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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/35293-8.txt b/35293-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6fcf84a --- /dev/null +++ b/35293-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1283 @@ +Project Gutenberg's A Day with the Poet Burns, by Anonymous and Robert Burns + +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: A Day with the Poet Burns + +Author: Anonymous + Robert Burns + +Release Date: February 15, 2011 [EBook #35293] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A DAY WITH THE POET BURNS *** + + + + +Produced by Delphine Lettau and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + [Illustration: Rose Emblem] + + A Day with Burns. + + + + +_Painting by W. J. Neatby._ + +MY LUVE IS LIKE A RED, RED ROSE. + + My Luve is like a red, red rose + That's newly sprung in June: + My Luve is like the melodie + That's sweetly played in tune + + As fair thou art, my bonnie lass, + So deep in luve am I: + And I will love thee still, my dear, + Till a' the seas gang dry. + + +[Illustration: Lady with Rose] + + + + + A DAY WITH THE POET BURNS + + + + + LONDON + HODDER & STOUGHTON + + + + + _In the same Series._ + + _Longfellow._ + _Tennyson._ + _Keats._ + _Browning._ + _Wordsworth._ + + + + +A DAY WITH BURNS. + +There are few figures which appeal more picturesquely to the imagination +than that of the ploughman-poet--swarthy, stalwart, black-eyed,--striding +along the furrow in the grey of a dreary dawn. Yet Burns was far from +being a mere uncultured peasant, nor did he come of peasant stock. His +forefathers were small yeoman farmers, who had risked themselves in the +cause of the Young Pretender: they had a certain amount of family pride +and family tradition. Robert Burns had been educated in small schools, +by various tutors, and by his father, a man of considerable attainments. +He had acquired some French and Latin, studied mensuration, and +acquainted himself with a good deal of poetry and many theological and +philosophical books. + + +_Painting by E. W. Haslehust._ + + THE HOME OF BURNS. + + The man in hodden grey and rough top boots who + might be seen going out on dusky mornings from + his little farmstead of Ellisland near Dumfries. + +[Illustration: Man on Horseback Leaving Farm] + + +So that the man who may be seen going out this dusky morning from his +little farmstead of Ellisland near Dumfries--the dark and taciturn man +in hodden grey and rough top boots--is not precisely a son of the soil. +He is a hard worker in the field by dint of necessity, but his strenuous +and impetuous mind is set upon other thoughts than the plough, as he +drives his share along the Nithsdale uplands. It is exactly the season +of the year that he delights in. "There is scarcely any earthly object," +he has written, "which gives me more--I do not know if I should call +it pleasure, but something that exalts me, something that enraptures +me--than to walk in the sheltered side of a wood or high plantation on a +cloudy winter's day, and hear the stormy wind howling among the trees, +or raving over the plains.... I take a peculiar pleasure in the season +of winter, more than the rest of the year.... There is something that +raises the mind to a serious sublimity, favourable to everything great +and noble." And there is also something secretly akin to the poet's wild +and passionate soul. For this is not a happy man, but an embittered one, +and ready to "rail on Lady Fortune in good set terms." He takes the +storm-wind for an interpreter: + + + 'The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,' + The joyless winter day, + Let others fear, to me more dear + Than all the pride of May: + The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul, + My griefs it seems to join; + The leafless trees my fancy please, + Their fate resembles mine! + + Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme + These woes of mine fulfil, + Here firm I rest; they must be best, + Because they are _Thy_ will! + Then all I want--O do Thou grant + This one request of mine!-- + Since to _enjoy_ Thou dost deny, + Assist me to _resign_. + + +His brief meteoric reign of popularity in Edinburgh is now at an end: +from being a popular idol of society, caressed and fêted, he has been +let to sink back into his native obscurity. And, being poignantly proud, +he suffers accordingly. The consciousness of genius burns within him, +a flame that devours rather than illumines: and he finds vent for his +bitterness, as he treads the clogging fallow, in the immortal lines: +_A Man's a Man for a' that._ + + + Is there for honest poverty + That hings his head, an' a' that; + 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. + + What though on hamely fare we dine, + Wear hoddin grey, an' a' that; + Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, + 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; + + * * * * * + + A prince can mak a belted knight, + A marquis, duke, an' a' that; + But an honest man's aboon his might, + Gude faith, he mauna fa' that! + 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. + + Then let us pray that come it may + (As come it will for a' that), + That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth, + Shall bear the gree an' a' that, + For a' that, an' a' that; + It's coming yet for a' that, + That man to man, the world o'er, + Shall brothers be for a' that. + + +Presently, however, the sweet influences of the clear air, the pleasant +smell of upturned earth, the wholesome sight and sounds of morning, soothe +the poet's rugged spirit: he becomes attuned to the calmer present, and +forgetful of the feverish past. Burns has never been given to depicting +the shows and forms of nature for their own sake: he only uses them as a +stage for the setting of a central human interest. In short, he "cares +little," it has been said, "for the natural picturesqueness in itself: +the moral picturesqueness touches him more nearly." And all sentient +life is dear to him--not human life alone. Hence, one sees him wince and +shrink, as his ploughshare destroys the daisy. + + +_Painting by Dudley Hardy._ + +THE MOUNTAIN DAISY. + + Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower, + Thou's met me in an evil hour, + For I maun crush amang the stoure + Thy slender stem: + To spare thee now is past my power, + Thou bonnie gem. + +[Illustration: Evening Ploughing Scene] + + + Wee, modest crimson-tipped flow'r, + Thou'st met me in an evil hour; + For I maun crush amang the stoure + Thy slender stem: + To spare thee now is past my pow'r, + Thou bonie gem. + + Alas! it's no thy neibor sweet, + The bonie lark, companion meet, + Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet, + Wi' spreckl'd breast! + When upward-springing, blithe, 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. + + * * * * * + + There, in thy scanty mantle clad, + Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, + Thou lifts thy unassuming head + In humble guise; + But now the share uptears thy bed, + And low thou lies! + + * * * * * + + 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! + + (_To a Mountain Daisy._) + + +Or he becomes thoughtful and abstracted beyond his wont, after turning +up a mouse's nest with the plough; and sternly recalls his "gaudsman" or +ploughboy, who would kill the little creature out of pure thoughtlessness. +He muses upon the irony of fate: and the world is the richer for his +musings. + + + Wee, sleeket, cowrin, tim'rous beastie, + O, what a panic's in thy breastie! + Thou need na start awa sae hasty, + Wi' bickerin brattle! + I wad be laith to run an' chase thee, + Wi' murderin' pattle! + + Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste, + An' weary winter coming fast, + An' cozie here, beneath the blast, + Thou thought to dwell-- + Till crash! the cruel coulter past + Out thro' thy cell. + + * * * * * + + But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, + In proving foresight may be vain; + The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men + Gang aft agley, + An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, + For promised joy! + + (_Lines to a Mouse._) + + +But nothing is too trivial to evade this large and universal sympathy +of his. "Not long ago, one morning, as I was out in the fields sowing +some grass seeds, I heard the burst of a shot from a neighbouring +plantation, and presently a poor little wounded hare came crippling by +me. You will guess my indignation at the inhuman fellow who could shoot +a hare at this season, when they all of them have young ones." It is on +record that he threatened to throw the culprit--a neighbouring farmer's +son--into the Nith to reward his inhumanity. + + +The ploughing is finished for the day, but the poet must now needs +betake himself to those official duties as an exciseman, which are +perhaps even less congenial to him than agricultural pursuits. He has +to cover some two hundred miles' riding every week; he is forced to +earn a scanty living for himself and his family, by incessant physical +and mental work. The iron has entered into his soul--here and there it +crops up in hard metallic outbursts: though for the most part, he is +unrivalled in spontaneous gaiety of song. And old sorrows come upon him +as he rides alone.... He considers the present time to be the happiest +of his life. He has an excellent wife, and bonnie bairns: friends many +and faithful: comparative immunity from financial troubles: a popularity +such as no other Scottish poet has attained; yet memories of the past +remain, which are never to be obliterated in oblivion. And chief among +these is the greatest sorrow that has befallen him--the loss of his one +true love, his cherished 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: + There Simmer first unfald her robes, + And there the langest tarry; + For there I took the last Farewell + O' my sweet Highland Mary. + + How sweetly bloom'd the gay, green birk, + 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. + + * * * * * + + O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, + I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly! + And clos'd for ay, the sparkling glance + That dwalt on me sae kindly! + And mouldering now in silent dust, + That heart that lo'ed me dearly! + But still within my bosom's core + Shall live my Highland Mary. + + +Burns has been an easy and inconstant lover all his days: devoted, +for the nonce, to every girl he met. But Mary was on a pinnacle +apart--unequalled, irreplaceable; and still he is continually dreaming +of her--dreaming in tender and melodious verse. + + +_Painting by Dudley Hardy._ + +HIGHLAND MARY. + + 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. + +[Illustration: Woman in Red] + + + Thou ling'ring star, with less'ning ray, + That lov'st to greet the early morn, + Again thou usher'st in the day + My Mary from my soul was torn. + O Mary! dear departed shade! + Where is thy place of blissful rest? + See'st 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! + + (_To Mary in Heaven._) + + +But now, hard upon the scent of smugglers across the Nithsdale moors, +exchanging cheery greetings with cottagers here and there, the tramp of +his horse's hoofs inspires him to a gayer measure. The clouds, which +have overhung his mind all the forenoon, roll away: and his mercurial +spirit seizes any pleasure that the moment may afford. The nearest to +hand is the ready ripple of rhythm in light short songs that fairly +bubble over with gaiety. For there is nothing of the midnight oil about +Robert Burns--his poems come swiftly and spontaneously to him, as +naturally as music to a blackbird: they have indeed the same quality as +the carols of birds--careless, happy, tuneful. Any casual impression +sets our poet singing: the mere glance of a merry blue eye at a window, +and he is away on the praises of one immediately present lassie, or of +innumerable others absent. + + + _Chorus_:--Green grow the rashes, O; + Green grow the rashes, O; + The sweetest hours that e'er I spend, + Are spent among the lasses, O. + + There's nought but care on ev'ry han', + In every hour that passes, O: + What signifies the life o' man, + An' 'twere na for the lasses, O. + Green grow, etc. + + The war'ly race may riches chase, + And riches still may fly them, O; + An' tho' at last they catch them fast, + Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O. + Green grow, etc. + + But gie me a cannie hour at e'en + My arms about my dearie, O; + An' war'ly cares, and war'ly men, + May a' gae tapsalteerie, O! + Green grow, etc. + + For you sae douce, ye sneer at this; + Ye're nought but senseless asses, O: + The wisest man the warl' e'er saw, + He dearly lov'd the lasses, O. + Green grow, etc. + + Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears + Her noblest work she classes, O: + Her prentice han' she try'd on man, + An' then she made the lasses, O. + Green grow, etc. + + +Sometimes a flower in the hedgerow opens out to him a new and exquisite +signification. + + + My Luve is like a red red rose + That's newly sprung in June; + My Luve is like the melodie + That's sweetly play'd in tune. + + As fair art thou, my bonie lass, + So deep in luve am I; + And I will luve thee still, my Dear, + Till a' the seas gang dry. + + Till a' the seas gang dry, my Dear, + An' the rocks melt wi' the sun; + And I will luve thee still, my Dear, + While the sands o' life shall run. + + And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve! + And fare-thee-weel awhile! + And I will come again, my Luve, + Tho' 'twere ten thousand mile! + + +_Painting by Dudley Hardy._ + +O WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST. + + O wert thou in the cauld blast, + On yonder lea, on yonder lea; + My plaidie to the angry airt, + 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, + To share it a', to share it a'. + +[Illustration: Man Protectively Embracing Woman] + + +Or, as he meets the wind--still bleak, though now it is midday,--a cold +wind charged with latent snow,--its chilly breaths are crystallized into +a very jewel of song. + + + O wert thou in the cauld blast, + On yonder lea, on yonder lea, + My plaidie to the angry airt, + 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, + 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. + + +Presently he turns his horse's head towards Dumfries. It is market-day +in the town, and a score of friends give him clamorous welcome. They may +not fully appreciate Rob's mental equipments, but they greet him as the +best of good companions: and in a little while he forms the leading +spirit of some excited group, discussing matters social and political. +For Burns takes the keenest interest in current events: and, though most +of his poems may be of a more ephemeral interest, he is capable, when +deeply stirred, of expressing himself with a stern and lofty patriotism. +It may be inspired by the events of the present: it often is evoked by +glories of the past. + + + 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! + + * * * * * + + Lay the proud Usurpers low! + Tyrants fall in every foe! + Liberty's in every blow!-- + Let us Do--or Die!!! + + +Seated in the inn among his cronies, "as market-days are wearing late," +the dour and bitter looks of the poet are exchanged for glowing eyes and +laughing lips, while he recites some of the lines which he has wedded to +old and familiar melodies. As Moore, a little later, secured for the +Irish airs a world-wide reputation, by supplying them with words of a +more popular character than their own--so Burns re-wrote the songs of +his country. Thousands of people who never heard of "The Highland +Watch's Farewell" have carolled that melody to his delightful verses, + + + My heart is sair--I dare na tell, + 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, + And send me safe my Somebody! + Oh-hon! for Somebody! + Oh-hey! for Somebody! + I wad do--what would I not? + For the sake o' Somebody. + + +As time wears by, Burns pulls out a manuscript from his pocket, and +reads his latest poem to a hilarious audience: a very masterpiece, they +acclaim it. The legend and the scenery are awhile familiar to them: but +they have never heard the tale told thus before, as Burns has immortalized +it in "Tam o' Shanter." + + + ... As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, + 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 takes the road in, + As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. + + * * * * * + + Weel mounted on his grey meare Meg + (A better never lifted leg), + Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire, + Despising wind, and rain, and fire; + Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet, + Whiles crooning o'er an auld Scots sonnet, + Whiles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares, + Lest bogles catch him unawares; + Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, + Whare ghaists and howlets nightly cry. + + * * * * * + + ... The lightnings flash from pole to pole, + Near and more near the thunders roll, + When glimmering thro' the groaning trees, + Kirk-Alloway seemed in a bleeze, + Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing, + And loud resounded mirth and dancing. + + * * * * * + + ... And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight! + Warlocks and witches in a dance: + Nae cotillion, brent-new frae France, + But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, + Put life and mettle in their heels. + + (_Tam o' Shanter._) + + +But now it is time that Burns, like his hero, should take the homeward +road. He calls for his horse, parts from his boisterous comrades, and +rides out into the wintry evening. Nithsdale is a land of lovely sunsets: +and against the rose and gold of heaven, the poet sees the homely +cottage-smoke of earth, thin spirals of blue vapour, speaking of happy +hearths and labour ended. It is several years since Burns, standing with +Douglas Stewart upon the Braid Hills, declared that to him the worthiest +object in the whole bright morning landscape was the cluster of smoking +cottages. But still he regards them with affection and enjoyment: and +chiefly his eyes are bent towards that quiet homestead which holds his +own dear folk. All the peace which that stormy heart can find is set and +centred there: despite all previous fugitive fancies for Jessie, and +Peggie, and Phemie, and the rest, he has found calm happiness with his +Jean, the most devoted of wives. + + + Of a' the airts the wind can blaw, + I dearly like the west, + For there the bonie lassie lives, + The lassie I lo'e best: + There's wild-woods grow, and rivers row, + 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 bonie flower that springs, + By fountain, shaw, or green; + There's not a bonie bird that sings, + But minds me o' my Jean. + + +She comes out into the twilight to meet him, and his emotion shapes +itself, on the instant, into song. + + + This is no my ain lassie, + Fair tho' the lassie be; + 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, + The kind love that's in her e'e. + + A thief sae pawkie is my Jean, + To steal a blink, by a' unseen; + But gleg as light are lovers' een, + When kind love is in the e'e. + + It may escape the courtly sparks, + It may escape the learnèd clerks; + But weel the watching lover marks + The kind love that's in her e'e. + + +The servants, sitting at the same table, according to Scottish farm +custom, share his simple evening meal: and subsequently, before the +children's bedtime, the master speaks with seriousness to his household, +and reads aloud some passages from the Holy Book. + + + Their master's and their mistress's command, + The younkers a' are warned to obey; + And mind their labours wi' an eydent hand, + An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play; + "And O! be sure to fear the Lord alway, + "And mind your duty, duly, morn and night; + "Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray, + "Implore His counsel and assisting might: + "They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright." + + * * * * * + + 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 Heaven the warm request, + That He who stills the raven's clam'rous nest, + And decks the lily fair in flow'ry 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. + + (_The Cotter's Saturday Night._) + + +_Painting by Dudley Hardy_. + +JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO. + + John Anderson, my jo, John, + We clamb the hill thegither; + And monie a canty day, John, + We've had wi' ane anither: + Now we maun totter down, John, + But hand in hand we'll go, + And sleep thegither at the foot, + John Anderson, my jo. + +[Illustration: Two Old Men Chatting Happily] + + +Now, in the quiet house, the man at last is free to take up his pen. +He is writing hard, daily, or rather nightly: every week sees a parcel +of manuscript despatched to his publisher. The thoughts which have +crowded tumultuously upon him all day long, may at last be set down and +conserved: for poetry, as Wordsworth says, "is emotion remembered in +tranquillity." The grave and swarthy face bends above the paper in the +candlelight--varying expressions chase each other across the mobile +mouth and eyes. Sometimes the theme is one of poignant pathos. + + + Ae fond kiss and then we sever; + Ae fareweel, and then forever! + 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 cheerful 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, + 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. + + (_Parting Song to Clarinda._) + + +Again the music changes to the sprightliest vivaciousness, to tell how +"last May a braw wooer came down the lang glen," or to sing the "dainty +distress" of the maiden enamoured of _Tam Glen_. + + + My heart is a-breaking, dear Tittie, + 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, + In poortith I might mak a fen'; + What care I in riches to wallow, + If I mauna marry Tam Glen! + + There's Lowrie the Laird o' Dumeller-- + "Gude-day to you"--brute! he comes ben: + He brags and he braws o' his siller, + But when will he dance like Tam Glen! + + My Minnie does constantly deave me, + 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, + He'll gie me gude hunder marks ten; + But, if it's ordain'd I maun take him, + O wha will I get but Tam Glen! + + Yestreen at the Valentine's dealing, + My heart to my mou gied a sten; + For thrice I drew ane without failing, + And thrice it was written "Tam Glen!" + + The last Halloween I was waukin + My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken, + His likeness came up the house staukin, + And the very grey breeks o' Tam Glen! + + Come, counsel, dear Tittie! don't tarry; + I'll gie ye my bonnie black hen, + Gif ye will advise me to marry + The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen! + + +But here comes a knock at the door, to stop the flow of inspiration: it +is not an unwelcome visitor, but an old friend, who, returning after +many years from foreign parts, has learned of "Rob's" amazing leap into +fame. Strangers, drawn by curiosity and admiration, are not infrequent +visitors: "It was something to have dined or supped in the company of +Burns." But this is a different matter: and the warm impulsive heart +responds to it, in words which have never been forgotten. + + + Should auld acquaintance be forgot, + And never brought to mind? + Should auld acquaintance be forgot, + And auld lang syne! + + 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! + 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, + And pou'd the gowans fine; + But we've wander'd mony a weary fitt, + Sin' auld lang syne. + + We twa hae paidl'd i' the burn, + Frae morning sun till dine; + But seas between us braid hae roar'd + Sin' auld lang syne. + + +It is late, very late, when the visitor departs: the stars are frosty, +the ground hard. The spell of newly-roused remembrances lies heavy still +upon Burns's heart: and as he turns to rest, and sees the peaceful +sleeping forms of his wife and little children, tender and calm desires +well up within him. He can conceive no higher happiness than comes of a +serene old age, in the company of those dear ones: and a picture rises +before him of old folk gently descending to a longer rest, side by side +together. + + + John Anderson, my jo, John, + When we were first acquent; + Your locks were like the raven, + Your bonie brow was brent; + But now your brow is beld, John, + Your locks are like the snaw; + But blessings on your frosty pow, + John Anderson, my jo. + + John Anderson, my jo, John, + We clamb the hill thegither; + And mony a cantie day, John, + We've had wi' ane anither: + Now we maun totter down, John, + And hand in hand we'll go, + And sleep thegither at the foot, + John Anderson, my jo. + +[Illustration: Rose Emblem] + + + _Printed by Percy Lund, Humphries & Co., Ltd., + Bradford and London._ + + + + +TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE + + + The words belore and bedtine were changed to before and bedtime in the + phrase: + + before the children's bedtime + + The word divnie was corrected to divine in the line: + + But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Day with the Poet Burns, by +Anonymous and Robert Burns + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A DAY WITH THE POET BURNS *** + +***** This file should be named 35293-8.txt or 35293-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/2/9/35293/ + +Produced by Delphine Lettau 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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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: A Day with the Poet Burns + +Author: Anonymous + Robert Burns + +Release Date: February 15, 2011 [EBook #35293] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A DAY WITH THE POET BURNS *** + + + + +Produced by Delphine Lettau and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="cover"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/cover.jpg"> + <img src="images/cover.jpg" height="380" + alt="BOOK COVER" /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption">Click to <a href="images/cover.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> + </table> +</div> +<p> </p> +<hr class="narrow" /> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="decoration"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/head.jpg"> + <img src="images/head.jpg" height="160" + alt="title decoration" /></a> + </td> + </tr> + </table> +</div> +<p> </p> +<h1>A DAY WITH<br /><br /> +THE POET BURNS</h1> +<p> </p> +<h4>LONDON</h4> +<h4>HODDER & STOUGHTON</h4> +<p> </p> + +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4" summary="Illustration"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/tp.jpg"> + <img src="images/tp.jpg" height="400" + alt="TITLE PAGE" /></a> + </td> + </tr> + </table> +</div> +<p> </p> +<hr class="minimal" /> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<p class="noindent"><b><i>In the same Series.</i></b></p> +<table class="sm" style="margin: 0 auto" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="ad"> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Longfellow.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Tennyson.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Keats.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Browning.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Wordsworth.</i></td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p> </p> +<hr class="minimal" /> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="2" summary="Illustration"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/frontis.jpg"> + <img src="images/frontis.jpg" height="440" + alt="MY LUVE IS LIKE A RED, RED ROSE." /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption">Click to <a href="images/frontis.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> + <tr><td> </td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <small><i>Painting by W. J. Neatby.</i></small></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top"><span class="ind2"> </span><small><b>MY LUVE IS LIKE A RED, RED ROSE.</b></small></td></tr> +</table> +<table class="sm" border="0" style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><small>My Luve is like a red, red rose</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><small><span class="ind2">That's newly sprung in June:</span></small></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><small>My Luve is like the melodie</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><small><span class="ind2">That's sweetly played in tune</span></small></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><small>As fair thou art, my bonnie lass,</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><small><span class="ind2">So deep in luve am I:</span></small></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><small>And I will love thee still, my dear,</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><small><span class="ind2">Till a' the seas gang dry.</span></small></td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p> </p> +<hr class="minimal" /> +<p> </p> + +<h2>A DAY WITH BURNS.</h2> + +<p class="noindent"><img class="left" src="images/dropt.jpg" height="100" alt="T" title="" />here are few figures which +appeal more picturesquely to the +imagination than that of the +ploughman-poet—swarthy, stalwart, +black-eyed,—striding along +the furrow in the grey of a +dreary dawn. Yet Burns was +far from being a mere uncultured peasant, nor +did he come of peasant stock. His forefathers +were small yeoman farmers, who had risked +themselves in the cause of the Young Pretender: +they had a certain amount of family pride +and family tradition. Robert Burns had been +educated in small schools, by various tutors, and +by his father, a man of considerable attainments. +He had acquired some French and Latin, +studied mensuration, and acquainted himself +with a good deal of poetry and many theological +and philosophical books.</p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="minimal" /> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="2" summary="Illustration"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/img006.jpg"> + <img src="images/img006.jpg" height="400" + alt="BURNS'S HOME." /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption">Click to <a href="images/img006.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> + <tr><td> </td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <small><i>Painting by E. W. Haslehust.</i></small></td></tr> +<tr><th align="center" valign="top"><small>THE HOME OF BURNS.</small></th></tr> +</table> +<table class="sm" border="0" style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left" valign="top"><span class="ind1"> </span>The man in hodden grey and rough top boots who<br /> +might be seen going out on dusky mornings from his<br /> +little farmstead of Ellisland near Dumfries.</td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p> </p> +<hr class="minimal" /> +<p> </p> + +<p>So that the man who may be seen going +out this dusky morning from his little farmstead +of Ellisland near Dumfries—the dark and +taciturn man in hodden grey and rough top +boots—is not precisely a son of the soil. He is +a hard worker in the field by dint of necessity, +but his strenuous and impetuous mind is set +upon other thoughts than the plough, as he +drives his share along the Nithsdale uplands. It +is exactly the season of the year that he delights +in. "There is scarcely any earthly object," +he has written, "which gives me more—I do +not know if I should call it pleasure, but something +that exalts me, something that enraptures +me—than to walk in the sheltered side of a +wood or high plantation on a cloudy winter's +day, and hear the stormy wind howling among +the trees, or raving over the plains…. I +take a peculiar pleasure in the season of winter, +more than the rest of the year…. There is +something that raises the mind to a serious +sublimity, favourable to everything great and +noble." And there is also something secretly +akin to the poet's wild and passionate soul. For +this is not a happy man, but an embittered one, +and ready to "rail on Lady Fortune in good +set terms." He takes the storm-wind for an +interpreter:</p> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td align="left">'The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,'</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">The joyless winter day,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Let others fear, to me more dear</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Than all the pride of May:</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">My griefs it seems to join;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The leafless trees my fancy please,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Their fate resembles mine!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">These woes of mine fulfil,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Here firm I rest; they must be best,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Because they are <i>Thy</i> will!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Then all I want—O do Thou grant</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">This one request of mine!—</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Since to <i>enjoy</i> Thou dost deny,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Assist me to <i>resign</i>.</span></td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p> </p> +<p>His brief meteoric reign of popularity in +Edinburgh is now at an end: from being a +popular idol of society, caressed and fêted, +he has been let to sink back into his native +obscurity. And, being poignantly proud, +he suffers accordingly. The consciousness of +genius burns within him, a flame that devours +rather than illumines: and he finds vent for his +bitterness, as he treads the clogging fallow, in +the immortal lines: <i>A Man's a Man for a' that</i>.</p> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td align="left">Is there for honest poverty</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">That hings his head, an' a' that;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The coward-slave—we pass him by,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">We dare be poor for a' that!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind4">For a' that, an' a' that,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind6">Our toils obscure an' a' that,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind4">The rank is but the guinea's stamp,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind6">The Man's the gowd for a' that.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">What though on hamely fare we dine,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Wear hoddin grey, an' a' that;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">A Man's a Man for a' that,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind4">For a' that, an' a' that,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind6">Their tinsel show an' a' that;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind4">The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind6">Is king o' men for a' that;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">.<span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A prince can mak a belted knight,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">A marquis, duke, an' a' that;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">But an honest man's aboon his might,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Gude faith, he mauna fa' that!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind4">For a' that, an' a' that,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind6">Their dignities an' a' that;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind4">The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind6">Are higher rank than a' that.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Then let us pray that come it may</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">(As come it will for a' that),</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Shall bear the gree an' a' that,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind4">For a' that, an' a' that;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind6">It's coming yet for a' that,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind4">That man to man, the world o'er,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind6">Shall brothers be for a' that.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"></td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p> </p> +<p>Presently, however, the sweet influences of +the clear air, the pleasant smell of upturned +earth, the wholesome sight and sounds of +morning, soothe the poet's rugged spirit: he +becomes attuned to the calmer present, and +forgetful of the feverish past. Burns has +never been given to depicting the shows and +forms of nature for their own sake: he only +uses them as a stage for the setting of a central +human interest. In short, he "cares little," +it has been said, "for the natural picturesqueness +in itself: the moral picturesqueness touches +him more nearly." And all sentient life is dear +to him—not human life alone. Hence, one +sees him wince and shrink, as his ploughshare +destroys the daisy.</p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="minimal" /> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="2" summary="Illustration"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/img012.jpg"> + <img src="images/img012.jpg" height="400" + alt="THE MOUNTAIN DAISY." /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption">Click to <a href="images/img012.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> + <tr><td> </td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <small><i>Painting by Dudley Hardy.</i></small></td></tr> +<tr><th align="right" valign="top"><small>THE MOUNTAIN DAISY.</small></th></tr> +</table> +<table class="sm" border="0" style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><small>Wee, modest, crimson-tippèd flower,</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><small>Thou's met me in an evil hour,</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><small>For I maun crush amang the stoure</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2"><small>Thy slender stem:</small></span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><small>To spare thee now is past my power,</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2"><small>Thou bonnie gem.</small></span></td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p> </p> +<hr class="minimal" /> +<p> </p> + +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td align="left">Wee, modest crimson-tippèd flow'r,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Thou'st met me in an evil hour;</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">For I maun crush amang the stoure</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Thy slender stem:</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">To spare thee now is past my pow'r,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Thou bonie gem.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Alas! it's no thy neibor sweet,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The bonie lark, companion meet,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Wi' spreckl'd breast!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">When upward-springing, blithe, to greet</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">The purpling east.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Cauld blew the bitter-biting north</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Upon thy early humble birth;</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Amid the storm,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Scarce rear'd above the parent-earth</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Thy tender form.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">.<span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">There, in thy scanty mantle clad,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Thou lifts thy unassuming head</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">In humble guise;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">But now the share uptears thy bed,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">And low thou lies!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">.<span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">That fate is thine—no distant date;</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives elate,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Full on thy bloom,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Shall be thy doom!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">(<i>To a Mountain Daisy.</i>)</td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p> </p> + +<p>Or he becomes thoughtful and abstracted +beyond his wont, after turning up a mouse's +nest with the plough; and sternly recalls his +"gaudsman" or ploughboy, who would kill the +little creature out of pure thoughtlessness. He +muses upon the irony of fate: and the world is +the richer for his musings.</p> +<p> </p> + +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td align="left">Wee, sleeket, cowrin, tim'rous beastie,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">O, what a panic's in thy breastie!</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Thou need na start awa sae hasty,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Wi' bickerin brattle!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">I wad be laith to run an' chase thee,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Wi' murderin' pattle!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">.<span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">An' weary winter coming fast,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">An' cozie here, beneath the blast,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Thou thought to dwell—</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Till crash! the cruel coulter past</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Out thro' thy cell.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">.<span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">In proving foresight may be vain;</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Gang aft agley,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">For promised joy!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">(<i>Lines to a Mouse.</i>)</td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p> </p> + +<p>But nothing is too trivial to evade this large +and universal sympathy of his. "Not long ago, +one morning, as I was out in the fields sowing +some grass seeds, I heard the burst of a shot +from a neighbouring plantation, and presently a +poor little wounded hare came crippling by me. +You will guess my indignation at the inhuman +fellow who could shoot a hare at this season, +when they all of them have young ones." It is +on record that he threatened to throw the +culprit—a neighbouring farmer's son—into the +Nith to reward his inhumanity.</p> +<p> </p> + +<p>The ploughing is finished for the day, but +the poet must now needs betake himself to those +official duties as an exciseman, which are +perhaps even less congenial to him than agricultural +pursuits. He has to cover some two +hundred miles' riding every week; he is forced +to earn a scanty living for himself and his +family, by incessant physical and mental work. +The iron has entered into his soul—here and +there it crops up in hard metallic outbursts: +though for the most part, he is unrivalled in +spontaneous gaiety of song. And old sorrows +come upon him as he rides alone…. He +considers the present time to be the happiest +of his life. He has an excellent wife, and +bonnie bairns: friends many and faithful: +comparative immunity from financial troubles: a +popularity such as no other Scottish poet has +attained; yet memories of the past remain, +which are never to be obliterated in oblivion. +And chief among these is the greatest sorrow +that has befallen him—the loss of his one true +love, his cherished Highland Mary.</p> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td align="left">Ye banks and braes and streams around</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">The castle o' Montgomery!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Your waters never drumlie:</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">There Simmer first unfald her robes,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">And there the langest tarry;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">For there I took the last Farewell</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">O' my sweet Highland Mary.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">How sweetly bloom'd the gay, green birk,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">How rich the hawthorn's blossom,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">As underneath their fragrant shade</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">I clasp'd her to my bosom!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The golden Hours on angel wings,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Flew o'er me and my Dearie;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">For dear to me, as light and life,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Was my sweet Highland Mary.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">.<span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">And clos'd for ay, the sparkling glance</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">That dwalt on me sae kindly!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">And mouldering now in silent dust,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">That heart that lo'ed me dearly!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">But still within my bosom's core</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Shall live my Highland Mary.</span></td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p> </p> + +<p>Burns has been an easy and inconstant +lover all his days: devoted, for the nonce, to +every girl he met. But Mary was on a pinnacle +apart—unequalled, irreplaceable; and still he is +continually dreaming of her—dreaming in +tender and melodious verse.</p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="minimal" /> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="2" summary="Illustration"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/img020.jpg"> + <img src="images/img020.jpg" height="400" + alt="HIGHLAND MARY." /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption">Click to <a href="images/img020.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> + <tr><td> </td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <small><i>Painting by Dudley Hardy.</i></small></td></tr> +<tr><th align="center" valign="top"><small>HIGHLAND MARY.</small><br /> + </th></tr> +</table> +<table class="sm" border="0" style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td align="left"><small>The golden Hours, on angel wings,</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2"><small>Flew o'er me and my Dearie,</small></span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><small>For dear to me as light and life</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2"><small>Was my sweet Highland Mary,</small></span></td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p> </p> +<hr class="minimal" /> +<p> </p> + +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td align="left">Thou ling'ring star, with less'ning ray,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">That lov'st to greet the early morn,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Again thou usher'st in the day</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">My Mary from my soul was torn.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">O Mary! dear departed shade!</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Where is thy place of blissful rest?</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">See'st thou thy lover lowly laid?</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">That sacred hour can I forget,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Can I forget the hallow'd grove,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Where by the winding Ayr we met,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">To live one day of parting love!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Eternity will not efface</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Those records dear of transports past,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Thy image at our last embrace,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Ah! little thought we 'twas our last!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">(<i>To Mary in Heaven.</i>)</td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p> </p> +<p>But now, hard upon the scent of smugglers +across the Nithsdale moors, exchanging cheery +greetings with cottagers here and there, the +tramp of his horse's hoofs inspires him to a gayer +measure. The clouds, which have overhung +his mind all the forenoon, roll away: and his +mercurial spirit seizes any pleasure that the +moment may afford. The nearest to hand is the +ready ripple of rhythm in light short songs that +fairly bubble over with gaiety. For there is +nothing of the midnight oil about Robert Burns—his +poems come swiftly and spontaneously to +him, as naturally as music to a blackbird: they +have indeed the same quality as the carols of +birds—careless, happy, tuneful. Any casual +impression sets our poet singing: the mere +glance of a merry blue eye at a window, and +he is away on the praises of one immediately +present lassie, or of innumerable others absent.</p> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td align="left"><i>Chorus</i>:—Green grow the rashes, O;</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind6">Green grow the rashes, O;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind4">The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind6">Are spent among the lasses, O.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">There's nought but care on ev'ry han',</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">In every hour that passes, O:</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">What signifies the life o' man,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">An' 'twere na for the lasses, O.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">Green grow, etc.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The war'ly race may riches chase,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">And riches still may fly them, O;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">An' tho' at last they catch them fast,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">Green grow, etc.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">But gie me a cannie hour at e'en</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">My arms about my dearie, O;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">An' war'ly cares, and war'ly men,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">Green grow, etc.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">For you sae douce, ye sneer at this;</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Ye're nought but senseless asses, O:</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The wisest man the warl' e'er saw,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">He dearly lov'd the lasses, O.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">Green grow, etc.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Her noblest work she classes, O:</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Her prentice han' she try'd on man,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">An' then she made the lasses, O.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">Green grow, etc.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"></td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p> </p> +<p>Sometimes a flower in the hedgerow opens +out to him a new and exquisite signification.</p> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td align="left">My Luve is like a red red rose</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">That's newly sprung in June;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">My Luve is like the melodie</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">That's sweetly play'd in tune.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">As fair art thou, my bonie lass,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">So deep in luve am I;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">And I will luve thee still, my Dear,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Till a' the seas gang dry.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Till a' the seas gang dry, my Dear,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">An' the rocks melt wi' the sun;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">And I will luve thee still, my Dear,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">While the sands o' life shall run.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve!</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">And fare-thee-weel awhile!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">And I will come again, my Luve,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Tho' 'twere ten thousand mile!</span></td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p> </p> +<hr class="minimal" /> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="2" summary="Illustration"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/img028.jpg"> + <img src="images/img028.jpg" height="400" + alt="O WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST." /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption">Click to <a href="images/img028.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> + <tr><td> </td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <small><i>Painting by Dudley Hardy.</i></small></td></tr> +<tr><th align="center" valign="top"><small>O WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST.</small><br /> + </th></tr> +</table> +<table class="sm" border="0" style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td align="left"><small>O wert thou in the cauld blast,</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2"><small>On yonder lea, on yonder lea;</small></span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><small>My plaidie to the angry airt,</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2"><small>I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee;</small></span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><small>Or did misfortune's bitter storms</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2"><small>Around thee blaw, around thee blaw,</small></span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><small>Thy bield should be my bosom,</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2"><small>To share it a', to share it a'.</small></span></td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p> </p> +<hr class="minimal" /> +<p> </p> + +<p>Or, as he meets the wind—still bleak, +though now it is midday,—a cold wind charged +with latent snow,—its chilly breaths are crystallized +into a very jewel of song. +</p> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td align="left"></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">O wert thou in the cauld blast,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">On yonder lea, on yonder lea,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">My plaidie to the angry airt,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Or did Misfortune's bitter storms</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Around thee blaw, around thee blaw,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Thy bield should be my bosom,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">To share it a', to share it a'.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Or were I in the wildest waste,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Sae black and bare, sae black and bare,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The desert were a Paradise,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">If thou wert there, if thou wert there;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Or were I Monarch o' the globe,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The brightest jewel in my crown</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Wad be my Queen, wad be my Queen.</span></td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p> </p> + +<p>Presently he turns his horse's head towards +Dumfries. It is market-day in the town, and +a score of friends give him clamorous welcome. +They may not fully appreciate Rob's mental +equipments, but they greet him as the best of +good companions: and in a little while he forms +the leading spirit of some excited group, discussing +matters social and political. For Burns +takes the keenest interest in current events: +and, though most of his poems may be of a +more ephemeral interest, he is capable, when +deeply stirred, of expressing himself with a stern +and lofty patriotism. It may be inspired by +the events of the present: it often is evoked by +glories of the past.</p> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td align="left">Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Welcome to your gory bed,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Or to Victorie!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Now's the day, and now's the hour;</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">See the front o' battle lour;</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">See approach proud Edward's power—</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Chains and Slaverie!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Wha will be a traitor knave?</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Wha can fill a coward's grave?</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Wha sae base as be a Slave?</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Let him turn and flee!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">.<span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Lay the proud Usurpers low!</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Tyrants fall in every foe!</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Liberty's in every blow!—</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Let us Do—or Die!!!</span></td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p> </p> + +<p>Seated in the inn among his cronies, "as +market-days are wearing late," the dour and +bitter looks of the poet are exchanged for +glowing eyes and laughing lips, while he recites +some of the lines which he has wedded to old +and familiar melodies. As Moore, a little later, +secured for the Irish airs a world-wide +reputation, by supplying them with words of a +more popular character than their own—so +Burns re-wrote the songs of his country. +Thousands of people who never heard of "The +Highland Watch's Farewell" have carolled that +melody to his delightful verses,</p> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td align="left">My heart is sair—I dare na tell,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">My heart is sair for Somebody;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">I could wake a winter night</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">For the sake o' Somebody:</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind4">Oh-hon! for Somebody!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind4">Oh-hey! for Somebody!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">I could range the world around,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">For the sake o' Somebody.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Ye Powers that smile on virtuous love,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">O, sweetly smile on Somebody!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Frae ilka danger keep him free,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">And send me safe my Somebody!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind4">Oh-hon! for Somebody!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind4">Oh-hey! for Somebody!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">I wad do—what would I not?</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">For the sake o' Somebody.</td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p> </p> + +<p>As time wears by, Burns pulls out a manuscript +from his pocket, and reads his latest +poem to a hilarious audience: a very masterpiece, +they acclaim it. The legend and the +scenery are awhile familiar to them: but they +have never heard the tale told thus before, as +Burns has immortalized it in "Tam o' Shanter."</p> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td align="left"> … As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure:</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">O'er a' the ills o' life victorious!</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">But pleasures are like poppies spread,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed;</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Or like the snow falls in the river,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A moment white—then melts for ever;</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Or like the Borealis race,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">That flit ere you can point their place;</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Or like the Rainbow's lovely form</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Evanishing amid the storm.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Nae man can tether Time nor Tide,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The hour approaches Tam maun ride—</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">That dreary hour he mounts his beast in;</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">And sic a night he takes the road in,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">.<span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Weel mounted on his grey meare Meg</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">(A better never lifted leg),</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Despising wind, and rain, and fire;</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Whiles crooning o'er an auld Scots sonnet,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Whiles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Lest bogles catch him unawares;</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Whare ghaists and howlets nightly cry.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">.<span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> … The lightnings flash from pole to pole,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Near and more near the thunders roll,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">When glimmering thro' the groaning trees,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Kirk-Alloway seemed in a bleeze,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">And loud resounded mirth and dancing.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">.<span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> … And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight!</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Warlocks and witches in a dance:</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Nae cotillion, brent-new frae France,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Put life and mettle in their heels.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">(<i>Tam o' Shanter.</i>)</td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p> </p> +<p>But now it is time that Burns, like his +hero, should take the homeward road. He +calls for his horse, parts from his boisterous +comrades, and rides out into the wintry evening. +Nithsdale is a land of lovely sunsets: and +against the rose and gold of heaven, the poet +sees the homely cottage-smoke of earth, thin +spirals of blue vapour, speaking of happy +hearths and labour ended. It is several years +since Burns, standing with Douglas Stewart +upon the Braid Hills, declared that to him the +worthiest object in the whole bright morning +landscape was the cluster of smoking cottages. +But still he regards them with affection +and enjoyment: and chiefly his eyes are bent +towards that quiet homestead which holds +his own dear folk. All the peace which that +stormy heart can find is set and centred there: +despite all previous fugitive fancies for Jessie, +and Peggie, and Phemie, and the rest, he has +found calm happiness with his Jean, the most +devoted of wives.</p> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td align="left">Of a' the airts the wind can blaw,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">I dearly like the west,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">For there the bonie lassie lives,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">The lassie I lo'e best:</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">There's wild-woods grow, and rivers row,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">And mony a hill between:</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">But day and night my fancy's flight</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Is ever wi' my Jean.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">I see her in the dewy flowers,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">I see her sweet and fair,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">I hear her in the tunefu' birds,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">I hear her charm the air:</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">There's not a bonie flower that springs,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">By fountain, shaw, or green;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">There's not a bonie bird that sings,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">But minds me o' my Jean.</span></td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p> </p> +<p>She comes out into the twilight to meet him, +and his emotion shapes itself, on the instant, +into song.</p> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td align="left">This is no my ain lassie,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Fair tho' the lassie be;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Weel ken I my ain lassie,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Kind love is in her e'e.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">I see a form, I see a face,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Ye weel may wi' the fairest place;</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">It wants, to me, the witching grace,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">The kind love that's in her e'e.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">She's bonnie, blooming, straight, and tall,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">And lang has had my heart in thrall;</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">And aye it charms my very saul,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">The kind love that's in her e'e.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A thief sae pawkie is my Jean,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">To steal a blink, by a' unseen;</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">But gleg as light are lovers' een,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">When kind love is in the e'e.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">It may escape the courtly sparks,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">It may escape the learnèd clerks;</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">But weel the watching lover marks</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">The kind love that's in her e'e.</span></td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p> </p> +<p>The servants, sitting at the same table, +according to Scottish farm custom, share his +simple evening meal: and subsequently, +before the children's bedtime, the master speaks +with seriousness to his household, and reads +aloud some passages from the Holy Book.</p> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td align="left">Their master's and their mistress's command,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">The younkers a' are warned to obey;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">And mind their labours wi' an eydent hand,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"And O! be sure to fear the Lord alway,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">"And mind your duty, duly, morn and night;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">"Implore His counsel and assisting might:</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright."</td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">.<span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span><span class="ind2">.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Then homeward all take off their several way,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">The youngling cottagers retire to rest:</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The parent-pair their secret homage pay,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">And proffer up to Heaven the warm request,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">That He who stills the raven's clam'rous nest,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Would in the way His wisdom sees the best,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">For them and for their little ones provide;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">(<i>The Cotter's Saturday Night.</i>)</td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p> </p> +<hr class="minimal" /> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="2" summary="Illustration"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/img038.jpg"> + <img src="images/img038.jpg" height="400" + alt="JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO." /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption">Click to <a href="images/img038.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> + <tr><td> </td></tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + <small><i>Painting by Dudley Hardy.</i></small></td></tr> +<tr><th align="center" valign="top"><small>JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO.</small><br /> + </th></tr> +</table> +<table class="sm" border="0" style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td align="left"><small>John Anderson, my jo, John,</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2"><small>We clamb the hill thegither;</small></span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><small>And monie a canty day, John,</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2"><small>We've had wi' ane anither:</small></span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><small>Now we maun totter down, John,</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2"><small>But hand in hand we'll go,</small></span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><small>And sleep thegither at the foot,</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2"><small>John Anderson, my jo.</small></span></td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p> </p> +<hr class="minimal" /> +<p> </p> + +<p>Now, in the quiet house, the man at last is +free to take up his pen. He is writing hard, +daily, or rather nightly: every week sees a +parcel of manuscript despatched to his publisher. +The thoughts which have crowded tumultuously +upon him all day long, may at last be set down +and conserved: for poetry, as Wordsworth +says, "is emotion remembered in tranquillity." +The grave and swarthy face bends above the +paper in the candlelight—varying expressions +chase each other across the mobile mouth and +eyes. Sometimes the theme is one of poignant +pathos.</p> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td align="left">Ae fond kiss and then we sever;</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Ae fareweel, and then forever!</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Who shall say that Fortune grieves him,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">While the star of hope she leaves him?</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Me, nae cheerful twinkle lights me;</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Dark despair around benights me.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Naething could resist my Nancy.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">But to see her was to love her;</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Love but her, and love for ever.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Had we never lov'd sae kindly,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Had we never lov'd sae blindly,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Never met—or never parted,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">We had ne'er been broken-hearted!</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Fare-thee-weel, thou first and fairest!</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Fare-thee-weel, thou best and dearest!</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Thine be ilka joy and treasure,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Peace, Enjoyment, Love, and Pleasure!</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Ae fond kiss, and then we sever!</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Ae fareweel, alas! for ever!</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">(<i>Parting Song to Clarinda.</i>)</td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p> </p> + +<p>Again the music changes to the sprightliest +vivaciousness, to tell how "last May a braw +wooer came down the lang glen," or to sing the +"dainty distress" of the maiden enamoured of +<i>Tam Glen</i>.</p> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td align="left">My heart is a-breaking, dear Tittie,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Some counsel unto me come len',</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">To anger them a' is a pity,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">But what will I do wi' Tam Glen?</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">I'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fellow,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">In poortith I might mak a fen';</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">What care I in riches to wallow,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">If I mauna marry Tam Glen!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">There's Lowrie the Laird o' Dumeller—</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">"Gude-day to you"—brute! he comes ben:</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">He brags and he braws o' his siller,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">But when will he dance like Tam Glen!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">My Minnie does constantly deave me,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">And bids me beware o' young men;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">They flatter, she says, to deceive me,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">He'll gie me gude hunder marks ten;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">But, if it's ordain'd I maun take him,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">O wha will I get but Tam Glen!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Yestreen at the Valentine's dealing,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">My heart to my mou gied a sten;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">For thrice I drew ane without failing,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">And thrice it was written "Tam Glen!"</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The last Halloween I was waukin</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken</span>,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">His likeness came up the house staukin,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">And the very grey breeks o' Tam Glen!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Come, counsel, dear Tittie! don't tarry;</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">I'll gie ye my bonnie black hen,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Gif ye will advise me to marry</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen!</span></td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p> </p> + +<p>But here comes a knock at the door, to +stop the flow of inspiration: it is not an unwelcome +visitor, but an old friend, who, returning +after many years from foreign parts, has learned +of "Rob's" amazing leap into fame. Strangers, +drawn by curiosity and admiration, are not +infrequent visitors: "It was something to have +dined or supped in the company of Burns." +But this is a different matter: and the warm +impulsive heart responds to it, in words which +have never been forgotten.</p> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td align="left">Should auld acquaintance be forgot,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">And never brought to mind?</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Should auld acquaintance be forgot,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">And auld lang syne!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind4">For auld lang syne, my dear,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind6">For auld lang syne,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind4">We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind6">For auld lang syne.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp!</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">And surely I'll be mine!</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">For auld lang syne.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">We twa hae run about the braes,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">And pou'd the gowans fine;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">But we've wander'd mony a weary fitt,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Sin' auld lang syne.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">We twa hae paidl'd i' the burn,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Frae morning sun till dine;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">But seas between us braid hae roar'd</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Sin' auld lang syne.</span></td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p> </p> + +<p>It is late, very late, when the visitor departs: +the stars are frosty, the ground hard. The +spell of newly-roused remembrances lies heavy +still upon Burns's heart: and as he turns to rest, +and sees the peaceful sleeping forms of his wife +and little children, tender and calm desires well +up within him. He can conceive no higher +happiness than comes of a serene old age, in +the company of those dear ones: and a picture +rises before him of old folk gently descending to +a longer rest, side by side together.</p> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="poem"> +<tr><td align="left">John Anderson, my jo, John,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">When we were first acquent;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Your locks were like the raven,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Your bonie brow was brent;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">But now your brow is beld, John,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">Your locks are like the snaw;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">But blessings on your frosty pow,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">John Anderson, my jo.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">John Anderson, my jo, John,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">We clamb the hill thegither;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">And mony a cantie day, John,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">We've had wi' ane anither:</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Now we maun totter down, John,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">And hand in hand we'll go,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">And sleep thegither at the foot,</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="ind2">John Anderson, my jo.</span></td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="2" summary="decoration"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/tail.jpg"> + <img src="images/tail.jpg" height="140" + alt="decoration" /></a> + </td> + </tr> + </table> +</div> + +<div class="center"> +<p class="noindent"><i><span class="small">Printed by Percy Lund, Humphries & Co., Ltd.,<br /> +Bradford and London.</span></i></p> +</div> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="2" summary="decoration"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/backcover.jpg"> + <img src="images/backcover.jpg" height="160" + alt="decoration" /></a> + </td> + </tr> + </table> +</div> +<p> </p> +<hr class="tiny" /> +<p> </p> + +<table class="sm" border="0" style="background-color: #E6F6FA; margin: 0 auto" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="4" summary="NOTES"> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"> + <div class="center">TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE</div> + +<p style="background-color: #E6F6FA" class="noindent"> +The words <b>belore</b> and <b>bedtine</b> were changed to <b>before</b> and <b>bedtime</b> +in the phrase: +<br /> +<span class="ind1">before the children's bedtime</span><br /> +<br /> +The word <b>divnie</b> was corrected to <b>divine</b> in the line:<br /> +<span class="ind1">But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside.</span> +</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Day with the Poet Burns, by +Anonymous and Robert Burns + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A DAY WITH THE POET BURNS *** + +***** This file should be named 35293-h.htm or 35293-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/2/9/35293/ + +Produced by Delphine Lettau 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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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: A Day with the Poet Burns + +Author: Anonymous + Robert Burns + +Release Date: February 15, 2011 [EBook #35293] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A DAY WITH THE POET BURNS *** + + + + +Produced by Delphine Lettau and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + [Illustration: Rose Emblem] + + A Day with Burns. + + + + +_Painting by W. J. Neatby._ + +MY LUVE IS LIKE A RED, RED ROSE. + + My Luve is like a red, red rose + That's newly sprung in June: + My Luve is like the melodie + That's sweetly played in tune + + As fair thou art, my bonnie lass, + So deep in luve am I: + And I will love thee still, my dear, + Till a' the seas gang dry. + + +[Illustration: Lady with Rose] + + + + + A DAY WITH THE POET BURNS + + + + + LONDON + HODDER & STOUGHTON + + + + + _In the same Series._ + + _Longfellow._ + _Tennyson._ + _Keats._ + _Browning._ + _Wordsworth._ + + + + +A DAY WITH BURNS. + +There are few figures which appeal more picturesquely to the imagination +than that of the ploughman-poet--swarthy, stalwart, black-eyed,--striding +along the furrow in the grey of a dreary dawn. Yet Burns was far from +being a mere uncultured peasant, nor did he come of peasant stock. His +forefathers were small yeoman farmers, who had risked themselves in the +cause of the Young Pretender: they had a certain amount of family pride +and family tradition. Robert Burns had been educated in small schools, +by various tutors, and by his father, a man of considerable attainments. +He had acquired some French and Latin, studied mensuration, and +acquainted himself with a good deal of poetry and many theological and +philosophical books. + + +_Painting by E. W. Haslehust._ + + THE HOME OF BURNS. + + The man in hodden grey and rough top boots who + might be seen going out on dusky mornings from + his little farmstead of Ellisland near Dumfries. + +[Illustration: Man on Horseback Leaving Farm] + + +So that the man who may be seen going out this dusky morning from his +little farmstead of Ellisland near Dumfries--the dark and taciturn man +in hodden grey and rough top boots--is not precisely a son of the soil. +He is a hard worker in the field by dint of necessity, but his strenuous +and impetuous mind is set upon other thoughts than the plough, as he +drives his share along the Nithsdale uplands. It is exactly the season +of the year that he delights in. "There is scarcely any earthly object," +he has written, "which gives me more--I do not know if I should call +it pleasure, but something that exalts me, something that enraptures +me--than to walk in the sheltered side of a wood or high plantation on a +cloudy winter's day, and hear the stormy wind howling among the trees, +or raving over the plains.... I take a peculiar pleasure in the season +of winter, more than the rest of the year.... There is something that +raises the mind to a serious sublimity, favourable to everything great +and noble." And there is also something secretly akin to the poet's wild +and passionate soul. For this is not a happy man, but an embittered one, +and ready to "rail on Lady Fortune in good set terms." He takes the +storm-wind for an interpreter: + + + 'The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,' + The joyless winter day, + Let others fear, to me more dear + Than all the pride of May: + The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul, + My griefs it seems to join; + The leafless trees my fancy please, + Their fate resembles mine! + + Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme + These woes of mine fulfil, + Here firm I rest; they must be best, + Because they are _Thy_ will! + Then all I want--O do Thou grant + This one request of mine!-- + Since to _enjoy_ Thou dost deny, + Assist me to _resign_. + + +His brief meteoric reign of popularity in Edinburgh is now at an end: +from being a popular idol of society, caressed and feted, he has been +let to sink back into his native obscurity. And, being poignantly proud, +he suffers accordingly. The consciousness of genius burns within him, +a flame that devours rather than illumines: and he finds vent for his +bitterness, as he treads the clogging fallow, in the immortal lines: +_A Man's a Man for a' that._ + + + Is there for honest poverty + That hings his head, an' a' that; + 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. + + What though on hamely fare we dine, + Wear hoddin grey, an' a' that; + Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, + 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; + + * * * * * + + A prince can mak a belted knight, + A marquis, duke, an' a' that; + But an honest man's aboon his might, + Gude faith, he mauna fa' that! + 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. + + Then let us pray that come it may + (As come it will for a' that), + That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth, + Shall bear the gree an' a' that, + For a' that, an' a' that; + It's coming yet for a' that, + That man to man, the world o'er, + Shall brothers be for a' that. + + +Presently, however, the sweet influences of the clear air, the pleasant +smell of upturned earth, the wholesome sight and sounds of morning, soothe +the poet's rugged spirit: he becomes attuned to the calmer present, and +forgetful of the feverish past. Burns has never been given to depicting +the shows and forms of nature for their own sake: he only uses them as a +stage for the setting of a central human interest. In short, he "cares +little," it has been said, "for the natural picturesqueness in itself: +the moral picturesqueness touches him more nearly." And all sentient +life is dear to him--not human life alone. Hence, one sees him wince and +shrink, as his ploughshare destroys the daisy. + + +_Painting by Dudley Hardy._ + +THE MOUNTAIN DAISY. + + Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower, + Thou's met me in an evil hour, + For I maun crush amang the stoure + Thy slender stem: + To spare thee now is past my power, + Thou bonnie gem. + +[Illustration: Evening Ploughing Scene] + + + Wee, modest crimson-tipped flow'r, + Thou'st met me in an evil hour; + For I maun crush amang the stoure + Thy slender stem: + To spare thee now is past my pow'r, + Thou bonie gem. + + Alas! it's no thy neibor sweet, + The bonie lark, companion meet, + Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet, + Wi' spreckl'd breast! + When upward-springing, blithe, 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. + + * * * * * + + There, in thy scanty mantle clad, + Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, + Thou lifts thy unassuming head + In humble guise; + But now the share uptears thy bed, + And low thou lies! + + * * * * * + + 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! + + (_To a Mountain Daisy._) + + +Or he becomes thoughtful and abstracted beyond his wont, after turning +up a mouse's nest with the plough; and sternly recalls his "gaudsman" or +ploughboy, who would kill the little creature out of pure thoughtlessness. +He muses upon the irony of fate: and the world is the richer for his +musings. + + + Wee, sleeket, cowrin, tim'rous beastie, + O, what a panic's in thy breastie! + Thou need na start awa sae hasty, + Wi' bickerin brattle! + I wad be laith to run an' chase thee, + Wi' murderin' pattle! + + Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste, + An' weary winter coming fast, + An' cozie here, beneath the blast, + Thou thought to dwell-- + Till crash! the cruel coulter past + Out thro' thy cell. + + * * * * * + + But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, + In proving foresight may be vain; + The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men + Gang aft agley, + An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, + For promised joy! + + (_Lines to a Mouse._) + + +But nothing is too trivial to evade this large and universal sympathy +of his. "Not long ago, one morning, as I was out in the fields sowing +some grass seeds, I heard the burst of a shot from a neighbouring +plantation, and presently a poor little wounded hare came crippling by +me. You will guess my indignation at the inhuman fellow who could shoot +a hare at this season, when they all of them have young ones." It is on +record that he threatened to throw the culprit--a neighbouring farmer's +son--into the Nith to reward his inhumanity. + + +The ploughing is finished for the day, but the poet must now needs +betake himself to those official duties as an exciseman, which are +perhaps even less congenial to him than agricultural pursuits. He has +to cover some two hundred miles' riding every week; he is forced to +earn a scanty living for himself and his family, by incessant physical +and mental work. The iron has entered into his soul--here and there it +crops up in hard metallic outbursts: though for the most part, he is +unrivalled in spontaneous gaiety of song. And old sorrows come upon him +as he rides alone.... He considers the present time to be the happiest +of his life. He has an excellent wife, and bonnie bairns: friends many +and faithful: comparative immunity from financial troubles: a popularity +such as no other Scottish poet has attained; yet memories of the past +remain, which are never to be obliterated in oblivion. And chief among +these is the greatest sorrow that has befallen him--the loss of his one +true love, his cherished 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: + There Simmer first unfald her robes, + And there the langest tarry; + For there I took the last Farewell + O' my sweet Highland Mary. + + How sweetly bloom'd the gay, green birk, + 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. + + * * * * * + + O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, + I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly! + And clos'd for ay, the sparkling glance + That dwalt on me sae kindly! + And mouldering now in silent dust, + That heart that lo'ed me dearly! + But still within my bosom's core + Shall live my Highland Mary. + + +Burns has been an easy and inconstant lover all his days: devoted, +for the nonce, to every girl he met. But Mary was on a pinnacle +apart--unequalled, irreplaceable; and still he is continually dreaming +of her--dreaming in tender and melodious verse. + + +_Painting by Dudley Hardy._ + +HIGHLAND MARY. + + 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. + +[Illustration: Woman in Red] + + + Thou ling'ring star, with less'ning ray, + That lov'st to greet the early morn, + Again thou usher'st in the day + My Mary from my soul was torn. + O Mary! dear departed shade! + Where is thy place of blissful rest? + See'st 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! + + (_To Mary in Heaven._) + + +But now, hard upon the scent of smugglers across the Nithsdale moors, +exchanging cheery greetings with cottagers here and there, the tramp of +his horse's hoofs inspires him to a gayer measure. The clouds, which +have overhung his mind all the forenoon, roll away: and his mercurial +spirit seizes any pleasure that the moment may afford. The nearest to +hand is the ready ripple of rhythm in light short songs that fairly +bubble over with gaiety. For there is nothing of the midnight oil about +Robert Burns--his poems come swiftly and spontaneously to him, as +naturally as music to a blackbird: they have indeed the same quality as +the carols of birds--careless, happy, tuneful. Any casual impression +sets our poet singing: the mere glance of a merry blue eye at a window, +and he is away on the praises of one immediately present lassie, or of +innumerable others absent. + + + _Chorus_:--Green grow the rashes, O; + Green grow the rashes, O; + The sweetest hours that e'er I spend, + Are spent among the lasses, O. + + There's nought but care on ev'ry han', + In every hour that passes, O: + What signifies the life o' man, + An' 'twere na for the lasses, O. + Green grow, etc. + + The war'ly race may riches chase, + And riches still may fly them, O; + An' tho' at last they catch them fast, + Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O. + Green grow, etc. + + But gie me a cannie hour at e'en + My arms about my dearie, O; + An' war'ly cares, and war'ly men, + May a' gae tapsalteerie, O! + Green grow, etc. + + For you sae douce, ye sneer at this; + Ye're nought but senseless asses, O: + The wisest man the warl' e'er saw, + He dearly lov'd the lasses, O. + Green grow, etc. + + Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears + Her noblest work she classes, O: + Her prentice han' she try'd on man, + An' then she made the lasses, O. + Green grow, etc. + + +Sometimes a flower in the hedgerow opens out to him a new and exquisite +signification. + + + My Luve is like a red red rose + That's newly sprung in June; + My Luve is like the melodie + That's sweetly play'd in tune. + + As fair art thou, my bonie lass, + So deep in luve am I; + And I will luve thee still, my Dear, + Till a' the seas gang dry. + + Till a' the seas gang dry, my Dear, + An' the rocks melt wi' the sun; + And I will luve thee still, my Dear, + While the sands o' life shall run. + + And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve! + And fare-thee-weel awhile! + And I will come again, my Luve, + Tho' 'twere ten thousand mile! + + +_Painting by Dudley Hardy._ + +O WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST. + + O wert thou in the cauld blast, + On yonder lea, on yonder lea; + My plaidie to the angry airt, + 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, + To share it a', to share it a'. + +[Illustration: Man Protectively Embracing Woman] + + +Or, as he meets the wind--still bleak, though now it is midday,--a cold +wind charged with latent snow,--its chilly breaths are crystallized into +a very jewel of song. + + + O wert thou in the cauld blast, + On yonder lea, on yonder lea, + My plaidie to the angry airt, + 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, + 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. + + +Presently he turns his horse's head towards Dumfries. It is market-day +in the town, and a score of friends give him clamorous welcome. They may +not fully appreciate Rob's mental equipments, but they greet him as the +best of good companions: and in a little while he forms the leading +spirit of some excited group, discussing matters social and political. +For Burns takes the keenest interest in current events: and, though most +of his poems may be of a more ephemeral interest, he is capable, when +deeply stirred, of expressing himself with a stern and lofty patriotism. +It may be inspired by the events of the present: it often is evoked by +glories of the past. + + + 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! + + * * * * * + + Lay the proud Usurpers low! + Tyrants fall in every foe! + Liberty's in every blow!-- + Let us Do--or Die!!! + + +Seated in the inn among his cronies, "as market-days are wearing late," +the dour and bitter looks of the poet are exchanged for glowing eyes and +laughing lips, while he recites some of the lines which he has wedded to +old and familiar melodies. As Moore, a little later, secured for the +Irish airs a world-wide reputation, by supplying them with words of a +more popular character than their own--so Burns re-wrote the songs of +his country. Thousands of people who never heard of "The Highland +Watch's Farewell" have carolled that melody to his delightful verses, + + + My heart is sair--I dare na tell, + 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, + And send me safe my Somebody! + Oh-hon! for Somebody! + Oh-hey! for Somebody! + I wad do--what would I not? + For the sake o' Somebody. + + +As time wears by, Burns pulls out a manuscript from his pocket, and +reads his latest poem to a hilarious audience: a very masterpiece, they +acclaim it. The legend and the scenery are awhile familiar to them: but +they have never heard the tale told thus before, as Burns has immortalized +it in "Tam o' Shanter." + + + ... As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, + 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 takes the road in, + As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. + + * * * * * + + Weel mounted on his grey meare Meg + (A better never lifted leg), + Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire, + Despising wind, and rain, and fire; + Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet, + Whiles crooning o'er an auld Scots sonnet, + Whiles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares, + Lest bogles catch him unawares; + Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, + Whare ghaists and howlets nightly cry. + + * * * * * + + ... The lightnings flash from pole to pole, + Near and more near the thunders roll, + When glimmering thro' the groaning trees, + Kirk-Alloway seemed in a bleeze, + Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing, + And loud resounded mirth and dancing. + + * * * * * + + ... And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight! + Warlocks and witches in a dance: + Nae cotillion, brent-new frae France, + But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, + Put life and mettle in their heels. + + (_Tam o' Shanter._) + + +But now it is time that Burns, like his hero, should take the homeward +road. He calls for his horse, parts from his boisterous comrades, and +rides out into the wintry evening. Nithsdale is a land of lovely sunsets: +and against the rose and gold of heaven, the poet sees the homely +cottage-smoke of earth, thin spirals of blue vapour, speaking of happy +hearths and labour ended. It is several years since Burns, standing with +Douglas Stewart upon the Braid Hills, declared that to him the worthiest +object in the whole bright morning landscape was the cluster of smoking +cottages. But still he regards them with affection and enjoyment: and +chiefly his eyes are bent towards that quiet homestead which holds his +own dear folk. All the peace which that stormy heart can find is set and +centred there: despite all previous fugitive fancies for Jessie, and +Peggie, and Phemie, and the rest, he has found calm happiness with his +Jean, the most devoted of wives. + + + Of a' the airts the wind can blaw, + I dearly like the west, + For there the bonie lassie lives, + The lassie I lo'e best: + There's wild-woods grow, and rivers row, + 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 bonie flower that springs, + By fountain, shaw, or green; + There's not a bonie bird that sings, + But minds me o' my Jean. + + +She comes out into the twilight to meet him, and his emotion shapes +itself, on the instant, into song. + + + This is no my ain lassie, + Fair tho' the lassie be; + 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, + The kind love that's in her e'e. + + A thief sae pawkie is my Jean, + To steal a blink, by a' unseen; + But gleg as light are lovers' een, + 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. + + +The servants, sitting at the same table, according to Scottish farm +custom, share his simple evening meal: and subsequently, before the +children's bedtime, the master speaks with seriousness to his household, +and reads aloud some passages from the Holy Book. + + + Their master's and their mistress's command, + The younkers a' are warned to obey; + And mind their labours wi' an eydent hand, + An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play; + "And O! be sure to fear the Lord alway, + "And mind your duty, duly, morn and night; + "Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray, + "Implore His counsel and assisting might: + "They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright." + + * * * * * + + 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 Heaven the warm request, + That He who stills the raven's clam'rous nest, + And decks the lily fair in flow'ry 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. + + (_The Cotter's Saturday Night._) + + +_Painting by Dudley Hardy_. + +JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO. + + John Anderson, my jo, John, + We clamb the hill thegither; + And monie a canty day, John, + We've had wi' ane anither: + Now we maun totter down, John, + But hand in hand we'll go, + And sleep thegither at the foot, + John Anderson, my jo. + +[Illustration: Two Old Men Chatting Happily] + + +Now, in the quiet house, the man at last is free to take up his pen. +He is writing hard, daily, or rather nightly: every week sees a parcel +of manuscript despatched to his publisher. The thoughts which have +crowded tumultuously upon him all day long, may at last be set down and +conserved: for poetry, as Wordsworth says, "is emotion remembered in +tranquillity." The grave and swarthy face bends above the paper in the +candlelight--varying expressions chase each other across the mobile +mouth and eyes. Sometimes the theme is one of poignant pathos. + + + Ae fond kiss and then we sever; + Ae fareweel, and then forever! + 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 cheerful 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, + 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. + + (_Parting Song to Clarinda._) + + +Again the music changes to the sprightliest vivaciousness, to tell how +"last May a braw wooer came down the lang glen," or to sing the "dainty +distress" of the maiden enamoured of _Tam Glen_. + + + My heart is a-breaking, dear Tittie, + 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, + In poortith I might mak a fen'; + What care I in riches to wallow, + If I mauna marry Tam Glen! + + There's Lowrie the Laird o' Dumeller-- + "Gude-day to you"--brute! he comes ben: + He brags and he braws o' his siller, + But when will he dance like Tam Glen! + + My Minnie does constantly deave me, + 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, + He'll gie me gude hunder marks ten; + But, if it's ordain'd I maun take him, + O wha will I get but Tam Glen! + + Yestreen at the Valentine's dealing, + My heart to my mou gied a sten; + For thrice I drew ane without failing, + And thrice it was written "Tam Glen!" + + The last Halloween I was waukin + My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken, + His likeness came up the house staukin, + And the very grey breeks o' Tam Glen! + + Come, counsel, dear Tittie! don't tarry; + I'll gie ye my bonnie black hen, + Gif ye will advise me to marry + The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen! + + +But here comes a knock at the door, to stop the flow of inspiration: it +is not an unwelcome visitor, but an old friend, who, returning after +many years from foreign parts, has learned of "Rob's" amazing leap into +fame. Strangers, drawn by curiosity and admiration, are not infrequent +visitors: "It was something to have dined or supped in the company of +Burns." But this is a different matter: and the warm impulsive heart +responds to it, in words which have never been forgotten. + + + Should auld acquaintance be forgot, + And never brought to mind? + Should auld acquaintance be forgot, + And auld lang syne! + + 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! + 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, + And pou'd the gowans fine; + But we've wander'd mony a weary fitt, + Sin' auld lang syne. + + We twa hae paidl'd i' the burn, + Frae morning sun till dine; + But seas between us braid hae roar'd + Sin' auld lang syne. + + +It is late, very late, when the visitor departs: the stars are frosty, +the ground hard. The spell of newly-roused remembrances lies heavy still +upon Burns's heart: and as he turns to rest, and sees the peaceful +sleeping forms of his wife and little children, tender and calm desires +well up within him. He can conceive no higher happiness than comes of a +serene old age, in the company of those dear ones: and a picture rises +before him of old folk gently descending to a longer rest, side by side +together. + + + John Anderson, my jo, John, + When we were first acquent; + Your locks were like the raven, + Your bonie brow was brent; + But now your brow is beld, John, + Your locks are like the snaw; + But blessings on your frosty pow, + John Anderson, my jo. + + John Anderson, my jo, John, + We clamb the hill thegither; + And mony a cantie day, John, + We've had wi' ane anither: + Now we maun totter down, John, + And hand in hand we'll go, + And sleep thegither at the foot, + John Anderson, my jo. + +[Illustration: Rose Emblem] + + + _Printed by Percy Lund, Humphries & Co., Ltd., + Bradford and London._ + + + + +TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE + + + The words belore and bedtine were changed to before and bedtime in the + phrase: + + before the children's bedtime + + The word divnie was corrected to divine in the line: + + But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Day with the Poet Burns, by +Anonymous and Robert Burns + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A DAY WITH THE POET BURNS *** + +***** This file should be named 35293.txt or 35293.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/2/9/35293/ + +Produced by Delphine Lettau 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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