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diff --git a/35293.txt b/35293.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e455e56 --- /dev/null +++ b/35293.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: 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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