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diff --git a/18388.txt b/18388.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..aed6d2d --- /dev/null +++ b/18388.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10400 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Robert Burns, by William Allan Neilson + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Robert Burns + How To Know Him + +Author: William Allan Neilson + +Release Date: May 14, 2006 [EBook #18388] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROBERT BURNS *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Laura Wisewell and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + ROBERT BURNS + + HOW TO KNOW HIM + + + By + WILLIAM ALLAN NEILSON + Professor of English, Harvard University + + Author of + Essentials of Poetry, etc. + + WITH PORTRAIT + + INDIANAPOLIS + THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY + PUBLISHERS + + + COPYRIGHT 1917 + THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY + + + PRESS OF + BRAUNWORTH & CO. + BOOK MANUFACTURERS + BROOKLYN, N.Y. + + + TO + MY BROTHER + + + + +[Illustration: The Nasmyth Portrait of ROBERT BURNS] + + + + +LIST OF POEMS + + + Address to the Deil 282 + Address to the Unco Guid 176 + Ae Fond Kiss 56 + Afton Water 116 + Auld Farmer's New-Year Morning Salutation, The 278 + Auld Lang Syne 100 + Auld Rob Morris 121 + Bannocks o' Barley 165 + Bard's Epitaph, A 308 + Bessy and Her Spinnin'-Wheel 145 + Blue-Eyed Lassie, The 117 + Bonnie Lad that's Far Awa, The 139 + Bonnie Lesley 118 + Braw Braw Lads 140 + Ca' the Yowes 115 + Charlie He's My Darling 168 + Clarinda 58 + Come Boat Me o'er to Charlie 163 + Comin' through the Rye 154 + Contented wi' Little 126 + Cotter's Saturday Night, The 8 + Death and Doctor Hornbook 287 + Death and Dying Words of Poor Mailie, The 23 + De'il's Awa wi' th' Exciseman, The 154 + Deuk's Dang o'er My Daddie, The 155 + Duncan Davison 153 + Duncan Gray 152 + Elegy on Capt. Matthew Henderson 298 + Epistle to a Young Friend 200 + Epistle to Davie 193 + For the Sake o' Somebody 136 + Gloomy Night, The 40 + Go Fetch to Me a Pint o' Wine 88 + Green Grow the Rashes 123 + Had I the Wyte? 148 + Halloween 209 + Handsome Nell 20 + Highland Balou, The 151 + Highland Laddie, The 164 + Highland Mary 113 + Holy Fair, The 228 + Holy Willie's Prayer 173 + How Lang and Dreary 138 + I Hae a Wife 59 + I Hae Been at Crookieden 167 + I'm Owre Young to Marry Yet 143 + It Was a' for Our Rightfu' King 162 + John Anderson, My Jo 146 + Jolly Beggars, The 241 + Kenmure's On and Awa 165 + Lassie wi' the Lint-White Locks 119 + Last May a Braw Wooer 135 + Lea-Rig, The 120 + MacPherson's Farewell 150 + Man's a Man for a' that, A 158 + Mary Morison 28 + Montgomerie's Peggy 120 + My Father Was a Farmer 126 + My Heart's in the Highlands 140 + My Love Is Like a Red Red Rose 102 + My Love She's but a Lassie Yet 144 + My Nannie O 29 + My Nannie's Awa 57 + My Wife's a Winsome Wee Thing 108 + O for Ane an' Twenty, Tam! 129 + O Merry Hae I Been 148 + O This Is No My Ain Lassie 107 + O, Wert Thou in the Cauld Blast 123 + Of a' the Airts 106 + On a Scotch Bard, Gone to the West Indies 42 + On John Dove, Innkeeper 205 + Open the Door to Me, O! 137 + Poet's Welcome to His Love-Begotten Daughter, The 33 + Poor Mailie's Elegy 26 + Poortith Cauld 107 + Prayer in the Prospect of Death, A 32 + Rantin' Dog the Daddie o't, The 134 + Rigs o' Barley, The 30 + Scotch Drink 301 + Scots, Wha Hae 160 + Simmer's a Pleasant Time 131 + Tam Glen 133 + Tam o' Shanter 257 + Tam Samson's Elegy 294 + There Was a Lad 125 + There'll Never Be Peace till Jamie Comes Hame 166 + To a Haggis 306 + To a Louse 274 + To a Mountain Daisy 276 + To a Mouse 272 + To Daunton Me 142 + To Mary in Heaven 114 + To the Rev. John McMath 181 + Twa Dogs, The 219 + Wandering Willie 138 + Weary Pund o' Tow, The 147 + Wha Is that at My Bower Door? 156 + What Can a Young Lassie 142 + Whistle, and I'll Come to Ye, My Lad 132 + Will Ye Go to the Indies, My Mary? 40 + Willie Brew'd a Peck o' Maut 238 + Willie's Wife 156 + Ye Banks and Braes (two versions) 130 + Yestreen I Had a Pint o' Wine 104 + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER PAGE + + I BIOGRAPHY 1 + 1. Alloway, Mount Oliphant, and Lochlea 3 + 2. Mossgiel 31 + 3. Edinburgh 44 + 4. Ellisland 58 + 5. Dumfries 62 + + II INHERITANCE: LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE 69 + + III BURNS AND SCOTTISH SONG 90 + + IV SATIRES AND EPISTLES 171 + + V DESCRIPTIVE AND NARRATIVE POETRY 206 + + VI CONCLUSION 310 + + INDEX 325 + + + + +ROBERT BURNS + + + + +BURNS + + + + +CHAPTER I + +BIOGRAPHY + + + "I have not the most distant pretence to what the pye-coated + guardians of Escutcheons call a Gentleman. When at Edinburgh last + winter, I got acquainted at the Herald's office; and looking thro' + the granary of honors, I there found almost every name in the + kingdom; but for me, + + My ancient but ignoble blood + Has crept thro' scoundrels since the flood. + + Gules, purpure, argent, etc., quite disowned me. My forefathers + rented land of the famous, noble Keiths of Marshal, and had the + honor to share their fate. I do not use the word 'honor' with any + reference to political principles: _loyal_ and _disloyal_ I take + to be merely relative terms in that ancient and formidable court + known in this country by the name of 'club-law.' Those who dare + welcome Ruin and shake hands with Infamy, for what they believe + sincerely to be the cause of their God or their King, are--as Mark + Antony in _Shakspear_ says of Brutus and Cassius--'honorable men.' + I mention this circumstance because it threw my Father on the + world at large; where, after many years' wanderings and + sojournings, he picked up a pretty large quantity of observation + and experience, to which I am indebted for most of my pretensions + to Wisdom. I have met with few who understood Men, their manners + and their ways, equal to him; but stubborn, ungainly Integrity, + and headlong, ungovernable Irascibility, are disqualifying + circumstances; consequently, I was born, a very poor man's son." + + "You can now, Sir, form a pretty near guess of what sort of Wight + he is, whom for some time you have honored with your + correspondence. That Whim and Fancy, keen sensibility and riotous + passions, may still make him zig-zag in his future path of life is + very probable; but, come what will, I shall answer for him--the + most determinate integrity and honor [shall ever characterise + him]; and though his evil star should again blaze in his meridian + with tenfold more direful influence, he may reluctantly tax + friendship with pity, but no more." + +These two paragraphs form respectively the beginning and the end of a +long autobiographical letter written by Robert Burns to Doctor John +Moore, physician and novelist. At the time they were composed, the +poet had just returned to his native county after the triumphant +season in Edinburgh that formed the climax of his career. But no +detailed knowledge of circumstances is necessary to rouse interest +in a man who wrote like that. You may be offended by the +self-consciousness and the swagger, or you may be charmed by the +frankness and dash, but you can not remain indifferent. Burns had many +moods besides those reflected in these sentences, but here we can see +as vividly as in any of his poetry the fundamental characteristics of +the man--sensitive, passionate, independent, and as proud as +Lucifer--whose life and work are the subject of this volume. + + +1. Alloway, Mount Oliphant, and Lochlea + +William Burnes, the father of the poet, came of a family of farmers +and gardeners in the county of Kincardine, on the east coast of +Scotland. At the age of twenty-seven, he left his native district for +the south; and when Robert, his eldest child, was born on January 25, +1759, William was employed as gardener to the provost of Ayr. He had +besides leased some seven acres of land, of which he planned to make a +nursery and market-garden, in the neighboring parish of Alloway; and +there near the Brig o' Doon built with his own hands the clay cottage +now known to literary pilgrims as the birthplace of Burns. His wife, +Agnes Brown, the daughter of an Ayrshire farmer, bore him, besides +Robert, three sons and three daughters. In order to keep his sons at +home instead of sending them out as farm-laborers, the elder Burnes +rented in 1766 the farm of Mount Oliphant, and stocked it on borrowed +money. The venture did not prosper, and on a change of landlords the +family fell into the hands of a merciless agent, whose bullying the +poet later avenged by the portrait of the factor in _The Twa Dogs_. + + I've noticed, on our Laird's court-day,-- + And mony a time my heart's been wae,-- + Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash, + How they maun thole a factor's snash; + He'll stamp and threaten, curse and swear, + He'll apprehend them, poind their gear; + While they maun stan', wi' aspect humble, + And hear it a', and fear and tremble! + +In 1777 Mount Oliphant was exchanged for the farm of Lochlea, about +ten miles away, and here William Burnes labored for the rest of his +life. The farm was poor, and with all he could do it was hard to keep +his head above water. His health was failing, he was harassed with +debts, and in 1784 in the midst of a lawsuit about his lease, he died. + +In spite of his struggle for a bare subsistence, the elder Burnes had +not neglected the education of his children. Before he was six, Robert +was sent to a small school at Alloway Mill, and soon after his father +joined with a few neighbors to engage a young man named John Murdoch +to teach their children in a room in the village. This arrangement +continued for two years and a half, when, Murdoch having been called +elsewhere, the father undertook the task of education himself. The +regular instruction was confined chiefly to the long winter evenings, +but quite as important as this was the intercourse between father and +sons as they went about their work. + + "My father," says the poet's brother Gilbert, "was for some time + almost the only companion we had. He conversed familiarly on all + subjects with us, as if we had been men; and was at great pains, + as we accompanied him in the labours of the farm, to lead the + conversation to such subjects as might tend to increase our + knowledge, or confirm our virtuous habits. He borrowed Salmon's + _Geographical Grammar_ for us, and endeavoured to make us + acquainted with the situation and history of the different + countries in the world; while, from a book-society in Ayr, he + procured for us Derham's _Physics and Astro-Theology_, and Ray's + _Wisdom of God in the Creation_, to give us some idea of astronomy + and natural history. Robert read all these books with an avidity + and industry scarcely to be equalled. My father had been a + subscriber to Stackhouse's _History of the Bible_ ...; from this + Robert collected a competent knowledge of ancient history; for no + book was so voluminous as to slacken his industry, or so + antiquated as to dampen his researches. A brother of my mother, + who had lived with us some time, and had learned some arithmetic + by our winter evening's candle, went into a book-seller's shop in + Ayr to purchase the _Ready Reckoner, or Tradesman's Sure Guide_, + and a book to teach him to write letters. Luckily, in place of the + _Complete Letter-Writer_, he got by mistake a small collection of + letters by the most eminent writers, with a few sensible + directions for attaining an easy epistolary style. This book was + to Robert of the greatest consequence. It inspired him with a + strong desire to excel in letter-writing, while it furnished him + with models by some of the first writers in our language." + +Interesting as are the details as to the antiquated manuals from which +Burns gathered his general information, it is more important to note +the more personal implications in this account. Respect for learning +has long been wide-spread among the peasantry of Scotland, but it is +evident that William Burnes was intellectually far above the average +of his class. The schoolmaster Murdoch has left a portrait of him in +which he not only extols his virtues as a man but emphasizes his +zest for things of the mind, and states that "he spoke the English +language with more propriety--both with respect to diction and +pronunciation--than any man I ever knew, with no greater advantages." +Though tender and affectionate, he seems to have inspired both wife +and children with a reverence amounting to awe, and he struck +strangers as reserved and austere. He recognized in Robert traces of +extraordinary gifts, but he did not hide from him the fact that his +son's temperament gave him anxiety for his future. Mrs. Burnes was a +devoted wife and mother, by no means her husband's intellectual equal, +but vivacious and quick-tempered, with a memory stored with the song +and legend of the country-side. Other details can be filled in from +the poet's own picture of his father's household as given with little +or no idealization in _The Cotter's Saturday Night_. + + +THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT + + My lov'd, my honour'd, much respected friend! + No mercenary bard his homage pays: + With honest pride I scorn each selfish end, + My dearest meed a friend's esteem and praise: + To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, + The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene; + The native feelings strong, the guileless ways; + What Aiken in a cottage would have been-- + Ah! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween. + + November chill blaws load wi' angry sough; [wail] + The shortening winter-day is near a close; + The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh; + The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose: + The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes, + This night his weekly moil is at an end, + Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, + Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, + And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend. + + At length his lonely cot appears in view, + Beneath the shelter of an aged tree; + Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin', stacher through [stagger] + To meet their dad, wi' flichterin' noise an' glee. [fluttering] + His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonnilie, [fire] + His clean hearth-stane, his thrifty wifie's smile, + The lisping infant prattling on his knee, + Does a' his weary kiaugh and care beguile, [worry] + An' makes him quite forget his labour an' his toil. + + Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in, [Soon] + At service out, amang the farmers roun'; + Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin [drive, heedful run] + A cannie errand to a neibor town: [quiet] + Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman-grown, + In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e, [eye] + Comes hame, perhaps to shew a braw new gown, [fine] + Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee, [hard-won wages] + To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. + + With joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters meet, + An' each for other's weelfare kindly spiers: [asks] + The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnoticed fleet; + Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears; [wonders] + The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years; + Anticipation forward points the view. + The mother, wi' her needle an' her sheers, + Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new; [Makes old clothes] + The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. + + Their master's an' their mistress's command + The younkers a' are warned to obey; [youngsters] + An' mind their labours wi' an eydent hand, [diligent] + An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play: [trifle] + 'And O! be sure to fear the Lord alway, + An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night! + Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray, [go] + Implore His counsel and assisting might: + They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright!' + + But hark! a rap comes gently to the door; + Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, [knows] + Tells how a neibor lad cam o'er the moor, + To do some errands, and convoy her hame. + The wily mother sees the conscious flame + Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek; + Wi' heart-struck anxious care, inquires his name, + While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak; [half] + Weel pleased the mother hears it's nae wild worthless rake. + + Wi' kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben; [in] + A strappin' youth; he takes the mother's eye; + Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en; + The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. [chats, cows] + The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, + But blate and laithfu', scarce can weel behave; [shy, bashful] + The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy + What makes the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave; + Weel-pleased to think her bairn's respected like the lave. [child, rest] + + O happy love! where love like this is found; + O heart-felt raptures! bliss beyond compare! + I've paced much this weary mortal round, + And sage experience bids me this declare:-- + 'If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, + One cordial in this melancholy vale, + 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair + In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, + Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale.' + + Is there, in human form, that bears a heart-- + A wretch, a villain, lost to love and truth-- + That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art, + Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth? + Curse on his perjur'd arts, dissembling, smooth! + Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exil'd? + Is there no pity, no relenting ruth, + Points to the parents fondling o'er their child? + Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their distraction wild? + + But now the supper crowns their simple board, + The halesome parritch, chief of Scotia's food: [wholesome] + The sowpe their only hawkie does afford, [milk, cow] + That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood; [beyond, partition, + The dame brings forth in complimental mood, cud] + To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck, fell; [well-saved cheese, + And aft he's prest, and aft he ca's it good; strong] + The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell + How 'twas a towmond auld sin' lint was i' the bell. [twelve-month, flax, + flower] + The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face + They round the ingle form a circle wide; + The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, + The big ha'-bible, ance his father's pride: [family-Bible] + His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, + His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare; [gray hair on temples] + Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide-- + He wales a portion with judicious care, [chooses] + And 'Let us worship God!' he says with solemn air. + + They chant their artless notes in simple guise; + They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim; + Perhaps Dundee's wild warbling measures rise, + Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name; + Or noble Elgin beets the heav'nward flame, [fans] + The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays: + Compared with these, Italian trills are tame; + The tickled ears no heartfelt raptures raise; + Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. [No, have] + + The priest-like father reads the sacred page, + How Abram was the friend of God on high; + Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage + With Amalek's ungracious progeny; + Or how the royal bard did groaning lie + Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire; + Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry; + Or rapt Isaiah's wild seraphic fire; + Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. + + Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, + How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed; + How He who bore in Heaven the second name + Had not on earth whereon to lay His head; + How His first followers and servants sped; + The precepts sage they wrote to many a land: + How he, who lone in Patmos banished, + Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand, + And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounced by Heaven's command. + + Then kneeling down to Heaven's Eternal King + The saint, the father, and the husband prays: + Hope 'springs exulting on triumphant wing' + That thus they all shall meet in future days: + There ever bask in uncreated rays, + No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, + Together hymning their Creator's praise, + In such society, yet still more dear; + While circling Time moves round in an eternal sphere. + + Compared with this, how poor Religion's pride, + In all the pomp of method and of art, + When men display to congregations wide + Devotion's every grace, except the heart! + The Power, incensed, the pageant will desert, + The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole; + But haply, in some cottage far apart, + May hear, well pleased, the language of the soul; + And in His Book of Life the inmates poor enrol. + + Then homeward all take off their several way; + The youngling cottagers retire to rest: + The parent-pair their secret homage pay, + And proffer up to Heav'n the warm request, + That He who stills the raven's clamorous nest, + And decks the lily fair in flowery pride, + Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best, + For them and for their little ones provide; + But chiefly in their hearts with grace divine preside. + + From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, + That makes her loved at home, revered abroad: + Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, + 'An honest man's the noblest work of God;' + And certes, in fair Virtue's heavenly road, + The cottage leaves the palace far behind; + What is a lordling's pomp? a cumbrous load, + Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, + Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refin'd! + + O Scotia! my dear, my native soil! + For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent! + Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil + Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content! + And O may Heaven their simple lives prevent + From luxury's contagion, weak and vile; + Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, + A virtuous populace may rise the while, + And stand a wall of fire around their much-loved isle. + + O Thou! who poured the patriotic tide + That streamed thro' Wallace's undaunted heart, + Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride, + Or nobly die--the second glorious part, + (The patriot's God, peculiarly thou art, + His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!) + O never, never, Scotia's realm desert; + But still the patriot, and the patriot-bard, + In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard! + +No less impressive than that of his father is the intellectual hunger +of the future poet himself. We have had Gilbert's testimony to the +eagerness with which he devoured such books as came within his reach, +and the use he made of his later fragments of schooling points the +same way. He had a quarter at the parish school of Dalrymple when he +was thirteen; and in the following summer he attended the school at +Ayr under his former Alloway instructor. Murdoch's own account of +these three weeks gives an idea of Burns's quickness of apprehension; +and the style of it is worth noting with reference to the +characteristics of the poet's own prose. + + "In 1773," says Murdoch, "Robert Burns came to board and lodge + with me, for the purpose of revising English grammar, etc., that + he might be better qualified to instruct his brothers and sisters + at home. He was now with me day and night, in school, at all + meals, and in all my walks. At the end of one week, I told him as + he was now pretty much master of the parts of speech, etc., I + should like to teach him something of French pronunciation, that + when he should meet with the name of a French town, ship, officer, + or the like, in the newspapers, he might be able to pronounce it + something like a French word. Robert was glad to hear this + proposal, and immediately we attacked the French with great + courage. + + "Now there was little else to be heard but the declension of + nouns, the conjugation of verbs, etc. When walking together, and + even at meals, I was constantly telling him the names of different + objects, as they presented themselves, in French; so that he was + hourly laying in a stock of words, and sometimes little phrases. + In short, he took such pleasure in learning, and I in teaching, + that it was difficult to say which of the two was most zealous in + the business; and about the end of the second week of our study of + the French, we began to read a little of the _Adventures of + Telemachus_ in Fenelon's own words. + + "But now the plains of Mount Oliphant began to whiten, and Robert + was summoned to relinquish the pleasing scenes that surrounded the + grotto of Calypso, and armed with a sickle, to seek glory by + signalising himself in the fields of Ceres; and so he did, for + although but about fifteen, I was told that he performed the work + of a man." + +The record of Burns's school-days is completed by the mention of a +sojourn, probably in the summer of 1775, in his mother's parish of +Kirkoswald. Hither he went to study mathematics and surveying under a +teacher of local note, and, in spite of the convivial attractions of a +smuggling village, seems to have made progress in his geometry till +his head was turned by a girl who lived next door to the school. + +So far the education gained by Burns from his schoolmasters and his +father had been almost exclusively moral and intellectual. It was in +less formal ways that his imagination was fed. From his mother he had +heard from infancy the ballads, legends, and songs that were +traditionary among the peasantry; and the influence of these was +re-enforced by a certain Betty Davidson, an unfortunate relative of +his mother's to whom the family gave shelter for a time. + + "In my infant and boyish days, too," he writes in the letter to + Doctor Moore already quoted, "I owed much to an old maid of my + mother's, remarkable for her ignorance, credulity, and + superstition. She had, I suppose, the largest collection in the + country, of tales and songs concerning devils, ghosts, fairies, + brownies, witches, warlocks, spunkies, kelpies, elf-candles, + dead-lights, wraiths, apparitions, cantraips, enchanted towers, + giants, dragons, and other trumpery. This cultivated the latent + seeds of Poesy; but had so strong an effect on my imagination, + that to this hour, in my nocturnal rambles, I sometimes keep a + sharp look-out in suspicious places; and though nobody can be more + sceptical in these matters than I, yet it often takes an effort of + philosophy to shake off these idle terrors." + +His private reading also contained much that must have stimulated his +imagination and broadened his interests. It began with a _Life of +Hannibal_, and Hamilton's modernized version of the _History of Sir +William Wallace_, which last, he says, with the touch of flamboyancy +that often recurs in his style, "poured a Scottish prejudice in my +veins, which will boil along there till the flood-gates of life shut +in eternal rest." By the time he was eighteen he had, in addition to +books already mentioned, become acquainted with Shakespeare, Pope +(including the translation of Homer), Thomson, Shenstone, Allan +Ramsay, and a _Select Collection of Songs, Scotch and English_; with +the _Spectator_, the _Pantheon_, Locke's _Essay on the Human +Understanding_, Sterne, and Henry Mackenzie. To these must be added +some books on farming and gardening, a good deal of theology, and, of +course, the Bible. + +The pursuing of intellectual interests such as are implied in this +list is the more significant when we remember that it was carried on +in the scanty leisure of a life of labor so severe that it all but +broke the poet's health, and probably left permanent marks on his +physique. Yet he had energy left for still other avocations. It was +when he was no more than fifteen that he first experienced the twin +passions that came to dominate his life, love and song. The girl who +was the occasion was his partner in the harvest field, Nelly +Kilpatrick; the song he addressed to her is the following: + + +HANDSOME NELL + + O, once I lov'd a bonnie lass, + Aye, and I love her still, + And whilst that virtue warms my breast + I'll love my handsome Nell. + + As bonnie lasses I hae seen, + And mony full as braw, [fine] + But for a modest gracefu' mien + The like I never saw. + + A bonnie lass, I will confess, + Is pleasant to the e'e, [eye] + But without some better qualities + She's no a lass for me. + + But Nelly's looks are blithe and sweet, + And what is best of a', [all] + Her reputation is complete, + And fair without a flaw. + + She dresses aye sae clean and neat, + Both decent and genteel; + And then there's something in her gait + Gars ony dress look weel. [Makes] + + A gaudy dress and gentle air + May slightly touch the heart, + But it's innocence and modesty + That polishes the dart. + + 'Tis this in Nelly pleases me, + 'Tis this enchants my soul! + For absolutely in my breast + She reigns without control. + +Since there may still be readers who suppose that Burns was a mere +unsophisticated singer, without power of self-criticism, it may be as +well to insert here a passage from a Commonplace Book written in 1783, +ten years after the composition of the song. + + _Criticism on the Foregoing Song_ + + "Lest my works should be thought below Criticism; or meet with a + Critic who, perhaps, will not look on them with so candid and + favorable an eye; I am determined to criticise them myself. + + "The first distich of the first stanza is quite too much in the + flimsy strain of our ordinary street ballads; and on the other + hand, the second distich is too much in the other extreme. The + expression is a little awkward, and the sentiment 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 agreeables, or what + in our Scotch dialect we 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 indifferent + 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 fairly up to my favorite idea [of] 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 short syllables hurts + the whole. The seventh Stanza has several minute faults; but I + remember I composed it in a wild enthusiasm of passion, and to + this hour I never recollect it but my heart melts, and my blood + sallies at the remembrance." + +In spite of the early start in poetry given him by Nelly Kilpatrick, +he did not produce more than a few pieces of permanent value during +the next ten years. He did, however, go on developing and branching +out in his social activities, in spite of the depressing grind of the +farm. He attended a dancing school (much against his father's will), +helped to establish a "Bachelors' Club" for debating, and found time +for further love-affairs. That with Ellison Begbie, celebrated by him +in _The Lass of Cessnock Banks_, he took very seriously, and he +proposed marriage to the girl in some portentously solemn epistles +which remain to us as the earliest examples of his prose. In order to +put himself in a position to marry, he determined to learn the trade +of flax-dressing; and though Ellison refused him, he went to the +neighboring seaport of Irvine to carry out his purpose in the summer +of 1781. The flax-dressing experiment ended disastrously with a fire +which burned the workshop, and Burns returned penniless to the farm. +The poems written about this time express profound melancholy, a mood +natural enough in the circumstances, and aggravated by his poor +nervous and physical condition. + +But his spirit could not remain permanently depressed, and shortly +after his return to Lochlea, a trifling accident to a ewe he had +bought prompted him to the following delightful and characteristic +production. + + +THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR MAILIE, THE AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOWE + + As Mailie, an' her lambs thegither, [together] + Was ae day nibbling on the tether, [one] + Upon her cloot she coost a hitch, [hoof, looped] + An' owre she warsled in the ditch; [over, floundered] + There, groaning, dying, she did lie, + When Hughoc he cam doytin by. [doddering] + Wi glowrin' een, an' lifted han's, [staring] + Poor Hughoc like a statue stan's; + He saw her days were near-hand ended, + But wae's my heart! he could na mend it! + He gaped wide, but naething spak; + At length poor Mailie silence brak:-- + + 'O thou, whase lamentable face + Appears to mourn my woefu' case! + My dying words attentive hear, + An' bear them to my Master dear. + 'Tell him, if e'er again he keep [own] + As muckle gear as buy a sheep,-- [much money] + O bid him never tie them mair + Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair! + Bat ca' them out to park or hill, [drive] + An' let them wander at their will; + So may his flock increase, an' grow + To scores o' lambs, an' packs o' woo'! [wool] + 'Tell him he was a Master kin', + An' aye was guid to me an' mine; + An' now my dying charge I gie him, [give] + My helpless lambs, I trust them wi' him. + 'O bid him save their harmless lives + Frae dogs, an' tods, an' butchers' knives! [foxes] + But gie them guid cow-milk their fill, + Till they be fit to fend themsel: [look after] + An' tent them duly, e'en an' morn, [tend] + Wi' teats o' hay an' ripps o' corn. [bunches, handfuls] + 'An' may they never learn the gates [ways] + Of ither vile wanrestfu' pets-- [restless] + To slink thro' slaps, an' reave an' steal, [holes in fences] + At stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kail. [plants] + So may they, like their great forbears, + For mony a year come thro' the shears; + So wives will gie them bits o' bread, + An' bairns greet for them when they're dead. [weep] + 'My poor tup-lamb, my son an' heir, + O bid him breed him up wi' care! + An', if he live to be a beast, + To pit some havins in his breast! [put, behavior] + An' warn him, what I winna name, [will not] + To stay content wi' yowes at hame; [ewes] + An' no to rin an' wear his cloots, [hoofs] + Like ither menseless graceless brutes. [unmannerly] + 'An neist my yowie, silly thing, [next] + Gude keep thee frae a tether string! + O may thou ne'er forgather up [make friends] + Wi' ony blastit moorland tup; + But ay keep mind to moop an' mell, [nibble, meddle] + Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel! + 'And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath + I lea'e my blessin' wi' you baith; + An' when you think upo' your mither, + Mind to be kind to ane anither. + 'Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fail + To tell my master a' my tale; + An' bid him burn this cursed tether; + An', for thy pains, thou'se get my blether.' [bladder] + + This said, poor Mailie turn'd her head, + An' closed her een amang the dead! [eyes] + + +POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY + + Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, + Wi' saut tears tricklin' down your nose, [salt] + Our bardie's fate is at a close, + Past a' remead; [remedy] + The last sad cape-stane of his woes-- [cope-stone] + Poor Mailie's dead! + + It's no the loss o' warl's gear [worldly lucre] + That could sae bitter draw the tear, + Or mak our bardie, dowie, wear [downcast] + The mourning weed: + He's lost a friend and neibor dear + In Mailie dead. + + Thro' a' the toun she trotted by him; + A lang half-mile she could descry him; + Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him, + She ran wi' speed: + A friend mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigh him + Than Mailie dead. + + I wat she was a sheep o' sense, [wot] + An' could behave hersel wi' mense; [manners] + I'll say't, she never brak a fence + Thro' thievish greed. + Our bardie, lanely, keeps the spence [parlor] + Sin' Mailie's dead. [Since] + + Or, if he wanders up the howe, [glen] + Her living image in her yowe [ewe-lamb] + Comes bleating to him, owre the knowe, [knoll] + For bits o' bread, + An' down the briny pearls rowe [roll] + For Mailie dead. + + She was nae get o' moorland tups, [issue] + Wi' tawted ket, an' hairy hips; [matted fleece] + For her forbears were brought in ships + Frae 'yont the Tweed; + A bonnier fleesh ne'er cross'd the clips [fleece, shears] + Than Mailie's, dead. + + Wae worth the man wha first did shape [Woe to] + That vile wanchancie thing--a rape! [dangerous] + It maks guid fellows girn an' gape, [growl] + Wi' chokin' dread; + An' Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape + For Mailie dead. + + O a' ye bards on bonnie Doon! + An' wha on Ayr your chanters tune! [bagpipes] + Come, join the melancholious croon + O' Robin's reed; + His heart will never get aboon! [rejoice] + His Mailie's dead! + +How long he continued to mourn for Ellison Begbie, it is hard to say; +but the three following songs, inspired, it would seem, by three +different girls, testify at once to his power of recuperation and the +rapid maturing of his talent. All seem to have been written between +the date of his return from Irvine and the death of his father. + + +MARY MORISON + + O Mary, at thy window be, + It is the wish'd, the trysted hour! + Those smiles and glances let me see, + That make the miser's treasure poor: + How blythely wad I bide the stoure, [bear, struggle] + A weary slave frae sun to sun, + Could I the rich reward secure, + The lovely Mary Morison. + + Yestreen, when to the trembling string [Last night] + The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', [went] + To thee my fancy took its wing, + I sat, but neither heard nor saw: + Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, [fine] + And yon the toast of a' the town, [the other] + I sigh'd, and said amang them a', + 'Ye are na Mary Morison.' + + O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, + Wha for thy sake wad gladly die? + Or canst thou break that heart of his, + Whase only faut is loving thee? [fault] + If love for love thou wilt na gie, + At least be pity to me shown! + A thought ungentle canna be + The thought o' Mary Morison. + + +MY NANNIE O + + Behind yon hills where Lugar flows, + 'Mang moors an' mosses many, O, + The wintry sun the day has clos'd, + And I'll awa' to Nannie, O. + + The westlin wind blaws loud an' shill, [western, keen] + The night's baith mirk and rainy, O; [both dark] + But I'll get my plaid, an' out I'll steal, + An' owre the hill to Nannie, O. [over] + + My Nannie's charming, sweet, an' young: + Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O: + May ill befa' the flattering tongue + That wad beguile my Nannie, O. + + Her face is fair, her heart is true, + As spotless as she's bonnie, O: + The opening gowan, wat wi' dew, [daisy, wet] + Nae purer is than Nannie, O. + + A country lad is my degree, + An' few there be that ken me, O; + But what care I how few they be, + I'm welcome aye to Nannie, O. + + My riches a's my penny-fee, [wages] + An' I maun guide it cannie, O; [carefully] + But warl's gear ne'er troubles me, [lucre] + My thoughts are a'--my Nannie, O. + + Our auld guidman delights to view + His sheep an' kye thrive bonnie, O. [cows] + But I'm as blythe that hauds his pleugh, [holds] + An' has nae care but Nannie, O. + + Come weel, come woe, I care na by, [reck not] + I'll tak what Heav'n will send me, O; + Nae ither care in life have I, + But live, an' love my Nannie, O. + + +THE RIGS O' BARLEY + + It was upon a Lammas night, + When corn rigs are bonnie, [ridges] + Beneath the moon's unclouded light + I held awa to Annie: [took my way] + The time flew by wi' tentless heed, [careless] + Till, 'tween the late and early, + Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed + To see me thro' the barley. + + The sky was blue, the wind was still, + The moon was shining clearly; + I set her down wi' right good will + Amang the rigs o' barley; + I kent her heart was a' my ain; [knew, own] + I loved her most sincerely; + I kissed her owre and owre again [over] + Amang the rigs o' barley. + + I locked her in my fond embrace; + Her heart was beating rarely; + My blessings on that happy place, + Amang the rigs o' barley! + But by the moon and stars so bright, + That shone that hour so clearly, + She aye shall bless that happy night + Amang the rigs o' barley. + + I hae been blythe wi' comrades dear; + I hae been merry drinking; + I hae been joyfu' gatherin' gear; [property] + I hae been happy thinking: + But a' the pleasures e'er I saw, + Tho' three times doubled fairly, + That happy night was worth them a', + Amang the rigs o' barley. + + Corn rigs, an' barley rigs, + An' corn rigs are bonnie: + I'll ne'er forget that happy night, + Amang the rigs wi' Annie. + + +2. Mossgiel + +On the death of their father, Robert and Gilbert Burns moved with the +family to the farm of Mossgiel in the next parish of Mauchline. By +putting in a claim for arrears of wages, they succeeded in drawing +enough from the wreck of their father's estate to supply a scanty +stock for the new venture. The records of the first summer show the +poet in anything but a happy frame of mind. His health was miserable; +and the loosening of his moral principles, which he ascribes to the +influence of a young sailor he had met at Irvine, bore fruit in the +birth to him of an illegitimate daughter by a servant girl, Elizabeth +Paton. The verses which carry allusion to this affair are illuminating +for his character. One group is devout and repentant; the other marked +sometimes by cynical bravado, sometimes by a note of exultation. Both +may be regarded as genuine enough expressions of moods which +alternated throughout his life, and which corresponded to conflicting +sides of his nature. Here is a typical example of the former: + + +A PRAYER IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH + + O Thou unknown Almighty Cause + Of all my hope and fear! + In whose dread presence ere an hour, + Perhaps I must appear! + + If I have wander'd in those paths + Of life I ought to shun; + As something, loudly in my breast, + Remonstrates I have done; + + Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me + With passions wild and strong; + And list'ning to their witching voice + Has often led me wrong. + + Where human weakness has come short, + Or frailty stept aside, + Do thou, All-Good! for such Thou art, + In shades of darkness hide. + + Where with intention I have err'd, + No other plea I have, + But thou art good; and Goodness still + Delighteth to forgive. + +In his _Epistle to John Rankine_, with a somewhat hard and heartless +humor, he braves out the affair; in the following _Welcome_ he treats +it with a tender pride, as sincere as his remorse: + + +THE POET'S WELCOME TO HIS LOVE-BEGOTTEN DAUGHTER + + Thou's welcome, wean! Mishanter fa' me, [child! Misfortune befall] + If ought of thee, or of thy mammy, + Shall ever daunton me, or awe me, + My sweet wee lady, + Or if I blush when thou shalt ca' me + Tit-ta or daddy. + + What tho' they ca' me fornicator, + An' tease my name in kintra clatter: [country gossip] + The mair they talk I'm kent the better, [more] + E'en let them clash; [tattle] + An auld wife's tongue's a feckless matter [feeble] + To gie ane fash. [give one annoyance] + + Welcome, my bonnie, sweet wee dochter-- + Tho' ye come here a wee unsought for, + An' tho' your comin' I hae fought for + Baith kirk an' queir; [choir] + Yet, by my faith, ye're no unwrought for! + That I shall swear! + + Sweet fruit o' mony a merry dint, + My funny toil is no a' tint, [not all lost] + Tho' thou came to the warl' asklent, [askew] + Which fools may scoff at; + In my last plack thy part's be in't-- [a small coin] + The better half o't. + + Tho' I should be the waur bested, [worse off] + Thou's be as braw an' bienly clad, [finely, comfortably] + An' thy young years as nicely bred + Wi' education, + As ony brat o' wedlock's bed + In a' thy station. + + Wee image of my bonnie Betty, + As fatherly I kiss and daut thee, [pet] + As dear an' near my heart I set thee + Wi' as guid will, + As a' the priests had seen me get thee + That's out o' hell. + + Gude grant that thou may aye inherit [God] + Thy mither's looks and gracefu' merit, + An' thy poor worthless daddy's spirit, + Without his failins; + 'Twill please me mair to see thee heir it, + Than stockit mailins. [farms] + + An' if thou be what I wad hae thee, [would have] + An' tak the counsel I shall gie thee, + I'll never rue my trouble wi' thee-- + The cost nor shame o't-- + But be a loving father to thee, + And brag the name o't. + +At Mossgiel the Burns family was no more successful than in either of +its previous farms. Bad seed and bad weather gave two poor harvests, +and by the summer of 1786 the poet's financial condition was again +approaching desperation. His situation was made still more +embarrassing by the consequences of another of his amours. Shortly +after moving to the parish of Mauchline he had fallen in love with +Jean Armour, the daughter of a mason in the village. What was for +Burns a prolonged courtship ensued, and in the spring of 1786 he +learned that Jean's condition was such that he gave her a paper +acknowledging her as his wife. To his surprise and mortification the +girl's father, who is said to have had a personal dislike to him and +who well may have thought a man with his reputation and prospects was +no promising son-in-law, opposed the marriage, forced Jean to give up +the paper, and sent her off to another town. Burns chose to regard +Jean's submission to her father as inexcusable faithlessness, and +proceeded to indulge in the ecstatic misery of the lover betrayed. +There is no doubt that he suffered keenly from the affair: he writes +to his friends that he could "have no nearer idea of the place of +eternal punishment" than what he had felt in his "own breast on her +account. I have tried often to forget her: I have run into all kinds +of dissipation and riot ... to drive her out of my head, but all in +vain." This is in a later letter than that in which he has "sunk into +a lurid calm," and "subsided into the time-settled sorrow of the sable +widower." + +Yet other evidence shows that at this crisis also Burns's emotional +experience was far from simple. It was probably during the summer of +the same year that there occurred the passages with the mysterious +Highland Mary, a girl whose identity, after voluminous controversy, +remains vague, but who inspired some of his loftiest love poetry. +Though Burns's feeling for her seems to have been a kind of interlude +in reaction from the "cruelty" of Jean, he idealized it beyond his +wont, and the subject of it has been exalted to the place among his +heroines which is surely due to the long-suffering woman who became +his wife. + +In this same summer Burns formed the project of emigrating. He +proposed to go to the West Indies, and return for Jean when he had +made provision to support her. This offer was refused by James Armour, +but Burns persevered with the plan, obtained a position in Jamaica, +and in the autumn engaged passage in a ship sailing from Greenock. The +song, _Will Ye Go to the Indies; My Mary_, seems to imply that +Highland Mary was invited to accompany him, but substantial evidence +of this, as of most things concerning his relations with Mary +Campbell, is lacking. _From Thee, Eliza, I Must Go_, supposed to be +addressed to Elizabeth Miller, also belongs to this summer, and is +taken to refer to another of the "under-plots in his drama of love." + +Meantime, at the suggestion of his friend and patron, Gavin Hamilton, +Burns had begun to arrange for a subscription edition of his poems. It +seems to have been only after he went to Mossgiel that he had +seriously conceived the idea of writing for publication, and the +decision was followed by a year of the most extraordinary fertility in +composition. To 1785-1786 are assigned such satires as _Holy Willie_ +and the _Address to the Unco Guid_; a group of the longer poems +including _The Cotter's Saturday Night_, _The Jolly Beggars_, +_Halloween_, _The Holy Fair_, _The Twa Dogs_ and _The Vision_; some +shorter but no less famous pieces, such as the poems _To a Louse_, _To +a Mouse_, _To the Deil_, _To a Mountain Daisy_ and _Scotch Drink_; and +a number of the best of his _Epistles_. Many of these, especially the +church satires, had obtained a considerable local fame through +circulation in manuscript, so that, proposals having been issued for +an edition to be printed by Wilson of Kilmarnock, it was not found +difficult to obtain subscriptions for more than half the edition of +six hundred and twelve copies. The prospect of some return from this +enterprise induced James Armour to take legal measures to obtain +support for Jean's expected child, and Burns, fearing imprisonment, +was forced to go into hiding while his book was passing the press. The +church, too, had taken cognizance of his offense, and both Jean and he +had to stand up before the congregation on three occasions to receive +rebuke and make profession of repentance. He was at the same time +completing the preparations for his voyage. In such extraordinary +circumstances appeared the famous Kilmarnock edition, the immediate +success of which soon produced a complete alteration in the whole +outlook of the poet. + +In the first place, the consideration Burns gained from his volume +induced Armour to relax his pursuit, and in September, when Jean +became the mother of twins, the poet was in such a mood that the +sentiment of paternity began to weigh against the proposed emigration. +Some weeks later he learned through a friend that Doctor Blacklock, a +poet and scholar of standing in literary circles in Edinburgh, had +praised his volume highly, and urged a second and larger edition. The +upshot was that he gave up his passage (his trunk had been packed and +was part way to Greenock), and determined instead on a visit to +Edinburgh. The only permanent result of the whole West Indian scheme +was thus a sheaf of amorous and patriotic farewells, of which the +following may be taken as examples: + + +WILL YE GO TO THE INDIES, MY MARY? + + Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, + And leave auld Scotia's shore? + Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, + Across the Atlantic's roar? + + O sweet grows the lime and the orange, + And the apple on the pine; + But a' the charms o' the Indies + Can never equal thine. + + I hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary, + I hae sworn by the Heavens to be true; + And sae may the Heavens forget me, + When I forget my vow! + + O plight me your faith, my Mary, + And plight me your lily-white hand; + O plight me your faith, my Mary, + Before I leave Scotia's strand. + + We hae plighted our troth, my Mary, + In mutual affection to join; + And curst be the cause that shall part us! + The hour, and the moment o' time! + + +THE GLOOMY NIGHT + + The gloomy night is gathering fast, + Loud roars the wild inconstant blast, + Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, + I see it driving o'er the plain; + The hunter now has left the moor, + The scatter'd coveys meet secure, + While here I wander, prest with care, + Along the lonely banks of Ayr. + + The Autumn mourns her ripening corn + By early Winter's ravage torn; + Across her placid azure sky, + She sees the scowling tempest fly: + Chill runs my blood to hear it rave, + I think upon the stormy wave, + Where many a danger I must dare, + Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr. + + 'Tis not the surging billow's roar, + 'Tis not that fatal, deadly shore; + Tho' death in ev'ry shape appear, + The wretched have no more to fear: + But round my heart the ties are bound, + That heart transpierc'd with many a wound: + These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, + To leave the bonnie banks of Ayr. + + Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales, + Her heathy moors and winding vales; + The scenes where wretched fancy roves, + Pursuing past unhappy loves! + Farewell, my friends! Farewell, my foes! + My peace with these, my love with those; + The bursting tears my heart declare, + Farewell, my bonnie banks of Ayr! + + +ON A SCOTCH BARD, GONE TO THE WEST INDIES + + A' ye wha live by sowps o' drink, [sups] + A' ye wha live by crambo-clink, [rhyme] + A' ye wha live an' never think, + Come mourn wi' me! + Our billie's gi'en us a' a jink, [fellow, the slip] + An' owre the sea. + + Lament him, a' ye rantin core, [jovial set] + Wha dearly like a random-splore; [frolic] + Nae mair he'll join the merry roar, + In social key; + For now he's taen anither shore, + An' owre the sea! + + The bonnie lasses weel may wiss him, [wish for] + And in their dear petitions place him, + The widows, wives, an' a' may bless him + Wi' tearfu' e'e; + For weel I wat they'll sairly miss him [wot, sorely] + That's owre the sea! + + O Fortune, they hae room to grumble! + Hadst thou taen aff some drowsy bummle, [drone] + Wha can do nought but fyke an' fumble, [fuss] + 'Twad been nae plea; [grievance] + But he was gleg as ony wumble, [lively, auger] + That's owre the sea! + + Auld cantie Kyle may weepers wear, [cheerful, mourning bands] + An' stain them wi' the saut, saut tear: [salt] + 'Twill mak her poor auld heart, I fear, + In flinders flee; [fragments] + He was her Laureat mony a year, + That's owre the sea! + + He saw misfortune's cauld nor-west + Lang mustering up a bitter blast; + A jillet brak his heart at last-- [jilt] + Ill may she be! + So took a berth afore the mast, + An' owre the sea. + + To tremble under Fortune's cummock [cudgel] + On scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock, [meal and water] + Wi' his proud independent stomach, + Could ill agree; + So row't his hurdies in a hammock, [rolled, buttocks] + An' owre the sea. + + He ne'er was gi'en to great misguidin', + Yet coin his pouches wad na bide in; [pockets would] + Wi' him it ne'er was under hidin', + He dealt it free: + The Muse was a' that he took pride in, + That's owre the sea. + + Jamaica bodies, use him weel, + An' hap him in a cozie biel; [cover, shelter] + Ye'll find him aye a dainty chiel, [fellow] + And fu' o' glee; + He wad na wrang'd the vera deil, + That's owre the sea. + + Fareweel, my rhyme-composing billie! + Your native soil was right ill-willie; [unkind] + But may ye flourish like a lily, + Now bonnilie! + I'll toast ye in my hindmost gillie, [last gill] + Tho' owre the sea! + + +3. Edinburgh + +On the twenty-seventh of November, 1786, mounted on a borrowed pony, +Burns set out for Edinburgh. He seems to have arrived there without +definite plans, for, after having found lodging with his old friend +Richmond, he spent the first few days strolling about the city. At +home Burns had been an enthusiastic freemason, and it was through a +masonic friend, Mr. James Dalrymple of Orangefield, near Ayr, that he +was introduced to Edinburgh society. A decade or two earlier, that +society, under the leadership of men like Adam Smith and David Hume +had reached a high degree of intellectual distinction. A decade or two +later, under Sir Walter Scott and the Reviewers it was again to be in +some measure, if for the last time, a rival to London as a literary +center. But when Burns visited it there was a kind of interregnum, +and, little though he or they guessed it, none of the celebrities he +met possessed genius comparable to his own. In a very few weeks it was +evident that he was to be the lion of the season. By December +thirteenth he is writing to a friend at Ayr: + + "I have found a worthy warm friend in Mr. Dalrymple, of + Orangefield, who introduced me to Lord Glencairn, a man whose + worth and brotherly kindness to me I shall remember when time + shall be no more. By his interest it is passed in the Caledonian + Hunt, and entered in their books, that they are to take each a + copy of the second edition [of the poems], for which they are to + pay one guinea. I have been introduced to a good many of the + Noblesse, but my avowed patrons and patronesses are the Duchess of + Gordon, the Countess of Glencairn, with my Lord and Lady + Betty--the Dean of Faculty [Honorable Henry Erskine]--Sir John + Whitefoord. I have likewise warm friends among the literati; + Professors [Dugald] Stewart, Blair, and Mr. Mackenzie--the Man of + Feeling." + +Through Glencairn he met Creech the book-seller, with whom he +arranged for his second edition, and through the patrons he mentions +and the Edinburgh freemasons, among whom he was soon at home, a large +subscription list was soon made up. In the _Edinburgh Magazine_ for +October, November, and December, James Sibbald had published favorable +notices of the Kilmarnock edition, with numerous extracts, and when +Henry Mackenzie gave it high praise in his _Lounger_ for December +ninth, and the _London Monthly Review_ followed suit in the same +month, it was felt that the poet's reputation was established. + +Of Burns's bearing in the fashionable and cultivated society into +which he so suddenly found himself plunged we have many contemporary +accounts. They are practically unanimous in praise of the taste and +tact with which he acquitted himself. While neither shy nor +aggressive, he impressed every one with his brilliance in +conversation, his shrewdness in observation, and criticism, and his +poise and common sense in his personal relations. One of the best +descriptions of him was given by Sir Walter Scott to Lockhart. Scott +as a boy of sixteen met Burns at the house of Doctor Adam Ferguson, +and thus reports: + + "His person was strong and robust; his manners rustic, not + clownish; a sort of dignified plainness and simplicity, which + received part of its effect perhaps from one's knowledge of his + extraordinary talents.... I would have taken the poet, had I not + known what he was, for a very sagacious country farmer of the old + Scotch school; that is, none of your modern agriculturists who + keep labourers for their drudgery, but the _douce guidman_ who + held his own plough. There was a strong expression of sense and + shrewdness in all his lineaments: the eye alone, I think, + indicated the poetical character and temperament. It was large, + and of a cast which glowed (I say literally glowed) when he spoke + with feeling or interest. I never saw such another eye in a human + head, though I have seen the most distinguished men of my time. + His conversation expressed perfect self-confidence, without the + slightest presumption. Among the men who were the most learned of + their time and country, he expressed himself with perfect + firmness, but without the least intrusive forwardness; and when he + differed an opinion, he did not hesitate to express it firmly, yet + at the same time with modesty.... I have only to add, that his + dress corresponded with his manner. He was like a farmer dressed + in his best to dine with the laird. I do not speak _in malam + partem_, when I say I never saw a man in company with his + superiors in station and information, more perfectly free from + either the reality or the affectation of embarrassment. I was + told, but did not observe it, that his address to females was + extremely deferential, and always with a turn either to the + pathetic or humorous, which engaged their attention particularly. + I have heard the Duchess of Gordon remark this." + +Burns's letters written at this time show an amused consciousness of +his social prominence, but never for a moment did he lose sight of the +fact that it was only the affair of a season, and that in a few months +he would have to resume his humble station. Yet this intellectual +detachment did not prevent his enjoying opportunities for social and +intellectual intercourse such as he had never known and was never +again to know. Careful as he was to avoid presuming on his new +privileges, he clearly threw himself into the discussions in which he +took part with all the zest of his temperament; and in the less formal +convivial clubs to which he was welcomed he became at once the king of +good fellows. To the noblemen and others who befriended him he +expressed himself in language which may seem exaggerated; but the +warmth of his disposition, and the letter writers of the eighteenth +century on whom he had formed his style, sufficiently account for it +without the suspicion of affectation or flattery. Whatever his vices, +ingratitude to those who showed him kindness was not among them; and +the sympathetic reader is more apt to feel pathos than to take offense +in his tributes to his patrons. The real though not extraordinary +kindness of the Earl of Glencairn, for example, was acknowledged again +and again in prose and verse; and the _Lament_ Burns wrote upon his +death closes with these lines which rewarded the noble lord with an +immortality he might otherwise have missed: + + The bridegroom may forget the bride + Was made his wedded wife yestreen; + The monarch may forget the crown + That on his head an hour has been; + The mother may forget the child + That smiles sae sweetly on her knee; + But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, + And a' that thou hast done for me! + +After a sojourn of a little more than five months, Burns left +Edinburgh early in May for a tour in the south of Scotland. The poet +was mounted on an old mare, Jenny Geddes, which he had bought in +Edinburgh, and which he still owned when he settled at Ellisland. He +was accompanied by his bosom friend, Robert Ainslie. The letters and +journals written during the four weeks of this tour give evidence of +his appreciation of scenery and his shrewd judgment of character. He +was received with much consideration in the houses he visited, and was +given the freedom of the burgh of Dumfries. On the ninth of June, +1787, he was back at Mauchline; and, calling at Armour's house to see +his child, he was revolted by the "mean, servile complaisance" he met +with--the result of his Edinburgh triumphs. His disgust at the family, +however, did not prevent a renewal of his intimacy with Jean. After a +few days at home, he seems to have made a short tour in the West +Highlands. July was spent at Mossgiel, and early in August he returned +to Edinburgh in order to settle his accounts with Creech, his +publisher. On the twenty-fifth he set out for a longer tour in the +North accompanied by his friend Nicol, an Edinburgh schoolmaster, the +Willie who "brewed a peck o' maut." They proceeded by Linlithgow, +Falkirk, Stirling, Crieff, Dunkeld, Aberfeldie, Blair Athole, +Strathspey, to Inverness. The most notable episode of the journey +northwards was a visit at the castle of the Duke of Athole, which +passed with great satisfaction to both Burns and his hosts, and of +which his _Humble Petition of Bruar Water_ is a poetical memorial. At +Stonehaven and Montrose he extended his acquaintance among his +father's relatives. He reached Edinburgh again on September sixteenth, +having traveled nearly six hundred miles. In October he made still +another excursion, through Clackmannanshire and into the south of +Perthshire, visiting Ramsay of Ochtertyre, near Stirling, and Sir +William Murray of Ochtertyre in Strathearn. In all these visits made +by Burns to the houses of the aristocracy, it is interesting to note +his capacity for pleasing and profitable intercourse with people of a +class and tradition far removed from his own. Sensitive to an extreme +and quick to resent a slight, he was at the same time finely +responsive to kindness, and his conduct was governed by a tact and +frank naturalness that are among the not least surprising of his +powers. In spite of the fervor and floridness of some of his +expressions of gratitude for favors from his noble friends, Burns was +no snob; and it was characteristic of him to give up a visit to the +Duchess of Gordon rather than separate from his companion Nicol, who, +in a fit of jealous sulks, refused to accompany him to Castle Gordon. + +The settlement with Creech proved to be a very tedious affair, and in +the beginning of December the poet was about to leave the city in +disgust when an accident occurred which gave opportunity for one of +the most extraordinary episodes in the history of his relations with +women. Just before, he had met a Mrs. McLehose who lived in Edinburgh +with her three children, while her husband, from whom she had +separated on account of ill-treatment, had emigrated to Jamaica. A +correspondence began immediately after the first meeting, with the +following letter: + + "Madam: + + "I had set no small store by my tea-drinking tonight, and have not + often been so disappointed. Saturday evening I shall embrace the + opportunity with the greatest pleasure. I leave this town this day + se'ennight, and probably I shall not return for a couple of + twelvemonths; but I must ever regret that I so lately got an + acquaintance I shall ever highly esteem, and in whose welfare I + shall ever be warmly interested. Our worthy common friend, Miss + Nimmo, in her usual pleasant way, rallied me a good deal on my new + acquaintance, and, in the humour of her ideas, I wrote some lines, + which I enclose to you, as I think they have a good deal of poetic + merit; and Miss Nimmo tells me that you are not only a critic but + a poetess. Fiction, you know, is the native region of poetry; and + I hope you will pardon my vanity in sending you the bagatelle as a + tolerable offhand _jeu d'esprit_. I have several poetic trifles, + which I shall gladly leave with Miss Nimmo or you, if they were + worth house-room; as there are scarcely two people on earth by + whom it would mortify me more to be forgotten, though at the + distance of nine score miles. I am, Madam, With the highest + respect, + + "Your very humble servant, + + "ROBERT BURNS." + + [December 6, 1787.] + +The night before Burns was to take tea with his new acquaintance, he +was overturned by a drunken coachman, and received an injury to his +knee which confined him to his rooms for several weeks. Meantime the +correspondence went on with ever-increasing warmth, from "Madam," +through "My dearest Madam," "my dear kind friend," "my lovely friend," +to "my dearest angel." They early agreed to call each other Clarinda +and Sylvander, and the Arcadian names are significant of the +sentimental nature of the relation. By the time of their second +meeting--about a month after the first,--they had exchanged intimate +confidences, had discovered endless affinities, and had argued by the +page on religion, Clarinda striving to win Sylvander over to her +orthodox Calvinism. When he was again able to go out, his visits +became for both of them "exquisite" and "rapturous" experiences, +Clarinda struggling to keep on the safe side of discretion by means of +"Reason" and "Religion," Sylvander protesting his complete submission +to her will. The appearance of passion in their letters goes on +increasing, and Clarinda's fits of perturbation in the next morning's +reflections grow more acute. She does not seem to have become the +poet's mistress, and it is impossible to gather what either of them +expected the outcome of their intercourse to be. With a few notable +exceptions, the verses which were occasioned rather than inspired by +the affair are affected and artificial; and in spite of the warmth of +the expressions in his letters it is hard to believe that his passion +went very deep. In any case, on his return to Mauchline to find Jean +Armour cast out by her own people after having a second time borne him +twins, he faced his responsibilities in a more manly and honorable +fashion than ever before, and made Jean his wife. The explanation of +his final resolution is given repeatedly in almost the same words in +his letters: "I found a much loved female's positive happiness or +absolute misery among my hands, and I could not trifle with such a +sacred deposit." It would appear that, however far the affair between +him and Clarinda had passed beyond the sentimental friendship it began +with, he did not regard it as placing in his hands any such "sacred +deposit" as the fate of Jean, nor had one or two intrigues with +obscure girls in Edinburgh shaken an affection which was much more +deep-rooted than he often imagined. Clarinda was naturally deeply +wounded by his marriage, and her reproaches of "villainy" led to a +breach which was only gradually bridged. At one time, just before she +set out for Jamaica to join her husband in an unsuccessful attempt at +a reconciliation, Burns's letters again became frequent, the old +fervor reappeared, and a couple of his best songs were produced. But +at this time he had the--shall we say reassuring?--belief that he was +not to see her again, and could indulge an emotion that had always +been largely theatrical without risk to either of them. On her return +he wrote her, it would seem, only once. For the character of Burns the +incident is of much curious interest; for literature its importance +lies in the two songs, _Ae fond Kiss_ and _My Nannie's Awa_. The +former was written shortly before her departure for the West Indies; +the second in the summer of her absence. It is noteworthy that in them +"Clarinda" has given place to "Nancy" and "Nannie." Beside them is +placed for contrast, one of the pure Clarinda effusions. + + +AE FOND KISS + + Ae fond kiss, and then we sever! [One] + Ae farewell, and then for ever! + Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, + Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. + Who shall say that Fortune grieves him + While the star of hope she leaves him? + Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me, + Dark despair around benights me. + + I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, + Naething could resist my Nancy; + But to see her was to love her, + Love but her, and love for ever. + Had we never lov'd sae kindly, + Had we never lov'd sae blindly, + Never met--or never parted, + We had ne'er been broken-hearted. + + Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest! + Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest! + Thine be ilka joy and treasure, [every] + Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure, + Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; + Ae fareweel, alas, for ever! + Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, + Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. + + +MY NANNIE'S AWA + + Now in her green mantle blythe Nature arrays, + And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes, [hillsides] + While birds warble welcomes in ilka green shaw; [wooded dell] + But to me it's delightless--my Nannie's awa. + + The snawdrap and primrose our woodlands adorn + And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn: [wet (dew)] + They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw, + They mind me o' Nannie--and Nannie's awa. + + Thou laverock, that springs frae the dews o' the lawn [lark] + The shepherd to warn o' the grey-breaking dawn, + And thou, mellow mavis, that hails the night-fa', [thrush] + Give over for pity--my Nannie's awa. + + Come, autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and gray, + And soothe me wi' tidings o' nature's decay; + The dark, dreary winter, and wild-driving snaw + Alane can delight me--now Nannie's awa. + + +CLARINDA + + Clarinda, mistress of my soul, + The measured time is run! + The wretch beneath the dreary pole + So marks his latest sun. + + To what dark cave of frozen night + Shall poor Sylvander hie, + Depriv'd of thee, his life and light, + The sun of all his joy? + + We part--but by these precious drops + That fill thy lovely eyes! + No other light shall guide my steps + Till thy bright beams arise. + + She, the fair sun of all her sex, + Has blest my glorious day; + And shall a glimmering planet fix + My worship to its ray? + + +4. Ellisland + +In the spring of 1788 when Burns married Jean Armour, he took two +other steps of the first importance for his future career. The +Edinburgh period had come and gone, and all that his intercourse with +his influential friends had brought him was the four or five hundred +pounds of profit from his poems and an opportunity to enter the excise +service. With part of the money he relieved his brother Gilbert from +pressing obligations at Mossgiel by the loan of one hundred and eighty +pounds, and with the rest leased the farm of Ellisland on the bank of +the Nith, five or six miles above Dumfries. But before taking up the +farm he devoted six weeks or so to tuition in the duties of an +exciseman, so that he had this occupation to fall back on in case of +another farming failure. During the summer he superintended the +building of the farm-house, and in December Jean joined her husband. +His satisfaction in his domestic situation is characteristically +expressed in a song composed about this time. + + +I HAE A WIFE + + I hae a wife o' my ain, + I'll partake wi' naebody; + I'll tak cuckold frae nane, + I'll gie cuckold to naebody. + + I hae a penny to spend, + There--thanks to naebody; + I hae naething to lend, + I'll borrow frae naebody. + + I am naebody's lord, + I'll be slave to naebody; + I hae a guid braid sword, + I'll tak dunts frae naebody. [blows] + + I'll be merry and free, + I'll be sad for naebody; + Naebody cares for me, + I care for naebody. + +Early in his residence at Ellisland he formed a close relation with a +neighboring proprietor, Colonel Robert Riddel. For him he copied into +two volumes a large part of what he considered the best of his +unpublished verse and prose, thus forming the well-known Glenriddel +Manuscript. Had not one already become convinced of the fact from +internal evidence, it would be clear enough from this prose volume +that Burns's letters were often as much works of art to him as his +poems. This is of supreme importance in weighing the epistolary +evidence for his character and conduct. Even when his words seem to be +the direct outpourings of his feelings--of love, of friendship, of +gratitude, of melancholy, of devotion, of scorn--a comparative +examination will show that in prose as much as in verse we are dealing +with the work of a conscious artist, enamored of telling expression, +aware of his reader, and anything but the naif utterer of +unsophisticated emotion. To recall this will save us from much +perplexity in the interpretation of his words, and will clear up many +an apparent contradiction in his evidence about himself. + +Burns was never very sanguine about success on the Ellisland farm. By +the end of the summer of 1789 he concluded that he could not depend on +it, determined to turn it into a dairy farm to be conducted mainly by +his wife and sisters, and took up the work in the excise for which he +had prepared himself. He had charge of a large district of ten +parishes, and had to ride some two hundred miles a week in all +weathers. With the work he still did on the farm one can see that he +was more than fully employed, and need not wonder that there was +little time for poetry. Yet these years at Ellisland were on the whole +happy years for himself and his family; he found time for pleasant +intercourse with some of his neighbors, for a good deal of +letter-writing, for some interest in politics, and for the +establishing, with Colonel Riddel, of a small neighborhood library. As +an excise officer he seems to have been conscientious and efficient, +though at times, in the case of poor offenders, he tempered justice +with mercy. Ultimately, despairing of making the farm pay and hoping +for promotion in the government service, he gave up his lease, sold +his stock, and in the autumn of 1791 moved to Dumfries, where he was +given a district which did not involve keeping a horse, and which paid +him about seventy pounds a year. Thus ended the last of Burns's +disastrous attempts to make a living from the soil. + + +5. Dumfries + +The house in which the Burnses with their three sons first lived in +Dumfries was a three-roomed cottage in the Wee Vennel, now Banks +Street. Though his income was small, it must be remembered that the +cost of food was low. "Beef was 3d. to 5d. a lb.; mutton, 3d. to +4-1/2d.; chickens, 7d. to 8d. a pair; butter (the lb. of 24 oz.), 7d. +to 9d.; salmon, 6d. to 9-1/2d. a lb.; cod, 1d. and even 1/2d. a lb." +Though hardly in easy circumstances then, Burns's situation was such +that it was possible to avoid his greatest horror, debt. + +Meantime, his interest in politics had greatly quickened. He had been +from youth a sentimental Jacobite; but this had little effect upon his +attitude toward the parties of the day. In Edinburgh he had worn the +colors of the party of Fox, presumably out of compliment to his Whig +friends, Glencairn and Erskine. During the Ellisland period, however, +he had written strongly against the Regency Bill supported by Fox; and +in the general election of 1790 he opposed the Duke of Queensberry and +the local Whig candidate. But in his early months in Dumfries we find +him showing sympathy with the doctrines of the French Revolution, a +sympathy which was natural enough in a man of his inborn democratic +tendencies. A curious outcome of these was an incident not yet fully +cleared up. In February, 1792, Burns, along with some fellow officers, +assisted by a body of dragoons, seized an armed smuggling brig which +had run aground in the Solway, and on her being sold, he bought for +three pounds four of the small guns she carried. These he is said to +have presented "to the French Convention," but they were seized by +the British Government at Dover. As a matter of fact, the Convention +was not constituted till September, and the Legislative Assembly which +preceded it was not hostile to Britain. Thus, Burns's action, though +eccentric and extravagant, was not treasonable in law or in spirit, +and does not seem to have entailed on him any unfortunate +consequences. + +In the course of that year symptoms of the infection of part of the +British public with revolutionary principles began to be evident, and +the government was showing signs of alarm. The Whig opposition was +clamoring for internal reform, and Burns sided more and more +definitely with it, and was rash enough to subscribe for a Reform +paper called _The Gazetteer_, an action which would have put him under +suspicion from his superiors, had it become known. Some notice of his +Liberal tendencies did reach his official superiors, and an inquiry +was made into his political principles which caused him no small +alarm. In a letter to Mr. Graham of Fintry, through whom he had +obtained his position, he disclaimed all revolutionary beliefs and all +political activity. No action was taken against him, nor was his +failure to obtain promotion to an Examinership due to anything but +the slow progress involved in promotion by seniority. Hereafter, he +exercised considerable caution in the expression of his political +sympathies, though he allowed himself to associate with men of +revolutionary opinions. The feeling that he was not free to utter what +he believed on public affairs was naturally chafing to a man of his +independent nature. + +Burns's chief enjoyment in these days was the work he was doing for +Scottish song. While in Edinburgh he had made the acquaintance of an +engraver, James Johnson, who had undertaken the publication of the +_Scots Musical Museum_, a collection of songs and music. Burns agreed +to help him by the collection and refurbishing of the words of old +songs, and when these were impossible, by providing new words for the +melodies. The work finally extended to six volumes; and before it was +finished a more ambitious undertaking, managed by a Mr. George +Thomson, was set on foot. Burns was invited to cooperate in this also, +and entered into it with such enthusiasm that he was Thomson's main +support. In both of these publications the poet worked purely with +patriotic motives and for the love of song, and had no pecuniary +interest in either. Once Thomson sent him a present of five pounds +and endangered their relations thereby; later, when Burns was in his +last illness, he asked and received from Thomson an advance of the +same amount. Apart from these sums Burns never made or sought to make +a penny from his writings after the publication of the first Edinburgh +edition. Twice he declined journalistic work for a London paper. +Poetry was the great consolation of his life, and even in his severest +financial straits he refused to consider the possibility of writing +for money, regarding it as a kind of prostitution. + +By the autumn of 1795 signs began to appear that the poet's +constitution was breaking down. The death of his daughter Elizabeth +and a severe attack of rheumatism plunged him into deep melancholy and +checked for a time his song-writing; and though for a time he +recovered, his disease returned early in the next year. It seems +clear, too, that though the change from Ellisland to Dumfries relieved +him of much of the severer physical exertion, other factors more than +counterbalanced this relief. Burns had never been a slave to drink for +its own sake; it had always been the accompaniment--in those days an +almost inevitable accompaniment--of sociability. Some of his +wealthier friends in the vicinity were in this respect rather +excessive in their hospitality; in Dumfries the taverns were always at +hand; and as Burns came to realize the comparative failure of his +career as a man, he found whisky more and more a means of escape for +depression. Even if we distrust the local gossip that made much of the +dissipations of his later years, it appears from the evidence of his +physician that alcohol had much to do with the rheumatic and digestive +troubles that finally broke him down. In July, 1796, he was sent, as a +last resort, to Brow-on-Solway to try sea-bathing and country life; +but he returned little improved, and well-nigh convinced that his +illness was mortal. His mental condition is shown by the fact that +pressure from a solicitor for the payment of a tailor's debt of some +seven pounds, incurred for his volunteer's uniform, threw him into a +panic lest he should be imprisoned, and his last letters are pitiful +requests for financial help, and two notes to his father-in-law urging +him to send her mother to Jean, as she was about to give birth to +another child. In such harassing conditions he sank into delirium, and +died on July 21, 1796. The child, who died in infancy, was born on +the day his father was buried. + +With Burns's death a reaction in popular opinion set in. He was given +a military funeral; and a subscription which finally amounted to one +thousand two hundred pounds was raised for his family. The official +biography, by Doctor Currie of Liverpool, doubled this sum, so that +Jean was enabled to bring up the children respectably, and end her +days in comfort. Scotland, having done little for Burns in his life, +was stricken with remorse when he died, and has sought ever since to +atone for her neglect by an idolatry of the poet and by a more than +charitable view of the man. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +INHERITANCE: LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE + + +Three forms of speech were current in Scotland in the time of Burns, +and, in different proportions, are current to-day: in the Highlands, +north and west of a slanting line running from the Firth of Clyde to +Aberdeenshire, Gaelic; in the Lowlands, south and east of the same +line, Lowland Scots; over the whole country, among the more educated +classes, English. Gaelic is a Celtic language, belonging to an +entirely different linguistic group from English, and having close +affinities to Irish and Welsh. This tongue Burns did not know. Lowland +Scots is a dialect of English, descended from the Northumbrian dialect +of Anglo-Saxon. It has had a history of considerable interest. Down to +the time of Chaucer, whose influence had much to do with making the +Midland dialect the literary standard for the Southern kingdom, it is +difficult to distinguish the written language of Edinburgh from that +of York, both being developments of Northumbrian. But as English +writers tended more and more to conform to the standard of London, +Northern Middle English gradually ceased to be written; while in +Scotland, separated and usually hostile as it was politically, the +Northern speech continued to develop along its own lines, until in the +beginning of the sixteenth century it attained a form more remote from +standard English and harder for the modern reader than it had been a +century before. The close connection between Scotland and France, +continuing down to the time of Queen Mary, led to the introduction of +many French words which never found a place in English; the proximity +of the Highlands made Gaelic borrowings easy; and the Scandinavian +settlements on both coasts contributed additional elements to the +vocabulary. Further, in its comparative isolation, Scots developed or +retained peculiarities in grammar and pronunciation unknown or lost in +the South. Thus by 1550, the form of English spoken in Scotland was in +a fair way to become an independent language. + +This process, however, was rudely halted by the Reformation. The +triumph of this movement in England and its comparative failure in +France threw Scotland, when it became Protestant, into close relations +with England, while the "auld Alliance" with France practically ended +when Mary of Scots returned to her native country. Leaders like John +Knox, during the early struggles of the Reformation, spent much time +in England; and when they came home their speech showed the effect of +their intercourse with their southern brethren of the reformed faith. +The language of Knox, as recorded in his sermons and his _History_, is +indeed far from Elizabethan English, but it is notably less "broad" +than the Scots of Douglas and Lindesay. Scotland had no vernacular +translation of the Bible; and this important fact, along with the +English associations of many of the Protestant ministers, finally made +the speech of the Scottish pulpit, and later of Scottish religion in +general, if not English, at least as purely English as could be +achieved. + +The process thus begun was carried farther in the next generation +when, in 1603, James VI of Scotland became King of England, and the +Court removed to London. England at that time was, of course, much +more advanced in culture than its poorer neighbor to the north, and +the courtiers who accompanied James to London found themselves marked +by their speech as provincial, and set themselves to get rid of their +Scotticisms with an eagerness in proportion to their social +aspirations. Scottish men of letters now came into more intimate +relation with English literature, and finding that writing in English +opened to them a much larger reading public, they naturally adopted +the southern speech in their books. Thus men like Alexander, Earl of +Stirling, and William Drummond of Hawthornden belong both in language +and literary tradition to the English Elizabethans. + +Religion, society, and literature having all thrown their influence +against the native speech of Scotland, it followed that the +seventeenth and eighteenth centuries saw the progressive disuse of +that speech among the upper classes of the country, until by the time +of Burns, Scots was habitually spoken only by the peasantry and the +humbler people in the towns. The distinctions between social classes +in the matter of dialect were, of course, not absolute. Occasional +members even of the aristocracy prided themselves on their command of +the vernacular; and among the country folk there were few who could +not make a brave attempt at English when they spoke with the laird or +the minister. With Burns himself, Lowland Scots was his customary +speech at home, about the farm, in the tavern and the Freemasons' +lodge; but, as we have seen, his letters, being written mainly to +educated people, are almost all pure English, as was his conversation +with these people when he met them. + +The linguistic situation that has been sketched finds interesting +illustration in the language of Burns's poems. The distinction which +is usually made, that he wrote poetry in Scots and verse in English, +has some basis, but is inaccurately expressed and needs qualification. +The fundamental fact is that for him Scots was the natural language +of the emotions, English of the intellect. The Scots poems are in +general better, not chiefly because they are in Scots but because they +are concerned with matters of natural feeling; the English poems are +in general poetically poorer, not because they are in English but +because they are so frequently the outcome of moods not dominated by +spontaneous emotion, but intellectual, conscious, or theatrical. He +wrote English sometimes as he wore his Sunday blacks, with dignity but +not with ease; sometimes as he wore the buff and blue, with buckskins +and top-boots, which he donned in Edinburgh--"like a farmer dressed in +his best to dine with the laird." In both cases he was capable of +vigorous, common-sense expression; in neither was he likely to exhibit +the imagination, the tenderness, or the humor which characterized the +plowman clad in home-spun. + +_The Cotter's Saturday Night_ is an interesting illustration of these +distinctions. The opening stanza is a dedicatory address on English +models to a lawyer friend and patron; it is pure English in language, +stiff and imitatively "literary" in style. The stanzas which follow +describing the homecoming of the cotter, the family circle, the +supper, and the daughter's suitor, are in broad Scots, the language +harmonizing perfectly with the theme, and they form poetically the +sound core of the poem. In the description of family worship, Burns +did what his father would do in conducting that worship, adopted +English as more reverent and respectful, but inevitably as more +restrained emotionally; and in the moralizing passage which follows, +as in the apostrophes to Scotia and to the Almighty at the close, he +naturally sticks to English, and in spite of a genuine enough +exaltation of spirit achieves a result rather rhetorical than +poetical. + +Contrast again songs like _Corn Rigs_ or _Whistle and I'll Come To +Thee, My Lad_, with most of the songs to Clarinda. The former, in +Scots, are genial, whole-hearted, full of the power of kindling +imaginative sympathy, thoroughly contagious in their lusty emotion or +sly humor. The latter, in English, are stiff, coldly contrived, +consciously elegant or marked by the sentimental factitiousness of the +affair that occasioned them. But their inferiority is due less to the +difference in language than to the difference in the mood. When, +especially at a distance, his relation to Clarinda really touched his +imagination, we have the genuinely poetical _My Nannie's Awa_ and _Ae +Fond Kiss_. The latter poem can be, with few changes, turned into +English without loss of quality; and its most famous lines have almost +no dialect: + + Had we never lov'd sae kindly, + Had we never lov'd sae blindly, + Never met--or never parted, + We had ne'er been broken-hearted. + +Finally, there are the English poems to Highland Mary. For some +reason not yet fully understood, the affair with Mary Campbell was +treated by him in a spirit of reverence little felt in his other love +poetry, and this spirit was naturally expressed by him in English. But +in the almost English + + "Ye banks and braes and streams around + The Castle of Montgomery," + +and in the pure English _To Mary in Heaven_, he is not at all hampered +by the use of the Southern speech, Scots would not have heightened the +poetry here, and for Burns Scots would have been less appropriate, +less natural even, for the expression of an almost sacred theme. + +The case, then, seems to stand thus. Burns commanded two languages, +which he employed instinctively for different kinds of subject and +mood. The subjects and moods which evoked vernacular utterance were +those that with all writers are more apt to yield poetry, and in +consequence most of his best poetry is in Scots. But when a theme +naturally evoking English was imaginatively felt by him, the use of +English did not prevent his writing poetically. And there were themes +which he could handle equally well in either speech--as we see, for +example, in the songs in _The Jolly Beggars_. + +Yet the language had an importance in itself. Though its vocabulary is +limited in matters of science, philosophy, religion, and the like, +Lowland Scots is very rich in homely terms and in humorous and tender +expressions. For love, or for celebrating the effects of whisky, +English is immeasurably inferior. The free use of the diminutive +termination in _ie_ or _y_--a termination capable of expressing +endearment, familiarity, ridicule, and contempt as well as mere +smallness--not only has considerable effect in emotional shading, but +contributes to the liquidness of the verse by lessening the number of +consonantal endings that make English seem harsh and abrupt to many +foreign ears. Moreover, the very indeterminateness of the dialect, the +possibility of using varying degrees of "broadness," increased the +facility of rhyming, and added notably to the ease and spontaneity of +composition. Thus in Scots Burns was not only more at home, but had a +medium in some respects more plastic than English. + +Language, however, was not the only element in his inheritance which +helped to determine the nature and quality of Burns's production. He +was extremely sensitive to suggestion from his predecessors, and +frankly avowed his obligations to them, so that to estimate his +originality it is necessary to know something of the men at whose +flame he kindled. + +As the Northern dialect of English was, before the Reformation, in a +fair way to become an independent national speech, so literature north +of the Tweed had promise of a development, not indeed independent, but +distinct. Of the writers of the Middle Scots period, Henryson and +Dunbar, Douglas and Lindesay, Burns, it is true, knew little; and the +tradition that they founded underwent in the latter part of the +sixteenth and beginning of the seventeenth centuries an experience in +many respects parallel to that which has been described in the matter +of language. The effect of the Reformation upon all forms of artistic +creation will be discussed when we come to speak particularly of the +history of Scottish song; for the moment it is sufficient to say that +the absorption in theological controversy was unfavorable to the +continuation of a poetical development. Under James VI, however, there +were a few writers who maintained the tradition, notably Alexander +Montgomery, Alexander Scott, and the Sempills. To the first of these +is to be credited the invention of the stanza called, from the poems +in which Montgomery used it, the stanza of _The Banks of Helicon_ or +of _The Cherry and the Slae_. It was imitated by some of Montgomery's +contemporaries, revived by Allan Ramsay, and thus came to Burns down a +line purely Scottish, as it never seems to have been used in any other +tongue. He first employed it in the _Epistle to Davie_, and it was +made by him the medium of some of his most characteristic ideas. + + 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 muckle, mair, [much, more] + It's no in books, it's no in lear, [learning] + To make us truly blest: + If happiness hae not her seat + An' centre in the breast, + We may be wise, or rich, or great, + But never can be blest! + Nae treasures nor pleasures + Could make us happy lang; + The heart aye's the part aye + That makes us right or wrang. + +_The Piper of Kilbarchan_, by Sir Robert Sempill of Beltrees +(1595?-1661?), set a model for the humorous elegy on the living which +reached Burns through Ramsay and Fergusson, and was followed by him in +those on Poor Mailie and Tam Samson. The stanza in which it is written +is far older than Sempill, having been traced as far back as the +troubadours in the twelfth century, and being found frequently in both +English and French through the Middle Ages; but from the time of +Sempill on, it was cultivated with peculiar intensity in Scotland, and +is the medium of so many of Burns's best-known pieces that it is often +called Burns's stanza. + + Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, + Wi' saut tears tricklin' down your nose; + Our Bardie's fate is at a close, + Past a' remead; + The last, sad cape-stane o' his woe's-- + Poor Mailie's dead! + +The seventeenth century was a barren one for Scottish literature. The +attraction of the larger English public and the disuse of the +vernacular among the upper classes already discussed, drew to the +South or to the Southern speech whatever literary talent appeared in +the North, and it seemed for a time that, except for the obscure +stream of folk poetry, Scottish vernacular literature was at an end. +In the beginning of the eighteenth century, however, interest began to +revive. In 1706-9-11 James Watson published the three volumes of his +_Choice Collection of Comic and Serious Scots Poems_, and in the third +decade began to appear Allan Ramsay's _Tea Table Miscellany_ +(1724-40). These collections rescued from oblivion a large quantity of +vernacular verse, some of it drawn from manuscripts of pre-Reformation +poetry, some of it contemporary, some of it anonymous and of uncertain +date, having come down orally or in chap-books and broadsides. The +welcome given to these volumes was an early instance of that renewed +interest in older and more primitive literature that was manifested +still more strikingly when Percy published his _Reliques of Ancient +English Poetry_ in 1765. Its influence on the production of vernacular +literature was evident at once in the original work of Ramsay himself; +and the movement which culminated in Burns, though having its roots +far back in the work of Henryson and Dunbar, was in effect a Scottish +renascence, in which the chief agents before Burns were Hamilton of +Gilbertfield, Ramsay himself, Robert Fergusson, and song-writers like +Mrs. Cockburn and Lady Anne Lindsay. + +Of this fact Burns was perfectly aware, and he was not only candid but +generous in his acknowledgment of his debt to his immediate +predecessors. + + My senses wad be in a creel, [head would be turned] + Should I but dare a hope to speel, [climb] + Wi' Allan, or wi' Gilbertfield, + The braes o' fame; [hills] + Or Fergusson, the writer-chiel, [lawyer-fellow] + A deathless name. + +He knew Ramsay's collection and had a perhaps exaggerated admiration +for _The Gentle Shepherd_. This poem, published in 1728, not only +holds a unique position in the history of the pastoral drama, but is +important in the present connection as being to Burns the most signal +evidence of the possibility of a dignified literature in the modern +vernacular. Hamilton and Ramsay had exchanged rhyming epistles in the +six-line stanza, and in these Burns found the model for his own +epistles. Hamilton's _Last Dying Words of Bonny Heck_--a favorite +grey-hound--had been imitated by Ramsay in _Lucky Spence's Last +Advice_ and the _Last Speech of a Wretched Miser_, and the form had +become a Scottish convention before Burns produced his _Death and +Dying Words of Poor Mailie_. As important as any of these was the +example set by Ramsay and bettered by Burns of refurbishing old +indecent or fragmentary songs. Robert Fergusson (1750-1774) was +regarded by Burns still more highly than Ramsay, and his influence was +even more potent. In his autobiographical letter to Doctor Moore he +tells that about 1782 he had all but given up rhyming: "but meeting +with Fergusson's _Scotch Poems_, I strung anew my wildly-sounding, +rustic lyre with emulating vigour." In the preface to the Kilmarnock +edition he is still more explicit as to his attitude. + + "To the poems of a Ramsay, or the glorious dawnings of the poor, + unfortunate Fergusson, he, with equal unaffected sincerity, + declares, that, even in the highest pulse of vanity, he has not + the most distant pretensions. These two justly admired Scotch + Poets he has often had in his eye in the following pieces; but + rather with a view to kindle at their flame, than for servile + imitation." + +To be more specific, Burns found the model for his _Cotter's Saturday +Night_ in Fergusson's _Farmer's Ingle_, for _The Holy Fair_ in his +_Leith Races_, for _Scotch Drink_ in his _Caller Water_, for _The Twa +Dogs_ and _The Brigs of Ayr_ in his _Planestanes and Causey_, and +_Kirkyard Eclogues_. In later years Burns grew somewhat more critical +of Ramsay, especially as a reviser of old songs; but for Fergusson he +retained to the end a sympathetic admiration. When he went to +Edinburgh, one of his first places of pilgrimage was the grave of him +whom he apostrophized thus, + + O thou, my elder brother in misfortune, + By far my elder brother in the muse! + +And he later obtained from the managers of the Canongate Kirk +permission to erect a stone over the tomb. + +The fact, then, that Burns owed much to the tradition of vernacular +poetry in Scotland and especially to his immediate predecessors is no +new discovery, however recent critics may have plumed themselves upon +it. Burns knew it well, and was ever ready to acknowledge it. What is +more important than the mere fact of his inheritance is the use he +made of it. In taking from his elders the fruits of their experience +in poetical conception and metrical arrangement, he but did what +artists have always done; in outdistancing these elders and in almost +every case surpassing their achievement on the lines they had laid +down, he did what only the greater artists succeed in doing. It is not +in mere inventiveness and novelty but in first-hand energy of +conception, in mastering for himself the old thought and the old form +and uttering them with his personal stamp, in making them carry over +to the reader with a new force or vividness or beauty, that the poet's +originality consists. In these respects Burns's originality is no whit +lessened by an explicit recognition of his indebtedness to the stock +from which he grew. + +His relation to the purely English literature which he read is +different and produced very different results. Shakespeare he +reverenced, and that he knew him well is shown by the frequency of +Shakespearean turns of phrase in his letters, as well as by direct +quotation. But of influence upon his poetry there is little trace. He +had a profound admiration for the indomitable will of Milton's Satan, +and he makes it clear that this admiration affected his conduct. The +most frequent praise of English writers in his letters is, however, +given to the eighteenth-century authors--to Pope, Thomson, Shenstone, +Gray, Young, Blair, Beattie, and Goldsmith in verse, to Sterne, +Smollett, and Henry Mackenzie in prose. Echoes of these poets are +common in his work, and the most frigid of his English verses show +their influence most clearly. To the sentimental tendency in the +thought of the eighteenth century he was highly responsive, and the +expression of it in _The Man of Feeling_ appealed to him especially. +In a mood which recurred painfully often he was apt to pride himself +on his "sensibility": the letters to Clarinda are full of it. The less +fortunate effects of it are seen both in his conduct and in his poems +in a fondness for nursing his emotions and extracting pleasure from +his supposed miseries; the more fortunate aspects are reflected in the +tender humanity of poems like those _To a Mouse_, _On Seeing a Wounded +Hare_, and _To a Daisy_--perhaps even in the _Address to the Deil_. He +had naturally a warm heart and strong impulses; it is only when an +element of consciousness or mawkishness appears that his "sensibility" +is to be ascribed to the fashionable philosophy of the day and the +influence of his English models. + +For better or worse, then, Burns belongs to the literary history of +Britain as a legitimate descendant of easily traced ancestors. Like +other great writers he made original contributions from his individual +temperament and from his particular environment and experience. But +these do not obliterate the marks of his descent, nor are they so +numerous or powerful as to give support to the old myth of the "rustic +phenomenon," the isolated poetical miracle appearing in defiance of +the ordinary laws of literary dependence and tradition. + +If this is true of his models it is no less true of his methods. +Though simplicity and spontaneity are among the most obvious of the +qualities of his work, it is not to be supposed that such effects were +obtained by a birdlike improvisation. "All my poetry," he said, "is +the effect of easy composition but laborious correction," and the +careful critic will perceive ample evidence in support of the +statement. We shall see in the next chapter with what pains he fitted +words to melody in his songs; an examination of the variant readings +which make the establishment of his text peculiarly difficult shows +abundant traces of deliberation and the labor of the file. In the +following song, the first four lines of which are old, it is +interesting to note that, though he preserves admirably the tone of +the fragment which gave him the impulse and the idea, the twelve lines +which he added are in the effects produced by manipulation of the +consonants and vowels and in the use of internal rhyme a triumph of +conscious artistic skill. The interest in technique which this implies +is exhibited farther in many passages of his letters, especially those +to George Thomson. + + +GO FETCH TO ME A PINT O' WINE + + Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, + An' fill it in a silver tassie; [goblet] + That I may drink, before I go, + A service to my bonnie lassie. + The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith, + Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry, [from] + The ship rides by the Berwick-law, + And I maun leave my bonnie Mary. [must] + + The trumpets sound, the banners fly, + The glittering spears are ranked ready; + The shouts o' war are heard afar, + The battle closes thick and bloody; + But it's no the roar o' sea or shore + Wad mak me langer wish to tarry; + Nor shout o' war that's heard afar, + It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +BURNS AND SCOTTISH SONG + + +With song-writing Burns began his poetical career, with song-writing +he closed it; and, brilliant as was his achievement in other fields, +it is as a song-writer that he ranks highest among his peers, it is +through his songs that he has rooted himself most deeply in the hearts +of his countrymen. + +The most notable and significant fact in connection with his making of +songs is their relation to the melodies to which they are sung. In the +vast majority of cases these are old Scottish tunes, which were known +to Burns before he wrote his songs, and were singing in his ear during +the process of composition. The poet was no technical musician. +Murdoch, his first teacher, says that Robert and Gilbert Burns "were +left far behind by all the rest of the school" when he tried to teach +them a little church music, "Robert's ear, in particular, was +remarkably dull, and his voice untunable. It was long before I could +get them to distinguish one tune from another." Either Murdoch +exaggerated, or the poet's ear developed later (Murdoch is speaking of +him between the ages of six and nine); for he learned to fiddle a +little, once at least attempted to compose an air, could read music +fairly easily, and could write down a melody from memory. His +correspondence with Johnson and Thomson shows that he knew a vast +number of old tunes and was very sensitive to their individual quality +and suggestion.[1] Such a sentence as the following from one of his +Commonplace Books shows how important his responsiveness to music was +for his poetical composition. + + "These old Scottish airs are so nobly sentimental that when one + would compose to them, to _south_ the tune, as our Scottish phrase + is, over and over, is the readiest way to catch the inspiration + and raise the Bard into that glorious enthusiasm so strongly + characteristic of our old Scotch Poetry." + + [1] The question of the nature and extent of Burns's musical abilities +may be summed up in the words of the latest and most thorough student +of his melodies:--"His knowledge of music was in fact elemental; his +taste lay entirely in melody, without ever reaching an appreciation of +contra-puntal or harmonious music. Nor, although in his youth he had +learned the grammar of music and become acquainted with clefs, keys, +and notes at the rehearsals of church music, which were in his day a +practical part of the education of the Scottish peasantry, did he ever +arrive at composition, except in the case of one melody which he +composed for a song of his own at the age of about twenty-three, and +this melody displeased him so much that he destroyed it and never +attempted another. In the same way, although he practised the violin, +he did not attain to excellence in execution, his playing being +confined to strathspeys and other slow airs of the pathetic kind. On +the other hand, his perception and his love of music are undeniable. +For example, he possessed copies of the principal collections of +Scottish vocal and instrumental music of the eighteenth century, and +repeatedly refers to them in the Museum and in his letters. His copy +of the _Caledonian Pocket Companion_ (the largest collection of +Scottish music), which copy still exists with pencil notes in his +handwriting, proves that he was familiar with the whole contents. At +intervals in his writings he names at least a dozen different +collections to which he refers and from which he quotes with personal +knowledge. Also he knew several hundred different airs, not vaguely +and in a misty way, but accurately as regards tune, time, and rhythm, +so that he could distinguish one from another, and describe minute +variations in the several copies of any tune which passed through his +hands.... Many of the airs he studied and selected for his verses were +either pure instrumental tunes, never before set to words, or the airs +(from dance books) of lost songs, with the first lines as +titles."--(James C. Dick, _The Songs of Robert Burns_, 1903, Preface, +pp. viii, ix.) + +Again, once when Thomson had sent him a tune to be fitted with words, +he replied: + + "_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 never can 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 + subjects in nature around me that are in unison and harmony with + the cogitations of my fancy and workings of my bosom, humming + every now and then the air with the verses I have framed. When I + feel my muse beginning to jade, I retire to the solitary fireside + of my study, and then commit my effusion to paper; swinging at + intervals on the hindlegs of my elbow chair, by way of calling + forth my own critical strictures as my pen goes on. Seriously, + this at home is almost invariably my way." [September, 1793.] + +His wife, who had a good voice and a wide knowledge of folk-song, +seems often to have been of assistance, and a further interesting +detail is given by Sir James Stuart-Menteath from the evidence of a +Mrs. Christina Flint. + + "When Burns dwelt at Ellisland, he was accustomed, after composing + any of his beautiful songs, to pay Kirsty a visit, that he might + hear them sung by her. He often stopped her in the course of the + singing when he found any word harsh and grating to his ear, and + substituted one more melodious and pleasing. From Kirsty's + extensive acquaintance with the old Scottish airs, she was + frequently able to suggest to the poet music more suitable to the + song she was singing than that to which he had set it." + +Kirsty and Jean were not his only aids in the criticism of the musical +quality of his songs. From the time of the Edinburgh visit, at least, +he was in the habit of seizing the opportunity afforded by the +possession of a harpsichord or a good voice by the daughters of his +friends, and in several cases he rewarded his accompanist by making +her the heroine of the song. Without drawing on the evidence of +parallel phenomena in other ages and literatures, we can be sure +enough that this persistent consciousness of the airs to which his +songs were to be sung, and this critical observation of their fitness, +had much to do with the extraordinary melodiousness of so many of +them. + +We have seen that Burns received an important impulse to +productiveness through his cooperation in the compiling of two +national song collections. James Johnson, the editor of the first of +these, was an all but illiterate engraver, ill-equipped for such an +undertaking; and as the work grew in scale until it reached six +volumes, Burns became virtually the editor--even writing the prefaces +to several of the volumes. George Thomson, the editor of the other, _A +Select Collection of Original Scottish Airs_, was a government clerk, +an amateur in music, of indifferent taste and with a preference for +English to the vernacular. In his collection the airs were harmonized +by Pleyel, Kozeluch, Haydn, and Beethoven; and he had the impudence to +meddle with the contributions both of Burns and of the eminent +composers who arranged the melodies. Nothing is more striking than the +patience and modesty of Burns in tolerating the criticism and +alterations of Thomson. The main purpose in both _The Scots Musical +Museum_ and the _Select Collection_ was the preservation of the +national melodies, but when the editors came to seek words to go with +them they found themselves confronted with a difficult problem. To +understand its nature, it will be necessary to extend our historical +survey. + +In addition to the effects of the Reformation in Scotland already +indicated, there was another even more serious for arts and letters. +The reaction against Catholicism in Scotland was peculiarly violent, +and the form of Protestantism which replaced it was extremely +puritanical. In the matter of intellectual education, it is true, +Knox's ideas and institutions were enlightened, and have borne +important fruit in making prevail in his country an uncommonly high +level of general education and a reverence for learning. But on the +artistic side the reformed ministers were the enemies not only of +everything that suggested the ornateness of the old religion, but of +beauty in every form. Under their influence, an influence +extraordinarily pervasive and despotic, art and song were suppressed, +and Scotland was left a very mirthless country, absorbed in +theological and political discussion, and having little outlet for the +instinct of sport except heresy-hunting. + +Such at least seemed to be the case on the surface. But human nature +is not to be totally changed even by such a force as the Reformation. +Especially among the peasantry occasions recurred--weddings, funerals, +harvest-homes, New-Year's Eves, and the like--when, the minister being +at a safe distance and whisky having relaxed the awe of the kirk +session, the "wee sinfu' fiddle" was produced, and song and the dance +broke forth. It was under such clandestine conditions that the +traditional songs of Scotland had been handed down for some +generations before Burns's day, and the conditions had gravely +affected their character. The melodies could not be stained, but the +words had degenerated until they had lost most of whatever imaginative +quality they had possessed, and had acquired instead only grossness. + +Such words, it was clear, Johnson could not use in his _Museum_, and +the discovery of Burns was to him the most extraordinary good fortune. +For Burns not only knew, as we have seen, the old songs--words and +airs--by the score, but was able to purify, complete, or replace the +words according to the degree of their corruption. Various poets have +caught up scraps of folk-song and woven them into their verse; but +nowhere else has a poet of the people appeared with such a rare +combination of original genius and sympathetic feeling for the tone +and accent of the popular muse, as enabled Burns to recreate Scottish +song. If patriotic Scots wish to justify the achievement of Burns on +moral grounds, it is here that their argument lies: for whatever of +coarseness and license there may have been in his life and writings, +it is surely more than counter-balanced by the restoration to his +people of the possibility of national music and clean mirth. + +One can not classify the songs of Burns into two clearly separated +groups, original and remodeled, for no hard lines can be drawn. Since +he practically always began with the tune, he frequently used the +title or the first line of the old song. He might do this, yet +completely change the idea; or he might retain the idea but use none +of the old words. In other cases the first stanza or the chorus is +retained; in still others the new song is sprinkled with here a phrase +and there an epithet recalling the derelict that gave rise to it. Some +are made up of stanzas from several different predecessors, others are +almost centos of stock phrases. + +The contribution thus made to Johnson's collection, of songs rescued +or remade or wholly original, amounted to some one hundred +eighty-four; to Thomson's about sixty-four. Some examples will make +clear the nature of his services. + +_Auld Lang Syne_, perhaps the most wide-spread of all songs among the +English-speaking peoples, is in its oldest extant form attributed on +uncertain grounds to Francis Sempill of Beltrees or Sir Robert +Aytoun.[2] That still older forms had existed appears from its title +in the broadside in which it is preserved: + + "An excellent and proper new ballad, entitled Old Long Syne. Newly + corrected and amended, with a large and new edition [sic] of + several excellent love lines." + + [2] The melody to which the song is now sung is not that to which +Burns wrote it, but was an old strathspey tune. It is possible, +however, that he agreed to its adoption by Thomson. + +It opens thus: + + Should old acquaintance be forgot + And never thought upon, + The Flames of Love extinguished + And freely past and gone? + Is thy kind Heart now grown so cold + In that Loving Breast of thine, + That thou can'st never once reflect + On old-long-syne. + +And so on, for eighty lines. + +Allan Ramsay rewrote it for his _Tea-Table Miscellany_ (1724), and a +specimen stanza will show that it was still going down-hill: + + Should auld acquaintance be forgot + Tho' they return with scars? + These are the noble hero's lot, + Obtain'd in glorious wars; + Welcome, my Varo, to my breast, + Thy arms about me twine, + And make me once again as blest + As I was lang syne. + +The remaining four stanzas are worse. Burns may have had further hints +to work on which are now lost; but the best, part of the song, stanzas +three and four, are certainly his, and it is unlikely that he +inherited more than some form of the first verse and the chorus. + + +AULD LANG SYNE + + Should auld acquaintance be forgot [old] + And never brought to min'? [mind] + Should auld acquaintance be forgot, + And auld lang syne? [long ago] + + For auld lang syne, my dear. + For auld lang syne, + We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, + For auld lang syne. + + And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp, [will pay for] + And surely I'll be mine; + And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet + For auld lang syne. + + We twa hae run about the braes, [two have, hillsides] + And pu'd the gowans fine; [pulled, daisies] + But we've wander'd mony a weary foot + Sin' auld lang syne. + + We twa hae paidled i' the burn, [waded, brook] + From morning sun till dine; [noon] + But seas between us braid hae roar'd [broad] + Sin' auld lang syne. + + And there's a hand, my trusty fiere, [comrade] + And gie's a hand o' thine; [give me] + And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught, [draught of good will] + For auld lang syne. + +A more remarkable case of patchwork is _A Red, Red Rose_. Antiquarian +research has discovered in chap-books and similar sources four songs, +from each of which a stanza, in some such form as follows, seems to +have proved suggestive to Burns: + + (1) Her cheeks are like the Roses + That blossom fresh in June, + O, she's like a new strung instrument + That's newly put in tune. + + (2) Altho' I go a thousand miles + I vow thy face to see, + Altho' I go ten thousand miles + I'll come again to thee, dear Love, + I'll come again to thee. + + (3) The seas they shall run dry, + And rocks melt into sands; + Then I'll love you still, my dear, + When all those things are done. + + (4) Fare you well, my own true love, + And fare you well for a while, + And I will be sure to return back again, + If I go ten thousand mile. + +The genealogy of the lyric is still more complicated than these +sources imply, but the specimens given are enough to show the nature +of the ore from which Burns extracted the pure gold of his well-known +song: + + +MY LOVE IS LIKE A RED RED ROSE + + O, my love is like a red red rose + That's newly sprung in June: + O, my love is like the melodie + That's sweetly play'd in tune. + + As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, + So deep in love am I: + And I will love thee still, my dear, + Till a' the seas gang dry. [go] + + Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, + And the rocks melt wi' the sun: + And I will love thee still, my dear, + While the sands o' life shall run. + + And fare thee weel, my only love, + And fare thee weel a while! + And I will come again, my love, + Tho' it were ten thousand mile. + +Of the songs already quoted, the germ of _Ae Fond Kiss_ lies in the +first line of Robert Dodsley's _Parting Kiss_, + + "One fond kiss before we part;" + +_I Hae a Wife o' My Ain_, borrows with slight modification the first +two lines; a model for _My Nannie O_ has been found in an anonymous +eighteenth-century fragment as well as in a song of Ramsay's, but +neither contributes more than the phrase which names the tune as well +as the words; _The Rigs o' Barley_ was suggested by a verse of an old +song: + + O, corn rigs and rye rigs, + O, corn rigs are bonie; + And whene'er you meet a bonie lass + Preen up her cockernonie. + +_Handsome Nell_, _Mary Morison_, _Will Ye Go to the Indies_, _The +Gloomy Night_, and _My Nannie's Awa_ are entirely original; and a +comparison of their poetical quality with those having their model or +starting point in an older song will show that, however brilliantly +Burns acquitted himself in his task of refurbishing traditional +material, he was in no way dependent upon such material for +inspiration. + +From what has been said of the occasions of these verses, however, it +is clear that inspiration from the outside was not lacking. The +traditional association of wine, woman, and song certainly held for +Burns, nearly all his lyrics being the outcome of his devotion to at +least two of these, some of them, like the following, to all three. + + +YESTREEN I HAD A PINT O' WINE + + Yestreen I had a pint o' wine, [Last night] + A place where body saw na'; [nobody saw] + Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine + The gowden locks of Anna. [golden] + The hungry Jew in wilderness + Rejoicing o'er his manna, + Was naething to my hinny bliss [honey] + Upon the lips of Anna. + + Ye monarchs, tak the east and west, + Frae Indus to Savannah! + Gie me within my straining grasp + The melting form of Anna. + There I'll despise imperial charms, + An Empress or Sultana, + While dying raptures in her arms + I give and take with Anna! + + Awa, thou flaunting god o' day! + Awa, thou pale Diana! + Ilk star, gae hide thy twinkling ray [Each, go] + When I'm to meet my Anna. + Come, in thy raven plumage, night! + (Sun, moon, and stars withdrawn a') + And bring an angel pen to write + My transports wi' my Anna! + + (Postscript) + + The kirk and state may join, and tell + To do such things I mauna: [must not] + The kirk and state may gae to hell, + And I'll gae to my Anna. + She is the sunshine o' my ee, + To live but her I canna; [without] + Had I on earth but wishes three, + The first should be my Anna. + +Nothing could be more hopeless than to attempt to classify Burns's +songs according to the amours that occasioned them, and to seek to +find a constant relation between the reality and intensity of the +passion and the vitality of the poetry. At times some relation does +seem apparent, as we may discern beneath the vigor of the song just +quoted a trace of a conscious attempt to brave his conscience in +connection with the one proved infidelity to Jean after his marriage. +Again, in such songs as _Of a' the Airts_, _Poortith Cauld_, and +others addressed to Jean herself, we have an expression of his less +than rapturous but entirely genuine affection for his wife. + + +OF A' THE AIRTS + + Of a' the airts the wind can blaw, [directions] + I dearly like the west, + For there the bonnie lassie lives, + The lassie I lo'e best: [love] + There wild woods grow, and rivers row, [roll] + And mony a hill between; + But day and night my fancy's flight + Is ever wi' my Jean. + + I see her in the dewy flowers, + I see her sweet and fair: + I hear her in the tunefu' birds, + I hear her charm the air: + There's not a bonnie flower that springs + By fountain, shaw, or green; [woodland] + There's not a bonnie bird that sings, + But minds me o' my Jean. + + +O THIS IS NO MY AIN LASSIE + + O this is no my ain lassie, + Fair tho' the lassie be; + O weel ken I my ain lassie, + Kind love is in her e'e. + + I see a form, I see a face, + Ye weel may wi' the fairest place: + It wants, to me, the witching grace, + The kind love that's in her e'e. + + She's bonnie, blooming, straight, and tall, + And lang has had my heart in thrall; + And aye it charms my very saul, [soul] + The kind love that's in her e'e. + + A thief sae pawkie is my Jean, [sly] + To steal a blink, by a' unseen; [glance] + But gleg as light are lovers' e'en, [nimble, eyes] + When kind love is in the e'e. + + It may escape the courtly sparks, + It may escape the learned clerks; + But weel the watching lover marks + The kind love that's in her e'e. + + +POORTITH CAULD + + O poortith cauld, and restless love, [cold poverty] + Ye wreck my peace between ye; + Yet poortith a' I could forgive, + An' 'twere na for my Jeanie. [If 'twere not] + + O why should fate sic pleasure have, [such] + Life's dearest bands untwining? + Or why sae sweet a flower as love + Depend on Fortune's shining? + + The warld's wealth when I think on, + Its pride, and a' the lave o't,-- [rest] + My curse on silly coward man, + That he should be the slave o't. + + Her een sae bonnie blue betray + How she repays my passion; + But prudence is her o'erword aye, [refrain] + She talks of rank and fashion. + + O wha can prudence think upon, + And sic a lassie by him? + O wha can prudence think upon, + And sae in love as I am? + + How blest the wild-wood Indian's fate! + He woos his artless dearie-- + The silly bogles, Wealth and State, [goblins] + Can never make him eerie. [afraid] + + +MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING + + She is a winsome wee thing, + She is a handsome wee thing, + She is a lo'esome wee thing, + This sweet wee wife o' mine. + + I never saw a fairer, + I never lo'ed a dearer, + And neist my heart I'll wear her, [next] + For fear my jewel tine. [be lost] + + The warld's wrack, we share o't, + The warstle and the care o't; [struggle] + Wi' her I'll blythely bear it, + And think my lot divine. + +Similarly, most of the lyrics addressed to Clarinda in Edinburgh are +marked by the sentimentalism and affectation of an affair that engaged +only one side, and that among the least pleasing, of the many-sided +temperament of the poet. + +But, in general, with Burns as with other poets, it was not the +catching of a first-hand emotion at white heat that resulted in the +best poetry, but the stimulating of his imagination by the vision of a +person or a situation that may have had but the hint of a prototype in +the actual. We have already noted that the best of the Clarinda poems +were written in absence, and that they drop the Arcadian names which +typified the make-believe element in that complex affair. So a number +of his most charming songs are addressed to girls of whom he had had +but a glimpse. But that glimpse sufficed to kindle him, and for the +poetry it was all advantage that it was no more. + +His relations with women were extremely varied in nature. At one +extreme there were friendships like that with Mrs. Dunlop, the letters +to whom show that their common interests were mainly moral and +intellectual, and were mingled with no emotion more fiery than +gratitude. At the other extreme stand relations like that with Anne +Park, the heroine of _Yestreen I had a Pint o' Wine_, which were +purely passionate and transitory. Between these come a long procession +affording excellent material for the ingenuity of those skilled in the +casuistry of the sexes: the boyish flame for Handsome Nell; the +slightly more mature feeling for Ellison Begbie; the various phases of +his passion for Jean Armour; the perhaps partly factitious reverence +for Highland Mary; the respectful adoration for Margaret Chalmers to +whom he is supposed to have proposed marriage in Edinburgh; the +deliberate posing in his compliments to Chloris (Jean Lorimer); the +grateful gallantry to Jessie Lewars, who ministered to him on his +deathbed. + +In the later days in Dumfries, when his vitality was running low and +he was laboring to supply Thomson with verses even when the +spontaneous impulse to compose was rare, we find him theorizing on the +necessity of enthroning a goddess for the nonce. Speaking of +_Craigieburn-wood_ and Jean Lorimer, he writes to his prosaic editor: + + "The lady on whom it was made is one of the finest women in + Scotland; and in fact (_entre nous_) is in a manner to me what + Sterne's Eliza was to him--a Mistress, or Friend, or what you + will, in the guileless simplicity of Platonic love. (Now, don't + put any of your squinting constructions on this, or have any + clishmaclaver about it among our acquaintances.) I assure you that + to my lovely Friend you are indebted for many of your best songs + of mine. Do you think that the sober gin-horse routine of + existence could inspire a man with life, and love, and joy--could + fire him with enthusiasm, or melt him with pathos equal to the + genius of your Book? No, no!!! Whenever I want to be more than + ordinary _in song_; to be in some degree equal to your diviner + airs, do you imagine I fast and pray for the celestial emanation? + _Tout au contraire!_ I have a glorious recipe; the very one that + for his own use was invented by the Divinity of Healing and Poesy + when erst he piped to the flocks of Admetus. I put myself in a + 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 eye is the godhead of Parnassus, and + the witchery of her smile the divinity of Helicon!" + +Burns is here, of course, on his rhetorical high horse, and the songs +to Chloris hardly bear him out; but there is much in the passage to +enlighten us as to his composing processes. In his younger days his +hot blood welcomed every occasion of emotional experience; toward the +end, he sought such occasions for the sake of the patriotic task that +lightened with its idealism the gathering gloom of his breakdown. But +throughout, and this is the important point to note in relating his +poetry to his life, his one mode of complimentary address to a woman +was in terms of gallantry. + +The following group of love songs illustrate the various phases of his +temperament which we have been discussing. The first two are to Mary +Campbell, and exhibit Burns in his most reverential attitude toward +women: + + +HIGHLAND MARY + + Ye banks, and braes, and streams around + The castle o' Montgomery, + Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, + Your waters never drumlie! [muddy] + There Simmer first unfauld her robes, [may S. f. unfold] + And there the langest tarry; + For there I took the last fareweel + O' my sweet Highland Mary. + + How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, [birch] + How rich the hawthorn's blossom, + As underneath their fragrant shade + I clasp'd her to my bosom! + The golden hours on angel wings + Flew o'er me and my dearie; + For dear to me as light and life + Was my sweet Highland Mary. + + Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embrace + Our parting was fu' tender; + And, pledging aft to meet again, + We tore oursels asunder; + But oh! fell death's untimely frost, + That nipt my flower sae early! + Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay, [cold] + That wraps my Highland Mary! + + O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, + I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly! + And closed for aye the sparkling glance, + That dwelt on me sae kindly! + And mould'ring now in silent dust, + That heart that lo'ed me dearly! [loved] + But still within my bosom's core + Shall live my Highland Mary. + + +TO MARY IN HEAVEN + + Thou lingering star, with lessening ray, + That lov'st to greet the early morn, + Again thou usherest in the day + My Mary from my soul was torn. + O Mary! dear departed shade! + Where is thy place of blissful rest? + Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? + Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? + + That sacred hour can I forget? + Can I forget the hallow'd grove, + Where by the winding Ayr we met, + To live one day of parting love? + Eternity will not efface + Those records dear of transports past; + Thy image at our last embrace-- + Ah! little thought we 'twas our last! + + Ayr gurgling kiss'd his pebbled shore, + O'erhung with wild woods, thickening green; + The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, + Twin'd amorous round the raptur'd scene. + The flowers sprang wanton to be prest, + The birds sang love on ev'ry spray, + Till too, too soon, the glowing west + Proclaim'd the speed of winged day. + + Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes, + And fondly broods with miser care! + Time but the impression stronger makes, + As streams their channels deeper wear. + My Mary, dear departed shade! + Where is thy place of blissful rest? + Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? + Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? + +The group that follow are addressed either to unknown divinities or to +girls who inspired only a passing devotion. In the case of _Bonnie +Lesley_, there was no question of a love-affair: the song is merely a +compliment to a young lady he met and admired. _Auld Rob Morris_ is +probably purely dramatic. + + +CA' THE YOWES + +(Second Version) + + Ca' the yowes to the knowes, [ewes, knolls] + Ca' them where the heather grows, + Ca' them where the burnie rows, [brooklet rolls] + My bonnie dearie. + + Hark! the mavis' evening sang [thrush's] + Sounding Clouden's woods amang; + Then a-faulding let us gang, [a-folding, go] + My bonnie dearie. + + We'll gae down by Clouden side, [go] + Thro' the hazels, spreading wide + O'er the waves that sweetly glide + To the moon sae clearly. + + Yonder Clouden's silent towers, + Where at moonshine's midnight hours, + O'er the dewy bending flowers, + Fairies dance sae cheery. + + Ghaist nor bogle shall thou fear; [Ghost, goblin] + Thou'rt to Love and Heaven sae dear, + Nocht of ill may come thee near, [Nought] + My bonnie dearie. + + Fair and lovely as thou art, + Thou hast stown my very heart; [stolen] + I can die--but canna part, + My bonnie dearie. + + +AFTON WATER + + Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, + Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise; + My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, + Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. + + Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro' the glen, + Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den, + Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear, + I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. + + How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills, + Far mark'd with the courses of clear winding rills; + There daily I wander as noon rises high, + My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. + + How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, + Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow; + There oft as mild Ev'ning weeps over the lea, + The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me. [birch] + + Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, + And winds by the cot where my Mary resides; + How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, + As gathering sweet flow'rets she stems thy clear wave. + + Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, + Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays; + My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, + Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. + + +THE BLUE-EYED LASSIE + + I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen, [went, road last night] + A gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue; + I gat my death frae twa sweet een, [got, eyes] + Twa lovely een o' bonnie blue. + 'Twas not her golden ringlets bright, + Her lips like roses wat wi' dew, [wet] + Her heaving bosom lily-white; + It was her een sae bonnie blue. + + She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wyl'd, [beguiled] + She charm'd my soul I wist na how; + And aye the stound, the deadly wound, [pang] + Came frae her een sae bonnie blue. [from] + But 'spare to speak, and spare to speed'-- + She'll aiblins listen to my vow: [perhaps] + Should she refuse, I'll lay my dead [death] + To her twa een sae bonnie blue. + + +BONNIE LESLEY + + O saw ye bonnie Lesley + As she gaed o'er the border? [went] + She's gane, like Alexander, + To spread her conquests farther. + + To see her is to love her, + And love but her for ever; + For Nature made her what she is, + And never made anither! + + Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, + Thy subjects, we before thee: + Thou art divine, fair Lesley, + The hearts o' men adore thee. + + The Deil he could na scaith thee, [harm] + Or aught that wad belang thee; + He'd look into thy bonnie face, + And say, 'I canna wrang thee.' + + The Powers aboon will tent thee; [above, guard] + Misfortune sha'na steer thee; [shall not disturb] + Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely, + That ill they'll ne'er let near thee. + + Return again, fair Lesley, + Return to Caledonie! + That we may brag we hae a lass + There's nane again sae bonnie. [no other] + + +LASSIE WI' THE LINT-WHITE LOCKS + + Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, [flaxen] + Bonnie lassie, artless lassie, + Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks? [watch] + Wilt thou be my dearie, O? + + Now nature cleeds the flowery lea, [clothes] + And a' is young and sweet like thee; + O wilt thou share its joys wi' me, + And say thou'lt be my dearie, O. + + The primrose bank, the wimpling burn, [winding] + The cuckoo on the milk-white thorn, + The wanton lambs at early morn + Shall welcome thee, my dearie, O. + + And when the welcome simmer-shower + Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower, [every] + We'll to the breathing woodbine bower + At sultry noon, my dearie, O. + + When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray, + The weary shearer's hameward way. [reaper's] + Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray, + And talk o' love, my dearie, O. + + And when the howling wintry blast + Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest; + Enclasped to my faithfu' breast, + I'll comfort thee, my dearie, O. + + +MONTGOMERIE'S PEGGY + + Altho' my bed were in yon muir, + Amang the heather, in my plaidie, + Yet happy, happy would I be, + Had I my dear Montgomerie's Peggy. + + When o'er the hill beat surly storms, + And winter nights were dark and rainy, + I'd seek some dell, and in my arms + I'd shelter dear Montgomerie's Peggy. + + Were I a Baron proud and high, + And horse and servants waiting ready, + Then a' 't wad gie o' joy to me, [it would give] + The sharin't wi' Montgomerie's Peggy. + + +THE LEA-RIG + + When o'er the hill the eastern star + Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo; [folding-] + And owsen frae the furrow'd field [oxen] + Return sae dowf and wearie O; [dull] + Down by the burn, where scented birks + Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo, [sweetheart] + I'll meet thee on the lea-rig, [grassy ridge] + My ain kind dearie O. [own] + + In mirkest glen, at midnight hour, [darkest] + I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie O, [scared] + If thro' that glen I gaed to thee, [went] + My ain kind dearie O. + Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild, + And I were ne'er sae wearie O, + I'd meet thee on the lea-rig, + My ain kind dearie O. + + The hunter lo'es the morning sun, [loves] + To rouse the mountain deer, my jo; + At noon the fisher takes the glen, + Along the burn to steer, my jo; + Gie me the hour o' gloamin grey [twilight] + It maks my heart sae cheery O, + To meet thee on the lea-rig, + My ain kind dearie O. + + +AULD ROB MORRIS + + There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, [dwells] + He's the king o' gude fellows and wale of auld men; [pick] + He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine, [gold, oxen] + And ae bonnie lassie, his dautie and mine. [one, darling] + + She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May; + She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay; + As blythe and as artless as the lambs on the lea, + And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e. + + But oh! she's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird, + And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard; [garden] + A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed, [must not] + The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead. [death] + + The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane; + The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane; + I wander my lane, like a night-troubled ghaist, [alone, ghost] + And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast. + + O had she but been of a lower degree, + I then might hae hoped she wad smiled upon me; + O how past descriving had then been my bliss, [describing] + As now my distraction no words can express! + +_O, Wert Thou in the Cauld Blast_, besides being one of the most +exquisite of his songs, has a pathetic interest from the circumstances +under which it was composed. During the last few months of his life, a +young girl called Jessie Lewars, sister of one of his colleagues in +the excise, came much to his house and was of great service to Mrs. +Burns and him in his last illness. One day he offered to write new +verses to any tune she might play him. She sat down and played over +several times the melody of an old song, beginning, + + The robin came to the wren's nest, + And keekit in, and keekit in. + +The following lines were the characteristic result: + + +O, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST + + O, wert thou in the cauld blast, [cold] + On yonder lea, on yonder lea, + My plaidie to the angry airt, [direction] + I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee, + Or did misfortune's bitter storms + Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, + Thy bield should be my bosom, [shelter] + To share it a', to share it a'. + + Or were I in the wildest waste, + Sae black and bare, sae black and bare, + The desert were a paradise, + If thou wert there, if thou wert there. + Or were I monarch o' the globe, + Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign, + The brightest jewel in my crown + Wad be my queen, wad be my queen. + +This group may well close with his great hymn of general allegiance to +the sex. + + +GREEN GROW THE RASHES + + Green grow the rashes, O, + Green grow the rashes, O; + The sweetest hours that e'er I spend, + Are spent amang the lasses, O! + + There's nought but care on ev'ry han', + In ev'ry hour that passes, O; + What signifies the life o' man, + An' 'twere na for the lasses, O. + + The warly race may riches chase, [worldly] + An' riches still may fly them, O; + An' tho' at last they catch them fast, + Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O. + + But gie me a canny hour at e'en, [quiet] + My arms about my dearie, O; + An' warly cares, an' warly men, + May a' gae tapsalteerie, O! [upside-down] + + For you sae douce, ye sneer at this, [sedate] + Ye're nought but senseless asses, O: + The wisest man the warl' e'er saw, + He dearly lov'd the lasses, O. + + Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears + Her noblest work she classes, O; + Her prentice han' she tried on man, + An' then she made the lasses, O. + +Equally personal, but not connected with love, are a few +autobiographical poems of which the following are typical. The third +of these, though prosaic enough, is interesting as perhaps Burns's +most elaborate summing up of the philosophy of his own career. + + +THERE WAS A LAD + + There was a lad was born in Kyle, + But whatna day o' whatna style [what] + I doubt it's hardly worth the while + To be sae nice wi' Robin. + + Robin was a rovin' boy, [roystering] + Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin'; + Robin was a rovin' boy, + Rantin' rovin' Robin. + + Our monarch's hindmost year but ane [one] + Was five-and-twenty days begun, + 'Twas then a blast o' Janwar win' + Blew hansel in on Robin. [his first gift] + + The gossip keekit in his loof, [peeped, palm] + Quo' scho, 'Wha lives will see the proof, [Quoth she] + This waly boy will be nae coof, [choice, dolt] + I think we'll ca' him Robin. [call] + + 'He'll hae misfortunes great an' sma', + But aye a heart aboon them a'; [above] + He'll be a credit till us a', [to] + We'll a' be proud o' Robin. + + 'But sure as three times three mak nine, + I see by ilka score and line, [each] + This chap will dearly like our kin', [sex] + So leeze me on thee, Robin. [blessing on] + + 'Guid faith,' quo' scho, 'I doubt you, stir, [sir] + Ye gar the lasses lie aspar, [make, aspread] + But twenty fauts ye may hae waur, [faults, worse] + So blessings on thee, Robin!' + + +CONTENTED WI' LITTLE + + Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair, [cheerful] + Whene'er I forgather wi' Sorrow and Care, [meet] + I gie them a skelp, as they're creepin' alang, [spank] + Wi' a cog o' gude swats, and an auld Scottish sang. [bowl of good ale] + + I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought; [sometimes] + But man is a soger, and life is a faught: [soldier, fight] + My mirth and gude humour are coin in my pouch, [pocket] + And my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch daur touch. [dare] + + A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa', [twelvemonth, lot] + A night o' gude fellowship sowthers it a'; [solders] + When at the blythe end of our journey at last, + Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past? [Who the devil] + + Blind Chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way, [stumble, stagger] + Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jad gae: + Come ease or come travail, come pleasure or pain, + My warst word is--'Welcome, and welcome again!' + + +MY FATHER WAS A FARMER + + My Father was a Farmer upon the Carrick border, O, + And carefully he bred me in decency and order, O; + He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne'er a farthing, O, + For without an honest manly heart, no man was worth regarding, O. + + Then out into the world my course I did determine, O; + Tho' to be rich was not my wish, yet to be great was charming, O: + My talents they were not the worst, nor yet my education, O; + Resolv'd was I, at least to try, to mend my situation, O. + + In many a way, and vain essay, I courted Fortune's favour, O: + Some cause unseen still stept between to frustrate each endeavour, O; + Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd, sometimes by friends forsaken, O; + And when my hope was at the top, I still was worst mistaken, O. + + Then sore harass'd, and tir'd at last, with Fortune's vain delusion, O, + I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams, and came to this conclusion, O-- + The past was bad, and the future hid; its good or ill untried, O; + But the present hour was in my pow'r, and so I would enjoy it, O. + + No help, nor hope, nor view had I, nor person to befriend me, O; + So I must toil, and sweat and broil, and labour to sustain me, O; + To plough and sow, to reap and mow, my father bred me early, O; + For one, he said, to labour bred, was a match for Fortune fairly, O. + + Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, thro' life I'm doom'd to wander, O, + Till down my weary bones I lay in everlasting slumber, O; + No view nor care, but shun whate'er might breed me pain or sorrow, O, + I live to-day as well's I may, regardless of to-morrow, O. + + But cheerful still, I am as well as a monarch in a palace, O. + Tho' Fortune's frown still hunts me down, with all her wonted malice, O; + I make indeed my daily bread, but ne'er can make it farther, O; + But, as daily bread is all I need, I do not much regard her, O. + + When sometimes by my labour I earn a little money, O, + Some unforeseen misfortune comes generally upon me, O-- + Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, or my good-natur'd folly, O; + But come what will, I've sworn it still, I'll ne'er be melancholy, O. + + All you who follow wealth and power with unremitting ardour, O, + The more in this you look for bliss, you leave your view the farther, O; + Had you the wealth Potosi boasts, or nations to adore you, O, + A cheerful honest-hearted clown I will prefer before you, O. + +The stress laid upon that part of Burns's production which has +relation, near or remote, to his personal experiences with women is, +in the current estimate, somewhat disproportionate. A surprisingly +large number of his most effective songs are purely dramatic, are +placed in the mouth of a man who is clearly not the poet, or, more +frequently, in the mouth of a woman. There is little evidence that +Burns would have been capable of sustained dramatic composition; on +the other hand, he was far from being limited to purely personal lyric +utterance. His versatility in giving expression to the amorous moods +of the other sex is almost as great as in direct confession. A group +of these dramatic lyrics will demonstrate this. + + +O FOR ANE AN' TWENTY, TAM! + + An' O for ane an' twenty, Tam! + An' hey, sweet are an' twenty, Tam! + I'll learn my kin a rattlin' sang, [teach] + An' I saw ane an' twenty, Tam. [If] + + They snool me sair, and haud me down, [snub, sorely, hold] + An' gar me look like bluntie, Tam! [make, a fool] + But three short years will soon wheel roun', + An' then comes ane an' twenty, Tam. + + A gleib o' lan', a claut o' gear, [portion, handful of money] + Was left me by my auntie, Tam; + At kith or kin I need na spier, [ask] + An' I saw ane and twenty, Tam. + + They'll hae me wed a wealthy coof, [have, dolt] + Tho' I mysel' hae plenty, Tam; + But hear'st thou, laddie? there's my loof, [hand] + I'm thine at ane and twenty, Tam! + + +YE BANKS AND BRAES + +(Second Version) + + Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon, + How can ye blume sae fair? + How can ye chant, ye little birds, + And I sae fu' o' care? + + Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird, + That sings upon the bough; + Thou minds me o' the happy days, [remindest] + When my fause luve was true. + + Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird, + That sings beside thy mate; + For sae I sat, and sae I sang, + And wist na o' my fate. + + Aft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon, + To see the wood-bine twine, + And ilka bird sang o' its love, + And sae did I o' mine. + + Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose + Frae off its thorny tree: + But my fause luver staw my rose, [stole] + And left the thorn wi' me. + + +(Third Version) + + Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, + How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair? + How can ye chant, ye little birds, + And I sae weary fu' o' care? + Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird, + That wantons thro' the flowering thorn; + Thou minds me o' departed joys, + Departed never to return. + + Aft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon, + To see the rose and woodbine twine; + And ilka bird sang o' its love, + And fondly sae did I o' mine. + Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, + Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree; + And my fause lover staw my rose, [stole] + But ah! he left the thorn wi' me. + + +SIMMER'S A PLEASANT TIME + + Simmer's a pleasant time, + Flow'rs of ev'ry colour; + The water rins o'er the heugh, [crag] + And I long for my true lover. + + Ay waukin O, [waking] + Waukin still and wearie: + Sleep I can get nane + For thinking on my dearie. + + When I sleep I dream, + When I wauk I'm eerie; [superstitiously afraid] + Sleep I can get nane + For thinking on my dearie. + + Lanely night comes on, + A' the lave are sleeping; [rest] + I think on my bonnie lad + And I bleer my een with greetin'. [eyes, weeping] + + +WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YE, MY LAD + + O whistle, and I'll come to ye, my lad; + O whistle, and I'll come to ye, my lad: + Tho' father and mither and a' should gae mad, + O whistle, and I'll come to ye, my lad. + + But warily tent, when ye come to court me, [take care] + And come na unless the back-yett be a-jee; [gate, ajar] + Syne up the back-stile, and let naebody see, [then] + And come as ye were na comin' to me. + And come as ye were na comin' to me. + + At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me, + Gang by me as tho' that ye car'd na a flee: [go, fly] + But steal me a blink o' your bonnie black e'e, [glance] + Yet look as ye were na lookin' at me. + Yet look as ye were na lookin' at me. + + Aye vow and protest that ye care na for me, + And whiles ye may lightly my beauty a wee; [slight] + But court na anither, tho' jokin' ye be, + For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me. [beguile] + For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me. + + +TAM GLEN + + My heart is a breaking, dear tittie, [sister] + Some counsel unto me come len', + To anger them a' is a pity; + But what will I do wi' Tam Glen? + + I'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fellow, [fine] + In poortith I might mak a fen'; [poverty, shift] + What care I in riches to wallow, + If I maunna marry Tam Glen? [must not] + + There's Lowrie the laird o' Dumeller, + 'Guid-day to you'--brute! he comes ben: + He brags and he blaws o' his siller, [money] + But when will he dance like Tam Glen? + + My minnie does constantly deave me, [mother, deafen] + And bids me beware o' young men; + They flatter, she says, to deceive me; + But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen? + + My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him, [if] + He'll gie me guid hunder marks ten: [hundred] + But, if it's ordain'd I maun take him, + O wha will I get but Tam Glen? + + Yestreen at the Valentine's dealing, [Last night] + My heart to my mou gied a sten: [mouth gave a leap] + For thrice I drew ane without failing, + And thrice it was written, 'Tam Glen.' + + The last Halloween I was waukin' [watching] + My droukit sark-sleeve,[3] as ye ken; [drenched chemise] + His likeness cam up the house stalkin'-- + And the very grey breeks o' Tam Glen! [trousers] + + Come, counsel, dear tittle, don't tarry; + I'll gie you my bonnie black hen, [give] + Gif ye will advise me to marry [If] + The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen. [love] + + [3] See note 17 on Halloween, p. 218. + + +THE RANTIN' DOG THE DADDIE O'T + + O wha my babie-clouts will buy? [baby-clothes] + Wha will tent me when I cry? [care for] + Wha will kiss me whare I lie?-- + The rantin' dog the daddie o't. [of it] + + Wha will own he did the faut? [fault] + Wha will buy my groanin' maut? [ale for the midwife] + Wha will tell me how to ca't? [name it] + The rantin' dog the daddie o't. + + When I mount the creepie-chair. [stool of repentance] + Wha will sit beside me there? + Gie me Rob, I seek nae mair,-- [Give] + The rantin' dog the daddie o't. + + Wha will crack to me my lane? [chat, alone] + Wha will mak me fidgin' fain? [tingling with fondness] + Wha will kiss me o'er again?-- + The rantin' dog the daddie o't. + + +LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER + + Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen, [fine] + And sair wi' his love he did deave me: [sorely, deafen] + I said there was naething I hated like men-- + The deuce gae wi'm to believe me, believe me, [go with him] + The deuce gae wi'm to believe me. + + He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black een, + And vow'd for my love he was dying; + I said he might die when he liked for Jean: + The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying. + The Lord forgie me for lying! + + A weel-stocked mailen, himsel' for the laird, [farm] + And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers: + I never loot on that I kend it, or car'd; [admitted] + But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers, [worse] + But thought I might hae waur offers. + + But what wad ye think? In a fortnight or less, + The deil tak his taste to gae near her! [devil] + He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess, [lane] + Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her, could bear her, + Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her. + + But a' the niest week as I petted wi' care, [next, fretted] + I gaed to the tryst o' Dalgarnock; [fair] + And wha but my fine fickle lover was there? + I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock, [stared, wizard] + I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock. + + But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink, [shoulder, gave, glance] + Lest neebors might say I was saucy; + My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink, + And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie, + And vow'd I was his dear lassie. + + I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet, [asked, kindly] + Gin she had recover'd her hearin', [If] + And how her new shoon fit her auld shachl't feet-- [shoes, ill-shaped] + But, heavens! how he fell a swearin', a swearin'. + But, heavens! how he fell a swearin'. + + He begged for gudesake I wad be his wife, + Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow: + So e'en to preserve the poor body in life, + I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow, [must] + I think I maun wed him to-morrow. + + +FOR THE SAKE O' SOMEBODY + + My heart is sair, I dare na tell, [sore] + My heart is sair for somebody; + I could wake a winter night, + For the sake o' somebody! + Oh-hon! for somebody! + Oh-hey! for somebody! + I could range the world around, + For the sake o' somebody. + + Ye powers that smile on virtuous love, + O, sweetly smile on somebody! + Frae ilka danger keep him free, [every] + And send me safe my somebody. + Oh-hon! for somebody! + Oh-hey! for somebody! + I wad do--what wad I not? + For the sake o' somebody! + + +OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, O! + + Oh, open the door, some pity to shew, + Oh, open the door to me, O! + Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true, + Oh, open the door to me, O! + + Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek, + But caulder thy love for me, O! + The frost, that freezes the life at my heart, + Is nought to my pains frae thee, O! + + The wan moon is setting behind the white wave, + And time is setting with me, O! + False friends, false love, farewell! for mair + I'll ne'er trouble them nor thee, O! + + She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide; + She sees his pale corse on the plain, O! + 'My true love!' she cried, and sank down by his side, + Never to rise again, O! + + +WANDERING WILLIE + + Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie, [away] + Here awa, there awa, haud awa hame; [hold] + Come to my bosom, my ae only dearie, [one] + Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same. + + Loud tho' the winter blew cauld at our parting, + 'Twas na the blast brought the tear in my e'e; + Welcome now, Simmer, and welcome, my Willie, + The Simmer to Nature, my Willie to me! + + Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave o' your slumbers; + How your dread howling a lover alarms! + Wauken, ye breezes, row gently, ye billows, [Awake] + And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. [once more] + + But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie, + Flow still between us, thou wide-roaring main; + May I never see it, may I never trow it, + But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain! [own] + + +HOW LANG AND DREARY + + How lang and dreary is the night. + When I am frae my dearie! + I restless lie frae e'en to morn, + Tho' I were ne'er sae weary. + + For O, her lanely nights are lang; + And O, her dreams are eerie; [fearful] + And O, her widow'd heart is sair, [sore] + That's absent frae her dearie. + + When I think on the lightsome days + I spent wi' thee, my dearie, + And now that seas between us roar, + How can I be but eerie! + + How slow ye move, ye heavy hours; + The joyless day how drearie! + It wasna sae ye glinted by, [glanced] + When I was wi' my dearie. + + +THE BONNIE LAD THAT'S FAR AWA + + O how can I be blithe and glad, + Or how can I gang brisk and braw, [go, fine] + When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best + Is o'er the hills and far awa? + + It's no the frosty winter wind, + It's no the driving drift and snaw; + But aye the tear comes in my e'e, + To think on him that's far awa. + + My father pat me frae his door, [put] + My friends they hae disown'd me a': + But I hae ane will tak my part, [have one] + The bonnie lad that's far awa. + + A pair o' gloves he bought to me, + And silken snoods he gae me twa; [fillets, gave] + And I will wear them for his sake, + The bonnie lad that's far awa. + + O weary winter soon will pass, + And spring will cleed the birken shaw: [clothe, birch woods] + And my young babie will be born, + And he'll be hame that's far awa. + + +BRAW BRAW LADS + + Braw braw lads on Yarrow braes, [hills] + That wander thro' the blooming heather; + But Yarrow braes nor Ettrick shaws [woods] + Can match the lads o' Gala Water. + + But there is ane, a secret ane, + Aboon them a' I lo'e him better; [love] + And I'll be his, and he'll be mine, + The bonnie lad o' Gala Water. + + Altho' his daddie was nae laird, [landlord] + And tho' I hae nae meikle tocher, [much dowry] + Yet rich in kindest, truest love, + We'll tent our flocks by Gala Water. [watch] + + It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth, + That coft contentment, peace, and pleasure; [bought] + The bands and bliss o' mutual love, + O that's the chiefest warld's treasure! + + +MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS + + My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here; + My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer; + A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, + My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go. + + Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, + The birth-place of valour, the country of worth; + Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, + The hills of the Highlands for ever I love. + + Farewell to the mountains, high cover'd with snow; + Farewell to the straths and green valleys below; + Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods; + Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods. + +The foregoing are all placed in the mouths of girls, and it is +difficult to deny that they ring as true as the songs that are known +to have sprung from the poet's direct experience. Scarcely less +notable than their sincerity is their variety. Pathos of desertion, +gay defiance of opposition, yearning in absence, confession of +coquetry, joyous confession of affection returned--these are only a +few of the phases of woman's love rendered here with a felicity that +leaves nothing to be desired. What woman has so interpreted the +feelings of her sex? + +The next two express a girl's repugnance at the thought of marriage +with an old man; and the two following form a pair treating the same +theme, one from the girl's point of view, the other from the lover's. +The later verses of _My Love She's but a Lassie Yet_, however, though +full of vivacity, have so little to do with the first or with one +another that the song seems to be a collection of scraps held together +by a common melody. + + +WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE + + What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie, + What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man? + Bad luck on the penny that tempted my minnie [mother] + To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' lan'! [money] + + He's always compleenin' frae mornin' to e'enin', + He boasts and he hirples the weary day lang: [coughs, limps] + He's doylt and he's dozin, his bluid it is frozen, [stupid, benumbed] + O, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man! + + He hums and he hankers, he frets and he cankers, + I never can please him do a' that I can; + He's peevish, and jealous of a' the young fellows: + O, dool on the day I met wi' an auld man! [woe] + + My auld auntie Katie upon me takes pity, + I'll do my endeavour to follow her plan: + I'll cross him and rack him, until I heart-break him, + And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan. + + +TO DAUNTON ME + + The blude-red rose at Yule may blaw, + The simmer lilies bloom in snaw, + The frost may freeze the deepest sea; + But an auld man shall never daunton me. [tame] + + To daunton me, and me sae young, + Wi' his fause heart and flatt'ring tongue, [false] + That is the thing you ne'er shall see; + For an auld man shall never daunton me. + + For a' his meal and a' his maut, [malt] + For a' his fresh beef and his saut, [salt] + For a' his gold and white monie, + An auld man shall never daunton me. + + His gear may buy him kye and yowes, [wealth, cows, ewes] + His gear may buy him glens and knowes; [knolls] + But me he shall not buy nor fee, [hire] + For an auld man shall never daunton me. + + He hirples twa fauld as he dow, [limps double, can] + Wi' his teethless gab and his auld beld pow, [mouth, bald head] + And the rain rains down frae his red bleer'd e'e-- + That auld man shall never daunton me. + + +I'M OWRE YOUNG TO MARRY YET + + I am my mammie's ae bairn, [only child] + Wi' unco folk I weary, Sir; [strange] + And lying in a man's bed, + I'm fley'd wad mak me eerie, Sir. [frightened, scared] + + I'm owre young, I'm owre young, [too] + I'm owre young to marry yet; + I'm owre young, 'twad be a sin + To tak me frae my mammie yet. + + [My mammie coft me a new gown, [bought] + The kirk maun hae the gracing o't; [must] + Were I to lie wi' you, kind Sir, + I'm fear'd ye'd spoil the lacing o't.] + + Hallowmas is come and gane, + The nights are lang in winter, Sir; + And you an' I in ae bed, + In troth I dare na venture, Sir. + + Fu' loud and shrill the frosty wind + Blaws thro' the leafless timmer, Sir; [timber] + But if ye come this gate again, [way] + I'll aulder be gin simmer, Sir. [older, by] + + +MY LOVE SHE'S BUT A LASSIE YET + + My love she's but a lassie yet; + My love she's but a lassie yet; + We'll let her stand a year or twa, + She'll no be half sae saucy yet. + + I rue the day I sought her, O, + I rue the day I sought her, O; + Wha gets her needs na say he's woo'd, + But he may say he's bought her, O! + + Come, draw a drap o' the best o't yet; + Come, draw a drap o' the best o't yet; + Gae seek for pleasure where ye will, [Go] + But here I never miss'd it yet. + + [We're a' dry wi' drinking o't; + We're a' dry wi' drinking o't; + The minister kiss'd the fiddler's wife, + An' could na preach for thinkin' o't.] + +_Bessy and Her Spinnin'-Wheel_ stands by itself as the rendering of +the mood of contented solitude, and is further remarkable for its +charming verses of natural description. _John Anderson My Jo_ is the +classical expression of love in age, inimitable in its simplicity and +tenderness. The two following poems supply a humorous contrast. + + +BESSY AND HER SPINNIN'-WHEEL + + O leeze me on my spinnin'-wheel, [Blessings on] + O leeze me on my rock and reel; [distaff] + Frae tap to tae that deeds me bien, [top to toe, clothes, comfortably] + And haps me fiel and warm at e'en! [wraps, well] + I'll set me down and sing and spin, + While laigh descends the simmer sun, [low] + Blest wi' content, and milk and meal-- + O leeze me on my spinnin'-wheel. + + On ilka hand the burnies trot, [every, brooklets] + And meet below my theekit cot; [thatched] + The scented birk and hawthorn white [birch] + Across the pool their arms unite, + Alike to screen the birdie's nest, + And little fishes' caller rest: [cool] + The sun blinks kindly in the biel', [shelter] + Where blythe I turn my spinnin'-wheel. + + On lofty aiks the cushats wail, [oaks, pigeons] + And Echo cons the doolfu' tale; [repeats, doleful] + The lintwhites in the hazel braes, [linnets] + Delighted, rival ither's lays: + The craik amang the claver hay, [corn-crake, clover] + The paitrick whirrin' o'er the ley. [partridge, meadow] + The swallow jinkin' round my shiel, [dodging, cot] + Amuse me at my spinnin'-wheel. + + Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy, + Aboon distress, below envy, [Above] + O wha wad leave this humble state, + For a' the pride of a' the great? + Amid their flaring, idle toys, + Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys, [noisy] + Can they the peace and pleasure feel + Of Bessy at her spinnin'-wheel? + + +JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO + + John Andersen my jo, John, [sweetheart] + When we were first acquent, + Your locks were like the raven, + Your bonnie brow was brent; [straight] + But now your brow is beld, John, [bald] + Your locks are like the snaw; + But blessings on your frosty pow, [head] + John Anderson, my jo. + + John Anderson my jo, John, + We clamb the hill thegither; + And mony a canty day, John, [jolly] + We've had wi' ane anither: + Now we maun totter down, John, [must] + And hand in hand we'll go, + And sleep thegither at the foot, [together] + John Anderson, my jo. + + +THE WEARY PUND O' TOW + + The weary pund, the weary pund, [pound] + The weary pund o' tow; [yarn] + I think my wife will end her life + Before she spin her tow. + + I bought my wife a stane o' lint [stone, flax] + As gude as e'er did grow; [good] + And a' that she has made o' that, + Is ae poor pund o' tow. [one] + + There sat a bottle in a bole, [niche] + Beyond the ingle lowe, [chimney flame] + And aye she took the tither souk [other suck] + To drouk the stowrie tow. [drench, dusty] + + Quoth I, 'For shame, ye dirty dame, + Gae spin your tap o' tow!' [bunch] + She took the rock, and wi' a knock [distaff] + She brak it o'er my pow. [pate] + + At last her feet--I sang to see't-- + Gaed foremost o'er the knowe; [went, hill] + And or I wad anither jad, [ere, wed] + I'll wallop in a tow. [kick, rope] + + +O MERRY HAE I BEEN + + O, merry hae I been teethin' a heckle, [huckling-comb] + An' merry hae I been shapin' a spoon; + O, merry hae I been cloutin' a kettle, [patching] + An' kissin' my Katie when a' was done, + O, a' the lang day I ca' at my hammer, [knock with] + An' a' the lang day I whistle and sing, + O, a' the lang night I cuddle my kimmer, [mistress] + An' a' the lang night am as happy's a king. + + Bitter in dool I lickit my winnins [sorrow, earnings] + O' marrying Bess, to gie her a slave: + Bless'd be the hour she cool'd in her linens, [shroud] + And blythe be the bird that sings on her grave. + Come to my arms, my Katie, my Katie, + An' come to my arms, an' kiss me again! + Drucken or sober, here's to thee, Katie! + And bless'd be the day I did it again. + +_Had I the Wyte_ is, we may hope, also purely imaginative drama; it is +certainly vividly imagined and carried through with a delightful +mixture of sympathy and humorous detachment. + + +HAD I THE WYTE? + + Had I the wyte, had I the wyte, [blame] + Had I the wyte? she bade me! + She watch'd me by the hie-gate side, [highroad] + And up the loan she shaw'd me; [lane] + And when I wadna venture in, + A coward loon she ca'd me: [rascal] + Had kirk and state been in the gate, [way (opposing)] + I lighted when she bade me. + + Sae craftilie she took me ben, [in] + And bade me make nae clatter; + 'For our ramgunshoch glum gudeman [surly] + Is o'er ayont the water;' [beyond] + Whae'er shall say I wanted grace, + When I did kiss and daut her, [pet] + Let him be planted in my place, + Syne say I was the fautor. [Then, transgressor] + + Could I for shame, could I for shame, + Could I for shame refused her? + And wadna manhood been to blame, + Had I unkindly used her? + He clawed her wi' the ripplin-kame, [wool-comb] + And blae and bluidy bruised her; [blue] + When sic a husband was frae hame, + What wife but had excused her? + + I dighted ay her een sae blue, [wiped, eyes] + And bann'd the cruel randy; [cursed, scoundrel] + And weel I wat her willing mou' [wot, mouth] + Was e'en like sugar-candy. + At gloamin-shot it was, I trow, [sunset] + I lighted, on the Monday; + But I cam through the Tysday's dew, [Tuesday's] + To wanton Willie's brandy. + +_Macpherson's Farewell_, made famous by Carlyle's appreciation, is a +glorified version of the "Dying Words" of a condemned bandit, such as +were familiar in broadsides after every notorious execution. Part of +the refrain is old. One may imagine _The Highland Balou_ the lullaby +of Macpherson's child. + + +MACPHERSON'S FAREWELL + + Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong, + The wretch's destinie! + Macpherson's time will not be long + On yonder gallows tree. + + Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, [jovially] + Sae dauntingly gaed he; + He played a spring and danced it round, [lively tune] + Below the gallows tree. + + Oh, what is death but parting breath? + On mony a bloody plain + I've dared his face, and in his place + I scorn him yet again! + + Untie these bands from off my hands, + And bring to me my sword, + And there's no a man in all Scotland, + But I'll brave him at a word. + + I've lived a life of sturt and strife; [trouble] + I die by treacherie: + It burns my heart I must depart + And not avenged be. + + Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright, + And all beneath the sky! + May coward shame distain his name, + The wretch that dares not die! + + +THE HIGHLAND BALOU + + Hee balou! my sweet wee Donald, [Lullaby] + Picture o' the great Clanronald; + Brawlie kens our wanton chief [Finely knows] + Wha got my young Highland thief. + + Leeze me on thy bonnie craigie! [Blessings on, throat] + An thou live, thou'll steal a naigie: [If, little nag] + Travel the country thro' and thro', + And bring hame a Carlisle cow. + + Thro' the Lawlands, o'er the border, + Weel, my babie, may thou furder: [succeed] + Herry the louns o' the laigh countree, [Harry, rascals, low] + Syne to the Highlands hame to me. [Then] + +Distinct from either of the foregoing groups are several songs in +narrative form, told as a rule from the point of view of an onlooker, +but hardly inferior to the others in vitality. In them the personal or +dramatic emotion is replaced by a keen sense of the humor of the +situation. + + +DUNCAN GRAY + + Duncan Gray came here to woo, + Ha, ha, the wooing o't, + On blythe Yule night when we were fou, [drunk] + Ha, ha, the wooing o't. + Maggie coost her head fu' heigh, [cast, high] + Look'd asklent and unco skeigh, [askance, very skittish] + Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh; [Made, aloof] + Ha, ha, the wooing o't. + + Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd; [wheedled] + Ha, ha, the wooing o't, + Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig, + Ha, ha, the wooing o't, + Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, + Grat his een baith bleer't and blin', [Wept, eyes both] + Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn; [leaping, waterfall] + Ha, ha, the wooing o't. + + Time and chance are but a tide, + Ha, ha, the wooing o't, + Slighted love is sair to bide, [sore, endure] + Ha, ha, the wooing o't. + 'Shall I, like a fool,' quoth he, + 'For a naughty hizzie die? [hussy] + She may gae to--France for me!' + Ha, ha, the wooing o't + + How it comes let doctors tell, + Ha, ha, the wooing o't, + Meg grew sick as he grew haill, [whole] + Ha, ha, the wooing o't. + Something in her bosom wrings, + For relief a sigh she brings; + And O, her een they spak sic things! [such] + Ha, ha, the wooing o't. + + Duncan was a lad o' grace, + Ha, ha, the wooing o't, + Maggie's was a piteous case, + Ha, ha, the wooing o't. + Duncan could na be her death, + Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath; [smothered] + Now they're crouse and cantie baith! [lively, cheerful] + Ha, ha, the wooing o't. + + +DUNCAN DAVISON + + There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg, [called] + And she held o'er the moors to spin; + There was a lad that follow'd her, + They ca'd him Duncan Davison. + The moor was driegh, and Meg was skiegh, [dull, skittish] + Her favour Duncan could na win; + For wi' the rock she wad him knock, [distaff] + And ay she shook the temper-pin. [regulating pin of + the spinning-wheel] + As o'er the moor they lightly foor, [went] + A burn was clear, a glen was green, + Upon the banks they eased their shanks, + And aye she set the wheel between: + But Duncan swore a haly aith, [holy oath] + That Meg should be a bride the morn; + Then Meg took up her spinnin' graith, [implements] + And flung them a' out o'er the burn. [across] + + We will big a wee, wee house, [build] + And we will live like King and Queen, + Sae blythe and merry's we will be + When ye set by the wheel at e'en, [aside] + A man may drink and no be drunk; + A man may fight and no be slain; + A man may kiss a bonnie lass, + And aye be welcome back again. + + +THE DE'IL'S AWA WI' TH' EXCISEMAN + + The De'il cam fiddling thro' the town. + And danced awa wi' th' Exciseman; + And ilka wife cried 'Auld Mahoun, [every, Mahomet (Devil)] + I wish you luck o' your prize, man.' + + We'll mak our maut, and we'll brew our drink, [malt] + We'll laugh, and sing, and rejoice, man; + And mony braw thanks to the muckle black De'il [big] + That danced awa wi' th' Exciseman. + + There's threesome reels, there's foursome reels, + There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man; [dance tunes] + But the ae best dance e'er cam to the lan'. [one] + Was--_The De'il's awa wi' th' Exciseman_. + + +COMIN' THROUGH THE RYE + + Comin' thro' the rye, poor body, + Comin' thro' the rye, + She draigl't a' her petticoatie, [draggled] + Comin' thro' the rye. + + Gin a body meet a body [If] + Comin' thro' the rye; + Gin a body kiss a body, + Need a body cry? + + Gin a body meet a body + Comin' thro' the glen; + Gin a body kiss a body, + Need the warld ken? + + O, Jenny's a' weet, poor body; [all wet] + Jenny's seldom dry; + She draigl't a' her petticoatie, + Comin' thro' the rye. + + +THE DEUK'S DANG O'ER MY DADDIE + + The bairns gat out wi' an unco shout, [children, surprising] + The deuk's dang o'er my daddie, O! [duck has knocked] + The fient ma care, quo' the feirie auld wife, [devil may, lusty] + He was but a paidlin body, O! [tottering creature] + He paidles out, and he paidles in, + An' he paidles late and early, O; + This seven lang years I hae lien by his side, + An' he is but a fusionless carlie, O. [pithless old fellow] + + O, haud your tongue, my feirie auld wife, [hold] + O, haud your tongue now, Nansie, O: + I've seen the day, and sae hae ye, + Ye wad na been sae donsie, O; [would not have, testy] + I've seen the day ye butter'd my brose, [oatmeal and hot water] + And cuddl'd me late and earlie, O; + But downa-do's come o'er me now, [cannot-do is] + And, oh, I find it sairly, O! [feel it sorely] + + +WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER DOOR? + + 'Wha is that at my bower door?' + 'O wha is it but Findlay?' + 'Then gae your gate, ye'se nae be here!' [go, way, shall not] + 'Indeed maun I,' quo' Findlay. [must] + 'What mak ye, sae like a thief?' [do] + 'O, come and see,' quo' Findlay; + 'Before the morn ye'll work mischief;' + 'Indeed will I,' quo' Findlay. + + 'Gif I rise and let you in--' [If] + 'Let me in,' quo' Findlay-- + 'Ye'll keep me waukin wi' your din;' [awake] + 'Indeed will I,' quo' Findlay. + 'In my bower if ye should stay--' + 'Let me stay,' quo' Findlay--, + 'I fear ye'll bide till break o' day;' + 'Indeed will I,' quo' Findlay. + + 'Here this night if ye remain--' + 'I'll remain,' quo' Findlay--, + 'I dread ye'll learn the gate again;' [way] + 'Indeed will I,' quo' Findlay, + 'What may pass within this bower--' + 'Let it pass,' quo' Findlay-- + 'Ye maun conceal till your last hour;' [must] + 'Indeed will I,' quo' Findlay. + + +WILLIE'S WIFE + + Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, + The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie; + Willie was a wabster guid, [weaver good] + Cou'd stown a clue wi' ony body. [have stolen] + He had a wife was dour and din, [stubborn, sallow] + O, Tinkler Madgie was her mither; [Tinker] + Sic a wife as Willie had, [Such] + I wad na gie a button for her! + + She has an e'e, she has but ane, [eye] + The cat has twa the very colour; + Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump, [besides] + A clapper tongue wad deave a miller; [deafen] + A whiskin beard about her mou, [mouth] + Her nose and chin they threaten ither; + Sic a wife as Willie had, + I wad na gie a button for her! + + She's bow-hough'd, she's hem-shinn'd, [bandy, crooked] + Ae limpin leg a hand-breed shorter; [One, hand-breadth] + She's twisted right, she's twisted left, + To balance fair in ilka quarter: [either] + She has a hump upon her breast, + The twin o' that upon her shouther; + Sic a wife as Willie had, + I wad na gie a button for her! + + Auld baudrons by the ingle sits, [Old pussy, fireside] + An' wi' her loof her face a-washin; [palm] + But Willie's wife is nae sae trig, [trim] + She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion; [wipes, snout, stocking-leg] + Her walie nieves like midden-creels, [ample fists, dung baskets] + Her face wad fyle the Logan-water; [dirty] + Sic a wife as Willie had, + I wad na gie a button for her! + +The songs written by Burns in connection with politics are often +lively and pointed, but they have little imagination, and the passing +of the issues they dealt with has deprived them of general interest. +Two classes of exceptions may be noted. He was, as we have seen, +sympathetically interested in the French Revolution, and the +fundamental doctrine of Liberty, Fraternity, Equality was cast by him +into a poem which, he himself said, is "not really poetry," but is +admirably vigorous rhetoric in verse, and has become the classic +utterance of the democratic faith. + + +A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT + + Is there for honest poverty + That hings his head, an' a' that? [hangs] + The coward slave, we pass him by, + We dare be poor for a' that! + For a' that, an' a' that, + Our toils obscure, an' a' that; + The rank is but the guinea's stamp; + The man's the gowd for a' that. [gold] + + What tho' on hamely fare we dine, + Wear hodden-gray, and a' that; [coarse gray] + Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, [Give] + A man's a man for a' that. + For a' that, an' a' that, + Their tinsel show, an' a' that; + The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, + Is king o' men for a' that. + + Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, [fellow] + Wha struts, and stares, an' a' that; + Tho' hundreds worship at his word, + He's but a coof for a' that: [dolt] + For a' that, an' a' that, + His riband, star, and a' that, + The man of independent mind, + He looks and laughs at a' that. + + A prince can mak a belted knight, + A marquis, duke, an' a' that; + But an honest man's aboon his might, [above] + Guid faith, he mauna fa' that! [must not claim] + For a' that, an' a' that, + Their dignities, an' a' that, + The pith o' sense an' pride o' worth + Are higher rank than a' that. + + But let us pray that come it may, + As come it will for a' that; + That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, + May bear the gree, an' a' that. [first place] + For a' that, an' a' that, + It's coming yet for a' that, + That man to man the warld o'er + Shall brithers be for a' that. + +Another, equally famous, sprang from his patriotic enthusiasm for the +heroes of the Scottish war of independence, but was written with more +than a slight consciousness of what seemed to him the similarity of +the spirit then abroad in France. + + +SCOTS, WHA HAE + +ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY, BEFORE THE BATTLE OF BANNOCKBURN + + Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, + Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, + Welcome to your gory bed + Or to victorie. + + Now's the day, and now's the hour; + See the front o' battle lour! + See approach proud Edward's power-- + Chains and slaverie! + + Wha will be a traitor knave? + Wha can fill a coward's grave? + Wha sae base as be a slave? + Let him turn and flee! + + Wha for Scotland's King and law + Freedom's sword will strongly draw, + Freeman stand, or freeman fa'? + Let him follow me! + + By Oppression's woes and pains! + By your sons in servile chains! + We will drain our dearest veins, + But they shall be free! + + Lay the proud usurpers low! + Tyrants fall in every foe! + Liberty's in every blow! + Let us do or die! + +The other class of exceptions is the group of songs on Jacobite +themes. The rebellion led by Prince Charles Edward in 1745 had +produced a considerable quantity of campaign verse, almost all without +poetic value; but after the turmoil had died down and the Stuart cause +was regarded as finally lost, there appeared in Scotland a peculiar +sentimental tenderness for the picturesque and unfortunate family that +had sunk from the splendors of a throne that had been theirs for +centuries into the sordid misery of royal pauperism. Burns, whose +ancestors had been "out" in the '45, shared this sentiment, as Walter +Scott later shared it, both realizing that it had nothing to do with +practical politics. Out of this feeling there grew a considerable body +of poetry, a poetry full of idealism, touched with melancholy, and +atoning for its lack of reality by a richness of imaginative emotion. +Burns led the way in this unique movement, and was worthily followed +by such writers as Lady Nairne, James Hogg, and Sir Walter himself. He +followed his usual custom of availing himself of fragments of the +older lyrics, but as usual he polished the pebbles into jewels and set +them in gold. Here are a few specimens of this poetry of a lost cause. + + +IT WAS A' FOR OUR RIGHTFU' KING + + It was a' for our rightfu' King, + We left fair Scotland's strand; + It was a' for our rightfu' King, + We e'er saw Irish land, + My dear, + We e'er saw Irish land. + + Now a' is done that men can do, + And a' is done in vain; + My love and native land farewell, + For I maun cross the main, [must] + My dear, + For I maun cross the main. + + He turn'd him right and round about + Upon the Irish shore; + And gae his bridle-reins a shake, [gave] + With adieu for evermore, + My dear, + Adieu for evermore. + + The sodger from the wars returns, [soldier] + The sailor frae the main; + But I hae parted frae my love, + Never to meet again, + My dear, + Never to meet again. + + When day is gane, and night is come, + And a' folk bound to sleep, + I think on him that's far awa', + The lee-lang night, and weep, [live-long] + My dear, + The lee-lang night, and weep. + + +COME BOAT ME O'ER TO CHARLIE + + Come boat me o'er, come row me o'er, + Come boat me o'er to Charlie; + I'll gie John Ross another bawbee, [half-penny] + To boat me o'er to Charlie. + + We'll o'er the water, we'll o'er the sea, + We'll o'er the water to Charlie; + Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go, + And live or die wi' Charlie. + + I lo'e weel my Charlie's name, [love] + Tho' some there be abhor him: + But O, to see auld Nick gaun hame, [going] + And Charlie's faes before him! [foes] + + I swear and vow by moon and stars, + And sun that shines so clearly, + If I had twenty thousand lives, + I'd die as aft for Charlie. + + +THE HIGHLAND LADDIE + + The bonniest lad that e'er I saw, + Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie, + Wore a plaid and was fu' braw, [gaily dressed] + Bonnie Highland laddie. + On his head a bonnet blue, + Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie, + His royal heart was firm and true, + Bonnie Highland laddie. + + Trumpets sound and cannons roar, + Bonnie lassie, Lawland lassie, + And a' the hills wi' echoes roar, + Bonnie Lawland lassie. + Glory, Honour, now invite, + Bonnie lassie, Lawland lassie, + For Freedom and my King to fight, + Bonnie Lawland lassie. + + The sun a backward course shall take, + Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie, + Ere aught thy manly courage shake, + Bonnie Highland laddie. + Go, for yoursel procure renown, + Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie, + And for your lawful King his crown, + Bonnie Highland laddie! + + +BANNOCKS O' BARLEY + + Bannocks o' bear meal, [Cakes, barley] + Bannocks o' barley; + Here's to the Highlandman's + Bannocks o' barley. + Wha in a brulzie [broil] + Will first cry a parley? + Never the lads wi' + The bannocks o' barley. + + Bannocks o' bear meal, + Bannocks o' barley; + Here's to the lads wi' + The bannocks o' barley; + Wha in his wae-days [woful-] + Were loyal to Charlie? + Wha but the lads wi' + The bannocks o' barley. + + +KENMURE'S ON AND AWA + + O, Kenmure's on and awa, Willie! + O, Kenmure's on and awa! + And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord + That ever Galloway saw. + + Success to Kenmure's band, Willie! + Success to Kenmure's band; + There's no a heart that fears a Whig + That rides by Kenmure's hand. + + Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie! + Here's Kenmure's health in wine; + There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's blude, [blood] + Nor yet o' Gordon's line. + + O, Kenmure's lads are men, Willie! + O, Kenmure's lads are men; + Their hearts and swords are metal true, + And that their faes shall ken. + + They'll live or die wi' fame, Willie! + They'll live or die wi' fame; + But soon, wi' sounding victorie, + May Kenmure's lord come hame! + + Here's him that's far awa, Willie! + Here's him that's far awa; + And here's the flower that I lo'e best-- + The rose that's like the snaw! + + +THERE'LL NEVER BE PEACE TILL JAMIE COMES HAME + + By yon castle wa', at the close of the day, + I heard a man sing, tho' his head it was grey: + And as he was singing, the tears down came-- + 'There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. + + 'The church is in ruins, the state is in jars, + Delusions, oppressions, and murderous wars; + We dare na weel say't, but we ken wha's to blame-- + There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. + + 'My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword, [handsome] + And now I greet round their green beds in the yerd; [weep, churchyard] + It brak the sweet heart o' my faithfu' auld dame-- + There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. + + 'Now life is a burden that bows me down, + Sin' I tint my bairns, and he tint his crown; [lost, children] + But till my last moment my words are the same-- + There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.' + + +I HAE BEEN AT CROOKIEDEN + + I hae been at Crookieden-- [Hell] + My bonie laddie, Highland laddie! + Viewing Willie and his men-- [Duke of Cumberland] + My bonie laddie, Highland laddie! + There our foes that burnt and slew-- + My bonie laddie, Highland laddie! + There at last they gat their due-- + My bonie laddie, Highland laddie! + + Satan sits in his black neuk-- [corner] + My bonie laddie, Highland laddie! + Breaking sticks to roast the Duke-- + My bonie laddie, Highland laddie! + The bloody monster gae a yell-- [gave] + My bonie laddie, Highland laddie! + And loud the laugh gaed round a' Hell-- [went] + My bonie laddie, Highland laddie! + + +CHARLIE HE'S MY DARLING + + 'Twas on a Monday morning + Right early in the year, + That Charlie came to our town-- + The Young Chevalier! + + CHORUS + + An' Charlie he's my darling, + My darling, my darling, + Charlie he's my darling-- + The Young Chevalier! + + As he was walking up the street + The city for to view, + O, there he spied a bonie lass + The window looking thro! + + Sae light's he jumped up the stair, + And tirl'd at the pin; [rattled] + And wha sae ready as hersel' + To let the laddie in! + + He set his Jenny on his knee, + All in his Highland dress; + And brawlie weel he kend the way + To please a bonie lass. + + It's up yon heathery mountain + And down yon scraggy glen, + We daurna gang a-milking + For Charlie and his men! + +Such in nature and origin are the songs of Burns. Of some three +hundred written or rewritten by him, a large number are negligible in +estimating his poetical capacity. One cause lay in his unfortunate +ambition to write in the style of his eighteenth-century predecessors +in English, with the accompanying mythological allusions, +personifications, and scraps of artificial diction. Another was his +pathetic eagerness to supply Thomson with material in his undertaking +to preserve the old melodies--an eagerness which often led him to send +in verses of which he himself felt that their only defense was that +they were better than none. Thus his collected works are burdened with +a considerable mass of very indifferent stuff. But when this has all +been removed, we have left a body of song such as probably no writer +in any language has bequeathed to his country. It is marked, first of +all, by its peculiar harmony of expression with the utterance of the +common people. Direct and simple, its diction was still capable of +carrying intense feeling, a humor incomparable in its archness and sly +mirth, and a power of idealizing ordinary experience without effort or +affectation. The union of these words with the traditional melodies, +on which we have so strongly insisted, gave them a superb singing +quality, which has had as much to do with their popularity as their +thought or their feeling. This union, however, has its drawbacks when +we come to consider the songs as literature; for to present them as +here in bare print without the living tune is to perpetuate a divorce +which their author never contemplated. No editor of Burns can fail to +feel a pang when he thinks that these words may be heard by ears that +carry no echo of the airs to which they were born. Here lies the +fundamental reason for what seems to outsiders the exaggerated +estimate of Burns in the judgment of his countrymen. What they extol +is not mere literature, but song, the combination of poetry and music; +and it is only when Burns is judged as an artist in this double sense +that he is judged fairly. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +SATIRES AND EPISTLES + + +Fame first came to Burns through his satires. Before he had been +recognized by the Edinburgh litterateurs, before he had written more +than a handful of songs, he was known and feared on his own countryside +as a formidable critic of ecclesiastical tyranny. It was this reputation +that made possible the success of the subscription to the Kilmarnock +volume, and so saved Burns to Scotland. + +Two characteristics of the Kirk of Scotland had tended to prepare the +people to welcome an attack on its authority: the severity with which +the clergy administered discipline, and the extremes to which they had +pushed their Calvinism. + +In spite of the existence of dissenting bodies, the great mass of the +population belonged to the established church, and both their +spiritual privileges and their social standing were at the mercy of +the Kirk session and the presiding minister. It is difficult for a +Protestant community to-day to realize the extent to which the +conduct of the individual and the family were controlled by the +ecclesiastical authorities. Offenses which now would at most be the +subject of private remonstrance were treated as public crimes and +expiated in church before the whole parish. Gavin Hamilton, Burns's +friend and landlord at Mossgiel, a liberal gentleman of means and +standing, was prosecuted in the church courts for lax attendance at +divine service, for traveling on Sabbath, for neglecting family +worship, and for having had one of his servants dig new potatoes on +the Lord's day. Burns's irregular relations with Jean Armour led to +successive appearances by both him and Jean before the congregation, +to receive open rebuke and to profess repentance. Further expiation +was demanded in the form of a contribution for the poor. + +Against the discipline which he himself had to suffer Burns seems to +have made no protest, and probably thought it just enough; but what he +considered the persecution of his friend roused his indignation. This +was all the fiercer as he regarded some of the members of the session +as hypocrites, whose own private morals would not stand examination. +Chief among these was a certain William Fisher, immortalized in a +satire the application of which was meant to extend to the whole class +which he represented. + + +HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER + + Thou, that in the Heavens does dwell, + Wha, as it pleases best Thysel', + Sends ane to heaven and ten to hell, + A' for thy glory, + And no for ony guid or ill + They've done before thee! + + I bless and praise thy matchless might, + Whan thousands thou hast left in night, + That I am here before thy sight, + For gifts an' grace + A burning and a shining light, + To a' this place. + + What was I, or my generation, + That I should get sic exaltation? [such] + I, wha deserv'd most just damnation, + For broken laws, + Sax thousand years ere my creation, [Six] + Thro' Adam's cause. + + When from my mither's womb I fell, + Thou might have plung'd me deep in hell, + To gnash my gooms, and weep and wail, [gums] + In burning lakes, + Where damned devils roar and yell, + Chain'd to their stakes; + + Yet I am here a chosen sample, + To show Thy grace is great and ample; + I'm here a pillar o' Thy temple, + Strong as a rock, + A guide, a buckler, an example + To a' Thy flock. + + But yet, O Lord! confess I must + At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust; [troubled] + An' sometimes too, in warldly trust, + Vile self gets in; + But Thou remembers we are dust, + Defil'd wi' sin. + + O Lord! yestreen, Thou kens, wi' Meg-- + Thy pardon I sincerely beg-- + O! may't ne'er be a living plague + To my dishonour, + An' I'll ne'er lift a lawless leg + Again upon her. + + Besides I farther maun avow-- [must] + Wi' Leezie's lass, three times, I trow-- + But, Lord, that Friday I was fou, [drunk] + When I cam near her, + Or else, Thou kens, thy servant true + Wad never steer her. [meddle with] + + May be Thou lets this fleshly thorn + Beset Thy servant e'en and morn + Lest he owre high and proud should turn, [too] + That he's sae gifted; + If sae, Thy hand maun e'en be borne, + Until thou lift it. + + Lord, bless Thy chosen in this place, + For here thou hast a chosen race; + But God confound their stubborn face, + And blast their name, + Wha' bring Thy elders to disgrace + An' public shame. + + Lord, mind Gau'n Hamilton's deserts, + He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at cartes, [cards] + Yet has sae mony takin' arts + Wi' great an' sma', + Frae God's ain priest the people's hearts + He steals awa'. + + An' when we chasten'd him therefor, + Thou kens how he bred sic a splore [raised such a row] + As set the warld in a roar + O' laughin' at us; + Curse thou his basket and his store, + Kail and potatoes! + + Lord hear my earnest cry an' pray'r, + Against that presbyt'ry o' Ayr; + Thy strong right hand, Lord, make it bare + Upo' their heads; + Lord, visit them, and dinna spare, [do not] + For their misdeeds. + + O Lord my God, that glib-tongu'd Aiken, + My very heart and soul are quakin', + To think how we stood sweatin', shakin', + An' pish'd wi' dread, + While he, wi' hingin' lips and snakin', [sneering] + Held up his head. + + Lord, in Thy day of vengeance try him; + Lord, visit him wha did employ him, + And pass not in Thy mercy by them, + Nor hear their pray'r: + But, for Thy people's sake, destroy them, + And dinna spare. + + But, Lord, remember me and mine + Wi' mercies temporal and divine, + That I for grace and gear may shine [wealth] + Excell'd by nane, + And a' the glory shall be thine, + Amen, Amen! + +Still more highly generalized is his _Address to the Unco Guid_, a +plea for charity in judgment, kept from sentimentalism by its gleam of +humor. It has perhaps the widest appeal of any of his poems of this +class. One may note that as Burns passes from the satirical and +humorous tone to the directly didactic, the dialect disappears, and +the last two stanzas are practically pure English. + + +ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID, OR THE RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS + + _My son, these maxims make a rule, + And lump them aye thegither; [together] + The rigid righteous is a fool, + The rigid wise anither; + The cleanest corn that e'er was dight, [sifted] + May hae some pyles o' caff in [grains, chaff] + So ne'er a fellow-creature slight + For random fits o' daffin._ [larking] + SOLOMON (_Eccles._ vii. 16). + + O ye wha are sae guid yoursel, [so good] + Sae pious and sae holy, + Ye've nought to do but mark and tell + Your neibour's fauts and folly! [faults] + Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill, [well-going] + Supplied wi' store o' water: + The heapet happer's ebbing still, [hopper] + An' still the clap plays clatter! [clapper] + + Hear me, ye venerable core, [company] + As counsel for poor mortals + That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door, [sedate] + For glaikit Folly's portals; [giddy] + I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes, + Would here propone defences,-- [put forth] + Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes, [restive] + Their failings and mischances. + + Ye see your state wi' theirs compar'd, + And shudder at the niffer; [exchange] + But cast a moment's fair regard-- + What makes the mighty differ? [difference] + Discount what scant occasion gave, + That purity ye pride in, + And (what's aft mair than a' the lave) [rest] + Your better art o' hidin'. + + Think, when your castigated pulse + Gies now and then a wallop, [Gives] + What ragings must his veins convulse, + That still eternal gallop! + Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail, + Right on ye scud your sea-way; + But in the teeth o' baith to sail, + It makes an unco leeway. [uncommon] + + See Social life and Glee sit down, + All joyous and unthinking, + Till, quite transmogrified, they're grown + Debauchery and Drinking: + O would they stay to calculate + Th' eternal consequences; + Or--your more dreaded hell to state-- + Damnation of expenses! + + Ye high, exalted virtuous Dames, + Tied up in godly laces, + Before ye gie poor Frailty names, + Suppose a change o' cases; + A dear lov'd lad, convenience snug, + A treacherous inclination-- + But, let me whisper i' your lug, [ear] + Ye're aiblins nae temptation. [perhaps] + + Then gently scan your brother man, + Still gentler sister woman; + Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang, [trifle] + To step aside is human. + One point must still be greatly dark, + The moving why they do it; + And just as lamely can ye mark + How far perhaps they rue it. + + Who made the heart, 'tis He alone + Decidedly can try us; + He knows each chord, its various tone, + Each spring, its various bias. + Then at the balance let's be mute, + We never can adjust it; + What's done we partly may compute, + But know not what's resisted. + +As regards the questions of doctrine there were in the church two main +parties, known as the Auld Lichts and the New Lichts. The former were +high Calvinists, emphasizing the doctrines of election, +predestination, original sin, and eternal punishment. The latter +comprised many of the younger clergy who had been touched by the +rationalistic tendencies of the century, and who were blamed for +various heresies--notably Arminianism and Socinianism. Whatever their +precise beliefs, they laid less stress than their opponents on dogma +and more on benevolent conduct, and Burns had strong sympathy with +their liberalism. He first appeared in their support in an _Epistle to +John Goldie_, a Kilmarnock wine-merchant who had published _Essays on +Various Important Subjects, Moral and Divine_. Though he does not +explicitly accept the author's Arminianism, he makes it clear that he +relished his attacks on orthodoxy. A quarrel between two prominent +Auld Licht ministers gave him his next opportunity, and the +circulation in manuscript of _The Twa Herds: or, The Holy Tulyie_ made +him a personage in the district. With an irony more vigorous than +delicate he affects to lament that + + The twa best herds in a' the wast, [pastors, west] + That e'er ga'e gospel horn a blast [gave] + These five an' twenty simmers past-- + Oh, dool to tell! [sorrow] + Hae had a bitter black out-cast [quarrel] + Atween themsel, [Between] + +and he ends with the hope that if patronage could be abolished and the +lairds forced to give + + the brutes the power themsels + To chuse their herds, + + Then Orthodoxy yet may prance, + An' Learning in a woody dance, [gallows] + An' that fell cur ca'd 'common-sense,' + That bites sae sair, [sorely] + Be banish'd o'er the sea to France; + Let him bark there. + +More light is thrown on Burns's positive attitude in religious +matters by his _Epistle to McMath_, a young New Licht minister in +Tarbolton. From the evidences of the letters, we are justified in +accepting at its face value the profession of reverence for true +religion made by Burns in this epistle; his hatred of the sham needs +no corroboration. + + +TO THE REV. JOHN M'MATH + +Enclosing a Copy of _Holy Willie's Prayer_, which he had requested, +September 17, 1785 + + While at the stook the shearers cow'r [shock, reapers] + To shun the bitter blaudin' show'r, [driving] + Or, in gulravage rinnin', scour; [horseplay running] + To pass the time, + To you I dedicate the hour + In idle rhyme. + + My Musie, tir'd wi' mony a sonnet + On gown, an' ban', an' douce black-bonnet, [sedate] + Is grown right eerie now she's done it, [scared] + Lest they should blame her, + An' rouse their holy thunder on it, + And anathem her. [curse] + + I own 'twas rash, an' rather hardy, + That I, a simple country bardie, + Shou'd meddle wi' a pack sae sturdy, + Wha, if they ken me, + Can easy, wi' a single wordie, + Lowse hell upon me. [Loose] + + But I gae mad at their grimaces, + Their sighin', cantin', grace-proud faces, + Their three-mile prayers, and half-mile graces, + Their raxin' conscience, [elastic] + Whase greed, revenge, an' pride disgraces + Waur nor their nonsense. [Worse than] + + There's Gau'n, misca't waur than a beast, + Wha has mair honour in his breast + Than mony scores as guid's the priest [good as] + Wha sae abus'd him: + An' may a bard no crack his jest + What way they've used him? [On the fashion] + + See him the poor man's friend in need, + The gentleman in word an' deed, + An' shall his fame an' honour bleed + By worthless skellums, [railers] + An' not a Muse erect her head + To cowe the blellums? [daunt, blusterers] + + O Pope, had I thy satire's darts + To gie the rascals their deserts, [give] + I'd rip their rotten, hollow hearts, + An' tell aloud + Their jugglin', hocus-pocus arts + To cheat the crowd. + + God knows I'm no the thing I should be, + Nor am I even the thing I could be, + But, twenty times, I rather would be + An atheist clean, + Than under gospel colours hid be, + Just for a screen. + + An honest man may like a glass, + An honest man may like a lass; + But mean revenge, an' malice fause, [false] + He'll still disdain, + An' then cry zeal for gospel laws, + Like some we ken. + + They tak religion in their mouth; + They talk o' mercy, grace, an' truth, + For what? To gie their malice skouth [scope] + On some puir wight, + An' hunt him down, o'er right an' ruth, [against] + To ruin straight. + + All hail, Religion, maid divine! + Pardon a muse sae mean as mine, + Who in her rough imperfect line + Thus daurs to name thee; + To stigmatize false friends of thine + Can ne'er defame thee. + + Tho' blotcht an' foul wi' mony a stain, + An' far unworthy of thy train, + Wi' trembling voice I tune my strain + To join wi' those + Who boldly daur thy cause maintain + In spite o' foes: + + In spite o' crowds, in spite o' mobs, + In spite of undermining jobs. + In spite o' dark banditti stabs + At worth an' merit, + By scoundrels, even wi' holy robes, + But hellish spirit. + + O Ayr, my dear, my native ground! + Within thy presbyterial bound, + A candid lib'ral band is found + Of public teachers, + As men, as Christians too, renown'd, + An' manly preachers. + + Sir, in that circle you are nam'd, + Sir, in that circle you are fam'd; + An' some, by whom your doctrine's blam'd, + (Which gies you honour)-- + Even, sir, by them your heart's esteem'd, + An' winning manner. + + Pardon this freedom I have ta'en, + An' if impertinent I've been, + Impute it not, good sir, in ane + Whase heart ne'er wrang'd ye, + But to his utmost would befriend + Ought that belang'd ye. [was yours] + +A further fling at orthodoxy appeared in _The Ordination_, a piece +written to comfort the Kilmarnock liberals when an Auld Licht minister +was selected for the second charge there. The tone is again one of +ironical congratulation, and Burns describes the rejoicings of the +elect with infinite zest. Two stanzas on the church music will +illustrate his method. + + Mak haste an' turn King David owre, [open the Psalms] + An' lilt wi' holy clangor; [sing] + O' double verse come gie us four [give] + An' skirl up the _Bangor_: [shriek, a Psalm-tune] + This day the Kirk kicks up a stoure, [dust] + Nae mair the knaves shall wrang her, [No more] + For Heresy is in her pow'r, + And gloriously she'll whang her [thrash] + Wi' pith this day. + + * * * * * + + Nae mair by Babel streams we'll weep, + To think upon our Zion; + And hing our fiddles up to sleep, [hang] + Like baby-clouts a-dryin'; + Come, screw the pegs wi' tunefu' cheep, [chirp] + And o'er the thairms be tryin'; [strings] + O, rare! to see our elbucks wheep, [elbows jerk] + And a' like lamb-tails flyin' + Fu' fast this day! + +In the same ironical fashion he digresses in his _Dedication to Gavin +Hamilton_ to satirize the "high-fliers'" contempt for "cold morality" +and for their faith in the power of orthodox belief to cover lapses in +conduct. + + Morality, thou deadly bane, + Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain! + Vain is his hope, whose stay and trust is + In moral mercy, truth and justice! + + No--stretch a point to catch a plack; [small coin] + Abuse a brother to his back; + Steal thro' the winnock frae a whore, [window from] + But point the rake that takes the door: + + * * * * * + + Be to the poor like ony whunstane, [any whinstone] + And haud their noses to the grunstane; [hold, grindstone] + Ply ev'ry art o' legal thieving; + No matter--stick to sound believing. + + Learn three-mile pray'rs, an' half-mile graces, + Wi' weel-spread looves, an' lang, wry faces; [palms] + Grunt up a solemn, lengthen'd groan, + And damn a' parties but your own; + I'll warrant them ye're nae deceiver, + A steady, sturdy, staunch believer. + +The period within which these satires were written was short--1785 and +1786; but some three years later, on the prosecution of a liberal +minister, Doctor McGill of Ayr, for the publication of _A Practical +Essay on the Death of Jesus Christ_, which was charged with teaching +Unitarianism, Burns took up the theme again. _The Kirk's Alarm_ is a +rattling "ballad," full of energy and scurrilous wit, but, like many +of its kind, it has lost much of its interest through the great amount +of personal detail. A few stanzas will show that, even after his +absence from local politics during his Edinburgh sojourn, he had lost +none of his gusto in belaboring the Ayrshire Calvinists. + + Orthodox, Orthodox, wha believe in John Knox, + Let me sound an alarm to your conscience: + There's a heretic blast has been blawn i' the wast, + That what is not sense must be nonsense. + + Dr. Mac, Dr. Mac, you should stretch on a rack, + To strike evil-doers wi' terror; + To join faith and sense upon any pretence, + Is heretic, damnable error. + + * * * * * + + D'rymple mild, D'rymple mild, tho' your heart's like a child, + And your life like the new driven snaw, + Yet that winna save ye, auld Satan must have ye, + For preaching that three's ane and twa. + + Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons, seize your sp'ritual guns, + Ammunition you never can need; + Your hearts are the stuff will be powther enough, + And your skulls are storehouses o' lead. + +It was inevitable from the nature and purpose of these satirical +poems that, however keen an interest they might raise in their time +and place, a large part of that interest should evaporate in the +course of time. Yet it would be a mistake to regard their importance +as limited to raising a laugh against a few obscure bigots. The evils +that Burns attacked, however his verses may be tinged with personal +animus and occasional injustice, were real evils that existed far +beyond the county of Ayr; and in the movement for enlightenment and +liberation from these evils and their like that was then sweeping over +Scotland, the wit and invective of the poet played no small part. The +development that followed did, indeed, take a direction that he was +far from foreseeing. The moderate party, which he supported, gradually +gained the upper hand in the Kirk, and, upholding as it did the system +of patronage, became more and more associated with the aristocracy who +bestowed the livings. The result was that the moderate clergy +degenerated under prosperity and lost their spiritual zeal; while +their opponents, chastened by adversity, became the champions of the +autonomy of the church, and, in the "ten years' conflict" that broke +out little more than a generation after the death of Burns, showed +themselves of the stuff of the martyrs. It would be impossible to +trace the extent of the influence of the poet on the purging of +orthodoxy or on the limitation of ecclesiastical despotism, since his +work was in accord with the drift of the times; but it is fair to +infer that, especially among the common people who were less likely to +be reached by more philosophical discussion, his share was far from +inconsiderable. + +The poetical value of the satires is another matter. It may be +questioned whether satire is ever essentially poetry, as poetry has +been understood for the last hundred years. The dominant mood of +satire is too antagonistic to imagination. But if we restrict our +attention to the characteristic qualities of verse satire--vividness +in depicting its object, blazing indignation or bitter scorn in its +attitude, and wit in its expression, we shall be forced to grant that +Burns achieved here notable success. Of the rarer power of satire to +rise above the local, temporal, and personal to the exhibiting of +universal elements in human life, there are comparatively few +instances in Burns. The _Address to the Unco Guid_ is perhaps the +finest example; and here, as usually in his work, the approach to the +general leads him to drop the scourge for the sermon. + +In his tendency to preach, Burns was as much the inheritor of a +national tradition as in any of his other characteristics. A strain of +moralizing is well marked in the Scottish poets even before the +Reformation, and, since the time of Burns, the preaching Scot has been +notably exemplified not only in a professed prophet like Carlyle, but +in so artistic a temperament as Stevenson. Nor did consciousness of +his failures in practise embarrass Burns in the indulgence of the +luxury of precept. Side by side with frank confessions of weakness we +find earnest if not stern exhortations to do, not as he did, but as he +taught. And as Scots have an appetite for hearing as well as for +making sermons, his didactic pieces are among those most quoted and +relished by his countrymen. The morally elevated but poetically +inferior closing stanzas of _The Cotter's Saturday Night_ are an +instance in point; others are the morals appended to _To a Mouse_ and +_To a Daisy_, and to a number of his rhyming epistles. + +These epistles are among the most significant of his writings for the +reader in search of personal revelations. The _Epistle to James Smith_ +contains the much-quoted stanza on the poet's motives: + + Some rhyme a neebor's name to lash; + Some rhyme (vain thought!) for needful cash; + Some rhyme to court the countra clash, [gossip] + An' raise a din; + For me, an aim I never fash; [trouble about] + I rhyme for fun. + +Another gives his view of his equipment: + + The star that rules my luckless lot, + Has fated me the russet coat, + An' damned my fortune to the groat; + But, in requit, + Has blest me with a random-shot + O' countra wit. [country] + +Then he passes from literary considerations to his general philosophy +of life: + + But why o' death begin a tale? + Just now we're living sound an' hale; + Then top and maintop crowd the sail; + Heave Care o'er-side! + And large, before Enjoyment's gale, + Let's tak the tide. + + * * * * * + + When ance life's day draws near the gloamin, + Then fareweel vacant, careless roamin; + An' fareweel cheerfu' tankards foamin, + An' social noise: + An' fareweel dear, deluding Woman, + The joy of joys! + +Here, as often, he contrasts his own reckless impulsive temper with +that of prudent calculation: + + With steady aim, some Fortune chase; + Keen Hope does ev'ry sinew brace; + Thro' fair, thro' foul, they urge the race, + And seize the prey: + Then cannie, in some cozie place, [quietly] + They close the day. + + And others, like your humble servan', + Poor wights! nae rules nor roads observin', + To right or left eternal swervin', + They zig-zag on; + Till, curst with age, obscure an' starvin', + They aften groan. + + * * * * * + + O ye douce folk that live by rule, + Grave, tideless-blooded, calm an' cool, + Compar'd wi' you--O fool! fool! fool! + How much unlike! + Your hearts are just a standing pool, + Your lives a dyke! [stone wall] + +Nothing is more characteristic of the poet than this attitude toward +prudence--this mixture of Intellectual respect with emotional +contempt. He admits freely that restraint and calculation pay, but +impulse makes life so much more interesting! + +The _Epistle to Davie, a Brother Poet_, deserves to be quoted in +full. It contains the final phrasing of the central point of Burns's +ethics, the Scottish rustic's version of that philosophy of +benevolence with which Shaftesbury sought to warm the chill of +eighteenth-century thought: + + The heart aye's the part aye + That makes us right or wrang. + +The mood of this poem is Burns's middle mood, lying between the black +melancholy of his poems of despair and remorse and the exhilaration of +his more exalted bacchanalian and love songs--the mood, we may infer, +of his normal working life. We may again observe the correspondence +between the change of dialect and change of tone in stanzas nine and +ten, the increase of artificiality coming with his literary English +and culminating in the unspeakable "tenebrific scene." His humor +returns with his Scots in the last verse. + + +EPISTLE TO DAVIE, A BROTHER POET + + While winds frae aff Ben Lomond blaw, + And bar the doors wi' driving snaw, + And hing us owre the ingle, [hang, fire] + I set me down to pass the time, + And spin a verse or twa o' rhyme, + In hamely westlin jingle. [west-country] + While frosty winds blaw in the drift, + Ben to the chimla lug, [In, chimney-corner] + I grudge a wee the great-folk's gift, + That live sae bien an' snug; [comfortable] + I tent less, and want less [value] + Their roomy fire-side; + But hanker and canker + To see their cursed pride. + + It's hardly in a body's pow'r, + To keep, at times, frae being sour, + To see how things are shar'd; + How best o' chiels are whyles in want [fellows, sometimes] + While coofs on countless thousands rant [dolts, roister] + And ken na how to wair't: [spend it] + But, Davie, lad, ne'er fash your head, [trouble] + Tho' we hae little gear, [wealth] + We're fit to win our daily bread, + As lang's we're hale and fier: [lusty] + 'Mair spier na, nor fear na,' [More ask not] + Auld age ne'er mind a feg; [fig] + The last o't, the warst o't, + Is only but to beg. + + To lie in kilns and barns at e'en, + When banes are craz'd, and bluid is thin, [bones] + Is, doubtless, great distress! + Yet then content could mak us blest; + Ev'n then, sometimes, we'd snatch a taste + Of truest happiness. + The honest heart that's free frae a' + Intended fraud or guile, + However Fortune kick the ba', [ball] + Has aye some cause to smile: + And mind still, you'll find still, + A comfort this nae sma'; [not small] + Nae mair then, we'll care then, + Nae farther can we fa'. + + What tho' like commoners of air, + We wander out, we know not where, + But either house or hal'? [Without] + Yet nature's charms, the hills and woods, + The sweeping vales, and foaming floods, + Are free alike to all. + In days when daisies deck the ground, + And blackbirds whistle clear, + With honest joy our hearts will bound, + To see the coming year: + On braes when we please, then, [hill-sides] + We'll sit and sowth a tune [hum] + Syne rhyme till't, we'll time till't, [Then] + And sing't when we hae done. + + 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 making muckle, mair: [much, more] + It's no in books, it's no in lear, [learning] + To make us truly blest: + If happiness hae not her seat + And centre in the breast, + We may be wise, or rich, or great, + But never can be blest: + Nae treasures, nor pleasures, + Could make us happy lang; + The heart aye's the part aye + That makes us right or wrang. + + Think ye, that sic as you and I, [such] + Wha drudge and drive thro' wet an' dry, + Wi' never-ceasing toil; + Think ye, are we less blest than they, + Wha scarcely tent us in their way, [note] + As hardly worth their while? + Alas! how oft in haughty mood, + God's creatures they oppress! + Or else, neglecting a' that's guid, + They riot in excess! + Baith careless, and fearless, + Of either heav'n or hell! + Esteeming, and deeming + It's a' an idle tale! + + Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce; + Nor make our scanty pleasures less, + By pining at our state; + And, even should misfortunes come, + I, here wha sit, hae met wi' some, + An's thankfu' for them yet. [And am] + They gie the wit of age to youth; + They let us ken oursel; + They mak us see the naked truth, + The real guid and ill. + Tho' losses, and crosses, + Be lessons right severe, + There's wit there, ye'll get there, + Ye'll find nae other where. + + But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts! [note] + (To say aught less wad wrang the cartes, [cards] + And flatt'ry I detest) + This life has joys for you and I; + And joys that riches ne'er could buy; + And joys the very best. + There's a' the pleasures o' the heart, + The lover an' the frien'; + Ye hae your Meg, your dearest part, + And I my darling Jean! + It warms me, it charms me, + To mention but her name: + It heats me, it beets me, [kindles] + And sets me a' on flame! + + O all ye pow'rs who rule above! + O Thou, whose very self art love! + Thou know'st my words sincere! + The life-blood streaming thro' my heart, + Or my more dear immortal part, + Is not more fondly dear! + When heart-corroding care and grief + Deprive my soul of rest, + Her dear idea brings relief + And solace to my breast. + Thou Being, All-seeing, + O hear my fervent pray'r; + Still take her, and make her + Thy most peculiar care! + + All hail, ye tender feelings dear! + The smile of love, the friendly tear, + The sympathetic glow! + Long since this world's thorny ways + Had number'd out my weary days, + Had it not been for you! + Fate still has blest me with a friend, + In every care and ill; + And oft a more endearing band, + A tie more tender still, + It lightens, it brightens + The tenebrific scene, + To meet with, and greet with + My Davie or my Jean. + + O, how that name inspires my style! + The words come skelpin', rank and file, [spanking] + Amaist before I ken! [Almost] + The ready measure ring as fine + As Phoebus and the famous Nine + Were glowrin' owre my pen. [staring over] + My spavied Pegasus will limp, [spavined] + Till ance he's fairly het; [once, hot] + And then he'll hilch, and stilt, and jump, [hobble, limp, jump] + An' rin an unco fit: [surprising spurt] + But lest then the beast then + Should rue this hasty ride, + I'll light now, and dight now [wipe] + His sweaty, wizen'd hide. + +The didactic tendency reaches its height in the _Epistle to a +Young Friend_. Here there is no personal confession, but a conscious +and professed sermon, unrelated, as the last line shows, to the +practise of the preacher. It is, of course, only poetry in the +eighteenth-century sense-- + + What oft was thought, but ne'er so well expressed-- + +and as such it should be judged. The critics who have reacted most +violently against the attempted canonization of Burns have been +inclined to sneer at this admirable homily, and to insinuate +insincerity. But human nature affords every-day examples of just such +perfectly sincere inconsistency as we find between the sixth stanza +and Burns's own conduct; while not inconsistency but a very genuine +rhetoric inspires the characteristic quatrain which closes the +seventh. + + +EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND + + I lang hae thought, my youthfu' friend, + A something to have sent you, + Tho' it should serve nae ither end + Than just a kind memento; [sort of] + But how the subject-theme may gang, + Let time and chance determine; + Perhaps it may turn out a sang, + Perhaps turn out a sermon. + + Ye'll try the world soon, my lad, + And, Andrew dear, believe me, + Ye'll find mankind an unco squad, [queer] + And muckle they may grieve ye: [much] + For care and trouble set your thought, + Ev'n when your end's attained: + And a' your views may come to nought, + Where ev'ry nerve is strained. + + I'll no say men are villains a'; + The real harden'd wicked, + Wha hae nae check but human law, + Are to a few restricked; + But och! mankind are unco weak, [extremely] + An' little to be trusted; + If Self the wavering balance shake, + It's rarely right adjusted! + + Yet they wha fa' in Fortune's strife. + Their fate we shouldna censure; + For still th' important end of life + They equally may answer. + A man may hae an honest heart, + Tho' poortith hourly stare him; [poverty] + A man may tak a neibor's part, + Yet hae nae cash to spare him. + + Aye free, aff han', your story tell, + When wi' a bosom crony; + But still keep something to yoursel + Ye scarcely tell to ony. + Conceal yoursel as weel's ye can + Frae critical dissection; + But keek thro' ev'ry other man [pry] + Wi' sharpen'd sly inspection. + + The sacred lowe o' weel-plac'd love, [flame] + Luxuriantly indulge it; + But never tempt th' illicit rove, [attempt, roving] + Tho' naething should divulge it: + I waive the quantum o' the sin, + The hazard of concealing; + But och! it hardens a' within, + And petrifies the feeling! + + To catch Dame Fortune's golden smile, + Assiduous wait upon her; + And gather gear by ev'ry wile + That's justified by honour; + Not for to hide it in a hedge, + Nor for a train-attendant; + But for the glorious privilege + Of being independent. + + The fear o' hell's a hangman's whip + To haud the wretch in order; [hold] + But where ye feel your honour grip, + Let that aye be your border: + Its slightest touches, instant pause-- + Debar a' side pretences; + And resolutely keep its laws, + Uncaring consequences. + + The great Creator to revere + Must sure become the creature; + But still the preaching cant forbear, + And ev'n the rigid feature: + Yet ne'er with wits profane to range + Be complaisance extended; + An atheist-laugh's a poor exchange + For Deity offended. + + When ranting round in Pleasure's ring, [frolicking] + Religion may be blinded; + Or, if she gie a random sting, + It may be little minded; + But when on life we're tempest-driv'n-- + A conscience but a canker-- + A correspondence fix'd wi' Heav'n + Is sure a noble anchor. + + Adieu, dear amiable youth! + Your heart can ne'er be wanting! + May prudence, fortitude, and truth + Erect your brow undaunting. + In ploughman phrase, God send you speed + Still daily to grow wiser; + And may ye better reck the rede [heed the advice] + Than ever did th' adviser! + +The general level of the rhyming letters of Burns is astonishingly +high. They bear, as such compositions should, the impression of free +spontaneity, and indeed often read like sheer improvisations. Yet they +are sprinkled with admirable stanzas of natural description, shrewd +criticism, delightful humor, and are pervaded by a delicate +tactfulness possible only to a man with a genius for friendship. They +are usually written in the favorite six-line stanza, the meter that +flowed most easily from his pen, and in language are the richest +vernacular. His ambition to be "literary" seldom brings in its jarring +notes here, and indeed at times he seems to avenge himself on this +besetting sin by a very individual jocoseness toward the mythological +figures that intrude into his more serious efforts. His Muse is the +special victim. Instead of the conventional draped figure she becomes +a "tapetless, ramfeezl'd hizzie," "saft at best an' something lazy;" +she is a "thowless jad;" or she is dethroned altogether: + + "We'll cry nae jads frae heathen hills + To help or roose us, [inspire] + But browster wives an' whisky stills-- [brewer] + They are the Muses!" + +Again the tone is one of affectionate familiarity: + + Leeze me on rhyme! It's aye a treasure, [Blessings on] + My chief, amaist my only pleasure; [almost] + At hame, a-fiel', at wark or leisure, + The Muse, poor hizzie, + Tho' rough an' raploch be her measure, [homespun] + She's seldom lazy. + + Haud to the Muse, my dainty Davie: + The warl' may play you monie a shavie, [ill turn] + But for the Muse, she'll never leave ye, + Tho' e'er sae puir; [so poor] + Na, even tho' limpin wi' the spavie [spavin] + Frae door to door! + +Once more, half scolding, half flattering: + + Ye glaikit, gleesome, dainty damies, [giddy] + Wha by Castalia's wimplin streamies [winding] + Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty limbies, [Dance] + Ye ken, ye ken, + That strang necessity supreme is + 'Mang sons o' men. + +The epigrams, epitaphs, elegies, and other occasional verses thrown +off by Burns and diligently collected by his editors need little +discussion. They not infrequently exhibit the less generous sides of +his character, and but seldom demand rereading on account of their +neatness or felicity or energy. One may be given as an example: + + +ON JOHN DOVE, INNKEEPER + + Here lies Johnie Pigeon: + What was his religion + Whae'er desires to ken + In some other warl' [world] + Maun follow the carl [Must, old fellow] + For here Johnie Pigeon had none! + + Strong ale was ablution; + Small beer, persecution; + A dram was _memento mori_; + But a full flowing bowl + Was the saving his soul, + And port was celestial glory! + + + + +CHAPTER V + +DESCRIPTIVE AND NARRATIVE POETRY + + +The "world of Scotch drink, Scotch manners, and Scotch religion" was +not, Matthew Arnold insisted, a beautiful world, and it was, he held, +a disadvantage to Burns that he had not a beautiful world to deal +with. This famous dictum is a standing challenge to any critic who +regards Burns as a creator of beauty. It is true that when Burns took +this world at its apparent worst, when Scotch drink meant bestial +drunkenness, when Scotch manners meant shameless indecency, when +Scotch religion meant blasphemous defiance, he created _The Jolly +Beggars_, which the same critic found a "splendid and puissant +production." We must conclude, then, that sufficient genius can +sublimate even a hideously sordid world into a superb work of art, +which is presumably beautiful. + +But the verdict passed on the Scottish world of Burns is not to be +taken without scrutiny. A review of those poems of Burns that are +primarily descriptive will recall to us the chief features of that +world. + +Let us begin with _The Cotter's Saturday Night_, Burns's tribute to +his father's house. Let us discard the introductory stanza of +dedication, as not organically a part of the poem. The scene is set in +a gray November landscape. The tired laborer is shown returning to his +cottage, no touch of idealization being added to the picture of +physical weariness save what comes from the feeling for home and wife +and children. Then follow the gathering of the older sons and +daughter, the telling of the experiences of the week, and the advice +of the father. The daughter's suitor arrives, and the girl's +consciousness as well as the lover's shyness are delicately rendered. +Two stanzas in English moralize the situation, and for our present +purpose may be ignored. The supper of porridge and milk and a bit of +cheese is followed by a reverent account of family prayers, the father +leading, the family joining in the singing of the psalm. And as they +part for the night, the poet is carried away into an elevated +apostrophe to the country whose foundations rest upon such a +peasantry, and closes with a patriotic prayer for its preservation. + +The truth of the picture is indubitable. The poet could, of course, +have chosen another phase of the same life. The cotter could have come +home rheumatic and found the children squalling and the wife cross. +The daughter might have been seduced, and the sons absent in the +ale-house. But what he does describe is just as typical, and it is +beautiful, though the manners and religion are Scottish. + +Another social occasion is the subject of _Halloween_. The poem, with +Burns's notes, is a mine of folk-lore, but we are concerned with it as +literature. Here the tone is humorous instead of reverent, the +characters are mixed, the selection is more widely representative. +With complete frankness, the poet exhibits human nature under the +influence of the mating instinct, directed by harmless, age-old +superstitions. The superstitions are not attacked, but gently +ridiculed. The fundamental veracity of the whole is seen when we +realize that, in spite of the strong local color, it is +psychologically true for similar festivities among the peasantry of +all countries. + + +HALLOWEEN[4] + + Upon that night, when fairies light + On Cassilis Downans[5] dance, + Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, [over, pastures] + On sprightly coursers prance; + Or for Colean the rout is ta'en, [road] + Beneath the moon's pale beams; + There, up the Cove,[6] to stray an' rove + Amang the rocks and streams + To sport that night; + + Amang the bonnie winding banks + Where Doon rins wimplin' clear, [winding] + Where Bruce[7] ance ruled the martial ranks [once] + An' shook his Carrick spear, + Some merry friendly country-folks + Together did convene + To burn their nits, an' pou their stocks, [nuts, pull, stalks] + An' haud their Halloween [keep] + Fu' blythe that night: + + The lasses feat, an cleanly neat, [trim] + Mair braw than when they're fine; [more handsome] + Their faces blythe fu' sweetly kythe [show] + Hearts leal, an' warm, an' kin': [loyal, kind] + The lads sae trig, wi' wooer-babs [love-knots] + Weel knotted on their garten, [garter] + Some unco blate, an' some wi' gabs [very shy, chatter] + Gar lasses' hearts gang startin' [Make] + Whyles fast at night. [Sometimes] + + Then, first and foremost, thro' the kail, + Their stocks[8] maun a' be sought ance: [must, once] + They steek their een, an' grape an' wale [shut, eyes, grope, choose] + For muckle anes an' straught anes. [big ones, straight] + Poor hav'rel Will fell aff the drift, [foolish, lost the way] + An' wander'd thro' the bow-kail, [cabbage] + An' pou'd, for want o' better shift, [pulled, choice] + A runt was like a sow-tail, [stalk] + Sae bow'd, that night. [bent] + + Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane, [earth] + They roar an' cry a' throu'ther; [pell-mell] + The very wee things toddlin' rin-- [run] + Wi' stocks out-owre their shouther; [over, shoulder] + An' gif the custock's sweet or sour, [if, pith] + Wi' joctelegs they taste them; [pocket-knives] + Syne coziely, aboon the door, [Then, above] + Wi' cannie care they've plac'd them [cautious] + To lie that night. + + The lasses staw frae 'mang them a' [stole] + To pou their stalks o' corn;[9] + But Rab slips out, an' jinks about, [dodges] + Behint the muckle thorn: + He grippit Nelly hard an' fast; + Loud skirled a' the lasses; [squealed] + But her tap-pickle maist was lost, [almost] + When kiutlin' i' the fause-house[10] [cuddling] + Wi' him that night. + + The auld guidwife's well-hoordit nits[11] [well-hoarded nuts] + Are round an' round divided, + An' mony lads' an' lasses' fates + Are there that night decided: + Some kindle, couthie, side by side, [comfortably] + An' burn thegither trimly; + Some start awa, wi' saucy pride, + An' jump out-owre the chimlie [out of the chimney] + Fu' high that night. + + Jean slips in twa, wi' tentie e'e; [watchful] + Wha 'twas, she wadna tell; + But this is _Jock_, an' this is _me_, + She says in to hersel: [whispers] + He bleez'd owre her, an' she owre him, [blazed] + As they wad never mair part; + Till fuff! he started up the lum, [chimney] + An' Jean had e'en a sair heart + To see't that night. + + Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt, [cabbage stump] + Was brunt wi' primsie Mallie, [precise Molly] + An' Mary, nae doubt, took the drunt, [huff] + To be compar'd to Willie: + Mall's nit lap out, wi' pridefu' fling, [leapt, start] + An' her ain fit it brunt it; [foot] + While Willie lap, an' swoor by jing, [by Jove] + 'Twas just the way he wanted + To be that night. + + Nell had the fause-house in her min', [mind] + She pits hersel an' Rob in; + In loving bleeze they sweetly join, + Till white in ase they're sobbin: [ashes] + Nell's heart was dancin' at the view: + She whisper'd Rob to leuk for't: + Rob, stownlins, prie'd her bonnie mou', [by stealth, tasted, mouth] + Fu' cozie in the neuk for't, [corner] + Unseen that night. + + But Merran sat behint their backs, [Marian] + Her thoughts on Andrew Bell; + She lea'es them gashin' at their cracks, [leaves, gabbing, chat] + An' slips out by hersel: + She thro' the yard the nearest taks, [nearest way] + An' to the kiln she goes then, + An' darklins grapit for the bauks, [in the dark, groped, beams] + And in the blue-clue[12] throws then, + Right fear'd that night. [frightened] + + An' aye she win't, an' aye she swat, [wounded, sweated] + I wat she made nae jaukin'; [know, trifling] + Till something held within the pat, [kiln-pot] + Guid Lord! but she was quaukin'! + But whether 'twas the Deil himsel, + Or whether 'twas a bauk-en', [beam-end] + Or whether it was Andrew Bell, + She did na wait on talkin + To spier that night. [ask] + + Wee Jenny to her grannie says, + 'Will ye go wi' me, grannie? + I'll eat the apple[13] at the glass, + I gat frae uncle Johnie:' + She fuff't her pipe wi' sic a lunt, [puffed, smoke] + In wrath she was sae vap'rin, + She noticed na an aizle brunt [cinder burnt] + Her braw new worset apron [worsted] + Out-thro' that night. + + 'Ye little skelpie-limmer's face! [young hussy's] + I daur you try sic sportin', [dare] + As seek the foul Thief ony place, [Devil] + For him to spae your fortune! [tell] + Nae doubt but ye may get a sight! + Great cause ye hae to fear it; + For mony a ane has gotten a fright, + An' lived an' died deleerit, [delirious] + On sic a night. + + 'Ae hairst afore the Sherra-moor,-- [One harvest, Sherriffmuir] + I mind't as weel's yestreen, [remember, last night] + I was a gilpey then, I'm sure [young girl] + I was na past fyfteen: + The simmer had been cauld an' wat, + An' stuff was unco green; [grain, extremely] + An' aye a rantin' kirn we gat, [rollicking harvest-home] + An' just on Halloween + It fell that night. + + 'Our stibble-rig was Rab M'Graen, [chief harvester] + A clever, sturdy fallow; + His sin gat Eppie Sim wi' wean, [son, child] + That liv'd in Achmacalla; + He gat hemp-seed,[14] I mind it weel, + An' he made unco light o't: [very] + But mony a day was by himsel, [beside himself] + He was sae sairly frighted [sorely] + That vera night.' + + Then up gat fechtin' Jamie Fleck, [fighting] + An' he swoor by his conscience + That he could saw hemp-seed a peck; [sow] + For it was a' but nonsense: [merely] + The auld guidman raught down the pock, [reached, bag] + An' out a handfu' gied him; [gave] + Syne bad him slip frae 'mang the folk, [Then] + Sometime when nae ane see'd him, [saw] + An' try't that night. + + He marches thro' amang the stacks, + Tho' he was something sturtin'; [staggering] + The graip he for a harrow taks, [dung-fork] + An' haurls at his curpin: [trails, back] + An' ev'ry now an' then, he says, + 'Hemp-seed! I saw thee, + An' her that is to be my lass + Come after me an' draw thee + As fast this night.' + + He whistled up Lord Lennox' march, + To keep his courage cheery; + Altho' his hair began to arch, + He was sae fley'd an' eerie: [scared, awe-struck] + Till presently he hears a squeak, + An' then a grane an' gruntle; [groan] + He by his shouther gae a keek, [shoulder gave, peep] + An' tumbl'd wi' a wintle [summersault] + Out-owre that night. + + He roar'd a horrid murder-shout, + In dreadfu' desperation! + An' young an' auld come rinnin' out, + An' hear the sad narration: + He swoor 'twas hilchin Jean M'Craw, [halting] + Or crouchie Merran Humphie, [hunchbacked Marian] + Till stop! she trotted thro' them a'; + An' wha was it but grumphie [the sow] + Asteer that night! [Astir] + + Meg fain wad to the barn gane [have gone] + To winn three wechts o' naething;[15] + But for to meet the Deil her lane, [alone] + She pat but little faith in: [put] + She gies the herd a pickle nits, [herd-boy, few] + And twa red-cheekit apples, + To watch, while for the barn she sets, [sets out] + In hopes to see Tam Kipples + That very night. + + She turns the key wi' cannie thraw, [cautious twist] + An' owre the threshold ventures; + But first on Sawnie gies a ca', [call] + Syne bauldly in she enters; [Then] + A ratton rattl'd up the wa', [rat] + An' she cried 'Lord preserve her!' + An' ran thro' midden-hole an' a', [dunghill pool] + An' pray'd wi' zeal an' fervour + Fu' fast that night + + They hoy't out Will, wi' sair advice; [urged] + They hecht him some fine braw ane; [promised][measured with + It chanced the stack he faddom'd thrice[16] outstretched arms] + Was timmer-propt for thrawin': [against leaning over] + He taks a swirlie auld moss-oak [gnarled] + For some black gruesome carlin; [beldam] + An' loot a winze, an' drew a stroke, [uttered a curse] + Till skin in blypes cam haurlin' [shreds, peeling] + Aff's nieves that night. [Off his fists] + + A wanton widow Leezie was, + As cantie as a kittlin; [lively] + But och! that night, amang the shaws, [woods] + She gat a fearfu' settlin'! + She thro' the whins, an' by the cairn, [gorse, stone heap] + An' owre the hill gaed scrievin'; [careering] + Where three laird's lands met at a burn,[17] + To dip her left sark-sleeve in, [shirt-] + Was bent that night. + + Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, [Waterfall] + As thro' the glen it wimpled; [wound] + Whyles round a rocky scaur it strays; [ledge] + Whyles in a wiel it dimpled; [eddy] + Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays, + Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle; + Whyles cookit underneath the braes, [peeped] + Below the spreading hazel, + Unseen that night. + + Amang the brackens on the brae, [ferns, hillside] + Between her an' the moon, + The Deil, or else an outler quey, [unhoused heifer] + Gat up an' gae a croon: [gave a low] + Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool; [almost leapt, sheath] + Near lav'rock height she jumpit, [lark high] + But miss'd a fit, an' in the pool [foot] + Out-owre the lugs she plumpit, + Wi' a plunge that night. + + In order, on the clean hearth-stane, + The luggies[18] three are ranged; + And every time great care is ta'en, + To see them duly changed: + Auld uncle John, wha wedlock's joys + Sin' Mar's year did desire, [1715 Rebellion] + Because he gat the toom dish thrice, [empty] + He heav'd them on the fire + In wrath that night. + + Wi' merry sangs, an' friendly cracks, + I wat they did na weary; [wot] + And unco tales, an' funny jokes,-- [strange] + Their sports were cheap and cheery; + Till butter'd sow'ns,[19] wi' fragrant lunt, [smoke] + Set a' their gabs a-steerin'; [tongues wagging] + Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt, [Then, liquor] + They parted aff careerin' + Fu' blythe that night. + + +FOOT-NOTES TO HALLOWEEN + +[The foot-notes to this poem are those supplied by Burns himself in +the Kilmarnock edition.] + + [4] Is thought to be a night when witches, devils, and other +mischief-making beings, are all abroad on their baneful, midnight +errands: particularly, those aerial people, the fairies, are said, on +that night to hold a grand anniversary. + + [5] Certain little, romantic, rocky, green hills, in the neighbourhood +of the ancient seat of the Earls of Cassilis. + + [6] A noted cavern near Colean-house, called the Cove of Colean; +which, as well as Cassilis Downans, is famed in country story for +being a favourite haunt of fairies. + + [7] The famous family of that name, the ancestors of Robert, the great +Deliverer of his country, were Earls of Carrick. + + [8] The first ceremony of Halloween is pulling each a _stock_, or +plant of kail. They must go out, hand in hand, with eyes shut, and +pull the first they meet with: its being big or little, straight or +crooked, is prophetic of the size and shape of the grand object of all +their spells--the husband or wife. If any _yird_, or earth, stick to +the root, that is _tocher_, or fortune; and the taste of the _custoc_, +that is, the heart of the stem, is indicative of the natural temper +and disposition. Lastly the stems, or to give them their ordinary +appellation, the _runts_, are placed somewhere above the head of the +door; and the Christian names of the people whom chance brings into +the house, are, according to the priority of placing the runts, the +names in question. + + [9] They go to the barn-yard, and pull each, at three several times, a +stalk of oats. If the third stalk wants the _top pickle_, that is, the +grain at the top of the stalk, the party in question will want the +maidenhead. + + [10] When the corn is in a doubtful state, by being too green, or wet, +the stack-builder, by means of old timber, etc., makes a large +apartment in his stack, with an opening in the side which is fairest +exposed to the wind: this he calls a _fause-house_. + + [11] Burning the nuts is a favourite charm. They name the lad and lass +to each particular nut, as they lay them in the fire; and according as +they burn quickly together, or start from beside one another, the +course and issue of the courtship will be. + + [12] Whoever would with success try this spell must strictly observe +these directions. Steal out all alone to the kiln, and darkling, +throw into the pot, a clue of blue yarn: wind it in a new clue off the +old one; and towards the latter end, something will hold the thread: +demand, _wha hauds_? i.e., who holds? and answer will be returned from +the kiln-pot, by naming the Christian and surname of your future +spouse. + + [13] Take a candle and go alone to a looking glass: eat an apple +before it, and some traditions say you should comb your hair all the +time; the face of your conjugal companion to be will be seen in the +glass, as if peeping over your shoulder. + + [14] Steal out; unperceived, and sow a handful of hemp seed; harrowing +it with anything you can conveniently draw after you. Repeat, now and +then, "Hemp seed, I saw [sow] thee, Hemp seed, I saw thee; and him (or +her) that is to be my true-love, come after me and pou thee." Look +over your left shoulder, and you will see the appearance of the person +invoked, in the attitude of pulling hemp. Some traditions say, "come +after me and shaw thee," that is, show thyself; in which case it +simply appears. Others omit the harrowing, and say, "come after me and +harrow thee." + + [15] This charm must likewise be performed, unperceived and alone. You +go to the barn, and open both doors; taking them off the hinges, if +possible; for there is danger that the Being about to appear may shut +the doors, and do you some mischief. Then take that instrument used in +winnowing the corn, which, in our country-dialect, we call a wecht; +and go thro' all the attitudes of letting down corn against the wind. +Repeat it three times; and the third time, an apparition will pass +thro' the barn, in at the windy door, and out at the other, having +both the figure in question and the appearance or retinue, marking the +employment or station in life. + + [16] Take an opportunity of going, unnoticed, to a bear-stack, and +fathom it three times round. The last fathom of the last time, you +will catch in your arms the appearance of your conjugal yoke-fellow. + + [17] You go out, one or more, for this is a social spell, to a +south-running spring or rivulet, where "three lairds' lands meet," and +dip your left shirt sleeve. Go to bed in sight of a fire, and hang +your wet sleeve before it to dry. Lie awake, and sometime near +midnight, an apparition having the exact figure of the grand object in +question, will come and turn the sleeve, as if to dry the other side +of it. + + [18] Take three dishes; put clean water in one, foul water in another; +and leave the third empty: blindfold a person, and lead him to the +hearth where the dishes are ranged; he (or she) dips the left hand: if +by chance in the clean water, the future husband or wife will come to +the bar of matrimony, a maid: if in the foul, a widow; if in the empty +dish, it foretells, with equal certainty, no marriage at all. It is +repeated three times; and every time the arrangement of the dishes is +altered. + + [19] Sowens, with butter instead of milk to them, is always the +Halloween supper. + +In _The Twa Dogs_ we have an entirely different method. Burns here +gives expression to his social philosophy in a contrast between rich +and poor, and adds a quaint humor to his criticism by placing it in +the mouths of the laird's Newfoundland and the cotter's collie. The +dogs themselves are delightfully and vividly characterized, and their +comments have a detachment that frees the satire from acerbity without +rendering it tame. The account of the life of the idle rich may be +that of a somewhat remote observer; it has still value as a record of +how the peasant views the proprietor. But that of the hard-working +farmer lacks no touch of actuality, and is part of the reverse side of +the shield shown in _The Cotter's Saturday Night_. Yet the tone is not +querulous, but echoes rather the quiet conviction that if toil is hard +it has its own sweetness, and that honest fatigue is better than +boredom. + + +THE TWA DOGS + + 'Twas in that place o' Scotland's Isle, + That bears the name o' auld King Coil, + Upon a bonnie day in June, + When wearin' through the afternoon, + Twa dogs, that werena thrang at hame, [busy] + Forgather'd ance upon a time. [Met] + + The first I'll name, they ca'd him Caesar, + Was keepit for his Honour's pleasure; + His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, [ears] + Show'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs, + But whalpit some place far abroad, [whelped] + Where sailors gang to fish for cod. + His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar, + Shew'd him the gentleman and scholar; + + But though he was o' high degree, + The fient a pride, nae pride had he; [devil] + But wad hae spent are hour caressin' + E'en wi' a tinkler-gipsy's messan: [mongrel] + At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, [smithy] + Nae tawted tyke, though e'er sae duddie, [matted cur, ragged] + But he wad stand as glad to see him, + An' stroan'd on stanes an' hillocks wi' him. [lanted] + + The tither was a ploughman's collie, [other] + A rhyming, ranting, raving billie; [fellow] + Wha for his friend and comrade had him, + And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him, + After some dog in Highland sang, + Was made lang syne--Lord knows how lang. + + He was a gash an' faithfu' tyke, [wise, dog] + As ever lap a sheugh or dyke; [leapt, ditch, wall] + His honest sonsie, bawsent face [pleasant, white-marked] + Aye gat him friends in ilka place, [every] + His breast was white, his tousie back [shaggy] + Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black: + His gawsie tail, wi' upward curl, [joyous] + Hung o'er his hurdles wi' a swirl. [buttocks] + + Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither, [glad] + And unco pack and thick thegither; [intimate] + Wi' social nose whyles snuff'd and snowkit; + Whyles mice and moudieworts they howkit; [moles, dug] + Whyles scour'd awa in lang excursion, + And worried ither in diversion; + Until wi' daffin' weary grown, [merriment] + Upon a knowe they sat them down, [knoll] + And there began a lang digression + About the lords of the creation. + + CAESAR + + I've aften wonder'd, honest Luath, + What sort o' life poor dogs like you have; + An' when the gentry's life I saw, + What way poor bodies liv'd ava. [at all] + Our Laird gets in his racked rents, + His coals, his kain, and a' his stents; [rent in kind, dues] + He rises when he likes himsel'; + His flunkies answer at the bell: + He ca's his coach; he ca's his horse; [calls] + He draws a bonny silken purse + As lang's my tail, where, through the steeks, [stitches] + The yellow-letter'd Geordie keeks. [guinea peeps] + Frae morn to e'en it's nought but toiling + At baking, roasting, frying, boiling; + And though the gentry first are stechin', [cramming] + Yet e'en the ha' folk fill their pechan [servants, belly] + Wi' sauce, ragouts, and sic like trashtrie, [rubbish] + That's little short o' downright wastrie. [waste] + Our whipper-in, wee blastit wonner! [wonder] + Poor worthless elf! it eats a dinner + Better than ony tenant man + His Honour has in a' the lan'; + An' what poor cot-folk pit their painch in, [put, paunch] + I own it's past my comprehension. + + LUATH + + Trowth, Caesar, whyles they're fash'd eneugh; [troubled] + A cottar howkin' in a sheugh, [digging, ditch] + Wi' dirty stanes biggin' a dyke, [building, wall] + Baring a quarry, and sic like; [clearing] + Himsel', a wife, he thus sustains, + A smytrie o' wee duddy weans, [brood, ragged children] + And nought but his han'-darg to keep [hand-labor] + Them right and tight in thack and rape. [thatch, rope] + And when they meet wi' sair disasters, [sore] + Like loss o' health, or want o' masters, + Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer [almost] + And they maun starve o' cauld and hunger; [must] + But how it comes I never kent yet. [knew] + They're maistly wonderfu' contented; + An' buirdly chiels and clever hizzies [stout lads, girls] + Are bred in sic a way as this is. + + CAESAR + + But then, to see how ye're negleckit, + How huff'd, and cuff'd, and disrespeckit, + Lord, man! our gentry care sae little + For delvers, ditchers and sic cattle; + They gang as saucy by poor folk + As I wad by a stinking brock. [badger] + I've noticed, on our Laird's court-day, + An' mony a time my heart's been wae. + Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash, + How they maun thole a factor's snash; [endure, abuse] + He'll stamp and threaten, curse and swear, + He'll apprehend them; poind their gear: [seize, property] + While they maun stan', wi' aspect humble, [must] + An' hear it a', an' fear an' tremble! + I see how folk live that hae riches; + But surely poor folk maun be wretches! + + LUATH + + They're no' sae wretched's ane wad think, + Though constantly on poortith's brink: [poverty's] + They're sae accustom'd wi' the sight, + The view o't gi'es them little fright. + Then chance and fortune are sae guided, + They're aye in less or mair provided; + An' though fatigued wi' close employment, + A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment. + The dearest comfort o' their lives, + Their grushie weans an' faithfu' wives; [growing] + The prattling things are just their pride, + That sweetens a' their fireside. + And whyles twalpenny-worth o' nappy [quart of ale] + Can mak the bodies unco happy; [wonderfully] + They lay aside their private cares + To mind the Kirk and State affairs: + They'll talk o' patronage and priests, + Wi' kindling fury in their breasts; + Or tell what new taxation's comin', + And ferlie at the folk in Lon'on. [wonder] + As bleak-faced Hallowmas returns + They get the jovial rantin' kirns, [harvest-homes] + When rural life o' every station. + Unite in common recreation; + Love blinks, Wit slaps, and social Mirth + Forgets there's Care upo' the earth. + That merry day the year begins + They bar the door on frosty win's; + The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream [ale, foam] + And sheds a heart-inspiring steam; + The luntin' pipe and sneeshin'-mill [smoking, snuff-box] + Are handed round wi' right gude-will; + The canty auld folk crackin' crouse, [cheerful, talking brightly] + The young anes ranting through the house-- + My heart has been sae fain to see them + That I for joy hae barkit wi' them. + Still it's owre true that ye hae said, + Sic game is now owre aften play'd. [too often] + There's mony a creditable stock + O' decent, honest, fawsont folk, [well-doing] + Are riven out baith root and branch + Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench, + Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster + In favour wi' some gentle master, + Wha, aiblins, thrang a-parliamentin', [perhaps, busy] + For Britain's gude his soul indentin-- [indenturing] + + CAESAR + + Haith, lad, ye little ken about it; + For Britain's gude!--guid faith! I doubt it! + Say rather, gaun as Premiers lead him, [going] + And saying ay or no's they bid him! + At operas and plays parading, + Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading. + Or maybe, in a frolic daft, + To Hague or Calais taks a waft, + To make a tour, an' tak a whirl, + To learn _bon ton_ an' see the worl'. + There, at Vienna, or Versailles, + He rives his father's auld entails; [splits] + Or by Madrid he takes the rout, + To thrum guitars and fecht wi' nowt; [fight with bulls] + Or down Italian vista startles, [courses] + Whore-hunting amang groves o' myrtles; + Then bouses drumly German water, [muddy] + To make himsel' look fair and fatter, + And clear the consequential sorrows, + Love-gifts of Carnival signoras. + For Britain's gude!--for her destruction! + Wi' dissipation, feud, and faction! + + LUATH + + Hech man! dear sirs! is that the gate [way] + They waste sae mony a braw estate? + Are we sae foughten and harass'd [troubled] + For gear to gang that gate at last? [money, go, way] + O would they stay aback frae courts, + An' please themselves wi' country sports, + It wad for every ane be better, + The laird, the tenant, an' the cotter! + For thae frank, rantin', ramblin' billies, [those] + Fient haet o' them's ill-hearted fellows: [Devil a bit] + Except for breakin' o' their timmer, [wasting, timber] + Or speaking lightly o' their limmer, [mistress] + Or shootin' o' a hare or moor-cock, + The ne'er-a-bit they're ill to poor folk. + But will ye tell me, Master Caesar? + Sure great folk's life's a life o' pleasure; + Nae cauld nor hunger o'er can steer them. [touch] + The very thought o't needna fear them. + + CAESAR + + Lord, man, were ye but whyles where I am, [sometimes] + The gentles ye wad ne'er envy 'em, + It's true, they needna starve or sweat, + Thro' winter's cauld or simmer's heat; + They've nae sair wark to craze their banes. [hard] + An' fill auld age wi' grips an' granes: [gripes, groans] + But human bodies are sic fools. + For a' their colleges and schools, + That when nae real ills perplex them, + They make enow themselves to vex them, + An' aye the less they hae to sturt them, [fret] + In like proportion less will hurt them. + A country fellow at the pleugh, + His acres till'd, he's right eneugh; + A country lassie at her wheel, + Her dizzens done, she's unco weel; [dozens] + But gentlemen, an' ladies warst, + Wi' ev'ndown want o' wark are curst, [positive] + They loiter, lounging, lank, and lazy; + Though de'il haet ails them, yet uneasy; [devil a bit] + Their days insipid, dull, and tasteless; + Their nights unquiet, lang, and restless. + And e'en their sports, their balls, and races, + Their galloping through public places; + There's sic parade, sic pomp and art, + The joy can scarcely reach the heart. + The men cast out in party matches, [quarrel] + Then sowther a' in deep debauches: [solder] + Ae night they're mad wi' drink and whoring, [One] + Neist day their life is past enduring. [Next] + The ladies arm-in-arm, in clusters, + As great and gracious a' as sisters; + But hear their absent thoughts o' ither, + They're a' run de'ils and jades thegither. [downright] + Whyles, owre the wee bit cup and platie, + They sip the scandal-potion pretty; + Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbit leuks, [live-long, crabbed looks] + Pore owre the devil's picture beuks; [playing-cards] + Stake on a chance a farmer's stack-yard, + And cheat like ony unhang'd blackguard. + There's some exception, man and woman; + But this is gentry's life in common. + + By this the sun was out o' sight, + And darker gloamin' brought the night; [twilight] + The bum-clock humm'd wi' lazy drone, [cockchafer] + The kye stood rowtin' i' the loan; [cattle, lowing, lane] + When up they gat and shook their lugs, [ears] + Rejoiced they werena men but dogs; + And each took aff his several way, + Resolved to meet some ither day. + +The satirical tendency becomes more evident in _The Holy Fair_. The +personifications whom the poet meets on the way to the religious orgy +are Superstition, Hypocrisy, and Fun, and symbolize exactly the +elements in his treatment--two-thirds satire and one-third humorous +sympathy. The handling of the preachers is in the manner we have +already observed in the other ecclesiastical satires, but there is +less animus and more vividness. Nothing could be more admirable in its +way than the realism of the picture of the congregation, whether at +the sermons or at their refreshments; and, as in _Halloween_, the +union of the particular and the universal appears in the essential +applicability of the psychology to an American camp-meeting as well as +to a Scottish sacrament-- + + There's some are fou o' love divine, + There's some are fou o' brandy. + +--not to finish the stanza! + + +THE HOLY FAIR + + _A robe of seeming truth and trust + Hid crafty Observation; + And secret hung, with poison'd crust, + The dirk of Defamation: + A mask that like the gorget show'd, + Dye-varying on the pigeon; + And for a mantle large and broad, + He wrapt him in religion._ + HYPOCRISY A LA MODE. + + Upon a simmer Sunday morn, + When Nature's face is fair, + I walked forth to view the corn, + An' snuff the caller air. [fresh] + The risin' sun, owre Galston muirs, + Wi' glorious light was glintin'; + The hares were hirplin' down the furrs, [limping, furrows] + The lav'rocks they were chantin' [larks] + Fu' sweet that day. + + As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad, [stared] + To see a scene sae gay, + Three hizzies, early at the road, [girls] + Cam skelpin' up the way. [scudding] + Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black, + But ane wi' lyart lining; [gray] + The third, that gaed a wee a-back, [went a little] + Was in the fashion shining + Fu' gay that day. + + The twa appeared like sisters twin, + In feature, form, an' claes; + Their visage wither'd, lang an' thin, + An' sour as ony slaes: [sloes] + The third cam up, hap-stap-an'-lowp, [hop-step-and-jump] + As light as ony lambie, + An' wi' a curchie low did stoop, [curtsey] + As soon as e'er she saw me, + Fu' kind that day. + + Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, 'Sweet lass, + I think ye seem to ken me; + I'm sure I've seen that bonnie face, + But yet I canna name ye.' + Quo' she, an' laughin' as she spak, + An' taks me by the hands, + 'Ye, for my sake, hae gi'en the feck [most] + Of a' the ten commands + A screed some day. [rent] + + 'My name is Fun--your crony dear, + The nearest friend ye hae; + An' this is Superstition here, + An' that's Hypocrisy. + I'm gaun to Mauchline Holy Fair, + To spend an hour in daffin'; [mirth] + Gin ye'll go there, yon runkled pair, + We will get famous laughin' + At them this day.' + + Quoth I, 'Wi' a' my heart, I'll do't; + I'll get my Sunday's sark on, [shirt] + An' meet you on the holy spot; + Faith, we'se hae fine remarkin'!' + Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time, [porridge] + An' soon I made me ready; + For roads were clad, frae side to side, + Wi' mony a wearie bodie + In droves that day. + + Here farmers gash in ridin' graith [complacent, attire] + Gaed hoddin' by their cotters; [jogging] + There swankies young in braw braid-claith [strapping youngsters] + Are springin' owre the gutters. [over] + The lasses, skelpin' barefit, thrang, [padding, in crowds] + In silks an' scarlets glitter, + Wi' sweet-milk cheese, in mony a whang, [slice] + An' farls bak'd wi' butter, [cakes] + Fu' crump that day. [crisp] + + When by the plate we set our nose, + Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence, + A greedy glow'r Black Bonnet throws, [the elder] + An' we maun draw our tippence. + Then in we go to see the show: + On ev'ry side they're gath'rin'; + Some carryin' deals, some chairs an' stools, [planks] + An' some are busy bleth'rin' [gabbling] + Right loud that day. + + Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs, [keep off] + An' screen our country gentry; + There racer Jess an' twa-three whores + Are blinkin' at the entry. + Here sits a raw o' tittlin' jades, [whispering] + Wi' heavin' breasts an' bare neck, + An' there a batch o' wabster lads, [weaver] + Blackguardin' frae Kilmarnock + For fun this day. + + Here some are thinkin' on their sins, + An' some upo' their claes; [clothes] + Ane curses feet that fyl'd his shins, [soiled] + Anither sighs an' prays: + On this hand sits a chosen swatch, [sample] + Wi' screw'd up, grace-proud faces; + On that a set o' chaps, at watch, + Thrang winkin' on the lasses [Busy] + To chairs that day. + + O happy is that man an' blest! + Nae wonder that it pride him! + Whase ain dear lass, that he likes best, + Comes clinkin' down beside him! [Sits snugly] + Wi' arm repos'd on the chair-back + He sweetly does compose him; + Which, by degrees, slips round her neck, + An's loof upon her bosom, [And his palm] + Unkenn'd that day. [Unacknowledged] + + Now a' the congregation o'er + Is silent expectation; + For Moodie speels the holy door, [climbs to] + Wi' tidings o' damnation, + Should Hornie, as in ancient days, [Satan] + 'Mang sons o' God present him, + The very sight o' Moodie's face + To's ain het hame had sent him [his own hot] + Wi' fright that day. + + Hear how he clears the points o' faith + Wi' rattlin' an' wi' thumpin'! + Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath, + He's stampin' an' he's jumpin'! + His lengthen'd chin, his turned-up snout, + His eldritch squeal an' gestures, [weird] + O how they fire the heart devout, + Like cantharidian plaisters, + On sic a day! [such] + + But, hark! the tent has chang'd its voice; + There's peace an' rest nae langer; + For a' the real judges rise, + They canna sit for anger. + Smith opens out his cauld harangues, [A New Light] + On practice and on morals; + An' aff the godly pour in thrangs + To gie the jars an' barrels [give] + A lift that day. + + What signifies his barren shine + Of moral pow'rs an' reason? + His English style an' gesture fine + Are a' clean out o' season. + Like Socrates or Antonine, + Or some auld pagan Heathen, + The moral man he does define, + But ne'er a word o' faith in + That's right that day. + + In guid time comes an antidote + Against sic poison'd nostrum; + For Peebles, frae the water-fit, [river-mouth] + Ascends the holy rostrum: + See, up he's got the word o' God, + An' meek an' mim has view'd it, [prim] + While Common Sense[20] has ta'en the road, + An' aff, an' up the Cowgate + Fast, fast, that day. + + Wee Miller, neist, the Guard relieves, [next] + An' Orthodoxy raibles, [rattles by rote] + Tho' in his heart he weel believes + An' thinks it auld wives' fables: + But, faith! the birkie wants a Manse, [fellow] + So cannilie he hums them; [prudently, humbugs] + Altho' his carnal wit an' sense + Like hafflins-wise o'ercomes him [nearly half] + At times that day. + + Now, butt an' ben, the Change-house fills, [outer and inner rooms] + Wi' yill-caup Commentators; [ale-cup] + Here's crying out for bakes an' gills, [rolls] + An' there the pint-stowp clatters; + While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang, [busy] + Wi' logic, an' wi' Scripture, + They raise a din, that in the end + Is like to breed a rupture + O' wrath that day. + + Leeze me on drink! it gi'es us mair [blessings on] + Than either school or college; + It kindles wit, it waukens lair, [learning] + It pangs us fou o' knowledge. [crams full] + Be't whisky gill, or penny wheep, [small beer] + Or ony stronger potion, + It never fails, on drinkin' deep, + To kittle up our notion [tickle] + By night or day. + + The lads an' lasses, blythely bent + To mind baith saul an' body, + Sit round the table, weel content, + An' steer about the toddy. [stir] + On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk, [look] + They're makin observations; + While some are cosy i' the neuk, [corner] + An' formin' assignations + To meet some day. + + But now the Lord's ain trumpet touts, [sounds] + Till a' the hills are rairin', [roaring] + An' echoes back return the shouts; + Black Russel is na sparin'; + His piercing words, like Highlan' swords, + Divide the joints an' marrow; + His talk o' Hell, where devils dwell, + Our very 'sauls does harrow' + Wi' fright that day! + + A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit, + Fill'd fou o' lowin' brunstane, [full, flaming brimstone] + Whase ragin' flame, an' scorchin' heat, + Wad melt the hardest whun-stane! + The half-asleep start up wi' fear + An' think they hear it roarin' + When presently it does appear + 'Twas but some neebor snorin' + Asleep that day. + + 'Twad be owre lang a tale to tell + How mony stories past, + An' how they crowded to the yill, [ale] + When they were a' dismist; + How drink gaed round, in cogs an' caups, [wooden drinking vessels] + Amang the furms and benches; + An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps, + Was dealt about in lunches, [full portions] + An' dawds that day. [lumps] + + In comes a gawsie, gash guidwife, [jolly, sensible] + An' sits down by the fire, + Syne draws her kebbuck an' her knife; [Then, cheese] + The lasses they are shyer. + The auld guidmen, about the grace, + Frae side to side they bother, + Till some are by his bonnet lays, + An' gi'es them't like a tether, [rope] + Fu' lang that day. + + Waesucks! for him that gets nae lass, [Alas!] + Or lasses that hae naething! + Sma' need has he to say a grace, + Or melvie his braw claithing! [make dusty] + O wives, be mindful, ance yoursel + How bonnie lads ye wanted, + An' dinna for a kebbuck-heel + Let lasses be affronted + On sic a day! [such] + + Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattlin' tow, [Bell-ringer, rope] + Begins to jow an' croon; [swing, toll] + Some swagger hame the best they dow, [can] + Some wait the afternoon. + At slaps the billies halt a blink, [gaps, kids] + Till lasses strip their shoon; + Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink, [shoes] + They're a' in famous tune + For crack that day. [chat] + + How mony hearts this day converts + O' sinners and o' lasses! + Their hearts o' static, gin night, are gane [before] + As saft as ony flesh is. + There's some are fou o' love divine, + There's some are fou o' brandy; + An' mony jobs that day begin, + May end in houghmagandie [fornication] + Some ither day. + + [20] The rationalism of the New Lights. + +It must be admitted that, as we pass from poem to poem, Scottish +manners are becoming freer, Scottish drink is more potent, Scottish +religion is no longer pure and undefiled. Yet the poet hardly seems +to be at a disadvantage. He certainly is no less interesting; he +impresses our imaginations and rouses our sympathetic understanding as +keenly as ever; there is no abatement of our esthetic relish. + +We have seen the Ayrshire peasant alone with his family, at social +gatherings, and at church. We have to see him with his cronies and at +the tavern. Scotch manners and Scotch religion we know now; it is the +turn of Scotch drink. The spirit of that conviviality which was one of +Burns's ruling passions, and which in his class helped to color the +grayness of daily hardship, was rendered by him in verse again and +again: never more triumphantly than in the greatest of his +bacchanalian songs, _Willie Brew'd a Peck o' Maut_. Indeed it would be +hard to find anywhere in our literature a more revealing utterance of +those effects of alcohol that are not discussed in scientific +literature--the joyous exhilaration, the conviction of (comparative) +sobriety, the temporary intensification of the feeling of good +fellowship. The challenge to the moon is unsurpassable in its +unconscious humor. Yet Arnold thought the world of Scotch drink +unbeautiful. + + +WILLIE BREW'D A PECK O' MAUT + + O, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut, [malt] + And Rob and Allan cam to see; + Three blyther hearts, that lee-lang night, [live-long] + Ye wad na found in Christendie. [would not have, Christendom] + + We are na fou', we're nae that fou, [drunk] + But just a drappie in our e'e; [droplet] + The cock may craw, the day may daw, [crow, dawn] + And aye we'll taste the barley-bree. [brew] + + Here are we met, three merry boys, + Three merry boys, I trow, are we; + And mony a night we've merry been, + And mony mae we hope to be! [more] + + It is the moon, I ken her horn, + That's blinkin' in the lift sae hie; [shining, sky, high] + She shines sae bright to wyle us hame, [entice] + But, by my sooth! she'll wait a wee. + + Wha first shall rise to gang awa, [go] + A cuckold, coward loun is he! [rascal] + Wha first beside his chair shall fa', + He is the King amang us three! + +With greater daring and on a broader canvas Burns has dealt with the +same subject in _The Jolly Beggars_. For the literary treatment of the +theme he had hints from Ramsay, in whose _Merry Beggars_ and _Happy +Beggars_ groups of half a dozen male and female characters proclaim +their views and join in a chorus in praise of drink. More direct +suggestion for the setting of his "cantata" came from a night visit +made by the poet and two of his friends to the low alehouse kept by +Nancy Gibson ("Poosie Nansie") in Mauchline. The poem was written in +1785, but Burns never published it and seems almost to have forgotten +its existence. + +It is impossible to exaggerate the unpromising nature of the theme. +The place is a den of corruption, the characters are the dregs of +society. A group of tramps and criminals have gathered at the end of +their day's wanderings to drink the very rags from their backs and +wallow in shameless incontinence. An old soldier and a quondam +"daughter of the regiment," a mountebank and his tinker sweetheart, a +female pickpocket whose Highland bandit lover has been hanged, a +fiddler at fairs who aspires to comfort her but is outdone by a +tinker, a lame ballad-singer and his three wives, one of whom consoles +the fiddler in the face of her husband--such is the choice company. +The action is mere by-play, drunken love making; the main point is the +songs. They are mostly frank autobiography, all pervaded with the +gaiety that comes from the conviction that being at the bottom, they +need not be anxious about falling. Wine, women, and song are their +enthusiasms, and only the song is above the lowest possible level. + +Such is the sordid material out of which Burns wrought his greatest +imaginative triumph. To take the reader into such a haunt and have him +pass the evening in such company, not with disgust and nausea but with +relish and joy, is an achievement that stands beside the creation of +the scenes in the Boar's Head Tavern in Eastcheap. It is accomplished +by virtue of the intensity of the poet's imaginative sympathy with +human nature even in its most degraded forms, and by his power of +finding utterance for the moods of the characters he conceives. The +dramatic power which we have noted in a certain group of the songs +here reaches its height, and in making the reader respond to it he +avails himself of all his literary faculties. Pungent phrasing, a +sense of the squalid picturesque, a humorous appreciation of human +weakness, and a superb command of rollicking rhythms--these elements +of his equipment are particularly notable. But the whole thing is +fused and unified by a wonderful vitality that makes the reading of +it an actual experience. And, though several of the songs are in +English, there is no moralizing, no alien note of any kind to jar the +perfection of its harmony. Scottish literature had seen nothing like +it since Dunbar made the Seven Deadly Sins dance in hell. + + +THE JOLLY BEGGARS + +A CANTATA + +Recitativo + + When lyart leaves bestrow the yird, [withered, earth] + Or, wavering like the baukie bird, [bat] + Bedim cauld Boreas' blast; + When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte, [glancing stroke] + And infant frosts begin to bite, + In hoary cranreuch drest; [hoar-frost] + Ae night at e'en a merry core [one, gang] + O' randie, gangrel bodies [rowdy, vagrant] + In Poosie Nansie's held the splore, [carousal] + To drink their orra duddies. [spare rags] + Wi' quaffing and laughing, + They ranted an' they sang; + Wi' jumping an' thumping + The very girdle rang. [cake-pan] + + First, niest the fire, in auld red rags, [next] + Ane sat, weel brac'd wi' mealy bags, + An' knapsack a' in order; + His doxy lay within his arm; [mistress] + Wi' usquebae an blankets warm [whisky] + She blinket on her sodger; [leered] + An' aye he gies the tozie drab [flushed with drink] + The tither skelpin' kiss, [smacking] + While she held up her greedy gab, [mouth] + Just like an aumous dish; [alms] + Ilk smack still did crack still + Just like a cadger's whip; [hawker's] + Then, swaggering an' staggering, + He roar'd this ditty up-- + +Air + +TUNE: Soldier's Joy + + I am a son of Mars, who have been in many wars, + And show my cuts and scars wherever I come: + This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench, + When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum, + Lal de daudle, &c. + + My 'prenticeship I past where my leader breath'd his last, + When the bloody die was cast on the heights of Abram; + And I serv'd out my trade when the gallant game was play'd, + And the Moro low was laid at the sound of the drum. + + I lastly was with Curtis, among the floating batt'ries, + And there I left for witness an arm and a limb: + Yet let my country need me, with Elliot to head me, + I'd clatter on my stamps at the sound of a drum. + + And now, tho' I must beg, with a wooden arm and leg, + And many a tattered rag hanging over my bum, + I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle, and my callet, [trull] + As when I used in scarlet to follow a drum. + + What tho' with hoary locks I must stand the winter shocks, + Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home? + When the t'other bag I sell, and the t'other bottle tell, + I could meet a troop of hell at the sound of the drum. + +Recitativo + + He ended; and the kebars sheuk [rafters shook] + Aboon the chorus roar; [Above] + While frighted rattons backward leuk, [rats, look] + An' seek the benmost bore. [inmost hole] + A fairy fiddler frae the neuk, [nook] + He skirled out _Encore!_ [shrieked] + But up arose the martial chuck, [darling] + And laid the loud uproar. + +Air + +TUNE: Sodger Laddie + + I once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when, + And still my delight is in proper young men; + Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie, + No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie. + Sing, Lal de dal, &c. + + The first of my loves was a swaggering blade, + To rattle the thundering drum was his trade; + His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy, + Transported I was with my sodger laddie. [soldier] + + But the godly old chaplain left him in a lurch; + The sword I forsook for the sake of the church; + He risked the soul, and I ventur'd the body,-- + then I prov'd false to my sodger laddie. + + Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot, + The regiment at large for a husband I got; + From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready, + I asked no more but a sodger laddie. + + But the peace it reduced me to beg in despair, + Till I met my old boy at a Cunningham fair; + His rags regimental they flutter'd so gaudy, + My heart it rejoiced at a sodger laddie. + + And now I have liv'd--I know not how long, + And still I can join in a cup or a song; + But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady, + Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie! + +Recitativo + + Poor Merry Andrew in the neuk [corner] + Sat guzzling wi' a tinkler hizzie; [tinker wench] + They mind't na wha the chorus teuk, [took] + Between themselves they were sae busy, + At length, wi' drink and courting dizzy, + He stoitered up an' made a face; [staggered] + Then turn'd, an' laid a smack on Grizzy, + Syne tun'd his pipes wi' grave grimace. [Then] + +Air + +TUNE: Auld Sir Symon + + Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou, [drunk] + Sir Knave is a fool in a session; [court] + He's there but a 'prentice I trow, + But I am a fool by profession. + + My grannie she bought me a beuk, [book] + And I held awa to the school; [went off] + I fear I my talent misteuk, + But what will ye hae of a fool? [have] + + For drink I would venture my neck; + A hizzie's the half o' my craft; [wench] + But what could ye other expect, + Of ane that's avowedly daft? [crazy] + + I ance was tied up like a stirk, [bullock] + For civilly swearing and quaffing; + I ance was abused i' the kirk, [rebuked] + For touzling a lass i' my daffin. [rumpling, fun] + + Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport, + Let naebody name wi' a jeer; + There's even, I'm tauld, i' the Court, + A tumbler ca'd the Premier. + + Observ'd ye yon reverend lad + Maks faces to tickle the mob? + He rails at our mountebank squad-- + It's rivalship just i' the job! + + And now my conclusion I'll tell, + For faith! I'm confoundedly dry; + The chiel that's a fool for himsel', [fellow] + Gude Lord! he's far dafter than I. + +Recitativo + + Then niest outspak a raucle carlin, [next, rough beldam] + Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterling. [steal, cash] + For mony a pursie she had hookit, + An' had in mony a well been dookit; [ducked] + Her love had been a Highland laddie, + But weary fa' the waefu' Woodie! [woe betide, gallows] + Wi' sighs and sobs, she thus began + To wail her braw John Highlandman:-- + +Air + +TUNE: O An' Ye Were Dead, Guidman + + A Highland lad my love was born, + The Lalland laws he held in scorn; [Lowland] + But he still was faithfu' to his clan, + My gallant braw John Highlandman. + + CHORUS + + Sing hey, my braw John Highlandman! + Sing ho, my braw John Highlandman! + There's no a lad in a' the lan' + Was match for my John Highlandman. + + With his philibeg an' tartan plaid, [kilt] + And gude claymore down by his side, [two-handed sword] + The ladies' hearts he did trepan, + My gallant braw John Highlandman. + + We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, + And lived like lords and ladies gay; + For a Lalland face he feared none, + My gallant braw John Highlandman. + + They banish'd him beyond the sea; + But ere the bud was on the tree, + Adown my cheeks the pearls ran, + Embracing my John Highlandman. + + But och! they catch'd him at the last, + And bound him in a dungeon fast; + My curse upon them every one! + They've hang'd my braw John Highlandman. + + And now a widow I must mourn + The pleasures that will ne'er return; + No comfort but a hearty can, + When I think on John Highlandman. + +Recitativo + + A pigmy scraper wi' his fiddle, + Wha used to trysts an' fairs to driddle, [markets, toddle] + Her strappin' limb an' gawsie middle [buxom] + (He reach'd nae higher) + Had holed his heartie like a riddle, + And blawn't on fire. [blown it] + + Wi' hand on hainch, and upward e'e, [hip] + He crooned his gamut, one, two, three, + Then, in an _Ario's_ key, + The wee Apollo + Set aff, wi' _allegretto_ glee, + His _gig_ solo. + +Air + +TUNE: Whistle Owre the Lave O't + + Let me tyke up to dight that tear, [reach, wipe] + And go wi' me an' be my dear, + And then your every care an' fear + May whistle owre the lave o't. [rest] + + CHORUS + + I am a fiddler to my trade, + An' a' the tunes that e'er I play'd, + The sweetest still to wife or maid, + Was _Whistle Owre the Lave o't_. + + At kirns and weddings we'se be there, [harvest-homes, we shall] + And oh! sae nicely's we will fare; + We'll house about, till Daddie Care + Sing _Whistle Owre the Lave o't_. + + Sae merrily the banes we'll pyke, [pick] + An' sun oursels about the dyke, [wall] + An' at our leisure, when ye like, + We'll--whistle owre the lave o't. + + But bless me wi' your heav'n o' charms, + An' while I kittle hair on thairms, [tickle, catgut] + Hunger, cauld, and a' sic harms, [such] + May whistle owre the lave o't. + +Recitativo + + Her charms had struck a sturdy caird, [tinker] + As well as poor gut-scraper; + He taks the fiddler by the beard, + An' draws a roosty rapier-- [rusty] + He swoor, by a' was swearing worth, + To spit him like a pliver, [plover] + Unless he would from that time forth + Relinquish her for ever. + + Wi' ghastly e'e, poor tweedle-dee + Upon his hunkers bended, [hams] + An' pray'd for grace wi' ruefu' face, + An' sae the quarrel ended. + But tho' his little heart did grieve + When round the tinkler prest her, + He feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve, [snigger] + When thus the caird address'd her:-- + +Air + +TUNE: Clout the Cauldron + + My bonnie lass, I work in brass, + A tinkler is my station; + I've travell'd round all Christian ground + In this my occupation; + I've ta'en the gold, I've been enroll'd + In many a noble squadron; + But vain they search'd when off I march'd + To go an' clout the cauldron. [patch] + + Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp, + Wi' a' his noise an' caperin'; + An' tak a share wi' those that bear + The budget and the apron; [tool-bag] + And, by that stoup, my faith an' houp! [hope] + And by that dear Kilbaigie, [a kind of whisky] + If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant, [dearth] + May I ne'er weet my craigie. [wet, throat] + +Recitativo + + The caird prevail'd--th' unblushing fair + In his embraces sunk, + Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair, [so sorely] + An' partly she was drunk. + Sir Violino, with an air + That show'd a man o' spunk, [spirit] + Wish'd unison between the pair, + An' made the bottle clunk + To their health that night. + + But hurchin Cupid shot a shaft [urchin] + That play'd a dame a shavie; [trick] + The fiddler rak'd her fore and aft, + Behint the chicken cavie. [hencoop] + Her lord, a wight of Homer's craft, + Tho' limpin' wi' the spavie, [spavin] + He hirpl'd up, an' lap like daft, [hobbled, leapt] + And shor'd them _Dainty Davie_ [yielded them as lovers] + O' boot that night. [gratis] + + He was a care-defying blade + As ever Bacchus listed; [enlisted] + Tho' Fortune sair upon him laid, + His heart she ever miss'd it. + He had nae wish, but--to be glad, + Nor want but--when he thirsted; + He hated nought but--to be sad, + And thus the Muse suggested + His sang that night. + +Air + +TUNE: For A' That, An' A' That + + I am a bard of no regard + Wi' gentlefolks, and a' that; + But Homer-like, the glowrin' byke, [staring crowd] + Frae town to town I draw that. + + CHORUS + + For a' that, an' a' that, + And twice as muckle's a' that; [much] + I've lost but ane, I've twa behin', + I've wife eneugh for a' that. + + I never drank the Muses' stank, [pond] + Castalia's burn, an' a' that; + But there it streams, an' richly reams! [foams] + My Helicon I ca' that. + + Great love I bear to a' the fair, + Their humble slave, an' a' that; + But lordly will, I hold it still + A mortal sin to thraw that. [thwart] + + In raptures sweet this hour we meet + Wi' mutual love, an' a' that; + But for how lang the flee may stang, [fly, sting] + Let inclination law that. [regulate] + + Their tricks and craft hae put me daft, [crazy] + They've ta'en me in, an' a' that; + But clear your decks, an' _Here's the sex!_ + I like the jads for a' that. [jades] + + For a' that, and a' that, + And twice as muckle's a' that, + My dearest bluid, to do them guid, + They're welcome till't, for a' that. [to it] + +Recitativo + + So sung the bard--and Nansie's wa's [walls] + Shook with a thunder of applause, + Re-echo'd from each mouth; + They toom'd their pocks, an' pawn'd their duds. [emptied, pokes, rags] + They scarcely left to co'er their fads, [cover, tails] + To quench their lowin' drouth. [flaming] + Then owre again the jovial thrang [over, crowd] + The poet did request + To lowse his pack, an' wale a sang, [untie, choose] + A ballad o' the best; + He rising, rejoicing, + Between his twa Deborahs, + Looks round him, an' found them + Impatient for the chorus. + +Air + +TUNE: Jolly Mortals, Fill Your Glasses + + See the smoking bowl before us, + Mark our jovial ragged ring; + Round and round take up the chorus, + And in raptures let us sing: + + CHORUS + + A fig for those by law protected! + Liberty's a glorious feast! + Courts for cowards were erected, + Churches built to please the priest. + + What is title? what is treasure? + What is reputation's care? + If we lead a life of pleasure, + 'Tis no matter how or where! + + With the ready trick and fable, + Round we wander all the day; + And at night, in barn or stable, + Hug our doxies on the hay. [mistresses] + + Does the train-attended carriage + Thro' the country lighter rove? + Does the sober bed of marriage + Witness brighter scenes of love? + + Life is all a variorum, + We regard not how it goes; + Let them cant about decorum + Who have characters to lose. + + Here's to budgets, bags, and wallets! + Here's to all the wandering train! + Here's our ragged brats and callets! [wenches] + One and all cry out _Amen!_ + +The materials for rebuilding Burns's world are not confined to his +explicitly descriptive poems. Much can be gathered from the songs and +satires, and there are important contributions in his too scanty +essays in narrative. Of these last by far the most valuable is _Tam o' +Shanter_. The poem originated accidentally in the request of a certain +Captain Grose for local legends to enrich a descriptive work which he +was compiling. In Burns's correspondence will be found a prose +account of the tradition on which the poem is founded, and he is +supposed to have derived hints for the relations of Tam and his spouse +from a couple he knew at Kirkoswald. + +It was a happy inspiration that led him to turn the story into verse, +for it revealed a capacity which otherwise we could hardly have +guessed him to possess. The vigor and rapidity of the action, the +vivid sketching of the background, the pregnant characterization, the +drollery of the humor give this piece a high place among stories in +verse, and lead us to conjecture that, had he followed this vein +instead of devoting his later years to the service of Johnson and +Thomson, he might have won a place beside the author of the +_Canterbury Tales_. He lacked, to be sure, Chaucer's breadth of +experience and richness of culture: being far less a man of the world +he would never have attained the air of breeding that distinguishes +the English poet: but with most of the essential qualities that charm +us in Chaucer's stories he was well equipped. He had the observant +eye, the power of selection, command of the telling phrase and happy +epithet, the sense of the comic and the pathetic. Beyond Chaucer he +had passion and the power of rendering it, so that he might have +reached greater tragic depth, as he surpassed him in lyric intensity. + +As it is, however, Chaucer stands alone as a story-teller, for _Tam o' +Shanter_ is with Burns an isolated achievement. There are three +distinct elements in the work--narrative, descriptive, and reflective. +The first can hardly be overpraised. We are made to feel the +reluctance of the hero to abandon the genial inn fireside, with its +warmth and uncritical companionship, for the bitter ride with a sulky +sullen dame at the end of it; the rage of the thunderstorm, as with +lowered head and fast-held bonnet the horseman plunges through it; the +growing sense of terror as, past scene after scene of ancient horror, +he approaches the ill-famed ruin. Then suddenly the mood changes. +Emboldened by his potations, Tam faces the astounding infernal revelry +with unabashed curiosity, which rises and rises till, in a pitch of +enthusiastic admiration for Cutty-Sark, he loses all discretion and +brings the "hellish legion" after him pell-mell. We reach the +serio-comic catastrophe breathless but exhilarated. + +The descriptive background of this galloping adventure is skilfully +indicated. Each scene--the ale-house, the storm, the lighted church, +the witches' dance--is sketched in a dozen lines, every stroke +distinct and telling. Even the three lines indicating what waits the +hero at home is an adequate picture. Though incidental, these +vignettes add substantially to what the descriptive poems have told us +of the environment, real and imaginative, in which the poet had been +reared. + +The value of the reflective element is more mixed. The most quoted +passage, that beginning + + "But pleasures are like poppies spread," + +can only be regretted. With its literacy similes, its English, its +artificial diction, it is a patch of cheap silk upon honest homespun. +But the other pieces of interspersed comment are all admirable. The +ironic apostrophes--to Tam for neglecting his wife's warnings; to +shrewish wives, consoling them for their husband's deafness to advice; +to John Barleycorn, on the transient courage he inspires; to Tam +again, when tragedy seems imminent--are all in perfect tone, and do +much to add the element of drollery that mixes so delightfully with +the weirdness of the scene. And like the other elements in the poem +they are commendably short, for Burns nearly always fulfills +Bagehot's requirement that poetry should be "memorable and emphatic, +intense, and _soon over_." + + +TAM O' SHANTER + +A TALE + +Of Brownyis and of Bogillis full is this Buke. + GARVIN DOUGLAS. + + When chapman billies leave the street, [pedlar fellows] + And drouthy neibors neibors meet, [thirsty] + As market-days are wearing late, + An' folk begin to tak the gate; [road] + While we sit bousing at the nappy, [ale] + An' getting fou and unco happy, [full, mighty] + We think na on the lang Scots miles, + The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles, [bogs, gaps] + That lie between us and our hame, + Where sits our sulky sullen dame, + Gathering her brows like gathering storm, + Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. + + This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, [found] + As he frae Ayr ae night did canter-- [one] + (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses + For honest men and bonnie lasses). + + O Tam! hadst thou but been sae wise + As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice! + She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, [told, good-for-nothing] + A bletherin', blusterin', drunken blellum; [chattering, babbler] + That frae November till October, + Ae market-day thou was na sober; [One] + That ilka melder wi' the miller [every meal-grinding] + Thou sat as lang as thou had siller; [money] + That every naig was ca'd a shoe on, [nag] + The smith and thee gat roarin' fou on; + That at the Lord's house, even on Sunday, + Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday. + She prophesied that, late or soon, + Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon; + Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk [wizards, dark] + By Alloway's auld haunted kirk. + + Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet [makes, weep] + To think how many counsels sweet, + How mony lengthen'd sage advices, + The husband frae the wife despises! + + But to our tale: Ae market night, + Tam had got planted unco right, [uncommonly] + Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, [fireside, blazing] + Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely; [foaming ale] + And at his elbow, Souter Johnny, [Cobbler] + His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony; + Tam lo'ed him like a very brither; [loved] + They had been fou for weeks thegither. + The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter, + And aye the ale was growing better; + The landlady and Tam grew gracious, + Wi' favours secret, sweet, and precious; + The souter tauld his queerest stories; + The landlord's laugh was ready chorus; + The storm without might rair and rustle, [roar] + Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. + + Care, mad to see a man sae happy, + E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy. + As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, [loads] + The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure; + Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, + O'er a' the ills o' life victorious! + + But pleasures are like poppies spread-- + You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed; + Or like the snow falls in the river-- + A moment white, then melts for ever; + Or like the borealis race, + That flit ere you can point their place; + Or like the rainbow's lovely form + Evanishing amid the storm. + Nae man can tether time nor tide; + The hour approaches Tam maun ride; + That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane, + That dreary hour, he mounts his beast in; + And sic a night he taks the road in; [such] + As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. + + The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; + The rattling show'rs rose on the blast; + The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd; + Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd: + That night, a child might understand, + The Deil had business on his hand. + + Weel mounted on his gray mare, Meg, + A better never lifted leg, + Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire, [spanked, puddle] + Despising wind, and rain, and fire; + Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet; + Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet; [song] + Whiles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares, [staring] + Lest bogles catch him unawares, [goblins] + Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, + Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry. [ghosts, owls] + + By this time he was cross the ford, + Where in the snaw the chapman smoor'd; [smothered] + And past the birks and meikle stane, [birches, big] + Where drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane; + And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, [gorse, pile of stones] + Where hunters fand the murder'd bairn; [found] + And near the thorn, aboon the well, + Where Mungo's mither hang'd hersel, + Before him Doon pours all his floods; + The doubling storm roars thro' the woods; + The lightnings flash from pole to pole; + Near and more near the thunders roll; + When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, + Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze; [blaze] + Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing; [chink] + And loud resounded mirth and dancing. + + Inspiring bold John Barleycorn! + What dangers thou canst make us scorn? + Wi tippenny, we fear nae evil; [ale] + Wi' usquebae, we'll face the devil! [whisky] + The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, [ale] + Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle! [farthing] + But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd, + Till by the heel and hand admonish'd, + She ventur'd forward on the light; + And, vow! Tam saw an unco sight! [strange] + Warlocks and witches in a dance! + Nae cotillon brent new frae France, [brand] + But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, + Put life and mettle in their heels. + A winnock-bunker in the east, [window-seat] + There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast-- + A touzie tyke, black, grim, and large! [shaggy dog] + To gie them music was his charge: + He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl. [squeal] + Till roof and rafters a' did dirl. [ring] + Coffins stood round like open presses, + That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses; + And by some devilish cantraip sleight [magic trick] + Each in its cauld hand held a light, + By which heroic Tam was able + To note upon the haly table [holy] + A murderer's banes in gibbet-airns; [-irons] + Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns; + A thief new-cutted frae the rape-- + Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape; + Five tomahawks, wi' blude red rusted; + Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted; + A garter, which a babe had strangled; + A knife, a father's throat had mangled, + Whom his ain son o' life bereft-- + The gray hairs yet stack to the heft; + Wi' mair of horrible and awfu', + Which even to name wad be unlawfu'. + + As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd, and curious, + The mirth and fun grew fast and furious; + The piper loud and louder blew; + The dancers quick and quicker flew; + They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit, [linked] + Till ilka, carlin swat and reekit, [beldam, steamed] + And coost her duddies to the wark, [cast, rags, work] + And linkit at it in her sark! [tripped deftly, chemise] + + Now Tam, O Tam! had thae been queans, [those, girls] + A' plump and strapping in their teens; + Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, [greasy flannel] + Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen![21] + Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, [These trousers] + That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair, + I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdies, [buttocks] + For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies! [maidens] + + But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, + Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, [Withered (?), wean] + Louping and flinging on a crummock, [Leaping, cudgel] + I wonder didna turn thy stomach. + + But Tam kent what was what fu' brawlie: [full well] + There was ae winsome wench and walie [choice] + That night enlisted in the core, + Lang after kent on Carrick shore! + (For mony a beast to dead she shot, [death] + And perish'd mony a bonnie boat, + And shook baith meikle corn and bear, [barley] + And kept the country-side in fear.) + Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn, [short-shift, coarse linen] + That while a lassie she had worn, + In longitude tho' sorely scanty, + It was her best, and she was vauntie. [proud] + Ah! little kent thy reverend grannie + That sark she coft for her wee Nannie [bought] + Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches) [pounds] + Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches! + + But here my muse her wing maun cour; [stoop] + Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r-- + To sing how Nannie lap and flang, [leapt, kicked] + (A souple jade she was, and strang); + And how Tam stood, like ane bewitch'd, + And thought his very een enrich'd; + Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain, [fidgeted with fondness] + And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main: [jerked] + Till first ae caper, syne anither, [then] + Tam tint his reason a' thegither, [lost] + And roars out 'Weel done, Cutty-sark!' [Short-shift] + And in an instant all was dark! + And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, + When out the hellish legion sallied. + + As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke [fret] + When plundering herds assail their byke, [herd-boys, nest] + As open pussie's mortal foes [the hare's] + When pop! she starts before their nose, + As eager runs the market-crowd, + When 'Catch the thief!' resounds aloud; + So Maggie runs; the witches follow, + Wi' mony an eldritch skriech and hollo. [weird screech] + + Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin'![22] + In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin'! + In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin'! + Kate soon will be a woefu' woman! + Now do thy speedy utmost, Meg, + And win the key-stane o' the brig; + There at them thou thy tail may toss, + A running stream they darena cross. + But ere the key-stane she could make, + The fient a tail she had to shake! [devil] + For Nannie, far before the rest, + Hard upon noble Maggie prest, + And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle; [endeavor] + But little wist she Maggie's mettle! + Ae spring brought off her master hale, [whole] + But left behind her ain gray tail: + The carlin caught her by the rump, [clutched] + And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. + + Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, + Ilk man and mother's son, take heed; + Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd, + Or cutty-sarks rin in your mind, + Think! ye may buy the joys o'er dear; + Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare. + + [21] Woven in a reed of 1,700 divisions. + + [22] Lit., a present from a fair; deserts and something more. + +Description in Burns is not confined to man and society: he has much +to say of nature, animate and inanimate. + +Though within a few miles of the ocean, the scenery among which the +poet grew up was inland scenery. He lived more than once by the sea +for short periods, yet it appears but little in his verse, and then +usually as the great severing element. + + And seas between us braid hae roar'd + Sin auld lang syne + +is the characteristic line. Scottish poetry had no tradition of the +sea. To England the sea had been the great boundary and defense +against the continental powers, and her naval achievements had long +produced a patriotic sentiment with regard to it which is reflected in +her literature. But Scotland's frontier had been the line of the +Cheviots and the Tweed, and save for a brief space under James IV she +had never been a sea-power. Thus the cruelty and danger of the sea are +almost the only phases prominent in her poetry, and Burns here once +more follows tradition. + +Again, the scenery of Ayrshire was Lowland scenery, with pastoral +hills and valleys. On his Highland tours Burns saw and admired +mountains, but they too appear little in his verse. Though not an +unimportant figure in the development of natural description in +literature, he had not reached the modern deliberateness in the +seeking out of nature's beauties for worship or imitation, so that the +phases of natural beauty which we find in his poetry are merely those +which had unconsciously become fixed in a memory naturally retentive +of visual images. + +Not only do his natural descriptions deal with the aspects familiar +to him in his ordinary surroundings, but they are for the most part +treated in relation to life. The thunderstorm in _Tam o' Shanter_ is a +characteristic example. It is detailed and vivid and is for the moment +the center of interest; but it is introduced solely on Tam's account. +Oftener the wilder moods of the weather are used as settings for lyric +emotion. In _Winter, a Dirge_, the harmony of the poet's spirit with +the tempest is the whole theme, and in _My Nannie's Awa_ the same idea +is treated with more mature art: + + Come autumn sae pensive, in yellow and gray, + And soothe me wi' tidings o' nature's decay; + The dark, dreary winter, and wild-driving snaw + Alane can delight me--now Nannie's awa. + +Many poems are introduced with a note of the season, even when it has +no marked relation to the tone of the poem. _The Cotter's Saturday +Night_ opens with + + November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh; + +_The Jolly Beggars_ with + + When lyart leaves bestrew the yird; + +_The Epistle to Davie_ with + + While winds frae off Ben-Lomond blaw, + An' bar the doors wi' drivin' snaw, + +though in this last case it is skilfully used to introduce the theme. +These introductions are probably less imitations of the traditional +opening landscape which had been a convention since the early Middle +Ages, than the natural result of a plowman's daily consciousness of +the weather. + +For whether related organically to his subject or not, Burns's +descriptions of external nature are to a high degree marked by actual +experience and observation. Even remembering Thomson in the previous +generation and Cowper and Crabbe in his own, we may safely say that +English poetry had hardly seen such realism. Its quality will be +conceived from a few passages. Take the well-known description of the +flood from _The Brigs of Ayr_. + + When heavy, dark, continued, a'-day rains, [all-day] + Wi' deepening deluges o'erflow the plains; + When from the hills where springs the brawling Coil, + Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil, + Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course, + Or haunted Garpal draws his feeble source, + Arous'd by blust'ring winds an' spotting thowes, [thaws] + In mony a torrent down the snaw-broo rowes; [melted snow rolls] + While crashing ice, borne on the roaring spate, [flood] + Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs, a' to the gate; [way (to the sea)] + And from Glenbuck, down to the Ralton-key, + Auld Ayr is just one lengthen'd, tumbling sea; + Then down ye'll hurl, deil nor ye never rise! [devil if] + And dash the gumlie jaup up to the pouring skies! [muddy splashes] + +Any reader familiar with Gavin Douglas's description of a Scottish +winter in his Prologue to the twelfth book of the _AEneid_ will be +struck by the resemblance to this passage both in subject and manner. +It is doubtful whether Burns knew more of Douglas than the motto to +_Tam o' Shanter_, but from the days of the turbulent bishop in the +early sixteenth century down to Burns's own time Scottish poetry had +never lost touch with nature, and had rendered it with peculiar +faithfulness. It is interesting to note that while _The Brigs of Ayr_ +is Burns's most successful attempt at the heroic couplet, and though +it contains verses that must have encouraged his ambition to be a +Scottish Pope, yet it is sprinkled with touches of natural observation +quite remote from the manner of that master. Compare, on the one hand, +such couplets as these: + + Will your poor narrow foot-path of a street, + Where twa wheel-barrows tremble when they meet,-- + +and + + And tho' wi' crazy eild I'm sair forfairn [old age, sorely worn-out] + I'll be a brig when ye're a shapeless cairn! [heap of stones] + +and + + Forms like some bedlam statuary's dream, + The craz'd creations of misguided whim; + +and + + As for your priesthood, I shall say but little, + Corbies and clergy are a shot right kittle; [Ravens, sort, ticklish] + +couplets of which Pope need hardly have been ashamed, with such +touches of nature as these: + + Except perhaps the robin's whistling glee, + Proud o' the height o some bit half-lang tree: + +and + + The silent moon shone high o'er tow'r and tree: + The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam, + Crept, gently crusting, owre the glittering stream. + +These examples of his power of exact, vigorous, or delicate rendering +of familiar sights and sounds may be supplemented with a few from +other poems. + + O sweet are Coila's haughs an' woods, [intervales] + When lintwhites chant amang the buds, [linnets] + And jinkin' hares, in amorous whids, [dodging, gambols] + Their loves enjoy, + While thro' the braes the cushat croods [coos] + Wi' wailfu' cry! + + Ev'n winter bleak has charms to me + When winds rave thro' the naked tree; + Or frost on hills of Ochiltree + Are hoary gray; + Or blinding drifts wild-furious flee, + Dark'ning the day! + _Epistle to William Simpson._ + + Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, + As thro' the glen it wimpled; + Whyles round a rocky scaur it strays; + Whyles in a wiel it dimpled; + Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays, + Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle; + Whyles cookit underneath the braes, + Below the spreading hazel, + Unseen that night. + _Halloween._ + +Closely interwoven with Burns's feelings for natural beauty is his +sympathy with animals. The frequency of passages of pathos on the +sufferings of beasts and birds may be in part due to the influence of +Sterne, but in the main its origin is not literary but is an +expression of a tender heart and a lifelong friendly intercourse. In +this relation Burns most often allows his sentiment to come to the +edge of sentimentality, yet in fairness it must be said that he seldom +crosses the line. Unlike many of his contemporaries, he had no need +to force the note; it was his instinct both as a farmer and as a lover +of animals to think, when he heard the storm rise, how it would affect +the lower creation. + + List'ning the doors and winnocks rattle, [windows] + I thought me on the ourie cattle, [shivering] + Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle [onset] + O' winter war, + And thro' the drift, deep-lairing, sprattle [-sinking, scramble] + Beneath a scar. + + Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing! [Each hopping] + That, in the merry months o' spring, + Delighted me to hear thee sing, + What comes o' thee? + Where wilt thou cow'r thy chittering wing, + An' close thy e'e? [eye] + _A Winter Night._ + +A number of his most popular pieces are the expression of this +warm-hearted sympathy, a sympathy not confined to suffering but +extending to enjoyment of life and sunshine, and at times leading him +to the half-humorous, half-tender ascription to horses and sheep of a +quasi-human intelligence. Were we to indulge further our conjectures +as to what Burns might have done under more favorable circumstances, +it would be easy to argue that he could have ranked with Henryson and +La Fontaine as a writer of fables. + + +TO A MOUSE, ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE PLOUGH, +NOVEMBER, 1785 + + Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, [sleek] + O what a panic's in thy breastie! + Thou need na start awa sae hasty, + Wi' bickering brattle! [hurrying rush] + I wad na be laith to rin an' chase thee [loath] + Wi' murd'ring pattle! [plough-staff] + + I'm truly sorry man's dominion + Has broken Nature's social union, + An' justifies that ill opinion + Which makes thee startle + At me, thy poor earth-born companion, + An' fellow-mortal! + + I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve; + What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! + A daimen icker in a thrave [odd ear, 24 sheaves] + 'S a sma' request; [Is] + I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave, [rest] + And never miss't! + + Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! + Its silly wa's the win's are strewin'! [frail] + An' naething, now, to big a new ane, + O' foggage green! + An' bleak December's winds ensuin', + Baith snell an' keen! [bitter] + + Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, + An' weary winter comin' fast, + An' cozie here, beneath the blast, + Thou thought to dwell, + Till crash! the cruel coulter past + Out thro' thy cell. + + That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble [stubble] + Has cost thee mony a weary nibble! + Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, + But house or hald, [Without, holding] + To thole the winter's sleety dribble, [endure] + An' cranreuch cauld! [hoar-frost] + + But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, [alone] + In proving foresight may be vain: + The best laid schemes o' mice an' men + Gang aft a-gley, [Go oft askew] + An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain [leave] + For promis'd joy. + + Still thou art blest compar'd wi' me! + The present only toucheth thee: + But och! I backward cast my e'e + On prospects drear! + An' forward tho' I canna see, + I guess an' fear! + + +TO A LOUSE + +ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY'S BONNET AT CHURCH + + Ha! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin' ferlie! [where are, going, wonder] + Your impudence protects you sairly: + I canna say but ye strunt rarely, [swagger] + Owre gauze and lace; + Tho' faith! I fear ye dine but sparely + On sic a place. [such] + + Ye ugly, creepin', blastit wonner, [wonder] + Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner! [saint] + How dare ye set your fit upon her, [foot] + Sae fine a lady! + Gae somewhere else, and seek your dinner [Go] + On some poor body. + + Swith! in some beggar's haffet squattle; [Quick, temples settle] + There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle + Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle, + In shoals and nations; + Whare horn nor bane ne'er dare unsettle [i.e. comb] + Your thick plantations. + + Now haud ye there! ye're out o' sight, [keep] + Below the fatt'rils, snug an' tight; [fal-de-rals] + Na, faith ye yet! ye'll no be right + Till ye've got on it, + The very tapmost tow'ring height + O' Miss's bonnet. + + My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out, + As plump and gray as onie grozet; [gooseberry] + O for some rank mercurial rozet, [rosin] + Or fell red smeddum! [deadly, dust] + I'd gie you sic a hearty doze o't, + Wad dress your droddum! [breech] + + I wad na been surpris'd to spy + You on an auld wife's flannen toy; [flannel cap] + Or aiblins some bit duddie boy, [perhaps, ragged] + On's wyliecoat; [undervest] + But Miss's fine Lunardi! fie, [balloon bonnet] + How daur ye do't? [dare] + + O Jenny, dinna toss your head, + An' set your beauties a' abread! [abroad] + Ye little ken what cursed speed + The blastie's makin'! [little wretch] + Thae winks and finger-ends, I dread, [Those] + Are notice takin'! + + O wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us + To see oursels as others see us! + It wad frae mony a blunder free us, + And foolish notion: + What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us, + And ev'n devotion! + + +TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY + +ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH A PLOUGH IN APRIL, 1786 + + Wee modest crimson-tipped flow'r, + Thou's met me in an evil hour; + For I maun crush amang the stoure [must] + Thy slender stem: + To spare thee now is past my pow'r, + Thou bonnie gem. + + Alas! it's no thy neibor sweet, + The bonnie lark, companion meet, + Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet + Wi' spreckl'd breast, + When upward springing, blythe to greet + The purpling east. + + Cauld blew the bitter-biting north + Upon thy early humble birth; + Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth + Amid the storm, + Scarce rear'd above the parent-earth + Thy tender form. + + The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield + High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield, [walls] + But thou, beneath the random bield [shelter] + O' clod or stane, + Adorns the histie stibble-field, [barren] + Unseen, alane. + + There, in thy scanty mantle clad, + Thy snawy bosom sun-ward spread, + Thou lifts thy unassuming head + In humble guise; + But now the share uptears thy bed, + And low thou lies! + + Such is the fate of artless maid, + Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade, + By love's simplicity betray'd, + And guileless trust, + Till she like thee, all soil'd, is laid + Low i' the dust. + + Such is the fate of simple bard, + On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd: + Unskilful he to note the card + Of prudent lore, + Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, + And whelm him o'er! + + Such fate to suffering worth is giv'n, + Who long with wants and woes has striv'n, + By human pride or cunning driv'n + To mis'ry's brink, + Till wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heav'n, + He, ruin'd, sink! + + Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, + That fate is thine--no distant date; + Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives elate + Full on thy bloom, + Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight + Shall be thy doom! + + +THE AULD FARMER'S NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION TO HIS AULD MARE, +MAGGIE. + +ON GIVING HER THE ACCUSTOMED RIPP OF CORN TO HANSEL IN THE NEW +YEAR [welcome with a present] + + A guid New-Year I wish thee, Maggie! + Hae, there's a ripp to thy auld baggie: [handful, belly] + Tho' thou's howe-backit now, an' knaggie, [hollow-backed, knobby] + I've seen the day, + Thou could hae gane like ony staggie [colt] + Out-owre the lay. [Across, lea] + + Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, an' crazy, [drooping] + An' thy auld hide's as white's a daisie, + I've seen thee dappled, sleek, an' glaizie, [glossy] + A bonnie gray: + He should been tight that daur't to raize thee, [excite] + Ance in a day. [Once] + + Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, + A filly buirdly, steeve, an' swank, [stately, compact, limber] + An' set weel down a shapely shank, + As e'er tread yird; [earth] + An' could hae flown out-owre a stank, [pool] + Like ony bird. + + It's now some nine-an-twenty year, + Sin' thou was my guid-father's meere; + He gied me thee, o' tocher dear, [as dowry] + An' fifty mark; + Tho' it was sma', 'twas weel-won gear, [wealth] + An' thou was stark. [strong] + + When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, + Ye then was trottin' wi' your minnie: [mother] + Tho' ye was trickie, slee, an' funnie, [sly] + Ye ne'er was donsie; [unmanageable] + But hamely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie, [tractable, good tempered] + An' unco sonsie. [very attractive] + + That day ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride [much] + When ye bure hame my bonnie bride; [bore] + An' sweet an' gracefu' she did ride, + Wi' maiden air! + Kyle-Stewart I could bragged wide [have challenged] + For sic a pair. + + Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hobble, [can only halt] + An' wintle like a saumont-coble, [stagger, salmon-boat] + That day ye was a jinker noble [goer] + For heels an' win'! [wind] + An' ran them till they a' did wobble + Far, far behin'. + + When thou an' I were young and skeigh, [skittish] + An' stable-meals at fairs were driegh, [dull] + How thou wad prance, an' snore, an' skriegh [snort, neigh] + An' tak the road! + Town's-bodies ran, and stood abeigh, [aloof] + An' ca't thee mad. + + When thou was corn't, an' I was mellow, [full of corn] + We took the road aye like a swallow: + At brooses thou had ne'er a fellow [wedding-races] + For pith an' speed; + But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow, + Where'er thou gaed. [went] + + The sma', drooped-rumpled hunter cattle, [short-rumped] + Might aiblins waur'd thee for a brattle; [perhaps have beat, spurt] + But sax Scotch miles, thou tried their mettle, + An' gart them whaizle; [wheeze] + Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle + O' saugh or hazel. [willow] + + Thou was a noble fittie-lan', [near horse of hindmost pair] + As e'er in tug or tow was drawn! [hide or tow traces] + Aft thee an' I, in aucht hours gaun, [eight, going] + On guid March-weather, + Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han', + For days thegither. + + Thou never braindg't, an' fetch't, an' fliskit, [plunged, stopped, + But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit, capered] + An' spread abreed thy weel-fill'd brisket, [chest] + Wi' pith an' pow'r, [rooty hillocks, + Till spritty knowes wad rair't and riskit, roared, cracked] + An' slypet owre. [fallen gently over] + + When frosts lay lang, an' snaws were deep, + An' threaten'd labour back to keep, + I gied thy cog a wee bit heap [dish] + Aboon the timmer; [edges] + I kenn'd my Maggie wad na sleep + For that, or simmer. [ere] + + In cart or car thou never reestit; [were restive] + The steyest brae thou wad hae faced it; [steepest] + Thou never lap, an' stenned, an' breastit, [leapt, jumped] + Then stood to blaw; + But, just thy step a wee thing hastit, + Thou snoov't awa. [jogged along] + + My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a', [plough-team, issue] + Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw; + Forbye sax mae I've sell't awa [Besides, more, away] + That thou hast nurst: + They drew me thretteen pund an' twa, + The very warst. [worst] + + Mony a sair darg we twa hae wrought, [day's work] + An' wi' the weary warl' fought! + An' mony an anxious day I thought + We wad be beat! + Yet here to crazy age we're brought, + Wi' something yet. + + And think na, my auld trusty servan', + That now perhaps thou's less deservin', + An' thy auld days may end in starvin'; + For my last fou, [bushel] + A heapit stimpart I'll reserve ane [quarter-peck] + Laid by for you. + + We've worn to crazy years thegither; + We'll toyte about wi' ane anither; [totter] + Wi' tentie care I'll flit thy tether [attentive, change] + To some hain'd rig, [reserved plot] + Where ye may nobly rax your leather, [stretch, sides] + Wi' sma' fatigue. + +To the evidence of Burns's warm-heartedness supplied by these kindly +verses may appropriately be added the _Address to the Deil_. Burns's +attitude to the supernatural we have already slightly touched on. +Apart from the somewhat vague Deism which seems to have formed his +personal creed, the poet's attitude toward most of the beliefs in the +other world which were held around him was one of amused skepticism. +_Halloween_ and _Tam o' Shanter_ show how he regarded the grosser +rural superstitions; but the Devil was another matter. Scottish +Calvinism had, as has been said, made him almost the fourth person in +the Godhead; and Burns's thrusts at this belief are among the most +effective things in his satire. In the present piece, however, the +satirical spirit is almost overcome by kindliness and benevolent +humor, and few of his poems are more characteristic of this side of +his nature. + + +ADDRESS TO THE DEIL + + O thou! whatever title suit thee, + Auld Hornie, Satan, Mick, or Clootie, [Hoofie] + Wha in yon cavern grim an' sootie, + Clos'd under hatches, + Spairges about the brunstane cootie, [Splashes, dish] + To scaud poor wretches! [scald] + + Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, [Hangman] + An' let poor damned bodies be; + I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie, + Ev'n to a deil, + To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me, [spank, scald] + An' hear us squeal! + + Great is thy pow'r, an' great thy fame; + Far kenn'd an' noted is thy name; + An', tho' yon lowin' heugh's thy hame, [flaming pit] + Thou travels far; + An' faith! thou's neither lag nor lame, [backward] + Nor blate nor scaur. [shy, afraid] + + Whyles rangin' like a roarin' lion + For prey, a' holes an' corners tryin'; + Whyles on the strong-wing'd tempest flyin', + Tirlin' the kirks; [Stripping] + Whyles, in the human bosom pryin', + Unseen thou lurks. + + I've heard my reverend grannie say, + In lanely glens ye like to stray; + Or, where auld ruin'd castles gray + Nod to the moon, + Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way, + Wi' eldritch croon. [weird] + + When twilight did my grannie summon + To say her pray'rs, douce, honest woman! [sedate] + Aft yont the dyke she's heard you bummin', [beyond] + Wi' eerie drone; + Or, rustlin', thro' the boortrees comin', [elders] + Wi' heavy groan. + + Ae dreary windy winter night + The stars shot down wi' sklentin' light, [squinting] + Wi' you mysel I gat a fright + Ayont the lough; [pond] + Ye like a rash-buss stood in sight [clump of rushes] + Wi' waving sough. [moan] + + The cudgel in my nieve did shake, [fist] + Each bristled hair stood like a stake, + When wi' an eldritch stoor 'quaick, quaick,' [weird, harsh] + Amang the springs, + Awa ye squatter'd like a drake + On whistlin' wings. + + Let warlocks grim an' wither'd hags + Tell how wi' you on ragweed nags [ragwort] + They skim the muirs an' dizzy crags + Wi' wicked speed; + And in kirk-yards renew their leagues + Owre howkit dead. [disturbed] + + Thence country wives, wi' toil an' pain, + May plunge an' plunge the kirn in vain; [churn] + For oh! the yellow treasure's taen [i.e., the butter] + By witchin' skill; + An' dawtit, twal-pint Hawkie's gane [petted, twelve-pint cow] + As yell's the bill. [dry, bull] + + Thence mystic knots mak great abuse + On young guidmen, fond, keen, an' crouse; [husbands, cocksure] + When the best wark-lume i' the house, [tool] + By cantrip wit, [magic] + Is instant made no worth a louse, + Just at the bit. [crisis] + + When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord, [thaws, hoard] + An' float the jinglin' icy boord, + Then water-kelpies haunt the foord, [-spirits] + By your direction, + An' 'nighted travelers are allur'd + To their destruction. + + An' aft your moss-traversing spunkies [bog-, goblins] + Decoy the wight that late an' drunk is: + The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkies + Delude his eyes, + Till in some miry slough he sunk is, + Ne'er mair to rise. + + When masons' mystic word an' grip + In storms an' tempests raise you up, + Some cock or cat your rage maun stop, [must] + Or, strange to tell! + The youngest brither ye wad whip + Aff straught to hell. [straight] + + Lang syne, in Eden's bonnie yard, [ago, garden] + When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd, + And all the soul of love they shar'd, + The raptur'd hour, + Sweet on the fragrant flow'ry swaird, [sward] + In shady bow'r; + + Then you, ye auld snick-drawing dog! [scheming] + Ye cam to Paradise incog, + An' play'd on man a cursed brogue, [trick] + (Black be your fa!) + An' gied the infant warld a shog, [shake] + 'Maist ruin'd a'. + + D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz, [flurry] + Wi' reekit duds, an' reestit gizz, [smoky rags, scorched wig] + Ye did present your smoutie phiz [smutty] + 'Mang better folk, + An' sklented on the man of Uz [squinted] + Your spitefu' joke? + + An' how ye gat him i' your thrall, + An' brak him out o' house an' hal', [holding] + While scabs an' blotches did him gall + Wi' bitter claw, + An' lows'd his ill-tongu'd wicked scaul, [loosed, scold] + Was warst ava? [of all] + + But a' your doings to rehearse, + Your wily snares an' fechtin' fierce, [fighting] + Sin' that day Michael did you pierce, + Down to this time, + Wad ding a' Lallan tongue, or Erse, [heat, Lowland] + In prose or rhyme. + + An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin', [Hoofs] + A certain Bardie's rantin', drinkin', [roistering] + Some luckless hour will send him linkin', [hurrying] + To your black pit; + But faith! he'll turn a corner jinkin', [dodging] + An' cheat you yet. + + But fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben! + O wad ye tak a thought an' men'! [mend] + Ye aiblins might--I dinna ken-- [perhaps] + Still hae a stake: + I'm wae to think upo' yon den, + Ev'n for your sake! + +Somewhat akin in nature is _Death and Doctor Hornbook_. The purpose +is personal satire, Doctor Hornbook being a real person, John Wilson, +a schoolmaster in Tarbolton, who had turned quack and apothecary. The +figure of Death is an amazingly graphic creation, with its mixture of +weirdness and familiar humor; while the attack on Hornbook is managed +with consummate skill. Death is made to complain that the doctor is +balking him of his legitimate prey, and the drift seems to be +complimentary; when in the last few verses it appears that in +compensation Hornbook kills far more than he cures. + + +DEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK + + Some books are lies frae end to end, + And some great lies were never penn'd: + Ev'n ministers, they hae been kenn'd, [known] + In holy rapture, + A rousing whid at times to vend, [fib] + And nail't wi' Scripture. + + But this that I am gaun to tell, [going] + Which lately on a night befell, + Is just as true's the Deil's in hell + Or Dublin city: + That e'er he nearer comes oursel + 'S a muckle pity. [great] + + The clachan yill had made me canty, [village age, cheerful] + I wasna fou, but just had plenty; [full] + I stacher'd whyles, but yet took tent aye [staggered, heed] + To free the ditches; [clear] + An' hillocks, stanes, an' bushes kent aye + Frae ghaists an' witches. + + The rising moon began to glowre [stare] + The distant Cumnock hills out-owre; [above] + To count her horns, wi' a' my pow'r, + I set mysel; + But whether she had three or four + I cou'd na tell. + + I was come round about the hill, + And todlin' down on Willie's mill, + Setting my staff, wi' a' my skill, + To keep me sicker; [secure] + Tho' leeward whyles, against my will, + I took a bicker. [run] + + I there wi' _Something_ does forgather, [meet] + That pat me in an eerie swither; [put, ghostly dread] + An awfu' scythe, out-owre ae shouther, [across one shoulder] + Gear-dangling, hang; [hung] + A three-tae'd leister on the ither [-toed fish-spear] + Lay large an' lang. + + Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa, + The queerest shape that e'er I saw, + For fient a wame it had ava: [devil a belly, at all] + And then its shanks, + They were as thin, as sharp an' sma' + As cheeks o' branks. [sides of an ox's bridle] + + 'Guid-een,' quo' I; 'Friend! hae ye been mawin, [Good-evening, mowing] + When ither folk are busy sawin?' [sowing] + It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan', + But naething spak; + At length says I, 'Friend, wh'are ye gaun? [going] + Will ye go back?' + + It spak right howe: 'My name is Death, [hollow] + But be na fley'd.'--Quoth I, 'Guid faith, [frightened] + Ye're maybe come to stap my breath; + But tent me, billie: [heed, fellow] + I red ye weel, tak care o' skaith, [advise, harm] + See, there's a gully!' [big knife] + + 'Gudeman,' quo' he, 'put up your whittle, [knife] + I'm no design'd to try its mettle; + But if I did--I wad be kittle [ticklish] + To be mislear'd-- [if mischievous] + I wad na mind it, no that spittle + Out-owre my beard.' [Over] + + 'Weel, weel!' says I, 'a bargain be't; + Come, gies your hand, an' sae we're gree't; [give us, agreed] + We'll ease our shanks an' tak a seat-- + Come, gies your news; + This while ye hae been mony a gate, [road] + At mony a house.' + + 'Ay, ay!' quo' he, an' shook his head, + 'It's e'en a lang, lang time indeed + Sin' I began to nick the thread, + An' choke the breath: + Folk maun do something for their bread, [must] + An' sae maun Death. + + 'Sax thousand years are near-hand fled, [well-nigh] + Sin' I was to the hutching bred; [butchering] + An' mony a scheme in vain's been laid + To stap or scaur me; [stop, scare] + Till ane Hornbook's ta'en up the trade, + An' faith! he'll waur me. [worst] + + 'Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the clachan-- [village] + Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleuchan! [second stomach, tobacco pouch] + He's grown sae well acquaint wi' Buchan [(Author of _Domestic Medicine_)] + An' ither chaps, + The weans haud out their fingers laughin', [children] + And pouk my hips. [poke] + + 'See, here's a scythe, and there's a dart-- + They hae pierc'd mony a gallant heart; + But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art + And cursed skill, + Has made them baith no worth a fart; + Damn'd haet they'll kill. [Devil a thing] + + ''Twas but yestreen, nae farther gane, [last night] + I threw a noble throw at ane-- + Wi' less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain-- + But deil-ma-care! + It just play'd dirl on the bane, [rang, bone] + But did nae mair. + + 'Hornbook was by wi' ready art, + And had sae fortified the part + That, when I looked to my dart, + It was sae blunt, + Fient haet o't wad hae pierc'd the heart [Devil a bit] + O' a kail-runt. [cabbage stalk] + + 'I drew my scythe in sic a fury + I near-hand cowpit wi' my hurry, [upset] + But yet the bauld Apothecary + Withstood the shock; + I might as weel hae tried a quarry + O' hard whin rock. + + 'E'en them he canna get attended, + Altho' their face he ne'er had kenn'd it, + Just sh-- in a kail-blade, and send it, [cabbage-leaf] + As soon's he smells't, + Baith their disease, and what will mend it, + At once he tells't. + + 'And then a' doctor's saws and whittles, + Of a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles, + A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, an' bottles, + He's sure to hae; + Their Latin names as fast he rattles + As A B C. + + '_Calces_ o' fossils, earths, and trees; + True _sal-marinum_ o' the seas; + The _farina_ of beans and pease, + He has't in plenty; + _Aqua-fortis_, what you please, + He can content ye. + + 'Forbye some new uncommon weapons,-- [Besides] + _Urinus spiritus_ of capons; + Or mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings, + Distill'd _per se_; + _Sal-alkali_ o' midge-tail clippings, + And mony mae.' [more] + + 'Wae's me for Johnny Ged's Hole now,' [the grave-digger's] + Quoth I, 'if that thae news be true! [those] + His braw calf-ward whare gowans grew [grazing-plot, daisies] + Sae white and bonnie, + Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the plew; [split] + They'll ruin Johnie!' + + The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh, [groaned, weird] + And says: 'Ye needna yoke the pleugh, + Kirk-yards will soon be till'd eneugh, + Tak ye nae fear; + They'll a' be trench'd wi' mony a sheugh [ditch] + In twa-three year. + + 'Where I kill'd ane, a fair strae-death, [straw (i.e., bed)] + By loss o' blood or want o' breath, + This night I'm free to tak my aith [oath] + That Hornbook's skill + Has clad a score i' their last claith, [cloth] + By drap and pill. + + 'An honest wabster to his trade, [weaver by] + Whase wife's twa nieves were scarce weel-bred, [fists] + Gat tippence-worth to mend her head + When it was sair; [aching] + The wife slade cannie to her bed, [slid quietly] + But ne'er spak mair. + + + 'A country laird had ta'en the batts, [botts] + Or some curmurring in his guts, [commotion] + His only son for Hornbook sets, + An' pays him well: + The lad, for twa guid gimmer-pets, [pet-ewes] + Was laird himsel. + + 'A bonnie lass, ye kenn'd her name, + Some ill-brewn drink had hov'd her wame; [raised, belly] + She trusts hersel, to hide the shame, + In Hornbook's care; + Horn sent her aff to her lang hame, + To hide it there. + + 'That's just a swatch o' Hornbook's way; [sample] + Thus goes he on from day to day, + Thus does he poison, kill an' slay, + An's weel pay'd for't; + Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey + Wi' his damn'd dirt. + + 'But, hark! I'll tell you of a plot, + Tho' dinna ye be speaking o't; + I'll nail the self-conceited sot + As dead's a herrin': + Niest time we meet, I'll wad a groat, [Next, wager] + He gets his fairin'!' + + But, just as he began to tell, + The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell [struck] + Some wee short hour ayont the twal, [beyond, twelve] + Which rais'd us baith: [got us to our feet] + I took the way that pleas'd mysel, + And sae did Death. + +A few miscellaneous poems remain to be quoted. These do not naturally +fall into any of the major glasses of Burns's work, yet are too +important either for their intrinsic worth or the light they throw on +his character and genius to be omitted. The Elegies, of which he wrote +many, following, as has been seen, the tradition founded by Sempill of +Beltrees, may be exemplified by _Tam Samson's Elegy_ and that on +Captain Matthew Henderson. Special phases of Scottish patriotism are +expressed in _Scotch Drink_, and the address _To a Haggis_; while more +personal is _A Bard's Epitaph_. In this last we have Burns's summing +up of his own character, and it closes with his recommendation of the +virtue he strove after but could never attain. + + +TAM SAMSON'S ELEGY + + Has auld Kilmarnock seen the deil? + Or great Mackinlay thrawn his heel? [twisted] + Or Robertson again grown weel, + To preach an' read? + 'Na, waur than a'!' cries ilka chiel, [worse, everybody] + 'Tam Samson's dead!' + + Kilmarnock lang may grunt an' grane, [groan] + An' sigh, an' sab, an' greet her lane, [weep alone] + An' cleed her bairns, man, wife, an' wean, [clothe, child] + In mourning weed; + To death, she's dearly paid the kane,-- [rent in kind] + Tam Samson's dead! + + The Brethren o' the mystic level + May hing their head in woefu' bevel, [slope] + While by their nose the tears will revel, + Like ony bead; + Death's gien the Lodge an unco devel,-- [stunning blow] + Tam Samson's dead! + + When Winter muffles up his cloak, + And binds the mire like a rock; + When to the loughs the curler's flock [ponds] + Wi' gleesome speed, + Wha will they station at the cock? [mark] + Tam Samson's dead! + + He was the king o' a' the core [gang] + To guard, or draw, or wick a bore,[23] + Or up the rink like Jehu roar + In time o' need; + But now he lags on Death's hogscore,[24]-- + Tam Samson's dead! + + Now safe the stately sawmont sail, [salmon] + And trouts bedropp'd wi' crimson hail, + And eels weel kent for souple tail, + And geds for greed, [pikes] + Since dark in Death's fish-creel we wail + Tam Samson's dead! + + Rejoice, ye birring paitricks a'; [whirring partridges] + Ye cootie moorcocks, crousely craw; [leg-plumed, confidently] + Ye maukins, cock your fud fu' braw, [hares, tail] + Withouten dread; + Your mortal fae is now awa',-- + Tam Samson's dead! + + That woefu' morn be ever mourn'd + Saw him in shootin graith adorn'd, [attire] + While pointers round impatient burn'd, + Frae couples freed; + But oh! he gaed and ne'er return'd! + Tam Samson's dead! + + In vain auld age his body batters; + In vain the gout his ancles fetters; + In vain the burns cam down like waters, [brooks, lakes] + An acre braid! + Now ev'ry auld wife, greeting clatters [weeping] + 'Tam Samson's dead!' + + Owre mony a weary hag he limpit, [moss] + An' aye the tither shot he thumpit, + Till coward Death behin' him jumpit + Wi' deadly feide; [feud] + Now he proclaims, wi' tout o' trumpet, [blast] + 'Tam Samson's dead!' + + When at his heart he felt the dagger, + He reel'd his wonted bottle-swagger, + But yet he drew the mortal trigger + Wi' weel-aim'd heed; + 'Lord, five!' he cried, an' owre did stagger; + Tam Samson's dead! + + Ilk hoary hunter mourn'd a brither; + Ilk sportsman youth bemoan'd a father; + Yon auld grey stane, amang the heather, + Marks out his head, + Where Burns has wrote, in rhyming blether, [nonsense] + 'Tam Samson's dead!' + + There low he lies in lasting rest; + Perhaps upon his mould'ring breast + Some spitfu' muirfowl bigs her nest, [builds] + To hatch and breed; + Alas! nae mair he'll them molest! + Tam Samson's dead! + + When August winds the heather wave, + And sportsmen wander by yon grave, + Three volleys let his memory crave + O' pouther an' lead, [powder] + Till Echo answer frae her cave + 'Tam Samson's dead!' + + 'Heav'n rest his saul, where'er he be!' + Is th' wish o' mony mae than me: [more] + He had twa fauts, or maybe three, + Yet what remead? [remedy] + Ae social honest man want we: [One] + Tam Samson's dead! + + THE EPITAPH + + Tam Samson's weel-worn clay here lies: + Ye canting zealots, spare him! + If honest worth in heaven rise, + Ye'll mend ere ye win near him. + + _Per Contra_ + + Go, Fame, an' canter like a filly + Thro' a' the streets an' neuks o' Killie, [nooks] + Tell ev'ry social honest billie [fellow] + To cease his grievin', + For yet, unskaith'd by Death's gleg gullie, [unharmed, nimble knife] + Tam Samson's livin'! + + [23] In curling, to _guard_ is to protect one stone by another in +front; to _draw_ is to drive a stone into a good position by striking +it with another; to _wick a bore_ is to hit a stone obliquely and send +it through between two others. + + [24] The line a curling stone must cross to stay in the game. + + +ELEGY ON CAPT. MATTHEW HENDERSON, + +A GENTLEMAN WHO HELD THE PATENT FOR HIS HONOURS IMMEDIATELY FROM +ALMIGHTY GOD + + O Death! thou tyrant fell and bloody! + The meikle devil wi' a woodie [big, gallows-rope] + Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie [Drag, smithy] + O'er hurcheon hides, [hedgehog] + And like stock-fish come o'er his studdie [anvil] + Wi' thy auld sides! + + He's gane, he's gane! he's frae us torn, [gone] + The ae best fellow e'er was born! [one] + Thee, Matthew, Nature's sel' shall mourn + By wood and wild, + Where, haply, Pity strays forlorn, + Frae man exil'd. + + Ye hills, near neibors o' the starns, [stars] + That proudly cock your cresting cairns! [mounds] + Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing earns, [eagles] + Where echo slumbers! + Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns, [children] + My wailing numbers! + + Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens! [each, dove] + Ye haz'lly shaws and briery dens! [woods] + Ye burnies, wimplin' down your glens, [winding] + Wi' toddlin din, + Or foaming strang wi' hasty stens [heaps] + Frae lin to lin. [fall] + + Mourn, little harebells o'er the lea; + Ye stately foxgloves fair to see; + Ye woodbines hanging bonnilie, + In scented bow'rs; + Ye roses on your thorny tree, + The first o' flow'rs. + + At dawn when ev'ry grassy blade + Droops with a diamond at his head, + At ev'n when beans their fragrance shed + I' th' rustling gale, + Ye maukins, whiddin' thro' the glade, [hares, scudding] + Come join my wail. + + Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood; + Ye grouse that crap the heather bud; [crop] + Ye curlews calling thro' a clud; [cloud] + Ye whistling plover; + And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood-- [partridge] + He's gane for ever! + + Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals; + Ye fisher herons, watching eels; + Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels + Circling the lake; + Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, + Rair for his sake. [Boom] + + Mourn, clamouring craiks at close o' day, [corncrakes] + 'Mang fields o' flowering clover gay; + And, when ye wing your annual way + Frae our cauld shore, + Tell thae far warlds wha lies in clay, [those] + Wham we deplore. + + Ye houlets, frae your ivy bow'r [owls] + In some auld tree, or eldritch tow'r, [haunted] + What time the moon wi' silent glow'r [stare] + Sets up her horn, + Wail thro' the dreary midnight hour + Till waukrife morn! [wakeful] + + O rivers, forests, hills, and plains! + Oft have ye heard my canty strains; [cheerful] + But now, what else for me remains + But tales of woe? + And frae my een the drapping rains [eyes] + Maun ever flow. [Must] + + Mourn, Spring, thou darling of the year! + Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear: [catch] + Thou, Simmer, while each corny spear + Shoots up its head, + Thy gay green flow'ry tresses shear + For him that's dead! + + Thou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow hair, + In grief thy sallow mantle tear! + Thou, Winter, hurling thro' the air + The roaring blast, + Wide o'er the naked warld, declare + The worth we've lost! + + Mourn him, thou sun, great source of light! + Mourn, empress of the silent night! + And you, ye twinkling starnies bright, [starlets] + My Matthew mourn! + For through your orbs he's ta'en his flight, + Ne'er to return. + + O Henderson! the man! the brother! + And art thou gone, and gone for ever? + And hast thou crost that unknown river, + Life's dreary bound? + Like thee, where shall I find another, + The world around? + + Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye great, + In a' the tinsel trash o' state! + But by thy honest turf I'll wait, + Thou man of worth! + And weep the ae best fellow's fate + E'er lay in earth. + + +SCOTCH DRINK + + _Gie him strong drink, until he wink, + That's sinking in despair; + An' liquor guid to fire his bluid, + That's prest wi' grief an' care; + + There let him bouse, an' deep carouse, + Wi' bumpers flowing o'er, + Till he forgets his loves or debts, + An' minds his griefs no more._ + SOLOMON (Proverbs xxxi. 6, 7). + + Let other Poets raise a fracas + 'Bout vines, an' wines, an' drunken Bacchus, + An' crabbed names an' stories wrack us, + An' grate our lug; [ear] + I sing the juice Scotch bear can mak us, [barley] + In glass or jug. + + O thou, my Muse! guid auld Scotch Drink, + Whether thro' wimplin worms thou jink, [winding, dodge] + Or, richly brown, ream owre the brink, [cream] + In glorious faem, [foam] + Inspire me, till I lisp an' wink, + To sing thy name! + + Let husky wheat the haughs adorn, [flat river-lands] + An' aits set up their awnie horn, [oats, bearded] + An' pease an' beans at een or morn, + Perfume the plain; + Leeze me on thee, John Barleycorn, [Commend me to] + Thou King o' grain! + + On thee aft Scotland chows her cood, [chews, cud] + In souple scones, the wale o' food! [soft cakes, choice] + Or tumblin' in the boiling flood + Wi' kail an' beef; + But when thou pours thy strong heart's blood, + There thou shines chief. + + Food fills the wame, an' keeps us livin'; [belly] + Tho' life's a gift no worth receivin', + But, oil'd by thee, + The wheels o' life gae down-hill, scrievin' [careering] + Wi' rattlin' glee. + + Thou clears the head o' doited Lear: [muddled Learning] + Thou cheers the heart o' drooping Care; + Thou strings the nerves o' Labour sair, + At's weary toil: + Thou even brightens dark Despair + Wi' gloomy smile. + + Aft, clad in massy siller weed, + Wi' gentles thou erects thy head; + Yet humbly kind, in time o' need, + The poor man's wine, + His wee drap parritch, or his bread, + Thou kitchens fine. [makest palatable] + + Thou art the life o' public haunts; + But thee, what were our fairs and rants? [Without, frolics] + Ev'n godly meetings o' the saunts, [saints] + By thee inspir'd, + When gaping they besiege the tents, + Are doubly fir'd. + + That merry night we get the corn in! + O sweetly then thou reams the horn in! [foamest] + Or reekin' on a New-Year mornin' [smoking] + In cog or bicker, [bowl, cup] + An' just a wee drap sp'ritual burn in, [whisky] + An' gusty sucker! [tasty sugar] + + When Vulcan gies his bellows breath, + An' ploughmen gather wi' their graith, [implements] + O rare to see thee fizz an' freath [froth] + I' th' lugged caup! [two-eared cup] + Then Burnewin comes on like death [The Blacksmith] + At ev'ry chaup. [blow] + + Nae mercy, then, for airn or steel; [iron] + The brawnie, banie, ploughman chiel, [bony, fellow] + Brings hard owre-hip, wi' sturdy wheel, + The strong forehammer, + Till block an' studdie ring an' reel [anvil] + Wi' dinsome clamour. + + When skirlin' weanies see the light, [squalling babies] + Thou maks the gossips clatter bright + How fumblin' cuifs their dearies slight-- [dolts] + Wae worth the name! + Nae Howdie gets a social night, [Midwife] + Or plack frae them. [small coin] + + When neibors anger at a plea, [lawsuit] + An' just as wud as wud can be, [mad] + How easy can the barley-bree [-brew] + Cement the quarrel! + It's aye the cheapest lawyer's fee + To taste the barrel. + + Alake! that e'er my Muse has reason + To wyte her countrymen wi' treason; [blame] + But mony daily weet their weasan' [throat] + Wi' liquors nice, + An' hardly, in a winter's season, + E'er spier her price. [ask] + + Wae worth that brandy, burning trash! + Fell source o' mony a pain an' brash? [illness] + Twins mony a poor, doylt, drucken hash, [Robs, stupid, drunken oaf] + O' half his days; + An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash + To her warst faes. + + Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well, + Ye chief, to you my tale I tell, + Poor plackless devils like mysel' [penniless] + It sets you ill, [becomes] + Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell, [meddle] + Or foreign gill. + + May gravels round his blather wrench, [ladder] + An' gouts torment him, inch by inch, + Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch [face, growl] + O' sour disdain, + Out owre a glass o' whisky punch + Wi' honest men! + + O Whisky! soul o' plays an' pranks! + Accept a bardie's gratefu' thanks! + When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks [creakings] + Are my poor verses! + Thou comes--they rattle i' their ranks + At ither's arses! + + Thee, Ferintosh![25] O sadly lost! + Scotland, lament frae coast to coast! + Now colic-grips an' barkin' hoast [cough] + May kill us a'; + For loyal Forbes' charter'd boast + Is ta'en awa! + + Thae curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise, [These] + Wha mak the whisky stells their prize-- [stills] + Haud up thy hand, deil! Ance--twice--thrice! + There, seize the blinkers! [spies] + An' bake them up in brunstane pies [brimstone] + For poor damn'd drinkers. + + Fortune! if thou'll but gie me still + Hale breeks, a bannock, and a gill, [Whole breeches, oatmeal cake] + An' rowth o' rhyme to rave at will, [plenty] + Tak' a' the rest, + An' deal'd about as thy blind skill + Directs thee best. + + [25] Forbes of Culloden was given in 1690 liberty to distil grain at +Ferintosh without excise. When this privilege was withdrawn in 1785, +the price of whisky rose--hence Burns's lament. + + +TO A HAGGIS + + Fair fa' your honest sonsie face, [jolly] + Great chieftain o' the puddin'-race! + Aboon them a' ye tak your place, [Above] + Painch, tripe, or thairm: [Paunch, guts] + Weel are ye wordy o' a grace [worthy] + As lang's my arm. + + The groaning trencher there ye fill, + Your hurdies like a distant hill; [buttocks] + Your pin wad help to mend a mill [skewer] + In time o' need; + While thro' your pores the dews distil + Like amber bead. + + His knife see rustic Labour dight, [wipe] + An' cut you up wi' ready sleight, [skill] + Trenching your gushing entrails bright + Like ony ditch; + And then, O what a glorious sight, + Warm-reekin', rich! [-smoking] + + Then, horn for horn they stretch an' strive, [spoon] + Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive, + Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve [well-swelled bellies soon] + Are bent like drums; + Then auld guidman, maist like to rive, [burst] + 'Be-thankit!' hums. + + Is there that o'er his French _ragout_, + Or _olio_ that wad staw a sow, [sicken] + Or _fricassee_ wad mak her spew + Wi' perfect sconner, + Looks down wi' sneering scornfu' view [disgust] + On sic a dinner? + + Poor devil! see him owre his trash, + As feckless as a wither'd rash, [feeble, rush] + His spindle shank a guid whip-lash, + His nieve a nit: [fist, nut] + Thro' bloody flood or field to dash, + O how unfit! + + But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed-- + The trembling earth resounds his tread! + Clap in his walie nieve a blade, [ample fist] + He'll mak it whissle; + An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned, [crop] + Like taps o' thrissle. [thistle] + + Ye Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care, + And dish them out their bill o' fare + Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware [watery stuff] + That jaups in luggies; [splashes, porringers] + But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer, + Gie her a Haggis! + +A BARD'S EPITAPH + + Is there a whim-inspired fool, + Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, [Too] + Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool, [bashful, cringe] + Let him draw near; + And owre this grassy heap sing dool, [woe] + And drap a tear. + + Is there a bard of rustic song, + Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, + That weekly this area throng, + O, pass not by! + But, with a frater-feeling strong, + Here heave a sigh. + + Is there a man whose judgment clear, + Can others teach the course to steer. + Yet runs, himself, life's mad career, + Wild as the wave; + Here pause--and, thro' the starting tear, + Survey this grave. + + The poor inhabitant below + Was quick to learn and wise to know, + And keenly felt the friendly glow, + And softer flame; + But thoughtless follies laid him low, + And stain'd his name! + + Reader, attend! whether thy soul + Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, + Or darkling grubs this earthly hole, + In low pursuit; + Know prudent, cautious self-control + Is wisdom's root. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +CONCLUSION + + +We have now examined in some detail the main facts of Burns's personal +life and literary production: it is time to sum these up in order to +realize the character of the man and the value of the work. + +Certain fundamental qualities are easily traced to his parentage. The +Burnses were honest, hard-working people, stubborn fighters for +independence, with intellectual tastes above the average of their +class. These characteristics the poet inherited. With all his failures +in worldly affairs, he contrived to pay his debts; however obliged to +friends and patrons for occasional aid, he never abated his +self-respect or became the hanger-on of any man; and he showed +throughout his life an eager, receptive, and ever-expanding mind. The +seed sown by his father with so much pains and care in his early +training fell on fruitful soil, and in the range of his information, +as well as in his critical and reasoning powers, Burns became the +equal of educated men. The love of independence, indeed, was less a +family than a national passion. The salient fact in the history of +Scotland is the intensity of the prolonged struggle against the +political domination of England; and there developed in the individual +life of the Scot a corresponding tendency to value personal freedom as +the greatest of treasures. The thrift and economy for which the +Scottish people are everywhere notable, and which has its vicious +excess in parsimony and nearness, is in its more honorable aspects no +end in itself but merely a means to independence. If they are keen to +"gather gear," + + It's no to hide it in a hedge, + Nor for a train-attendant, + But for the glorious privilege + Of being independent. + +Along with these substantial and admirable qualities of integrity and +independence Burns inherited certain limitations. In the peasant class +in which he was born and reared, the fierceness of the struggle for +existence has crowded out some of the more beautiful qualities that +need ease and leisure for their development. The virtues of chivalry +do indeed at times appear among the very poor, but they are the +characteristic product of a class in which conditions are more +generous, the necessaries of life are taken for granted, and the +elemental demands of human nature are satisfied without competitive +striving. When a peasant is chivalrous he is so by virtue of some +individual quality, and in spite of rather than because of the spirit +of his class. Burns was too acute and too observant not to gather much +from the social ideals of the ladies and gentlemen with whom he came +in contact, and what he gathered affected his conduct profoundly; but +at times under stress of frustrated passion or mortified vanity he +reverted to the ruder manners of the peasantry from which he sprang. +So have to be accounted for certain brutalities in his treatment of +the women who loved him or who had been unwise enough to yield to his +fascination. + +Other characteristics belong to him individually rather than to his +family or class or nation. He was to an extraordinary degree proud and +sensitive. He reacted warmly to kindness, and showed his gratitude +without stint; but he allowed no man to presume upon the obligations +he had conferred. He was very conscious of difference of rank, and +never sought to ignore it, however little he thought it mattered in +comparison with intrinsic merit. But the very degree to which he was +aware of the social gap between him and many of his acquaintances put +him ever on the alert for slights; and when he perceived or imagined +that he had received them, his indignation was sometimes less than +dignified and often excessive. Though he knew that he possessed +uncommon gifts, he was essentially modest in fact as well as in +appearance, and on the whole underestimated his genius. + +He had a warm heart, and in his relations with his equals he was +genial and friendly. His love of his kind manifested itself especially +in his delight in company, a delight naturally heightened by the +enjoyment of the sense of leadership which his superior wit and +brilliance gave him in almost any society. The customs of the time +associated to an unfortunate degree hard drinking with social +intercourse. But more than the whisky he enjoyed the loosening of +self-consciousness and the warmth of conviviality that it brought. + + It's no I like to sit an' swallow, [not that] + Then like a swine to puke an' wallow; + But gie me just a true guid fellow [give] + Wi' right ingine, [wit] + And spunkie ance to mak us mellow, [liquor enough] + An' then we'll shine! + +Burns was not a drunkard. He seems to have taken little alone, and in +the houses of some of his more fashionable friends he resented the +pressure to drink more than he wanted. Nor did he allow dissipation to +interfere with his work on the farm, or his duties in the excise. Yet, +even when contemporary manners have received their share of +responsibility, it must be allowed that on the poet's own confession +he drank frequently to excess, and that this abuse had a serious share +in the breakdown of his constitution, weakened as it was by the +excessive toil of his youth. + +He was fond of women, and this passion more than any other has been +the center of the disputes that have raged round his life and +character. Again, contemporary and class customs have to be taken into +account. In spite of the formal disapproval of public opinion and the +censure of the church, the attitude of his class in the end of the +eighteenth century toward such irregularities as brought Burns and +Jean Armour to the stool of repentance was much less severe than it +would be in this country to-day. Burns himself knew he was culpable, +but the comparative laxity of the standards of the time made it easier +for him to forgive himself, and prompted him to defiance when he +believed himself criticized by puritan hypocrites. Thus in his +utterances we have a curious inconsistency, his feeling ranging from +black remorse and melancholy, through half-hearted excuse and +justification, to swaggering bravado. And none of them makes pleasant +reading. + +But his relations with the other sex were not all of the nature of +sheer passion. He was capable of serious friendship, warm respect, +abject adoration, and a hundred other variations of feeling; and in +several cases he maintained for years, by correspondence and +occasional visits, an intercourse with ladies on which no shadow of a +stain has ever been cast. Such were his relations with Margaret +Chalmers and Mrs. Dunlop. These facts have no controversial bearing, +but they are necessary to be considered if we are to have a complete +view of Burns's relations to society. + +In estimating him as a poet, nothing is lost in keeping in mind the +historical relations which have been so strongly emphasized in recent +years. He himself would have been the last to resent being placed in a +national tradition, but, on the contrary, would have been proud to be +regarded as the last and greatest of Scottish vernacular poets. +Patriotic feeling is frequent in his verse; we have seen how +consciously he performed his work for Johnson and Thomson as a service +to his country; and to the "Guidwife of Wauchope House" he professed, +speaking of his youth, + + E'en then, a wish (I mind its pow'r), + A wish that from my latest hour + Shall strongly heave my breast, + That I for poor auld Scotland's sake + Some usefu' plan or book could make, + Or sing a sang at least. + +So in the line of the Scottish "makers" we place him, the inheritor of +the speech of Henryson and Dunbar, of the meters and modes of +Montgomery and the Sempills, Ramsay and Fergusson, the re-creator of +the perishing relics of the lost masters of popular song. + +His relation to his English predecessors need not again be detailed, +so little of value did they contribute to the vital part of his work. +But some account should be taken of his connection with the English +literature of his own and the next generation. + +The humanitarian movement was well under way before the appearance of +Burns, and the particular manifestations of it in, for example, the +poems of Cowper on animals, owed nothing to the influence of Burns. +But Cowper's hares never appealed to the popular heart with the force +of Burns's sheep and mice and dogs, and the tender familiarity and +wistful jocoseness of his poems to beasts have never been surpassed. +In writing these he was probably, consciously or unconsciously, +affected by the tendency of the time, as he was also in the democratic +brotherhood of _A Man's a Man for a' That_, but, in both cases, as we +have seen, part of the impulse, that part that made his utterance +reach his audience, was derived from his personal intercourse with his +farm stock and from his inborn conviction of the dignity of the +individual. His relations to these elements in the thought and feeling +of his day were, then, reciprocal: they strengthened certain traits in +his personality, and he passed them on to posterity, strengthened in +turn by his moving expression. + +The situation is similar with regard to his connection with the +so-called "return to nature" in English poetry. Historians have +discerned a new era begun in descriptive poetry with Thomson's +_Seasons_; and in Cowper again, to ignore many intermediates, there is +abundance of faithful portraiture of landscape. But Burns was not +given to set description of their kind, and what he has in common with +them lies in the nature of his detail--the frank actuality of the +images of wind and weather, burn and brae, which form the background +of his human comedy and tragedy. He observed for himself, and he +called things by their own names. In so doing he was once more +following a national tradition, so that he was not "returning" to +nature, since the tradition had never left it; but, on the other hand, +it is reasonable to suppose that Wordsworth, arriving at a somewhat +similar method by a totally different route, found corroboration for +his theories of the simplification needed in the matter and diction of +poetry in the success of the Scottish rustic who showed his youth + + How Verse may build a princely throne + On humble truth. + +Wordsworth, of course, like the most distinguished of his romantic +contemporaries, found much in nature that Burns never dreamed of; and +even the faithfulness in detail which Burns shared with these poets +reached a point of subtlety and sensuousness far beyond the reach of +his simple and direct epithets. Nature was to be given in the next +generation a vast and novel variety of spiritual significance. With +all that Burns had nothing to do. He was realist, not romanticist, +though his example operated beneficently and sanely on some of the +romantic leaders. + +Yet in Burns's treatment of nature there is imaginative beauty as well +as humble truth. His language in description, though not mystical or +highly idealized, is often rich in feeling, and his personality was +potent enough to pervade his most objective writing. Thus he ranks +among those who have put lovers of poetry under obligation for a fresh +glimpse of the beauty and meaning of the world around them. This +glimpse is so strongly suggestive of the poet that our delight in it +will largely depend on our sympathy with his temperament; yet now and +again he flashes out a phrase whose imaginative value is absolute, +and which makes its appeal without respect to the author: + + The wan moon is setting behind the white wave, + And time is setting with me, oh! + +Apart from the respects in which Burns is the inheritor and perfecter +of the vernacular traditions, and apart from his contact, active or +passive, with the English poets of his time, there is much in his +poetry which is thoroughly his own. It does not lie mainly in his +thinking, robust and shrewd though that is. We perceive in his work no +great individual attitude toward life and society such as we are +impelled to perceive in the work of Goethe; we find no message in it +like the message of Browning. What he does is to bring before us +characters, situations, moods, images, that belong to the permanent +and elemental in our nature. These are presented with a sympathy so +living, a tenderness so poignant, a humor so arch and so sly, that +they become a part of our experience in the most delightful and +exhilarating fashion. Part of the function of poetry is to prevent us +from becoming sluggish In our contemplation of life by making us feel +it fresh, vivid, pulsing; and this Burns notably accomplishes. +Coleridge's image of wetting the pebble to bring out its color and +brilliance is peculiarly apt in the case of Burns; for it was the +common if not the commonplace that he dealt with, and his workmanship +made it sparkle like a jewel. + +In the long run the value of an author depends on two factors, the +nature of his insight and his power of expression. Burns's insight +into his own nature was deep and on the whole just, and that nature +was itself rich enough to teach him much. He found there the great +struggle between impulse and will--fiery, surging impulse and a +stubborn will. This experience, illuminated by a lively imagination, +gave him a sympathetic understanding of extraordinary range, extending +from the domestic troubles of the royal family and the perplexities of +the prime minister to the precarious adventures of a louse. His +insight into external nature blended the weather wisdom of the +ploughman with the poet's sensitiveness to the harmony or discord of +wind and sky with the moods of humanity. + +For the expression of all this he had an instrument that did not +reach, it is true, to the great tragic tones of Shakespeare nor to the +delicate and filmy subtleties of Shelley. But he could utter pathos +almost intolerably piercing, and overwhelming remorse; gaiety as fresh +and inspiriting as the song of a lark; roistering mirth; keen irony; +and a thousand phases of passion. This he did in a verse of amazing +variety--sometimes tender and caressing; sometimes rushing like a +torrent. + +Finally, it must be insisted again, in that aspect in which he is most +nearly supreme, the writing of songs, he is musician as well as poet. +Though he made no tunes, he saved hundreds; saved them not merely for +the antiquary and the connoisseur but for the great mass of lovers of +sweet and simple melody; saved them by marrying them to fit and +immortal words. It is for this most of all that Scotland and the world +love Burns. + + +THE END + + + + +INDEX + + +_A Man's a Man for a' That_, quoted 158, 317. + +_A Red, Red Rose_, 101, quoted 102. + +_Address to the Deil_, 38, 86, 281, quoted 282. + +_Address to the Unco Guid_, 38, quoted 176, 189. + +_Adventures of Telemachus_, 17. + +_Ae Fond Kiss_, quoted 56-57, 75, 103. + +_AEneid_ (Douglas's), 268. + +_Afton Water_, quoted 116. + +Ainslie, Robert, 50. + +Alloway, 4 ff. + +Animals, Burns's feeling for, 270, 271. + +Armour, James, 35, 37-39. + +Armour, Jean, 35-39, 50, 55, 93, 110, 122, 172. + +Arnold, Matthew, 206, 237. + +_Auld Lang Syne_, 98, quoted 100. + +Auld Lichts, 179, 180, 184, 188. + +_Auld Rob Morris_, 115, quoted 121. + + +Bachelor's Club, 22. + +_Bannocks o' Barley_, quoted 165. + +_Bard's Epitaph, A_, 294, quoted 308. + +Beattie, 86. + +Beethoven, 95. + +Begbie, Ellison, 22-23, 27, 110. + +_Bessy and Her Spinnin'-Wheel_, quoted 145. + +Biography, Official, 68. + +Blacklock, Doctor, 39. + +Blair, Doctor, 45, 86. + +Blair Athole, 51. + +Boar's Head Tavern, 240. + +_Bonnie Lesley_, 115, quoted 118. + +_Braw Braw Lads_, quoted 140. + +Brow-on-Solway, 67. + +Browning, 320. + +Burnes, William, 3-8. + +Burns, Agnes (Brown), 4, 8. + +Burns, Gilbert, 5-6, 15, 31, 59, 90. + +Burns, Robert, his career: autobiographical letter, 1-2; parentage + and early life, 3-23; schooling, 5-8, 15, 17; reading, 6-8, 18-19; + study of French, 16; folk-lore, 18; overwork, 19; first song, 20; + flax-dressing, 23; early love-affairs, 22, 27; Mossgiel, 31-44; + Elizabeth Paton, 32-35; Jean Armour, 35-36; Mary Campbell (Highland + Mary), 36-37; West Indian project, 37-39; Elizabeth Miller, 37; + Kilmarnock edition, 37-38; disciplined by the church, 38-39; + Edinburgh, 44-56; early reviews, 46; Edinburgh edition, 46-50; + southern tour, 50; Highland tours, 50-51; Mrs. McLehose, 52-58; + marriage, 55; Ellisland, 53-62; Excise, 61-65; Dumfries, 62-68; + politics, 63-65; work for Johnson and Thomson, 65-66, 91-98; + whisky, 66-67, 313; illness and death, 66-67. + +Burns and music, 9 ff. + +Burns's method of composition, 87, 92, 111-112. + +Burns's stanza, 80. + + +_Ca' the Yowes_, quoted 115. + +Campbell, Mary, 36-37, 76, 112. See Highland Mary. + +_Canterbury Tales_, 254. + +Chalmers, Margaret, 110. + +_Charlie He's My Darling_, quoted 168. + +Chaucer, 254. + +Chloris (Jean Lorimer), 110, 112. + +_Choice Collection_ (Watson's), 81. + +Clarinda (Mrs. McLehose), 52-58. + +_Clarinda_, quoted 58, 75, 109. + +Cockburn, Mrs., 82. + +Coleridge, 321. + +_Come Boat Me O'er to Charlie_, quoted 163. + +_Comin' through the Rye_, quoted 154. + +_Complete Letter-Writer_, 6. + +_Contented wi' Little_, quoted 126. + +Conviviality, 66, 313. + +_Corn Rigs_, 75. + +Cowper, 267, 317. + +Crabbe, 267. + +_Craigieburn-wood_, 111. + +Creech, 45, 50, 52. + +Currie, Doctor, 68. + + +Dalrymple, James, 44. + +Dalrymple School, 15. + +Davidson, Betty, 18. + +_Death and Doctor Hornbook_, quoted 287. + +_Death and Dying Words of Poor Mailie_, 80, 82. + +_Dedication to Gavin Hamilton_, 185-186. + +Descriptive poetry, 206 ff., 264 ff. + +Dick, J.C., 91-92, note. + +Dodsley, Robert, 103. + +Douglas, Gavin, 268. + +Dramatic lyrics, 128 ff. + +Drummond of Hawthornden, 72. + +Dumfries, 50, 62-68. + +Dunbar, William, 81, 241, 316. + +_Duncan Davison_, quoted 153. + +_Duncan Gray_, quoted 152. + +Dunlop, Mrs. 110. + + +Edinburgh, Burns in, 44-56. + +_Edinburgh Magazine_, 46. + +Elegies, 294 ff. + +_Elegy on Capt. Matthew Henderson_, quoted 298. + +Ellisland, 58-62. + +English poems of Burns, 73 ff. + +Epigrams, 204, 205. + +_Epistle to a Young Friend_, 199, quoted 200. + +_Epistle to Davie_, 79, quoted 193, 267. + +_Epistle to James Smith_, 190, 191. + +_Epistle to John Goldie_, 179. + +_Epistle to John Rankine_, 33. + +_Epistle to McMath_, 181. + +_Epistle to William Simpson_, 270. + +Epistles, 38, 190 ff. + +Epitaphs, 204, 205. + +Erskine, Hon. Henry, 45. + +Excise service, 59, 61-65. + + +_Farmer's Ingle_, 84. + +Ferguson, Dr. Adam, 46. + +Fergusson, Robert, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 316. + +Fisher, William, 173. + +Flax-dressing experiment, 23. + +Flint, Christina, 93. + +_For the Sake o' Somebody_, quoted 136. + +Freemasons, 46. + +French Revolution, 63-64. + +_From thee, Eliza, I must go_, 37. + + +Gaelic, 69. + +Gibson, Nancy, 239. + +Glencairn, Lord, 45, 49. + +Glenriddel Manuscript, 60. + +_Go Fetch to me a Pint o' Wine_, quoted 88. + +Goethe, 320. + +Goldsmith, 86. + +Gordon, Duchess of, 45, 48. + +Graham of Fintry, 64. + +Gray, 86. + +_Green Grow the Rashes_, quoted 123. + +Grose, Captain, 253. + + +_Had I the Wyte?_, quoted 148. + +_Halloween_, 38, 208, quoted 209, 217, 218, 223, 270, 282. + +Hamilton, Gavin, 38, 172, 185. + +Hamilton of Gilbertfield, 81, 82. + +_Handsome Nell_: quoted 20; criticized by Burns, 21-22, 103. + +_Happy Beggars_, 238. + +Haydn, 95. + +Henderson, Captain Matthew, 294. + +Henryson, Robert, 78, 81, 272, 316. + +Heroic couplet in Burns, 268, 269. + +_Highland Mary_, quoted 113-116. + +Highland Mary, 36-37, 76, 110. + +_History of the Bible_, 6. + +Hogg, James, 162. + +_Holy Willie's Prayer_, 38, quoted 173. + +_How Lang and Dreary_, quoted 138. + +_Humble Petition of Bruar Water_, 51. + +Hume, David, 44. + + +_I Gaed a Waefu' Gate_, quoted 117. + +_I Hae a Wife_, quoted 59, 103. + +_I Hae Been at Crookieden_, quoted 167. + +_I'm Owre Young to Marry Yet_, quoted 143. + +Independence, Scottish love of, 311. + +Irvine, 23. + +_It Was a' for our Rightfu' King_, quoted 162. + + +Jacobite Songs, 161 ff. + +Jacobitism, 63. + +_John Anderson, my Jo_, 145, quoted 146. + +Johnson, James, 65, 91, 94, 97, 98, 316. + + +_Kenmure's On and Awa_, quoted 165. + +Kilmarnock Edition. 37-39. + +Kilpatrick, Nelly, 20, 22, 110. + +Kirk of Scotland, Opposition to, 171. + +Kirkoswald, 17, 254. + +_Kirkyard Eclogues_, 84. + +Knox, John, 71. + +Kozeluch, 95. + + +La Fontaine, 272. + +_Laddie Lie Near Me_, 92. + +_Lament for the Earl of Glencairn_, 49. + +Language of Burns, 69 ff. + +_Lassie wi' the Lint-white Locks_, quoted 119. + +_Last Dying Words of Bonny Heck_, 82. + +_Last May a Braw Wooer_, quoted 135. + +_Last Speech of a Wretched Miser_, 83. + +_Leith Races_, 84. + +Lewars, Jessie, 110, 122. + +Lindesay, Sir David, 71. + +Lindsay, Lady Anne, 82. + +Lochlea, 5 ff. + +_London Monthly Review_, 46. + +Lorimer, Jean (Chloris), 110, 111. + +_Lounger, The_, 46. + +Lowland Scots, 69 ff. + +_Lucky Spence's Last Advice_, 82. + + +Mackenzie, Henry, 19, 45, 46, 86. + +_Macpherson's Farewell_, quoted 150. + +McGill, Doctor, 186. + +McLehose, Mrs., 52-58. + +_Mary Morison_, quoted 28. + +Mauchline, 31, 50. + +_Merry Beggars_, 238. + +Miller, Elizabeth, 37. + +Milton, 85. + +_Montgomerie's Peggy_, quoted 120. + +Montgomery, Alexander, 79, 316. + +Moore, Dr. John: 5; letter to, 1-2, 18, 83. + +Mossgiel, 31-44. + +Mount Oliphant, 4-5. + +Murdoch, John, 5, 15-17, 90-91. + +Murray, Sir William, 51. + +Muse, jocular treatment of his, 203 ff. + +Music, Burns's knowledge of, 90 ff. + +Music and song, 169-170, 322. + +_My Father was a Farmer_, quoted 126. + +_My Heart's in the Highlands_, quoted 140. + +_My Love She's but a Lassie Yet_, 141, quoted 144. + +_My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose_, 101, quoted 102. + +_My Nannie's Awa_, quoted 57-58, 75, 103, 266. + +_My Nannie O_, quoted 29-30, 103. + +_My Wife's a Winsome Wee Thing_, quoted 108. + + +Nairne, Lady, 162. + +Nature in Burns, 318. + +New Lichts, 179, 188. + +Nicol, William, 50, 52. + + +_O, For Ane an' Twenty, Tam!_, quoted 129. + +_O Merry Hae I Been_, quoted 148. + +_O This is No my Ain Lassie_, quoted 107. + +_O, Wert Thou in the Cauld Blast_, 122, quoted 123. + +_Of a' the Airts_, quoted 106. + +_On a Scotch Bard, Gone to the West Indies_, quoted, 42-44. + +_On Seeing a Wounded Hare_, 86. + +_Open the Door to me, O!_ quoted 137. + + +Park, Anne, 110. + +Paton, Elizabeth, 32. + +Peasant characteristics of Burns, 311, 312. + +Percy, Bishop, 81. + +_Planestanes and Causey_, 84. + +Pleyel, 95. + +Politics, 63-65. + +_Poor Mailie's Elegy_, quoted 26-27. + +_Poortith Cauld_, 106, quoted 107. + +Poosie Nansie, 239. + +Pope, 86, 269. + +_Practical Essay on the Death of Jesus Christ_, 186. + +_Prayer in the Prospect of Death_, quoted 32. + + +Ramsay, Allan, 79, 81, 82, 83, 84, 99, 103, 238, 316. + +Ramsay of Ochtertyre, 51. + +Realism, 267. + +Reformation, influence of, 95 ff. + +_Reliques of Ancient English Poetry_, 81. + +Richmond, 44. + +Riddel, Col. Robert, 60. + + +Satires and Epistles, 171 ff. + +Scenery in Burns, 265 ff. + +_Scotch Drink_, 38, 84, 294, quoted 301. + +_Scots Musical Museum_, 65, 95, 97. + +_Scots, Wha Hae_, quoted 160. + +Scott, Alexander, 79. + +Scott, Sir Walter, 44, 46-48, 161-162. + +Scottish Dialect, 69 ff. + +Scottish Folk-song, 96 ff. + +Scottish Literature, 78 ff. + +Scottish Song, 90 ff. + +Sea in Scottish poetry, 264-265. + +Seasons, 318. + +_Select Collection of Original Scottish Airs_, 95. + +Sempills, 79, 80, 294, 316. + +Shaftesbury, 193. + +Shakespeare, 85, 321. + +Shelley, 322. + +Shenstone, 86. + +Sibbald, James, 46. + +_Simmer's a Pleasant Time_, quoted 131. + +Smith, Adam, 44. + +Sterne, 86, 270. + +Stewart, Dugald, 45. + +Stirling, Alexander, Earl of, 72. + +Stuart-Menteath, Sir James, 93. + + +_Tam Glen_, quoted 133. + +_Tam o' Shanter_, 253-257, quoted 257, 266, 268, 282. + +_Tam Samson's Elegy_, quoted 294. + +_Tea Table Miscellany_, 81, 99. + +_The Auld Farmer's New-Year Morning Salutation_, quoted 278. + +_The Banks of Helicon_, 79. + +_The Blue-eyed Lassie_, quoted 117. + +_The Bonnie Lad that's Far Awa_, quoted 139. + +_The Brigs of Ayr_, 267. + +_The Cherry and the Slae_, 79. + +_The Cotter's Saturday Night_, quoted 8-15, 38, 74, 84, 190, + criticized 207 ff., 219, 266. + +_The Death and Dying Words of Poor Mailie_, quoted 23-25. + +_The Deil's Awa wi' th' Exciseman_, quoted 154. + +_The Deuk's Dang o'er my Daddie_, quoted 155. + +_The Gazetteer_, 64. + +_The Gentle Shepherd_, 82. + +_The Gloomy Night_, quoted 40-41, 103. + +_The Highland Balou_, 150, quoted 151. + +_The Highland Laddie_, quoted 164. + +_The Holy Fair_, 38, 84, 227, quoted 228. + +_The Jolly Beggars_, 38, 77, 238-241, quoted 241, 266. + +_The Kirk's Alarm_, 186, 187. + +_The Lass of Cessnock Banks_, 23. + +_The Lea-Rig_, quoted 120. + +_The Man of Feeling_, 86. + +_The Ordination_, 184, 185. + +_The Piper of Kilbarchan_, 79. + +_The Poet's Welcome to his Love-begotten Daughter_, quoted 33-35. + +_The Rantin' Dog the Daddie o't_, quoted 134. + +_The Rigs o' Barley_, quoted 30, 103. + +_The Twa Dogs_, 4, 38, 84, quoted 219. + +_The Twa Herds_, 180. + +_The Vision_, 38. + +_The Weary Pund o' Tow_, quoted 147. + +_There'll Never be Peace_, quoted 166. + +_There was a Lad_, quoted 125. + +Thomson, George, 65, 88, 91, 92, 95, 98, 169, 316. + +Thomson, James, 86, 318. + +_To a Haggis_, 294, quoted 306. + +_To a Louse_, 38, quoted 274. + +_To a Mountain Daisy_, 38, 86, 190, quoted 276. + +_To a Mouse_, 38, 86, 190, quoted 272. + +_To Daunton Me_, quoted 142. + +_To Mary in Heaven_, 76, quoted 114. + +_To the Deil_, 38, 86, 281, quoted 282. + +_To the Guidwife of Wauchope House_, 316. + +_To the Rev. John McMath_, quoted 181. + +_To the Unco Guid_, 38, quoted 176, 189. + + +_Wallace, History of Sir William_, 19. + +_Wandering Willie_, quoted 138. + +Watson, James, 81. + +West Indies, 37-39. + +_Wha is that at my Bower Door?_, quoted 156. + +_What Can a Young Lassie_, quoted 142. + +_Whistle and I'll Come to Thee, my Lad_, 75, quoted 132. + +_Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary_, 37, quoted 40, 103. + +_Willie Brew'd a Peck o' Maut_, 237, quoted 238. + +_Willie's Wife_, quoted 156. + +Wilson, John (Dr. Hornbook), 287. + +_Winter, a Dirge_, 266. + +_Winter Night, A_, 271. + +Women, Burns and, 314, 315. + +Wordsworth, 318, 319. + + +_Ye Banks and Braes_, quoted 130, 131. + +_Yestreen I had a Pint o' Wine_, quoted 104-105, 110. + +Young, Dr., 86. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Robert Burns, by William Allan Neilson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROBERT BURNS *** + +***** This file should be named 18388.txt or 18388.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/3/8/18388/ + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Laura Wisewell and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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