  the 

Dumfries  Burghs,  iii  71. 
Ballantine,  John,  banker,  Ayr,  1  64;  ii  176;  ill  46; 

letter  to,  iv  25,  38,  41,  45,  53,  56, 184. 
Ballochmyle,  ii  52  (note);  view  of,  164;  165  (note). 
Banks  o'  Doon,  The,  iii  91,  92. 
Banks  of  Nith,  The,  iii  36. 
Banks  of  the  Devon,  The,  ii  231. 
Banks  of  the  Tweed,  v  179. 
Bannockburn,  Field  of,  view  of,  v  76. 
Bannocks  o'  Barley,  iii  182. 
Bard's  Epitaph,  A,  ii  163. 
Barskimming,  note  and  view  of,  11 114. 
Beattie,  Dr.  James,  ii  104. 
Beds  of  Sweet  Roses,  v  180. 
Begbie,  Ellison  or  Alison,  1  26, 196, 199,  200;  letters 

to,  iv  15, 16, 17. 
Begg,  Isabella  Bums  or,  i  168. 


280 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


Behold  the  liour,  the  boat  arrive,  111  254;  v  142. 

Hell,  Ilonry  (ihuBforil,  cuiituiiary  aildress,  v  248. 

Bellcg  ut  Mmiehlino,  Tlio,  1  227. 

KuiiBoii,  Migg,  Vurk,  letter,  iv  218. 

Bess  the  (lawklo,  v  170. 

Bcggy  mill  hor  S|iiiiiiiiiK  Wliuol,  111  120. 

Heii^i),  ,1.,  eiiuriivfr,  Iv  53,  83,  107. 

Iteware  u'  Buiinlu  Ann,  ill  25. 

UlhllDgrapliy,  v  2(17. 

Ulugriipliieg  u(  llurns,  v  2UU. 

BIrks  of  Alierfelily,  The,  ii  210,  view  of,  220. 

Blrthiliiy  Ode  for  31at  Ducemlier,  1787,  11  230. 

Bishop,  John,  I'ulkeniniut,  i  108. 

Black,  EUzaliuth,  11  103. 

Blackie,  John  Stuart,  v  207. 

Blackle  &  Son,  luttor  to,  from  Oco.  TlioniBon,  v  177. 

Blnt'klock,  Dr.  Thomas,  i  51;  111  f.U,  1)8  {note);  letter 

to,  !v  110;  (tile  to  Aurora,  110;  portrait  of,  110; 

poetical  epistle,  108;  v  30. 
Blair,  Burns  at,  1 181. 

Blair,  Uuvld,  Kunniaker,  Birmingham,  letter  to,  iv  124. 
Blair,  Dr.  Hugh,  1  41),  04,  70,  221 ;  leu-rs,  iv  58. 
Blair,  Sir  James  Hunter,  11  214. 
Blalthrie  ot.  The,  v  l!52. 
Blanc,  John,  farm-servant  at  Mossgiel,  i  120  (note); 

ii  62  {note). 
BlooniHeUl,  Kobert,  (note)  iv  212. 
Blooming  Nelly,  iii  34. 
Blue  Gowns,  i  22fi  (note). 
Blythe  hae  I  liucn,  v  134. 
Blythe  was  she,  ii  22a 
Blythesonie  Bridal,  v  184, 
Bob  o'  Dunililane,  v  188. 
Bonnie  Bell,  iii  112. 
Bonnie  Brueket  Lassie,  v  184. 
Bonnie  Dundee,  iii  238. 
Bonnie  Jean,  iii  l.'il;  v  133,  130. 
Bonnie  Lass  of  Alhanie,  ii  2;i7. 
Bonnie  Moor-hen,  The,  11  207. 
Bonnie  Peg,  iii  189. 
Bonnie  Peggy  Allison,  1 109. 
Border  Tour,  i  71;  Burns's  Xotes  of,  i  176. 
Boswell,  Sir  Alexander,  iii  250;  v  258. 
Braes  o'  Balloehmyle,  Tlie,  ii  52. 
Brice,  David,  slioemaker,  Glasgow,  ii  139 ;  Ictiers  to, 

iv  28,  29. 
Brigs  of  Ayr,  The,  ii  170;  Carlyle  on,  ii  18,  view  of, 

170. 
Brow,  a  Hamlet  near  the  Solway  Firth,  vxev)  of,  v  170. 
Brown,  Agnes,  the  poet's  mother,  i  14,  145  (note). 
Brown,  Kichard,  Irvine,  1  28, 140;  letters  to,  iv  85,  88, 

92,  94,  137,  140. 
Brown,  Samuel,  of  Balloclimell,  i  145  (note);  letter, 

iv98. 
Bruar,  Falls  of,  ii  220  (note),  view  of,  222. 
Brace's  Address  to  his  Army  at  Baunockburn,  iii  100; 

Carlyle  on,  ii  21. 
Bruce,  John,  musician,  Dumfries,  ii  68()iote);  iii  41. 
Bruce,  Michael,  iv  179. 
Bruce,  ilrs.,  of  Clackmannan  Tower,  i  75,  183  and 

(note),  portrait  of,  184. 
Bruce,  Robert,  Burns  at  grave  of,  i  184. 
Buchan,  Earl  ot,  iii  111,  178;  letters  to,  iv  51, 196,  231. 
Buchan,  Elspetli,  i  34. 
Buchan,  Peter,  iii  12  (note),  51  (note). 


Buchan  itcB,  1  34;  iv  22. 

Burn,  Nlcoll,  wandering  minstrel,  1 1\  (note). 

Burnes,  Robert,  writer,  .Stonehaven,  i  182. 

Burnes,  Sir  James,  i  170. 

Burnes  or  Burness,  William,  the  poet's  father,  1  13; 
Manual  of  Theology,  14,  death,  15,  character  by 
Murdoch,  15;  letter  to,  iv  18;  Manual  ot  RellgiouH 
Belief,  V  205. 

BurnesH,  James,  of  Brallnmulr,  1  170. 

Burnegs,  James,  write,  Montrose,  1  ;iO,  70,  120,  173; 
letters  to,  iv  20,  22,  28,  ;i2,  70,  71,  72,  127,  2.S4,  letter 
from  John  Lewars,  254,  to  Mrs,  Burns,  2.'>4,  froui 
Mrs.  liurna,  2.'>4. 

Burness,  Kobert,  of  Cloehnahill,  i  171. 

Burness,  Walter,  of  Bogjorgan,  1  1.70. 

Burnet,  Elizabeth,  ii  197 ;  portrait  of,  ill  80;  87 ;  iv 
44,  177. 

Burns,  Agnes,  i  108. 

Burns,  Annabella,  i  KtS. 

Burns's  Birthplace,  1 15,  view  of,  10. 

Burns,  Elizabeth,  daughter  of  Anne  Park,  i  167;  ii  100. 

Burns,  Elizabeth,  daugliter  of  Elizalieth  Paton,  1  167, 
221i. 

Bimis,  Elizabeth  Riildell,  daughter  of  the  poet,  i  120 
(note). 

Burns  Family,  biographic  notes  on,  i  105. 

Burns  Festival  on  the  Hanks  of  the  Doon,  1844,  v.  232. 

Burns,  Francis  Wallace,  son  of  the  |)oet,  i  132,  10.1. 

Burns,  (iilbert,  1  13, 21, 89, 129,  l;!2;  account  of  iJurns's 
early  life,  14H;  notice  of,  108;  note  by,  232;  iv  36; 
letters  to,  71,  155,  253;  (note)  253. 

Burns,  Isabella,  i  I(W. 

Burns,  James  (Jlenoairn,  son  of  tlie  poet,  i  132;  death 
of  daughter  of,  133  (note),  106;  v  232,  263. 

Burns,  John,  i  108. 

Burns,  Ma.vwell,  i  160, 

Burns,  Miss,  Edinburgh,  ii  209;  iv  158. 

Burns,  Mrs.    See  Annour,  Jean. 

Burns,  Robert,  the  i«)et,  portrait  by  Skirving,  i 
Frontis.;  portrait  by  Nasmyth,  ii  Frontin.;  birth, 
i  13;  removes  to  Mount  Oliphant,  14;  description 
of  birthplace,  15  (note);  view  of,  10;  education,  10; 
fairy  lore,  10;  reading,  10,  17,  19;  farm-labouring, 
18;  studies  French  with  Murdoch  at  Ayr,  18;  llrst 
love  and  song,  20;  dancing-school,  21;  Tarbo'.ton 
loves,  22;  KirkoswaUl,  24,  145  (note);  (lax-dressing 
at  Irvine,  25;  jiersonai  appearance,  27;  freemasonry, 
28,  178;  Fergusson's  poems,  28;  Bachelors' Club,  29; 
l)irtli  of  an  illegitimate  child,  31;  removal  to  Moss- 
giel, 32;  polemical  divinity,  34;  polemical  satires, 
37,  .'18,  39;  "  Epistle  to  Davie,  "  40;  "  Death  and  Dr. 
Hornbook," 40;  "Epistle  to  Lapraik,"41;  "Cottar's 
Saturday  N'igbt,"  41, 42;  "Man  was  made  to  mourn," 
42;  "Holy  Fair,  "43;  "  Hallowe'en,"  44,  Westlndian 
project,  44;  love  st)ngs,  44;  Highland  Mary,  44,  173; 
Jean  Armour,  45;  birth  of  twins,  40;  Jamaica  en- 
gagement, 47;  resolves  to  |)ublish  his  poems,  47; 
publication  of  first  edition  at  Kilmarnock,  47; 
formal  assignation  of  his  property  to  his  brother, 
47;  attracts  the  notice  of  Dugald  .Stewart,  Dr. 
Blair,  and  Mrs.  Dunlop,  40;  letter  from  Dr.  Black- 
lock,  and  resolve  to  visit  Edinburgh,  .52;  arrival  in 
Edinbm-gh,  55;  publication  of  new  edition  under- 
taken, f>5;  masonic  reception,  56;  social  honours, 
57;  powers  of  conversation,  01;  diary,  02;  tavern 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


m 


I  71  (iwtr). 
m,  I  ls-2. 

pool's  fatliLT,  1  13; 
ir>,  clmrat'tiT  liy 
uMual  ut  UcligiuuM 

170. 

I  ;«),  71).  I'-l),  17.1; 
,  72,  127,  2.M,  Ifttcr 
.  liiiriiB,  254,  (i-Diii 

171. 
.70. 
it  ()/,  ill  80;  87 ;  iv 


e  Park,  i  107;  ii  100. 
zabutli  i'aton,  1 107, 

er  ipf  tho  poet,  i  120 

II,  i  10.'). 

e  Doom,  1844,  V.2a2. 

lu  pout,  i  1H2,  lO.'J. 

;  account  of  HuriiH'a 

note  by,  2a2;  iv  'M; 

3. 

10  poet,  i  1.32;  ilcath 
V  232,  263. 


vl58. 

'ait  by  .SklrviriR,  i 
1,  ii  Frontix.;  birtli, 
ant,  14;  dcsciiptioii 
A  10;  education,  10; 
10;  farni-lubouiiiiK, 
ocli  ut  Ayr,  18;  llrst 
hool,  21 ;  'J'arboltou 
(note);  flrtx-diussint,' 
ICC,  27;  fiecma.soniy, 
liaclielois'  Club,  20; 
1;  removal  to  JIoss- 
\;  polemical  satires, 
40;  "  Ueatli  and  Dr. 
|)raik,"41;  "Cottars 
vas  made  to  ni(Mirn," 
en,"  44,  West  Iiulian 
liland  Mary,  44,  173; 
ins,  40;  Jamaica  en- 
ilisli  liis  poems,  47; 
it  Kilmarnock,  47; 
)erty  to  liis  brother, 
ugald  .Stewart,  Dr. 
tter  from  Dr.  lilack- 
biirgh,  .'>2;  arrival  in 
new  edition  under- 
50;  social  lionours, 
1;  diary,  02;  tuvuru 


life  In  EdlnbuTBh,  00;  publlcntlnn  of  Killnburgh 
edition  of  poems,  00;  Horder  tour,  71,  170;  returns 
to  .Manclilliie,  72;  West  Hinlilnnd  journey,  73;  visit 
to  HurvicHton,  73,  183;  Ndrtherii  tour,  70,  180; 
poems  com|)oscd  during  northern  tour,  70;  takes 
Klllsland,  70;  life  In  E<llnburgh— Clarindn,  80;  con- 
tributes to.lohiiHon's  itimeum,  80;  solicits  a  post  in 
the  Excise,  82;  sottlenient  with  Creccli,82;  loan  to  his 
brotlier,  83;  marriage,  83;  enters  into  possession  of 
Elllslaml,  84;  wu'iu  i>J,  84;  <iuallllc»  (or  the  Excise,  84; 
■oclnl  hospitalities,  HH;  contributions  to  tliOil/tUL'tiiM, 
88;  "To  Mary  in  Heaven,"  88;  correspondence,  80; 
apiH>inted  exciaeninn,  IM);  "Wldatle"  contest,  94; 
ganger  incidents,  05  (nnte);  "Tarn  o' Slianter,"  05; 
the  drama,  07;  gives  up  EUisland,  07;  public  lil)rary, 
t)7;  last  visit  to  Edinburgh,  08;  convivial  anecdotes, 
08;  extempore  rhymes,  08;  removal  to  Dumfries, 
101;  political  iniliscretions,  102;  capture  of  snmg- 
gling  brig,  and  present  of  carromides  to  the  Krcnuh 
Convention,  KKl;  excise  ini|Uiry,  107;  volunteering, 
108;  Invited  to  write  for  tlio  London  i)rc8s,  110,  HI; 
election  contests.  111;  drinking  habits,  114;  Scottish 
Bongs  and  nnisic,  110;  L'Idoris,  117;  pecuniary  ditll- 
culties,  123;  acting  supervisor,  120;  Illness,  127; 
goes  to  Urow,  127;  return  to  Dumfries,  120;  death 
niul  funeral,  13il;  subscription  for  the  benetltof  his 
family,  131;  reli;;ious  principles,  135;  autobiographi- 
cal letter  to  Moore,  142;  early  days,  by  (Jilbort 
lUirns,  148;  exhumation,  108;  patermtl  ancestry  of 
llurns,  170;  presumed  .lacobitlsni,  172;  monuments 
to,  v  257;  on  the  Hanks  of  Doon,  viewH  of,  1 18;  ill 
70;  mausoleum  at  Dumfries,  view  of,  v  257. 

Ihinw,  Kolicrt,  uncle  of  the  poet,  Iv  128. 

linrns,  Kol)ert,  eldest  son  of  tliu  poet,  i  132,  105;  Ii 
171;  V234,  2f.4. 

liurns,  William,  brother  ol  the  poet,  i  108;  letters, 
Iv  128,  131,  132,  134,  l.i(i,  145,  1.50,  105,  166. 

Burns,  William  Nicol,  son  of  the  poet,  i  132,  ICO; 
V  232,  250. 

Hurton,  Mr.,  Epitaph  on,  ill  188. 

Hurtt,  .John,  ill  250. 

Hush  aboon  'rra<iualr,  v  185. 

Ihishby,  .lohn,  ill  172,  174,  212,  214. 

Uy  Allan  Stream,  v  140. 

Byron,  Carlyle's  estimate  of,  11 15,  30,  37. 

Ca'  the  Yowcs  to  the  Knowcs,  ill  183,  245;  v  155. 

Caird,  .lolin,  iv  21. 

Caledonia,  ill  218;  v  109. 

Caledonia— A  Itallad,  iii  22. 

Caledouian  Hunt,  accept  dedication  of  Edinburgh 

edition  ami  subscribe  for  copies,  i  65. 
Calf,  The,  ii  170. 

Campbell,  Mary.    See  llighlaml  Mary. 
Campbell,  Tliomas,  Pencloe,  letter  to,  iv  31. 
Campbell,  Tliomas,  poet,  estimate  of  Burns,  I  139; 

note  by,  ii   93,   105;    poem— To  the   Memory  of 

Burns,  v  211;  200. 
Campbell  of  Netherplace,  i  229. 
Candllsh,  James,  i  227;  letters  to,  Iv  54,  78. 
Canongate,  Bailies  of  the.  Letter  to  tlie,  iv  60. 
Canst  thou  leave  iiie  tlius,  v  105. 
Captain's  Lady,  The,  iii  38. 
Carfrae,  Mrs.,  Bunia's  Eilinliurgh  landlady,  iv  46. 
Carfrae,  Rev.  P.,  letter  to,  iv  130. 


Carlo  of  Kellylm.n  Brnes,  ill  249. 

Carles  of  Uysort,  The,  ill  248. 

Carlylr,  Thomas,  Essay  on  tho  genius  of  the  poet, 

ii  9;  notes,  I  213;  ill  143. 
Carruthcrs,  Dr.  R.,  v  207. 
Cassillis  (;iutle,  Ii  53. 

Castle  Gordon— Hong,  ii  226;  vieiv  n/,  il  225. 
Catrine,  Ii  52  (note)  114. 
Centenary  (,'elel 'rations,  1859,  v  235. 
CImlniers,  Alex.,  v  200. 
Chalmers,  Miss  Margaret,  i  74,  85  (note);  Ii  231,  233; 

ill,  238;  iv  50,  65;  letters,  78,  81, 82,  83, 84,  80,  88, 93, 

95, 109. 
Chalmers,  Wm.,  Iv  39;  letter  to,  43. 
Chambers,  Robert,  notes,  ill  159;  iv  108;  V  236,  267. 
Charles,  Prince,  11  230  (note). 
Chevalier's  Lament,  The,  11  249. 
Chloe,  ill  250;  v  102. 
Cliloris  (Jean  Lorlmer),  i  117,  118  (note);  III  90, 138, 

150,  158,  rJ2,  100,  180,  189,  100,  191,  103,  194,  206, 

218,  219,  225,  220. 
Chloris— Song,  ill  193. 
Clackmannan,  Biirns's  visit  to,  i  1S3. 
Clarinda,  J  80,  83,  118  (note);  123  (note);  ii  209,  238, 

239;  ill  119,  120,  121,  122,  103,  100,  190;  iv  85,  109; 

biographic  notice  of,  2,57;  letters  from  Burns  to, 

258-288;  lines  by,  202;  203,  270. 
Clark,  John,  Locherwoods,  letter  to,  iv  2.50. 
Clark,  Samuel,  jun.,  Dumfries,  letter,  iv  232. 
Clark,  William,  recollections  of  Itiirns,  1 100. 
Clarke,  Mr.,  aehoolmaster,  Molfat,  iv  191,  192,  106, 

200,  201,  202,  251,  252. 
Clarke,  Stephen,  niusiclnn,  ill  151,  156, 190, 195, 199; 

letter,  iv  203;  v  127,  138,  103. 
Cleghorn,  Mr.  Robert,  Saughton  Mills,  il  249;  ill  227; 

letters,  iv  49,  94,  123,  100,  220,  247,  ;'.49. 
Clow,  Jenny,  iv  190,  285. 
Clunle,  Rev.  Mr.,  v  155. 
Cockburn,  Mrs.,  v  136. 
Cock  up  your  Beaver,  iii  241. 
Collsfleld  House,  Iii  131  (note). 
Coilus  or  Coil,  King  of  the  Picts,  il  114. 
Colzean  Castle,  11  54;  vieiv  of,  54. 
Come,  let  me  take  thee,  v  142. 
Comin'  through  tlie  Rye,  III  252. 
Commonplace-book,  references  to,  i  02,  03,  2C?.  203, 

205,  200,  209,  210,  215,  217,  218,  219,  230;  ii  42,  .'«, 

76,  119,  158,  250;  text  of  Commonplace-book,  1783- 

1785,  V  190;  second  Commonplace-book,  197. 
Constable,  Lady  Winifred  Maxwell,  i  13  (note),  172; 

ill  88,  112;  letter,  iv  188. 
Contented  wi'  Littl'-,  iii  197;  v  105. 
Cook,  Eliza,— To  the  memory  of  Burns,  v  222. 
Corbet,  Mr.,  Supervisor -general  of  Excise,  i  107; 

letter,  iv  198,  207. 
Cotttr's  Saturday  Night,  Tlie,  ii  74.    Note  by  Haz- 

lett,  79;  Prof.  Wilson  on,  v  23. 
Country  Lassie,  The,  iii  127. 
Cowper,  William,  i  119. 
Craig,  Agnes,  (Clarinda),  iv  2.57. 
Craig,  Isa,  centenary  ode,  v  222, 
Craig,  William,  Lord,  Iv  267. 
Craigielmrn- Song,  iii  96. 
Craigieburu  Wood,  ill  202;  v  167. 
Craik,  Miss,  Arbigland,  i  120;  letter,  iv  108. 


\ 


282 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


Creuch,  Willlnni,  uiidortukoi  tliu  pulilicatlon  <>(  Edin- 

biii-Kh  oilltioii,  1  &n,  72;  luttleiiiuiit  witit  llurni,  H2; 

11  'Jll;  111  Ifi;  luttur,  Iv  UU;  08,  VM,  'Mi,  217,  'iHi;  v 

2UH. 
freed  of  Poverty,  The,  111  138. 
C'rlrlo,  Kev,  Joinua,  U.U.,  "  Address  to  Loch  Lomond," 

Iv  112. 
Croulmllan  Fonclblei,  111  in,  (iH,  243. 
Croiiiuk,  Uuburt,  I  102,  lOU;  11  42,  4U;  111  108,  240,  2.''>n. 
C'rulkshaiik,  Win.,  toucher,  Edliilmrgh,  II  23U;  letters, 

Iv  73,  00,  118. 
CuUoduii  Moor,  view  (/,  111  174;  note,  176. 
(UinnliiKhani,  player,  v  182. 
Cuniiiiighain,  Allan,  I  87;  remlnUcenceii  of  Hums,  01, 

118,  120;  11  100;  HI  214,  218,  240;  Iv  1-.1»;  v  20(1. 
Cunningham,  Lady  E.,  letter  to,  Iv  18.'>. 
Cunningham,  Mr.  Alex.,  1 122, 127;  11  2M;  111  '20(n<ite), 

90,  01,  IQf),  224,  22.'-i;  letters,  Iv  103,  124,  135, 101, 107, 

177,  183,  101,  201,  2or.,  216,  234,  230,  252. 
Cunningham,  I'oter,  v  201. 
Cunninghanie  of  Enterkin,  11  257. 
Curling,  II  111  (note). 
Currle,  Dr.,  1 112;  edition  of  Kurns,  131 ;  description 

of  the  poet,  lUl ;  Iv  18,  30;  v  200. 


Daor,  Lord,  Linos  on  meeting,  II 185. 

Dainty-Davie,  lii  U,0;  v  142,  148. 

Dalrymple,  Ur.  Wm.,  ndnisterof  Ayr,  1  :)0,  236;  III  46. 

Dalryniplc,  .Ins.,  of  Oraiigefleld,  I  55  ;  letter  to,  iv  30. 

Dalziel,  Alex.,  Findluyston,  letter,  Iv  184. 

Davie,  Epistles  to,  1  230;  11  60. 

Davies,  Miss  Duliorah,  ill  07,  08;  Iv  103,  104. 

Dean  of  Faculty,  The,  lii  230. 

Death  and  Dr.  Uonil)ook,  1 243;  Prof.  Wilson  on,  v  43. 

Death  and  Dying  Words  of  poor  Mailie,  i  210;  Lock- 
hart  on,  i  25. 

Dedication  to  Gnvln  Hamilton,  11 1,V>. 

Dell's  nwa'  wi'  the  Exciseman,  lii  110. 

Delia,  ill  33. 

Dempster,  of  Dunnichen,  11  lOU. 

De  Peyster,  Colonel,  111  232. 

Despondency—  an  Ode,  11 140. 

Dialect  of  Burns,  i  00. 

Dods,  Cupt.,  ISurns's  ((uarrel  with,  Iv  232. 

Don,  Lady  Ilarriet,  I  178. 

Donald  and  Flora,  v  188. 

Donocht-Head,  v  liiO. 

Doon,  Auld  Hrig  of,  view.  111  78. 

Doon,  13u  iks  of,  view  o/,  1 18;  do.  near  its  source,  view 
of,  ill  02. 

Doon,  New  Urig  of,  with  Burns'  Monument,  view  of, 
v9. 

Douglas,  Wm.  Scott,  v  267. 

Dove,  John,  Mauchllne  Innkeeper,  ii  110,  12.3. 

Dove,  Patrick  Edward,  v  267. 

Dowio's,  Johimle,  lii  138. 

Dream,  A,  II 151. 

Drinking,  Burns's  rhapsodies  about,  v  47. 

Drumlanrig  Castle,  lii  103,  (note). 

Drumossie  Moor,  ill  176. 

Dudgeon,  William,  poet,  i  176. 

Dumbarton  Drums,  v  180. 

Dumfries,  Burns's  residence  in,  1 101, 131,  (note);  vieiv 
of  town,  132. 


Dumfrlei,  Letter  to  the  Provost,  llullies,  and  Town 
Council  of,  Iv  218. 

Dumfries— The  Market  place,  vltw(\f,  v  Fronlit. 

Dumfries  Mausoleum,  I  131;  viewn/,  v  257;  '2!>n. 

Dumfries  5lunument,  v  201. 

Diunfries  Theatre,  llurna  at,  Iv  213 ;  v  73. 

Dumfries  Volunteers,  ill  210. 

Dunbar,  Wm  ,  1  UU;  111  243;  letters,  Iv  68,  Oft,  156, 170, 
181. 

Duncan,  Dr.  Robert,  of  Dundonald,  I  234. 

Duncan  Gray,  ill  135 ;  v  120,  127. 

Dundas,  Uoljert,  of  Arnlston,  11  231 ;  (nnic)  111  230. 

Dundee  .Moiiinnent  to  Burns,  v  201. 

Dunfennilne,  Burns  at,  1  1S4. 

Dunlop,  .MUs  Susan,  ill  80  (note). 

Dunlop,  .Mrs.,  «f  Dunloji,  (Irst  Invitation  to  llurnH, 
I  40,  54,  (W,  h  Mer,  80;  107,  120,  127,  121),  23lt;  Hi  111); 
letter  to,  iv  ,  note  and  purtiail,  Iv  30;  IcttiTH, 
46,  55,  57,  70,  80,  88,  02,  INI,  07,  00,  101,  104,  105,  112, 
116,  117,  110,  120,  lines  by,  l.'tO,  letters,  135,  l.'l'.l, 
145,  152,  1,16,  103,  !li7,  175,  177,  185,  100,  2(W,  207, 
208,  210,  211,  22)»,  2;!.S,  '240,  2.50,  253,  note,  2.53, 

Dweller  in  yon  Dungeon  Dark,  Carlyle  on,  11  20. 

Eiwton,  Estlier,  I  177. 

Rcclefechan,  v  168. 

Edgar,  John,  Excise  Olllce,  Edinbtngli,  iv  '214. 

Eainl)urgh  Monument  to  Burns,  v  '. 

Eglinton,  Earl  of,  letter  to,  iv  4.5. 

Election  Ballad  for  Westerha',  lii  Hi. 

Election,  The,  ill  211. 

Election  verses,  1111. 

Elegies,  Milton  and  Hums,  Wilson  on,  v  70. 

Elegy  on  Captain  Mattliew  Ilenderuou,  lii  74. 

Elegy  on  Peg  Nicholson,  ill  00. 

Klegy  on  the  Death  of  R<il(ert  KuisBcaux,  ii  42. 

Elegy  on  the  Deatli  of  Hir  .lames  Hunter  Blair,  ii  214. 

Elegy  on  the  year  1788,  ill  18. 

Eliza,  11  10;i. 

Elliot,  Ebenezer,  v  68;  "  Burns,"  v  221. 

Ellislund,  I  70,  83;  Burns  enters  Into  possession,  84, 
87,  00;  vifw  of,  84. 

Elphinstone,  James,  translator  of  Martial,  11  200; 
note  and  epigram,  iv  200,  207. 

Epigram— jly  Bottle,  Hi  203. 

Epigram  on  a  Country  Laird,  ill  188. 

E|iigrani  on  an  Artist,  ii  208. 

Ejiigrum  on  Elpldnatone's  Translation  of  Martial's 
Kpigramb,  ii  200. 

Epigram  on  .Miss  Burns,  11  200. 

Epigram  on  Miss  Jean  .Scott,  ii  214. 

Epigram  on  Misu  Jussiu  Staig,  iii  187. 

Epigram  on  Mrs.  Keniblu,  iii  187. 

Epigram  on  Rev.  Dr.  Babington,  iii  188. 

Eiiigranis  on  Seeing  tlie  Beautiful  .Seat  of  Lord  Gal- 
loway, iii  153,  154. 

Epigram  on  Tarn  tlie  Cliapman,  1  220. 

Ei)igram8  on  tliu  Country  .Siiuire,  i  228,  229. 

Epigram  on  tiic  Laird  of  Laggan,  iii  154. 

Epigram— The  Bookworms,  il  200. 

Epigram— Tile  Highlund  Welcome,  ii  224. 

Epigram— The  Kirk  of  Lamington,  iii  120. 

Epigram— The  Solemn  League  and  Covenant,  iii  202. 

Epigiani— The  Toad  Eater,  iii  120. 

Epigram  to  Miss  Ainslie  in  Church,  Ii  211. 


Ik'M,  unci  Town 
V  t'riintU. 

7;i. 

r.M,  ii:,,  i:,6,  ini, 

a*. 

itiit,')  ill  3). 


iitldti  to  ItiiriiH, 
■•:'.),  A'll);  Hi  111); 
Iv  ;«l;  luttiTH, 

1)1,  KU,  1(1.-),  ll'.>, 
ttuiH,  i;tr.,  i:i!», 

■>,  iix),  mi,  'JO-, 

iiotu,  ana, 

lu  uil,  il  2U. 


li,  iv  -M. 


n,  V  70. 
II),  iii  74. 

aiix,  ii  4l>. 

Iter  lUulr,  ii  214. 


!1. 

i  posseaiiiun,  84, 

Martial,  H  -idO; 


Ion  uf  Martial's 


88. 

lat  of  Lord  Oal- 


8,  229. 
54. 

224. 
i  120. 
)venaut,  Iii  202. 

1211. 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


2H3 


r.plRram  writto'.  -it  Invorary,  11  213, 

KpiKiniii  Written  on  u  punu  o(  kImi  Iii  the  Iim  at 
Mcirut,  ill  1)8. 

KplKrainiuatlu  Linei  tu  J.  Uanklno,  i  220. 

KpiKraiMinutiu  Vemeii  written  on  a  Wiiuluw  uf  tho 
Inn  at  (.'iirron,  11  217. 

F.plNtlu  from  lUopiiH  to  Maria,  111  171. 

Epistlu  to  a  YouiiK  Kriunil,  li  UU. 

Epistle  to  Uavie,  1  2UI);  I'lof.  Wllauii,  v  20. 

Rplstlu  til  lliik'li  I'arker,  KUiiiarnock,  il  261, 

F.pistlu  to  .lames  .Smith,  ii  tn,'>. 

Kpistle  to  John  Oomliu,  il  4:i. 

Kpiatlu  to  ,lohn  Lapralk,  I  240. 

Kpiatlu  to  John  Kaiikine,  i  224. 

Kpistle  to  Major  W.  Lo^aii,  11  11)0. 

Kpistlu  to  Mr.  Maxwell  of  Terraimhty,  ill  118. 

KplHtle  to  II.  Oraliam  of  h'lntry,  11  2f.a. 

Kpistle  to  Uev.  Jolui  M'Matli,  11  47. 

Kiilstlo  to  William  Creeeh,  11  211. 

Kpltapli  for  Uaviii  ilamilton,  11  lua. 

Epitaph  for  Robert  Aiken,  11 104. 

Epltaiih  for  tho  Author's  Father,  I  220. 

Epitaph  for  Wm.  Nleol,  ii  22i). 

Epitaph  on  a  Celelirateil  llulliig  Elder,  1  221. 

Eiiitaiili  on  a  Friend,  1  220. 

F,iilta|ili  on  a  Henpecked  Country  8<|iiirti  I  228. 

F^pitaph  on  a  Noisy  I'ol'jinlo,  1  228. 

Epitaph  on  a  person  nieknamud  the  Marquis,  ill  180. 

Kpltaidi  on  a  Wuk  in  .MaueliUiie,  il  110. 

Epitapli  on  Gabriel  Rluliardson,  iii  203. 

Epitapli  on  Holy  VVIllio,  I  2.'18. 

Epitaph  on  John  Hiisliliy,  Writer,  Dumfries,  ill  174, 

Epitaph  on  John  Dove,  11  110. 

Epitaph  on  Mattliew  Uunderson,  lit  77. 

Epitapli  on  Mr.  Uiirtoii,  ill  188. 

Epitaph  on  Mr.  W.  Crulukshank,  11  230. 

Epitaph  on  tho  Schoolmaster  of  Cleish  Parish,  ii  200. 

Epitaph  on  Wat,  111  17;). 

Epitaph  on  Wee  Johiiy,  11 1(15. 

Epitaph  on  Wm.  Drahani,  £8<i.  uf  Mossknowe,  ill  174. 

Eppie  Adair,  ill  42. 

Erskinc.  Htm.  A.,  v  128. 

Erskino,  Hon.  Henry,  iii  230;  letter  to,  Iv  63, 123. 

Erskino,  John  Fianels,  letter  to,  iv  210. 

Esopiis  to  Maria,  Epistle  from,  ill  171. 

Evan  Hanks,  ill  2.'^.0. 

Ewe-lUiKhts,  Marion,  v  185. 

Excise  Olllcial,  Hums  as  an,  1 1(10. 

Exhumation  of  tho  poet's  reniains,  1 1(18. 

Extempore  in  the  Court  of  Session,  ii  200. 

Extempore  Lines  on  some  Commemorations  of  Thom- 
son, ill  133. 

Fac-Slmile  of  Burns'a  Handwriting,  Iv  55. 

Fair  Eliza,  iii  KK). 

Fair  Jenny,  v  140. 

Fttir,Tenny,  ill  102;  v  140. 

F'aircst  Maid  on  Devon  Banks,  v  177. 

Falconer,  William,  iv  150. 

Farewell,  A.,  li  107. 

Farewell,  The,  ii  168. 

F'arewell,  thou  Stream,  iii  104;  v  162. 

Farewell  to  the  brethren  of  St.  James's  Lodge,  Tar- 

boltoii,  il  160. 
Ferguson  of  Doonholtn,  i  14. 


Fer«ii»ion,  Alex.,  J.l'.,  letter,  Iv  170. 

Fi'lKiiHsoii,  of  ('nilKdurroeh,  il  260. 

••''irKiiHson,  Robert,  I  2s,  r,i),  70;  11  74,127,  182,  201, 

202;  iii  lil;  iv  23,  W),  f.2,  147. 
Fei'Kiu«(in,  Sir  James,  v  2IJu. 
Ferrler,  .Miss,  11  210. 
FOte  chumiHjtiu,  II  257. 
Fliidlater,    Alex.,    collector   of    excise,    1   108,    113, 

account  of  llunis  as  an  Excise  Olllcial,  IflO;  letters, 

Iv  104,  UK),  23.^. 
FlHliir,  William  (llidy  Willie),  1  230;  III  48. 
Five  Curlliis,  ill  50. 
Flowers  of  Edliibiirt;h,  v  180. 
FonteiiuUe,   Miss,  actress,  111  132,  134,  105;  Iv  2ik), 

227. 
For  u'  tliat,  and  a'  that,  III  200;  v  107. 
Forbes  of  Culloilcn,  il  80. 
Forlorn,  my  Love,  v  171. 
Fox,  Charles  James,  Hi  131. 
Foyers  or  Fyers,  Fall  of,  11  223,  (note). 
FroKineiit— By  all  I  lov'd,  ill  21. 
FraKiiient  Inscribed  to  the  Rlt;ht  Uon.  C.  J.  Fox,  lit 

31. 
F'raKinont  on  Sensibility,  11 102. 
Eraser,  Musician,  Edinburgh,  v  140. 
Freemasonry,  iv  40. 
Freemasons  of  St.  ilames's  Lodge,  Tarbolton,  letter  to, 

lv08. 
French  Translations  of  Uurns,  v  271. 
friars'  Carso  Hermitage,  111  13;  ii<ite  and  vieux^f,  Iv 

148. 
FuUartoii,  Colonel,  of  FuUarton,  Iv  100. 
Fye  gae  rub  her  o'er  wl'  strae,  v  180. 

Gaelic  Translation  of  Burns,  v  271. 

Gala  Water,  ill  130;  v  120,  127. 

Gall,  Richard,  ill  200. 

Gallant  Weaver,  The,  ill  106. 

Galloway,  Lord,  Epigram,  111  16S,  154. 

Galloway  'i'aiii,  v  188. 

Galloway  Tour,  1 184. 

Gardner  wl'  his  Paldle,  ill  35. 

Gatehouse,  1 184. 

Geddes,  Dr.  .lohn,  Iv  79,  letter  to,  125. 

German  Editions  and  Translations  of  Burns,  v  271. 

Gllflllan,  Robert,  "The  Bard  of  Song, "  v  210. 

Glasgow  statue  of  Burns,  v  250. 

Glen  Afton,  111  110  (note),  view  of,  110. 

Olencairn.  Earl  of,  patronizes  Burns  in  £dlnl>n,',(jh, 

I  55,  hitter  to,  70  (note)  82 ;  ii  200 ;  ill  03;  letters  to, 

iv  53,  W,  80,  portrait  of,  80. 
Glencairn,  John,  Earl  of,  letter,  iv  217. 
Olencairn,  Lady,  letter,  Iv  153. 
Olenriddcll  MSS..  I  103,  230;  ii  42,  40,  125,  160,  217; 

iii  27,  188;  iv  38,  230,  238,  287. 
Globe  Tavern,  Dumfries,  Lines  written  on  a  window 

of  the,  iii  148. 
Gloomy  December,  111  122. 
Glover,  Wm.,  contemporary  of  Burns,  v  242. 
Gordon,  Alex.,  Duke  of,  iv  80. 
Gordon  Castle,  Burns's  visit  to,  1  78, 182 ;  tiieio  of,  It 

224 ;  225,  (note). 
Goudie,  John,  it  43. 
Gow,  Nell,  1 181 ;  ill  41, 167. 
Grace  after  Dinner,  iii  121, 163. 


J 


S84 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


Grace  before  Dinner,  ili  121. 

Gracie,  James,  banker,  Dumfries,  letter,  iv  197,  255. 

Graliam,  Douglas,  iii  79. 

Graham,  Mrs.,  of  Fintry,  letter  to,  iv  180,  216,  217. 

Graham,  Robert,  of  Fiutry,  i  78,  places  Burns's  name  on 

the  Excise  roll,  82,  letter  to,  106 ;  epistle  to,  ii  255 ; 

iii  15,  116,  136;  letter  to,  iv  87,  108,  111,  136,  142, 

150,  169,  137,  211,  213,  230. 
Graham,  Wm.,  Epitaph  on,  iii  174. 
Grant,  Mrs.,  of  Laggan,  on  the  death  of  Bums,  v  217. 
Grant,  Rev.  David,  Ochiltree,  Iii  47. 
Gray,  Capt.  Charles,  Address  to  the  Shade  of  Burns, 

v218. 
Gray,  James,  teacher,  i  109, 110, 112, 115, 121,  account 

of  Burns's  last  years,  157;  Prof.  Wilson  .^n,  v  79. 
Greenfield,  Rev.  Wm.,  i  64  (note). 
Grose,  Capt.  Francis,  i  95;  iii  42,  44,  78,  79;  letter, 

iv  173. 
Guidv'ife  count  the  Lawin',  iii  70. 

Had  I  a  Cave,  iii  155;  v  138. 

Hallburton,  Judge,  v  252. 

Hallecii,  Fitzgreen,  Verses  to  the  Memory  of  Bums, 

v215. 
Hallowe'en,  ii  53;  Prof.  Wilson  on,  v  22. 
Hamilton,  Capt.  John,  letters,  iv  239,  241,  242. 
Hamilton,  Charlotte,  i  123;  ii  231;  iii  238. 
Hamilton,  Gavin,  i  35,  36,  47,  .53,  236;  Ii  142;  view  of 

house  of,  142;  155,  170;  iii  46;  letters,  iv  41,  44,  54, 

69,  95,  138,  224. 
Hamilton,  James,  Glasgow,  letter,  iv  137. 
Hamilton,  Janet,  Lines  for  Maiicliester  Burns'  Club, 

v227. 
Hamilton,  John,  music-seller,  author  of  additional 

stanzas  to  "Of  a'  tlie  airts,"  ii  250. 
Hamilton,  Rev.  Mr.,  of  Gladsmuir,  ii  217  (notj). 
Handsome  Nell,  i  189. 
Hannay,  James,  v  256. 

Harvieston,  Burns's  visit  to,  i  73,  75,  181,  183;  iv  69. 
Hay,  Charles,  letter  to,  iv  84. 
Hazlitt,  William,  note  by,  i  200;  ii  79,  90. 
Hedderwick,  James,  centenary  address,  v  254. 
Henderson,  Capt.  Matthew,  Elegy  on,  iii  74 ;  iv  166, 

170. 
Henpecked  Husband,  The,  iii  18. 
Her  Daddie  Forbad,  iii  239. 
Here's  a  Health,  iii  137. 
Here's  his  Health  in  Water,  ii  118. 
Hermit  of  Aberfeldy,  iii  258. 
Heron,  Mr.,  of  Heron,  letter,  iv  242. 
Heron,  Patrick,  of  Kerroughtree,  iii  210. 
Heron,  Robert,  i  43,  67,  101;  note  by,  ii  133;  Iii  56; 

V266. 
Heron  Ballads,  iii  210,  211,  214,  235. 
Hey  for  a  Lass  wi'  a  Tocher,  iii  231;  v  174. 
Highland  Laddie,  iii  252;  v  181. 
Highland    Mary,  i  44 ;   composition  of  "  Mary   in 

Heaven,"  88;  story  of,  173;  ii  139  (note),  169  (note), 

192;  iii  131;  iv  26,  162;  Prof.  Wilson  on,  v  16,  26; 

123,  124,  126, 133. 
Highland  Mary— Pong,  iii  131. 
Highland  Society,  ii  150  (note). 
Highland  Tour  (Korth),  i  IdO;  iv  71. 
Highland  Tour  (West),  iv  64. 
Highland  Widu-v's  Lament,  iii  176. 


Hill,  D.  O.,  R.8.A.— A  Painter's  Tribute  to  Bums,  v  208. 
Hill,  Peter,  bookseller,  Edinburgh,  i  134;   letters, 

iv  60,  102,  112,  133,  157,  162,  176,  180,  193,  108,  201, 

221,  23!;,  239,  250. 
Hogg,  James,  note  by,  ii  166;  v  267. 
Holy  Fair,  The,  ii  127;  Lockhart  on,  i  39. 
Holy  Willie's  Prayer,  i  236;  Hamilton  Paul  on,  i  38. 
Hood,  William,  i  221. 
Hornbook,  Dr.,  i  40,  41,  243,  248. 
Houghton,  Lord  (Monckton  Milnes),  v  260,  260. 
How  cruel  are  the  Parents,  iii  256. 
Howden,  Mr.  Francis,  letter  to,  iv  84. 
How  lang  and  dreary  is  tlie  Night,  v  159. 
Hoy,  James,  Gordon  Castle,  letter,  iv  74,  60. 
Humble  Petition  of  Bruar  Water,  The,  ii  220. 
Humphrey,  James,  i  228, 

Hunter,  Mio.  Dr.,  poems  by,  sent  to  Burns,  v  202. 
Hunting  Song— The  Bonnie  Moor-hen,  ii  207. 
Hutcliinson,  John,  Jamaica,  letter  from,  iv  30  (note). 

I  had  a  horse  and  I  had  nae  mair,  v  187. 

I'll  go  and  be  a  Sodger,  i  207. 

I'll  never  leave  Thee,  v  186. 

Impromptu,  on  Mrs.  Riddell's  birthday,  iii  163. 

Inglis,  Wm.,  Inverness,  letter,  iv  70. 

Inscribed  on  a  Work  of  Uaiinah  More's,  ii  126. 

Inscription  for  an  altar  to  Independence,  iii  183. 

Inscription  on  a    book   presi>nted    to  Miss   Jessie 

Lewars,  iii  237. 
Inscription  on  a  Goblet,  iii  202. 
Inscription  on  the  Tombstone  of  Fergusson,  ii  201. 
In  the  Name  of  the  Mne— Burles<iue  proclamation, 

iv38. 
Inventory,  Tlie,  ii  121. 
Irving,  Uovid,  v  266. 
It  is  na,  Jean,  thy  Bonnie  Face,  iii  247. 
It  was  the  charming  Month  of  )Iay,  iii  26Q. 

Jaffray,  Miss,  of  Lochmaben,  iii  50. 

Jed))urgh,  i  176  (note);  view  of,  176;  Bums  made  a 

freeman,  178. 
Jeffrey,  Francis,  Lord,  i  59  (note);  ii  82,  80,  101;  iii 

176;  iv  18. 
Jerrold,  Blanchard,  v  251. 
Jessy,  iii  233;  v  176. 
John  Barleycorn,  i  209. 
John  Bushby's  Lamentation,  iii  214. 
Johnnie's  Grey  Breeks,  v  182. 
Johnny  Faa,  v  187. 
Johnson,  James  (see  also  ihiseum,  Johnson's),  i  80, 115, 

123;  letter  to,  iv  59,  98,  116,  124,  134,  203,  225,  226, 

235,  239,  244,  249,  250,  note,  261. 
Johnston  of  Clackleith,  iii  48. 
Jolmston,  Thomas,  answer  to  the  petition  of,  iv  170. 
Johnstone,  Captain,  Edinburgh,  iv  208. 
Johnstone,  John,  Memoir  of  Burns,  v  267. 
Jolinstone,  Lucy,  iii  19;  portrait  of,  iii  206;  note,  207. 
Johnstone,  Sir  James,  of  Westerhall,  iii  59. 
Jolly  Beggars,  ii  63;  Lockhart's  estimate,  i  140;  Car- 

lyle  on  the,  ii  22. 
Jougs,  The,  an  instrament  of  punishment,  ii  66  (note). 

Kelso,  i  178. 

Kemble,  Mrs.,  actress,  iii  187. 

Eenmore  and  Taymouth  Castle,  view  of,  ii  218. 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


285 


e  to  Bums,  v  208. 

i  134;   letters, 

80,  193,  198,  201, 


139. 

n  Paul  on,  i  38. 

,  V  250,  260. 

i4. 
159. 

Y  74,  60. 
he,  ii  220. 

Bums,  V  203. 
!n,  H  207. 
torn,  iv  30  (note). 

187. 


day,  iii  163. 

ire's,  ii  126. 
Icnce,  iii  183. 
to  Miss   Jessie 


rgusson,  ii  201. 
ue  proclamation. 


247. 
,  iii  260. 


6;  Bums  made  a 
ii  82,  86,  101;  ill 


ohnson's),  i  80, 115, 
134,  203,  225,  226, 


etition  of,  iv  170. 
208. 

v267. 

iii  206;  noU,  207. 
1,  Iii  59. 
imate,  i  140;  Car- 

iment,  ii  66  (note). 


w  of,  ii  218. 


Kenmure  Castle  and  Loch  Ken,  view  of,  iii  114;  note, 

115. 
Kenmure,  Viscount,  iii  116. 
Kennedy,  John,  Dumfries  House,  ii  123, 134, 167;  iii 

48. 
Kennedy,  John,  letters,  Iv  24,  25,  28,  30. 
Kennedy,  Miss  Margaret,  or  Peggy,  ii  51, 192;  ill  91; 

iv36. 
"Kerry  portraits,"  v  265. 
KiUiecrankie,  iii  52. 

Kilmarnock— Marlcet  Cross,  view  of,  ii  186;  187  (note). 
Kilmarnock  Edition  of  Bums,  iii  256. 
Kilmarnock  Monument  to  Burns,  v  260. 
Kilpatrick,  Nelly,  i  189. 
Kirk  Alarm,  Tlie,  iii  i& 
Kirkcudbright,  iii  60. 
Kirkoswald,  i  24  (note);  vietv  of,  24. 
Knox,  Thomas,  centenary  addri'ss,  v  243. 
Kyle,  District  in  Ayrshire,  ii  89  (note). 


lady  Mary  Ann,  iii  248. 

lady  Onlie-Song,  ii  226. 

Laggan,  Lninl  of,  Epigram  on,  iii  154. 

Lament  for  James,  Earl  of  Glencairn,  iii  93. 

Lament  of  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  iii  88. 

Lament  (The)  occasioned  by  the  unfortunate  issue  of 

a  Friend's  Amour,  ii  137. 
Lamington,  Kirk  of,  Epigram,  iii  120. 
Landlady,  Count  the  Lawin",  iii  241. 
Langhome's  lines  to  a  picture,  i  58. 
Lapraik,  Jolm,  i  41  (note),  249,  253;  ii  46. 
Lassie  wi'  the  Lint-wliito  Locks,  iii  194;  v  162. 
Lass  o'  Ballochmyle,  The,  ii  lli5. 
Lass  o'  Patie's  Mill,  The,  v  130, 181. 
Last  May  a  Braw  Wooer,  v  171. 
Lawrie,  Arclid.,  letter  to,  iv  37,  67. 
Lawrie,  Dr.,  minister  of  Loudoun,  i  61;  ii  183;  letter 

to,  iv  49 ;  portrait  of,  49. 
Lawrie,  Miss,  iv  50. 
Lawrie,  Sir  Robert,  iii  53. 
Leader  llaughs  and  Yarrow,  v  187. 
Lesley  Baillie,  Miss,  iii  128, 149. 
Let  me  in  tliis  ae  Niglit,  iii  161;  v  138, 156. 
Let  not  Woman  e'er  complain,  v  160. 
letter  to  James  Tennant  of  Glenconner,  iii  25. 
Leven,  J.,  General  Supervisor,  Edinburgh,  letter,  iv 

202. 
Lewars,  Jessie,  iii  233,  234,  236,  237. 
Lewors,  John,  exciseman,  iii  233. 
Lewis  Gordon,  v  185. 
Liberty— a  fragment,  iii  180  (note). 
Library  of  Burns,  i  185. 

Lincluden  Abbey,  note  and  view  of,  iii  168;  184  (note). 
Lindsay,  Miss,  i  177,  178. 
Lindsay,  Rev.  Mr.,  ii  102. 
Lines  on  Fergusson  the  Poet,  iii  123. 
Lines  on  meeting  Lord  Daer,  ii  185. 
Lines  on  Robert  Riddell,  iii  175. 
Lines  scrt  to  a  gentleman  whom  he  had  offended, 

iii  167. 
Lines  sent  to  Sir  John  Whiteford,  iii  95. 
Lines  to  a  gentleman  who  had  sent  a  newspaper,  and 

offered  to  continue  it  free  of  expense,  iii  67. 
Lines  to  John  Kankine,  i  230. 


Lines  written  in  a  wrapper,  enclosing  a  letter  to 

Capt.  Grose,  iii  78. 
Lines  written  on  a  bank  note,  Ii  168. 
Lines  written  on  a  pane  of  glass  at  Stirling,  ii  217. 
Lines  written  on  a  pane  of  glass  on  the  occasion  of  a 

National  Thanksgiving  for  a  naval  victory,  iii  147. 
Lines  written  on  a  window,  at  tlie  King's  Arms 

Tavern,  iii  148. 
Lines  written  on  a  window  of  the  Globe  Tavern, 

Dumfries,  iii  148. 
Linlithgow,  i  180. 

Little,  Janet,  epistle  to  Bums,  iv  14,''>. 
Lochlea,  i  15, 19. 
Loch  Lomond,  iv  64  (note). 
Lochmaben,  iii  60. 
Loch  Turit,  view  of,  ii  226. 
Lockhart,  George,  Glasgow,  letter,  iv  103. 
Lockhart,  J.  G.,  note  by,  ii  79,  129,  134,  203;  iii  107; 

v266. 
Logan,  John,  of  Knockshinnoch,  iii  45,  48;  letter  to, 

iv  144. 
Logan,  John,  of  Laight,  letter  to,  iv  30. 
Logan,  Major,  ii  190. 
Logan,  Miss,  ii  200. 
Logan  Braes,  iii  150;  v  135. 
London  Monuments  to  Bums,  v  261. 
Longfellow,  H.  W.,  "  Robert  Bums,"  v  228. 
"  Lord  Gregory,"  remarks  on,  i  185;  iii  140;  v  128. 
Lord  Ronald,  my  son,  v  188. 
Loriff     ,  Jean.    See  Chloris. 
Lorimer,  Wm.,  Kemmis  Hall,  i  161;  iv  190,  ■240. 
Lounger,  The,  first  notice  of  Burns,  i  56. 
Lovely  Davies,  iii  97. 
Lovely  Nancy,  iii  163;  v  151. 
Lovely  Polly  Stewart,  iii  106. 
Lover,  Samuel,  v  251,  253." 
Lover's  (The)  Morning  Salute  to  his  Mistress,  iii  191; 

vl60. 
Lugar,  Scene  on  the,  i  216. 
Lunardi  Bonnets,  ii  125. 

Mabane,  Miss,  letter  to,  iv  83. 

M'Adam,  John,  iv  39. 

M'Adam  of  Craigen-gillan,  Epistle  to,  ii  125. 

M'Auley,  John,  writer,  Dumbarton,  letter,  iv  138. 

M'Creddie,  John,  iii  259. 

M'CuUoch,  David,  Esq.,  Ardwell,  letter,  iv  238. 

Macfarlan,  James,  centenary  ode,  v  226. 

M'Gill,  John,  musician,  Girvan,  iii  37  (note). 

Macgill,  Rev.  Dr.,  of  Ayr,  i  30,  235;  iii  45. 

M'Indoe,  Robert,  Glasgow,  letter,  iv  105. 

Mackenzie,  Dr.,  of  Maucliline,  ii  131,  160;   letters, 

iv  35,  45. 
Mackenzie,  Henry,  reviews  Bums  in  the  Lounger, 

156;  notes  by,  ii96, 134. 
M'Kinlay,  Rev.  James,  ii  102;  iii  46. 
M'Laren,  Duncan,  centenary  address,  v  242. 
M'Lehose,  Mra.    See  Clarinda. 
M'Leod,  Dr.  Norman,  v  252. 
M'Leod,  Miss  Isabella,  ii  215,  244. 
M'Math,  Rev.  John,  i  235;  ii  47. 
M'Morine,  Rev.  Mr.,  Caerlaverock,  iv  213  (note). 
M'Murdo,  Jean,  iii  151. 
M'Murdo,  John,  Drumlanrig,  i  123,  iii  24,  48,  54, 103, 

153;  letters,  iv  117,  121, 167,  217,  224,  225,  228. 


Jl 


286 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


M'Murdo,  Mrs.,  letter  to,  iv  134. 

M'Murdo,  PhiUis,  Drumlaurig,  iii  156, 157, 190, 195, 
199;  letter,  iv  223. 

Macneil,  Hector,  "Scotland's  Scaith,"  v  48. 

Macpherson's  Farewell,  ii  242,  Carlyle  ou,  21. 

M'Whinnie,  Mr.,  writer,  Ayr,  iv  25. 

Man  was  made  to  mourn,  i  230,  Lockhart  on,  42. 

Manual  of  Keligious  Belief,  by  William  Burnes,  v 
205. 

Mark  yonder  pomp,  iii  217 ;  v  170. 

Marsliall,  Wro.,  composer,  ii  250. 

Mary  Morison,  i  200 ;  v  129. 

Slary,  Queen  of  Scots,  Lament  of,  iii  88. 

Mary  Scott,  the  Flower  of  Yarrow,  v  185. 

Mary's  Dream,  v  183. 

Masterton,  Allan,  teacher,  Edinburgh,  iii  25,  49. 

Masterton,  Ann,  iii  26. 

Mauchline,  ii  142  (710(e),  view  of,  142. 

Mausoleum  at  Dumfries,  i  131 ;  view  of,  v  257;  258. 

Maxwell,  Dr.,  iii  187. 

Maxwell,  John,  of  Xerraughty,  i  135 ;  iii  118  (note), 
120. 

May  Eve,  or  Kate  of  Aberdeen,  v  182. 

Mayne,  John,  poem  on  Halloween,  ii  61  (note);  iii 
150. 

Meg  o'  the  Mill,  v  133. 

Merry  Muses  of  Caledonia,  i  93  (note),  iv  228. 

Michie,  Wm.,  ii  209. 

Miers,  Mr.,  silhouettist,  iv  100,  275;  v  264. 

Miller,  Capt.,  Dalswinton,  letter,  iv  226. 

Miller,  Patrick,  Dalswinton,  i  79,  83,  87 ;  iii  54,  59, 
178;  letters,  iv  72,  73,  219,  240. 

Miller,  Rev.  Mr.,  Kilmaurs,  ii  131. 

Mill  Monach,  view  of,  iii  146. 

Milnes,  Monckton  (Lord  Houghton),  centenary  ad- 
dress, V  250;  260. 

Minatures  of  Burns,  v  265. 

Mitchell,  Dr.  Andrew,  Monkton,  iii  47. 

Mitchell,  John,  Collector  of  Excise,  poem  addressed 
to,  iii  229;  letter,  iv  172,  193. 

Moir,  David  Macbeth,  (Delta)  Stanzas  for  the  Burns 
Festival,  1844,  v  220. 

Monboddo,  James  Burnet,  Lord,  iii  87;  letters,  iv  44. 

Monody  on  a  Lady  famed  for  her  caprice,  iii  170. 

Montgomery,  James,  on  the  anniversary  of  Bums's 
birthday,  v  212. 

Montgomery's  Peggy,  i  194. 

Monuments  to  Bums,  v  257. 

Moodie,  Kev.  Mr.,  of  Eiccarton,  i  37,  233;  ii  129;  iii 
46. 

Moodie,  Kev.  Wm.,  Edinburgh,  letter,  iv  192. 

Moore,  Dr.  John,  i  20,  21, 116,  Bums's  Autobiograph- 
ical letter  to,  142;  letter  to,  iv  47,  sketch  of,  47, 
portrait  of,  48;  62,  56,  120,  131,  147, 164,  181. 

More,  Hannah,  Inscribed  on  a  work  of,  ii  126. 

Morison,  cabinet-maker,  Mauchline,  iv  111. 

MosBgiel,  i  32,  view  of,  32 ;  Wordsworth  at,  v  17. 

Mother's  Lament  for  the  death  of  her  son,  ii  269. 

Mount  Oliphant,  i  14,  17, 18  (note). 

Mudford,  William,  attack  on  Oeorge  Thomson,  i 
124. 

Muir,  Robert,  Kilmarnock,  i  64;  ii  170;  letters,  iv 
24,  32,  37,  42,  68,  92. 

Muir,  William,  Tarbolton  Mill,  i  220,  244. 

Mundell,  Dr.,  Dumfries,  letter,  iv  161. 


Murdoch,  John,  Bums's  teacher,  i  15,  18,  account  of 
Burns  and  his  Father's  household,  152,  letters,  iv  19, 
165,  166. 

Murray,  Euphemia,  of  Lintrose,  ii  228  (note),  portrait 
0/,  228;  229. 

Murray,  Sir  W.,  of  Ochtertyre,  ii  228  (note) ;  iv  73. 

Museum,  Johnson's,  i  217 ;  ii  71,  244,  246,  253 ;  iii  11, 
37,  38,  96,  98,  108,  134,  137,  139,  144,  168,  170,  170, 
186,  192,  200,  203,  201,  209,  221,  228,  234,  238 ;  iv  59; 
V  130,  132,  158,  159,  179 ;  Burns's  preface  to  Vol.  ii, 
V 186 ;  to  Vol.  iii  187 ;  to  Vol.  iv  188 ;  189. 

My  ain  kind  dearie,  O,  iii  130;  v  123, 126,  184. 

My  Chloris,  mark  how  green  the  groves,  v  101. 

My  Collier  Laddie,  iii  246. 

My  Highland  Lassie,  O,  ii  144. 

My  Hoggie,  ii  243. 

My  Jean,  ii  43. 

My  Nannie,  O,  i  216 ;  v  123. 

My  Nannie's  Awa,  iii  199 ;  v  167. 

My  Spouse  Nancy,  iii  164 ;  v  152. 

My  Tocher's  the  Jewel,  iii  107. 

My  wife's  a  winsome  wee  tiling,  iii  130 ;  v  124,  125 

Mylne,  Mr.,  address  to  Burns,  iv  130. 

Naebody,  ii  263. 

Nasrayth,  Alexander,  artist,  i  69;  portraits  of  Burns, 

69  (mU);  ii  208;  v  263,  264. 
Nature's  Law,  ii  171. 
Neaves,  Lord,  v  235. 

Newall,  David,  writer,  Dumfries,  letter,  iv  169. 
New  Light,  Auld  Light,  i  36,  233;  ii  43. 
New  Psalm  for  the  Chapel  of  Kilmarnock,  iii  2!). 
New  York  Monument  to  Burns,  v  261. 
Nichol,  Prof.  John,  v  267. 
Nicol,  William,  schoolmaster,  I  67,  77, 114, 180, 183; 

ii  225,  229;   iii  49;    letters,  iv  61,  62,  72,  93,  106, 

169, 190,  215. 
Nicolas,  Sir  H.,  v  267. 

Nicoll,  Robert,— The  Grave  of  Bums,  v  220. 
Nimmo,  Miss,  Edinburgh,  iv  257,  258,  281. 
Ninetieth  Psalm  paraphrased.  First  Six  Verses  of  tlie, 

1204. 
Nith,  River— Auld   Girth   Bridge  ."..lu   Blackwood 

House,  view  of,  v  141. 
Nithsdale,  view  of,  iii  36. 
Nithsdalo's  Welcome  Hame,  iii  112. 
Niven,  William,  Maybole,  i  145  (noU);  ii  148  (note); 

letter  to,  iv  31. 
Northern  Tour,  i  180;  Iv  71. 
Norton,  Hon.  Mrs.,  centenary  poem,  v  223. 
Now  Spring  has  clad  the  grove  in  green,  v  173. 
"Nubilia,"  Mudford's,  i  124. 

O,  cam  ye  here  the  fight  to  shun,"  iii  244. 

O,  Lassie  art  thou  Slecpin'  yet,  v  168. 

O  Philly,  Happy  be  that  Day,  v  104. 

O  Poortith  Cauld,  v  126. 

O  saw  ye  bonnie  Lesley,  v  124. 

O  saw  ye  my  Dearie,  my  Eppie  M'Nab,  iii  10". 

O,  Steer  her  up,  iii  203. 

O  wat  ye  wha's  in  yon  Town,  v  168. 

O  were  my  love  yon  lilac  fair,  iii  253. 

O  whar  did  ye  get  that  hauver-meal  bannuck,  iii  238. 

O  Whistle,  and  I'll  come  to  you,  v  141, 172. 

Ochtertyre,  ii  227  (note);  Burns's  visit  to,  i  75. 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


287 


6,  18,  account  uf 
152,  letters,  Iv  19, 

18  (note),  portrait 

i  (note) ;  Iv  73, 
,  245,  263;  iil  11, 
44,  168,  170,  170, 
I,  234,  238 ;  iv  .09 ; 
ireface  to  Vol.  ii, 
ia;  189. 
t,  120,  184. 
)ve8,  V  101. 


130;  vl24,  12(i 
0. 


ortraits  of  Burns, 


liter,  Iv  169. 
43. 

irnock,  iil  29. 
;01. 

■,  77,  114,  180,  183; 
II,  62,  72,  93,  106, 


ns,  V  220. 

58,  281. 

;  Six  Verses  of  the, 

s   r.iiu   Blackwood 


ote);  H  148  (note); 


11,  V  223. 
jreen,  v  173. 


lit  244. 

88. 

I. 


Nab,  iil  107. 


33. 

il  bannock,  iii  238. 

141,  172. 

isit  to,  i  75. 


Ode  for  General  Washington's  Birthday,  iii  178. 

Ode  to  the  Departed  Regency  Bill,  iii  27. 

Ode  to  the  Memory  of  Mrs.  Oswald  of  Auohincruive, 

iii  19;  Carlyle  on,  ii  20. 
Oliphant,  Rev.  Mr.,  ii  102. 
On  Andrew  Turner,  iii  187. 
On  a  Scotch  Bard,  gone  to  the  West  Indies,  il  161. 
On  being  appointed  to  the  Excise,  iii  51. 
On  Captain  Grose,  iii  44. 
On  Captain  Grose's  peregrinations  thro'  Scotland,  iii 

42. 
On  Chloris  being  ill,  iii  210;  v  169. 
On  Glenriddell's  Fox  breaking  his  chain,  iii  100. 
On  Jessie  Lewar's  Sickness,  iii  237. 
On  Reading  in  a  Newspaper  the  Death  of  John 

M'Leod,  Esq.,  ii  215. 
On  Scaring  some  Water-fowl  in  Loch  Turit,  ii  227. 
On  Seeing  a  Wounded  Hare  limp  by  me,  iii  32. 
On  Seeing  Miss  Foutenelle  In  a  Favourite  Character, 

iii  134. 
On  Sen8il)ility,  ill  119. 
On  the  Birth  of  a  I'osthumous  Child,  iii  86. 
On  tlie  Death  of  a  Lap  Dog,  iii  154. 
On  the  Death  of  Robert  Dundas  of  Amiston,  ii  234. 
On  the  Death  of  tlie  late  Miss  Burnet,  iii  87. 
'  On  the  Recovery  of  Jessie  Lewars,  iii  237. 
On  the  Seas  and  Far  Away,  iii  184 ;  v  155. 
On  William  Smellie,  ii  201. 
Open  the  Door  to  Me,  Oh!  iii  143. 
Open  the  Door  to  Me,  0,  v  129. 
Ordination,  The,  ii  102. 
Orr,  Thos.,  Kirkoswald,  letter  to,  iv  23. 
Oswald  of  Auohincruive,  Mrs.,  Ode  to,  iii  19;  iv  132. 
Oswald,  Richard,  iii  20  (note). 
Oswald,  Richard  A.,  uf  Auchincruive,  iv  244. 


Painter's  Tril)ute  to  Burns,  v  208. 

Paraphnise  of  the  First  Psalm,  i  203. 

Park,  Anne,  i  118,  107,  iii  08. 

Parker,  Ilugh,  Epistle  to,  ii  251. 

Parker,  William,  ii  186. 

Paton,  Elizabeth,  i  107;  iv  23. 

Pattison,  Mr.,  bookseller.  Paisley,  iv60. 

Paul,  Rev.  Hamilton,  i  37,  38,  43,  86;  Anniversary 
Ode,  v  213 ;  200. 

Peacock,  Aiary,  letters,  iv  211,  272,  273,  285. 

Peebles,  Rev.  Mr.,  Newton-upon-Ayr,  i  130,234;  iii 
45,  47. 

Peg-a-Ranisay,  iii  203. 

Peggy,  i  215. 

Perry,  Mr.,  Mortiitu)  Chrnnicle,  iv  240. 

Peterkin,  Alexander,  v  266. 

Phillis  the  Fair,  iii  LOO;  v  138. 

Phrenological  examination  of  Bums's  skull,  i  170. 

Pieces  sometimes  attributed  to  Burns,  note  on,  iii  259. 

Pindar,  Peter.    See  Wolcot,  Dr. 

Pinned  to  Mrs.  ilarla  Riddell's  carriage.  111  174. 

Pitt,  Rt.  Hon.  William,  opinion  of  Burns,  i  110;  Ad- 
dress of  Scotch  Distillers  to,  iv  126. 

Ploughman,  The,  iii  240. 

Poem  addressed  to  Mr.  Mitchell,  Collector  of  Excise, 
111  229. 

Poem  on  Life,  addressed  to  Colonel  de  Peyster,  iii  232. 

Poem  (VI  Pastoral  Poetry,  ill  102. 


Poems  In  Memory  of  Bums,  v  210. 

Poetical  Address  to  Mr.  Wm.  Tytler,  11  210. 

Poetical  Reply  to  an  Invitation,  ii  142. 

Poet's  Dream  at  Lincluden,  v  208. 

Poet's  Progress,  The,  iii  15. 

Poet  8  Welcome  to  his  Illegitimate  Child,  i  223. 

Poor  Mailie's  Elegy,  i  212. 

Foosie  Nansle,  II  63  (note). 

Portraits  of  Burns,  v  263. 

Posle.  The,  iii  99. 

Prayer,  A,  I  201 ;  In  the  prospect  of  death,  i  202; 

ii  183. 
Principal  Editions  of  Burns's  Works,  v  268. 
Prologue  spoken  at  the  Theatre,  Dumfries,  ill  63. 
Prologue  spoken  by  Mr.  Woods  on  his  Benefit  Night, 
ii  205. 


Queensberry,  Duke  of.  III  59,  71, 103,  105 ;  letter,  Iv 
204. 

Racer  Jess,  Ii  12ft 

Raging  Fortune,  i  2U5. 

Ramsay,  Allan,  i  59. 

Ramsay,  David,  Edinburgh,  Iv  181. 

Ramsay  of  Ochtertyre,  I  75,  96;  Iv  73. 

Rankine,  Anne,  I  214  (note). 

Ranklne,  John,  Epistle  to,  i  224,  epigramatlc  lines  to, 

229,  lines  to,  230. 
Ranting  dog  the  Daddy  o't,  The,  I  223. 
Rantin  Rovin'  Robin,  II  41. 
Rattlin,  Roarin'  Willie,  111  243. 
Reld,  George,  Barquharle,  letters,  Iv  39,  56. 
Reld,  Wm.,  bookseller,  Glasgow,  II  260;  Hi  38";  iv  43. 
Reid's  Minature  of  Burns,  v  265. 
Remorse— a  fragment,  i  219. 
Reply  to  a  hostile  critic,  II  218. 
Reproof,  A,  II  218. 
Richardson,  Gabriel,  111  203. 
Richmond.  John,  early  companion  of  Bums,  I  57,  67 ; 

letters,  Iv  23,  29,  32,  65. 
Rlddell,  Mrs.  Walter,  i  126, 128;  estimate  of  Burns's 
character,  162;  111  149, 163, 169, 170, 171, 174, 195, 198, 
224,  2.09;  Iv  200,  letters,  209,  216,  22^,  222,  226,  232, 
Burns's  quarrel  with,  232;  233, 242, 248, 249, 250, 251, 
288 ;  V 112. 
Rlddell,  Robert,  of  Glenrlddell,  1  97;  II  259;  11113, 
30,  53,  174,  175;  Iv  125,  148,  189^  203,  218,  237. 

Rlddell,  Walter,  III  167, 173. 

Rights  of  Woman,  111  182. 

Rigs  o'  Barley,  I  214. 

Rltson's,  Joseph,  Scottish  Songs,  v  157. 

Robertson  of  Lude,  Iv  227. 

Robin  Shure  In  Hairst,  111  239. 

Rob  M'Quechar's  Elshln,  1  97, 140. 

Rodger,  Hugh,  teacher,  Kirkoswald,  1 145  (note). 

Rogers,  Dr.  Charles,  1 170. 

Ronalds  of  the  Bennals,  The,  1 195;  Iv  150. 

Roscoe,  Wm.,  on  the  death  of  Burns,  v  210. 

Rose,  Mrs.  of  Kllravock,  letters,  Iv  89. 

Ross,  Alex.,  of  Loehlee,  Iv  76,  92. 

Rossettl,  W.  M.,  V  267. 

Ruined  Farmer,  Song  In  the  character  of  a,  I  205. 

Russell,  Rev.  John,  of  Kilmarnock,  1  37,  233 ;  ii  44, 
102, 132  (iMte);  ill  40. 


288 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


Sae  Far  Awa,  iii  123. 

Samson,  Thomas,  ii  187  {note). 

Sanquhar,  ill  60,  view  of,  60. 

Saw  ye  Johnnie  Comin',  v  180. 

Saw  ye  my  Peggy,  v  180. 

Saw  ye  my  Philly,  Iii  190;  v  15a 

Scene  on  the  Doon  near  its  Source,  view,  iii  02. 

Sco*ih  Drinlj,  ii  83;  note  by  Jeffrey,  86. 

Sc    t,  prologue  for  Mr.  Sutherland's  Benefit  Night, 

Dumfries,  iii  65. 
Scots  wha  hae,  Composition  of,  i  118,  185;   Prof. 

Wilson  on,  v  74-76,  143;  Thomson's  emendations 

on,  144,  148,  149. 
Scott,  Miss  Jean,  Epigram  on,  ii  214. 
Scott,  airs.,  of  Waucliope,  i  177;  ii  204. 
Scott,  Sir  Walter,  reminiscences  of  Burns,  i  58, 107; 

estimate,  140;  note  by,  ii  242;  iii  85,  121, 177;  iv 

85. 
Scottish  Songs,  remarks  on,  v  144, 149,  ISO,  163, 179; 

Wilson  on,  v  56. 
Second  Epistle  to  Davie,  ii  60. 
Second  Epistle  to  John  Lnpraik,  i  253. 
Second  Epistle  to  R.  Graham  of  Vintry,  iii  116. 
Selkirk,  Earl  of,  visit  to,  i  185. 
Selkirk  Orace,  iii  37. 
Shairp,  Principal,  note  by,  v  17;  267. 
Shanter  Farm,  i  24,  96;  iii  80. 
Sharpe,  Charles,  of  Hoddam,  letter,  iv  187. 
Shelah  O'Neil,  iii  259. 
Shepherd,  Rev.  John,  Sfuirkirk,  iii  48. 
Sheriffmuir,  Battle  of,  iii  244. 
She  says  she  Ices  me  best  of  a',  iii  186;  v  155. 
Sibbald,  James,  bookseller,  letter  to,  iv  44. 
Sic  a  wife  as  Willie  had,  iii  125. 
Sillar,  David,  i  25  (iwte),  29,  239  (note);  ii  50,  230; 

letter  to,  iv  144. 
Simmer's  a  pleasant  time,  iii  243. 
Simson,  William,  Schoolmaster,  Ochiltree,  i  256;  ii 

175. 
Sinclair,  Sir  John,  letter  to,  iv  188. 
Sketch— New  Year's  Day  [1790],  iii  64. 
Skinner,  Bishop  Johp,  i  182;  v  266. 
Skinner,  Rev.  John,  i  123;  letter,  iv  74;  portrait  qf, 

74;  poetical  epistle  to  Burns,  iv  75;  letter  from,  77; 

88. 
Skirving,  Arch.,  portrait  of  Burns  by,  i  Prontis.;  v 

264. 
Sloan,  Mr.  Thomas,  letter,  iv  195. 
Smellie,  William,  ii  201  (mte);  ill  15;  letter,  iv  200. 
Smith,  Alex.,  v  267. 
Smith,  James,  Mauchline,  i  45, 180;  ii  105, 110;  iv  23, 

letters,  24,  .30,  62,  64,  96. 
Smith,  Rev.  Geo.,  minister  of  Galston,  i  235;  ii  130; 

iii  48. 
Smith's,  Charlotte,  Sonnets,  iv  165  (note). 
Soldier's  Return,  The,  iii  145;  Wilson  on,  v  50, 133. 
Somebody,  iii  200. 

Somerville,  John,  Writer,  Edinburgh,  iv  190. 
Song  of  Death,  iii  118. 
Songs  of  Burns,  Carlyle  on,  ii  22. 
Sonnet  on  the  Death  of  Robert  Riddell,  Esq.,  iii  174. 
Sonnet  written  on  25th  January,  1793,  iii  140. 
Sons  of  Old  Killie,  The,  ii  186. 
Staig,  David,  Provost  of  Dumfries,  iv  247. 
Staig,  Jessie  or  Janet,  iii  144;  Epigram  on,  187. 


Stair  MS.,  1  203  (note);  iii  109. 

Stanzas  on  Naething,  ii  158. 

Stanzas  on  the  Duke  of  Queensberry,  iii  105. 

Stanzas,  on  the  prospect  of  Death,  i  203. 

Stay,  my  Willie— yet  believe  me,  iii  198. 

Stenhouse,  William.    See  Museum,  Johnson's. 

Stephen,  Leslie,  v  267. 

Sterne,  Lawrence,  ii  83  (note). 

Steven,  Rev.  James,  ii  170. 

Stevenson,  R.  Louis,  note  by,  iv.  65. 

Stewart,  Dugald,  i  49;  remarks  on  Burns  in  Edinburgh, 

6";  at  Mauchline,  74;  recollections,  155;  ii  185:  iv 

97;  letters,  iv  122, 173. 
Stewart,  Mrs.,  of  Stair,  1  50;  ii  182,  259;  iii  109, 119; 

letter  to,  iv  33. 
Stewart,  Polly,  iii  106. 
Stewart,  William,  iii  106  (note). 
Stirling,  disloyal  epigram  at,  i  74. 
Stock  and  Horn,  v  160. 
Strathallan's  Lament,  ii  224. 
Stuart,  Peter,  editor  of  London  Evening  Star,  i  57; 

iii  30,  67;  letters,  iv  52,  113,  134,  147. 
Such  a  Parcel  of  Rogues  in  a  Nation,  iii  114. 
Sutherland,  George,  actor,  iii  03,  6.'),  132;  letters,  iv 

155,  157,  169. 
Swedish  Translation  of  Burns,  v  271. 
Sweetest  May,  iii  240. 

Sylvander.    See  Burns'  letters  to  Clarindo,  iv  258-288. 
Sylvander  to  Clarinda,  ii  238. 
Syme,  John,  Dumfries,  i  131, 132, 184;  iii  203,  207,  229; 

portrait  of,  iv  244;  note  and  letter,  245. 

Tait,  Crauford,  Edinburgh,  letter,  iv  172. 

Tak  your  auld  cloak  about  ye,  v  187. 

Tam  Glen,  iii  40. 

Tam  o'  Shanter,  Composition  of,  i  95 ;  Wordsworth 
on,  136;  iii  86;  Carlyle  on,  ii  21;  poem,  iii  79;  Scott 
on,  86;  Lockhart  on,  85;  legend,  iv  174, 186;  Wilson 
on,  V  38. 

Tnm  Samson's  Elegy,  ii  187. 

Tam  the  chapman,  Epigram  on,  i  220. 

Tannahill,  Robert— Birthday  ode,  v  213. 

Tannock,  James,  portraits  of  Burns,  v  265. 

Tarbolton,  ii  160  (iwte),  view  in,  160. 

Tarbolton  Lasses,  i  193. 

Taylor,  Dr.,  of  Norwich,  i  28;  ii  45. 

Taylor,  Peter,  portrait  of  Burns,  v  264. 

Taymouth  Castle,  ii  218  (note),  vieiv  of,  218. 

Tea  Table  Miscellany,  i  217. 

Tennant,  David,  of  Ayr,  i  163. 

Tennant,  James,  of  Glenconncr,  iii  25. 

Tennant,  John,  of  Auchenl)ay,  letter  to,  iv  118. 

Tennant,  John,  of  Glenconncr,  iv  91. 

The  bonnie  Lad  that's  far  awa,  ii  248. 

The  bonniest  Lad  that  e'er  I  saw,  iii  252. 

The  Cardin'  o't,  iii  206. 

The  Cure  for  all  Care,  i  208. 

The  Lass  that  made  the  ])ed  to  me,  iii  209. 

The  last  time  I  came  o'er  the  Moor,  v  133, 181. 

Theniel  Menzies'  Bonnie  Mary,  ii  227. 

There  grows  a  bonnie  brier  bush,  iii  260. 

There  lived  a  Carle  on  Kellybnrn  Braes,  iii  249. 

There'll  never  be  peace  till  Jamie  conien  Imiiie,  iii  90. 

There's  nae  luck  about  the  house,  v  183. 

The  Tither  Morn,  iii  259. 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


28U 


r,  ill  106. 
i203. 
,198. 
Johnson's. 


inis  in  Edinburgh, 
ns,  155;  ii  185:  iv 

259;  Ui  109, 119; 


'vening  Star,  i  57; 

147. 

n,  iii  114. 

lifi,  132 ;  letters,  iv 

1. 

larinda,  iv  258-288. 

;4;  iii  203,  207,  229; 
r,  245. 

iv  172. 


i  95;  Wordswortli 
poem,  iii  79;  Scott 
iv  174, 180;  Wilson 


220. 
v213. 
IS,  V  265. 
0. 


■264. 
w  of,  218. 


i25. 

ter  to,  Iv  118. 

91. 

248. 

iii  252. 


I,  Hi  209. 

r,  v  133,  181. 

227. 

iii  260. 

Braes,  iii  249. 

conit'H  liiimc,  iii  00. 

vl83. 


Tliird  Epistle  to  John  Laprailc,  ii  46. 
This  is  no  my  aln  lassie,  v  172. 
Thomson,  George,  1  115,  123,  124,  defence  125;  200 
{note);  iii  130,  131,  134,  135,  138,  141,  150,  155,  160, 
161,  169,  180,  190,  194,  197,  199,  200,  202,  205,  220, 
22i,  238 ;  iv  237 ;  Wilson  on  Tliomson's  connection 
with  Burns,  v  105,  portrait  and  notice  of,  116,  letter 
to  editor  of  "  Land  of  Burns,"  118,  correspondence 
with  Burns,  121-177,  certificate  of  copyright,  175, 
letter  to  Messrs.  Blaclcie  and  Son,  177. 

Thomson,  James,  poet,  iii  111,  133. 

Thomson,  John,  i  168. 

Thomson,  Peggy,  i  24, 145  (note),  215,  216;  ii  169;  iv 
23. 

Thou  hast  left  me  ever,  Jamie,  v  140. 

Tibbie  Uunbar,  iii  37. 

Tillotson,  Jolin,  v  2C7. 

Tinnocit,  Nance,  Mauchline  landlady,  i  66;  il  99. 

Tippling  Ballad,  iii  130. 

To  a  Blackbird  singing  on  a  Tree,  iv  270. 

To  a  Haggis,  ii  198. 

To  a  Kiss,  iii  15. 

To  a  Louse,  on  seeing  one  on  a  Lady's  bonnet  at 
Cliurch,  ii  124. 

To  a  Medical  Gentleman,  ii  160. 

To  a  Mountain  Daisy,  ii  134. 

To  a  Mouse  on  turning  up  her  nest  with  the  plough, 
ii  62;  note  by  Carlyle,  63. 

To  Alexander  Cunningham,  Writer,  Edinburgh,   ii 
254. 

To  Captain  Riddell,  Glenriddell,  iii  24. 

To  Cliloris,  iii  226;  v  173. 

To  Clarinda,  ii  239,  248. 

To  Dauiiton  Me,  ii  247. 

To  Dr.  Blacl<loel{,  iii  56. 

To  Gavin  Uaniilton,  Esq.,  Maucliline,  ii  142. 

To  Jessie  Lewars,  iii  236. 

To  John  Kennedy,  ii  123. 

To  John  M'Murdo,  Es(i.,  iii  24. 

To  John  Taylor,  iii  60. 

To  Mary  in  Heaven,  iii  58. 

To  Miss  Cruiclcshank,  a  very  young  lady,  ii  231. 

To  Miss  Kcrrier,  ii  216. 

To  Miss  Graham  of  Fintry,  iii  183. 

To  Miss  Logan,  ii  200. 

To  Mr.  M'Adani  of  Craigan-Gillan,  ii  125. 

To  Mrs.  Scott  of  Waucliope,  ii  202. 

To  Mr.  Synie,  iii  203,  229. 

To  R.  Graliam  of  Fintry  on  receiving  a  favour,  iii  49. 

To  thee,  loved  Nith,  iv  242. 

To  the  Weavers  gin  ye  go,  ii  241. 

Toast,  A,  iii  237. 

Toast,  Tlie,  iii  148. 

Tragic  Fragment,  i  192. 

Train,  Josepli,  i  102. 

Tranent-Muir,  v  186. 

Travelling  Tinker's  Song,  ii  73. 

Tree  of  Liberty,  The,  iii  180. 

True  Loyal  Natives,  'ii  147. 

Tullochgorum,  v  188. 

Turnl)erry  Castle,  Ayrshire  Coast,  view  of,  v  19. 

Turnbnll,  Gavin,  songs  by,  v  151, 152. 

Turnimspike,  Tlie,  v  182. 

Twa  Brigs,  The,  Carlyle  on,  ii  18;  poem,  176;  view  of, 
176. 


Twa  Dogs,  The,  ii  89. 

Twa  Herds,  The,  or  the  Holy  Tuilzie,  i  233. 

'Twas  na  lier  bonnie  blue  e'e,  v  170. 

Tweed  Side,  v  183. 

Tyler,  Samuel,  v  267. 

Tytler,  Alex.  Fiaser,  letter  to,  iv  186;  criticism  of 

Tarn  o'  Shanter,  106;  letter,  227. 
Tytler,  James,  iv  115. 
Tytler,  Wm.  of  Woodhouselee,  ii  210;  letter  to,  v  189. 

Union,  The,  ill  114  (note). 

Up  in  the  Morning  Early,  il  245. 

Up  wi'  the  Carles  o'  Dysart,  iii  248. 

Vedder,  David,  anniversary  verses,  v  217. 

Verses  addressed  to  the  Landlady  of  the  Inn  at  Ross- 
lyn,  ii  208. 

Verses  intended  to  be  written  under  a  noble  Earl's 
portrait,  ii  206. 

Verses  on  John  M'Murdo,  Esq.,  iii  153. 

Verses  on  the  Destruction  of  the  Woods  near  Drum- 
lanrig,  iii  103. 

Verses  to  an  Old  Sweetlieart,  ii  109. 

Verses  written  in  Friars'  Carse  Hermitage,  iii  13. 

Verses  written  u-  er  tlie  Portrait  of  Robert  Fergus- 
son,  ii  202. 

Vision,  A,  iii  108. 

Vision,  Tlie,  ii  111. 

Vision,  The,  Prof.  Wilson  on,  v  18. 

Waddell,  Dr.  Hately,  v  265,  207. 
Wae  is  my  Heart,  iii  199. 

Walker,  Professor  Josiah,  i  57,  77,  125;  ii  103,  184, 
195,  230;  iii  85;  letter,  iv  70;  85;  Wilson  on,  v  77,  83, 
100,  206. 
Walker,  Thomas,  tailor,  Ochiltree,  ii  174. 
Wallace,  Rev.  Alex.,  centenary  address,  v  244. 
Wallace,  Sir  Wm.,  Burns's  enthusiasm  for,  i  17. 
Wallace  Tower,  Ayr,  ii  178  (note). 
Walter,  W.  J.,  iii  259. 
Wandering  Willie,  iii  141, 142;  v  129. 
Warton,  Tlionias,  ii  151. 
Wasliington's  Birthday,  Ode  for,  iii  178. 
Waukin  o'  the  Fauld,  v  185. 
Weary  Pund  o'  Tow,  The,  iii  124. 
Wee  Johny,  ii  165. 
West  Highland  journey,  i  73. 
Westminster  Abbey,  Bust  of  Burns  in,  v  262. 
Whare  live  ye,  my  bonnie  lass,  iii  24(i. 
When  first  my  brave  Johnnie  lad,  iii  241. 
Wlien  I  upon  thy  bosom  lean,  v  187. 
Whistle,  The,  iii  53;  iv  148;  Wilson  on,  v  42;  Lock- 
hart  on,  i  94. 
Whistle  o'er  the  lave  o't,  iii  41. 
Wliite,  Mr.,  Teacher,  Dumfries  Academy,  iv  219. 
White,  Rev.  James,  Boncluirch,  v  207. 
Wliiteford,  Sir  John,  Lines  sent  to,  iii  95;  letters  to, 

iv  19,  40;  letter  from,  41. 
Whittier,  John  G.,  "  Burns,"  v  229. 
Will  ye  go  to  the  Indies,  my  Mary,  v  124. 
Willianis,  Helen  Maria,  iii  '259;  sonnet  by,  iv  49;  140. 
Williamson,  actor,  iii  171. 
Willie  Brewed  a  Peck  o'  Maut,  note  by  Wilson,  in  49; 

Wilson  on,  v  42. 
Willie  Chalmers,  ii  173. 


290 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


WiUie  Stewart,  iti  106. 

Wihon,  Janet,  i  26. 

WlUon,  Jean,  of  Tarbolton,'!  217. 

Wilson,  John  (Dr.  Hornbook),  i  40,  41,  243,  248. 

WiUon,  John,  printer,  Kilmarnock,  i  61,  64;  ii  165, 

188;  iv  33  (note). 
Wilson,  John,  Scottish  vocalist,  i  200. 
Wilson,  Prof.,  notes  by,  iii  182, 216, 228;  Essay  on  the 

Genius,  Character,  and  Writings  of  the  Poet,  v  9; 

Welcome  to  the  Sons  of  Burns,  v  233. 
Wilson,  Professor  George,  centenary  address,  v  246. 
Wilson,  Robert,  Paisley,  iii  105. 
Winter— A  Dirge,  i  201. 
Winter  Night,  ii  103,  Carlyle  on,  ii  18. 
Winter  of  Life,  The,  iii  192;  v  160. 
Wolcot  Dr.  (Peter  Pindar),  iii  140;  v  127, 167, 174. 
Wood,  Dr.  Alex.,  i  82. 


Woodhouselee,  Lord,  iv  186. 

Woodley  Park,  drunken  frolic  at,  iv  283. 

Woods,  Mr.,  actor,  ii  205. 

Wordsworth,  Wm.,  i  62, 121, 136,  244;  ii  121, 164;  Iii 

86;  Address  U>  the  Sons  oi  Burns,  v  212. 
Written  in  a  lady's  pocket-book,  iii  147. 
Written  with  a  pencil  over  the  chimney-piece  in  the 

parlour  of  the  inn  at  Kenmore,  ii  218. 
Written  with  a  pencil  standing  by  the  Fall  of  Fyers, 

ii  223. 

Yestreen  I  had  a  pint  o'  wine,  v  131. 

Young  Highland  Rover,  The,  ii  234. 

Young  Jessie,  iii  144;  v  132. 

Young  Jockey,  iii  36. 

Young,  Rev.  James,  New  Cumnock,  iii  47. 


THE  END. 


at,  Iv  288. 

136,  244;  il  121,  164;  iti 

lurns,  V  212. 

>k,  ill  147. 

e  chimney-piece  in  the 

)re,  ii  218. 

g  by  the  Fall  ot  Fyen, 


V131. 
ii  234. 


inoclc,  iii  47.