How infinitely is thy
puddle-headed, rattle-headed, wrong-headed, round-headed slave
indebted to thy supereminent goodness, that from the luminous path of
thy own right-lined rectitude, thou lookest benignly down on an erring
wretch, of whom the zig-zag wanderings defy all the powers of
calculation, from the simple copulation of units, up to the hidden
mysteries of fluxions!
puddle-headed, rattle-headed, wrong-headed, round-headed slave
indebted to thy supereminent goodness, that from the luminous path of
thy own right-lined rectitude, thou lookest benignly down on an erring
wretch, of whom the zig-zag wanderings defy all the powers of
calculation, from the simple copulation of units, up to the hidden
mysteries of fluxions!
Robert Burns
And since deviating more or less from the
paths of propriety and rectitude, must be incident to human nature, do
thou, Fortune, put it in my power, always from myself, and of myself,
to bear the consequence of those errors! I do not want to be
independent that I may sin, but I want to be independent in my
sinning.
To return in this rambling letter to the subject I set out with, let
me recommend my friend, Mr. Clarke, to your acquaintance and good
offices; his worth entitles him to the one, and his gratitude will
merit the other. I long much to hear from you.
Adieu!
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXIX.
TO THE EARL OF BUCHAN.
[Lord Buchan printed this letter in his Essay on the Life of Thomson,
in 1792. His lordship invited Burns to leave his corn unreaped, walk
from Ellisland to Dryburgh, and help him to crown Thomson's bust with
bays, on Ednam Hill, on the 22d of September. ]
_Ellisland, August 29th, 1791. _
MY LORD,
Language sinks under the ardour of my feelings when I would thank your
lordship for the honour you have done me in inviting me to make one at
the coronation of the bust of Thomson. In my first enthusiasm in
reading the card you did me the honour to write me, I overlooked
every obstacle, and determined to go; but I fear it will not be in my
power. A week or two's absence, in the very middle of my harvest, is
what I much doubt I dare not venture on. I once already made a
pilgrimage _up_ the whole course of the Tweed, and fondly would I take
the same delightful journey _down_ the windings of that delightful
stream.
Your lordship hints at an ode for the occasion: but who would write
after Collins? I read over his verses to the memory of Thomson, and
despaired. --I got indeed to the length of three or four stanzas, in
the way of address to the shade of the bard, on crowning his bust. I
shall trouble your lordship with the subjoined copy of them, which, I
am afraid, will be but too convincing a proof how unequal I am to the
task. However, it affords me an opportunity of approaching your
lordship, and declaring how sincerely and gratefully I have the honour
to be, &c. ,
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXX.
TO MR. THOMAS SLOAN.
[Thomas Sloan was a west of Scotland man, and seems, though not much
in correspondence, to have been on intimate terms with Burns. ]
_Ellisland, Sept. 1, 1791. _
MY DEAR SLOAN,
Suspense is worse than disappointment, for that reason I hurry to tell
you that I just now learn that Mr. Ballantyne does not choose to
interfere more in the business. I am truly sorry for it, but cannot
help it.
You blame me for not writing you sooner, but you will please to
recollect that you omitted one little necessary piece of
information;--your address.
However, you know equally well, my hurried life, indolent temper, and
strength of attachment. It must be a longer period than the longest
life "in the world's hale and undegenerate days," that will make me
forget so dear a friend as Mr. Sloan. I am prodigal enough at times,
but I will not part with such a treasure as that.
I can easily enter into the _embarras_ of your present situation. You
know my favourite quotation from Young--
---------------"On reason build RESOLVE!
That column of true majesty in man;"
and that other favourite one from Thomson's Alfred--
"What proves the hero truly GREAT,
Is never, never to despair. "
Or shall I quote you an author of your acquaintance?
"---- Whether DOING, SUFFERING, OR FORBEARING,
You may do miracles by--PERSEVERING. "
I have nothing new to tell you. The few friends we have are going on
in the old way. I sold my crop on this day se'ennight, and sold it
very well. A guinea an acre, on an average, above value. But such a
scene of drunkenness was hardly ever seen in this country. After the
roup was over, about thirty people engaged in a battle, every man for
his own hand, and fought it out for three hours. Nor was the scene
much better in the house. No fighting, indeed, but folks lying drunk
on the floor, and decanting, until both my dogs got so drunk by
attending them, that they could not stand. You will easily guess how I
enjoyed the scene; as I was no farther over than you used to see me.
Mrs. B. and family have been in Ayrshire these many weeks.
Farewell; and God bless you, my dear friend!
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXXI.
TO LADY E. CUNNINGHAM.
[The poem enclosed was the Lament for James, Earl of Glencairn: it is
probable that the Earl's sister liked the verses, for they were
printed soon afterwards. ]
MY LADY,
I would, as usual, have availed myself of the privilege your goodness
has allowed me, of sending you anything I compose in my poetical way;
but as I had resolved, so soon as the shock of my irreparable loss
would allow me, to pay a tribute to my late benefactor, I determined
to make that the first piece I should do myself the honour of sending
you. Had the wing of my fancy been equal to the ardour of my heart,
the enclosed had been much more worthy your perusal: as it is, I beg
leave to lay it at your ladyship's feet. As all the world knows my
obligations to the late Earl of Glencairn, I would wish to show as
openly that my heart glows, and will ever glow, with the most grateful
sense and remembrance of his lordship's goodness. The sables I did
myself the honour to wear to his lordship's memory, were not the
"mockery of woe. " Nor shall my gratitude perish with me! --if among my
children I shall have a son that has a heart, he shall hand it down to
his child as a family honour, and a family debt, that my dearest
existence I owe to the noble house of Glencairn!
I was about to say, my lady, that if you think the poem may venture to
see the light, I would, in some way or other, give it to the world.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXXII.
TO MR. AINSLIE.
[It has been said that the poet loved to aggravate his follies to his
friends: but that this tone of aggravation was often ironical, this
letter, as well as others, might be cited. ]
_Ellisland, 1791. _
MY DEAR AINSLIE,
Can you minister to a mind diseased? can you, amid the horrors of
penitence, remorse, head-ache, nausea, and all the rest of the d----d
hounds of hell, that beset a poor wretch, who has been guilty of the
sin of drunkenness--can you speak peace to a troubled soul?
_Miserable perdu_ that I am, I have tried everything that used to
amuse me, but in vain: here must I sit, a monument of the vengeance
laid up in store for the wicked, slowly counting every chick of the
clock as it slowly, slowly, numbers over these lazy scoundrels of
hours, who, d----n them, are ranked up before me, every one at his
neighbour's backside, and every one with a burthen of anguish on his
back, to pour on my devoted head--and there is none to pity me. My
wife scolds me! my business torments me, and my sins come staring me
in the face, every one telling a more bitter tale than his
fellow. --When I tell you even * * * has lost its power to please, you
will guess something of my hell within, and all around me--I begun
_Elibanks and Elibraes_, but the stanzas fell unenjoyed, and
unfinished from my listless tongue: at last I luckily thought of
reading over an old letter of yours, that lay by me in my book-case,
and I felt something for the first time since I opened my eyes, of
pleasurable existence. ---- Well--I begin to breathe a little, since I
began to write to you. How are you, and what are you doing? How goes
Law? Apropos, for connexion's sake, do not address to me supervisor,
for that is an honour I cannot pretend to--I am on the list, as we
call it, for a supervisor, and will be called out by and bye to act as
one; but at present, I am a simple gauger, tho' t'other day I got an
appointment to an excise division of 25_l. per annum_ better than the
rest. My present income, down money, is 70_l. per annum. _
I have one or two good fellows here whom you would be glad to know.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXXIII.
TO COL. FULLARTON.
OF FULLARTON.
[This letter was first published in the Edinburgh Chronicle. ]
_Ellisland, 1791. _
SIR,
I have just this minute got the frank, and next minute must send it to
post, else I purposed to have sent you two or three other bagatelles,
that might have amused a vacant hour about as well as "Six excellent
new songs," or, the Aberdeen 'Prognostication for the year to come. ' I
shall probably trouble you soon with another packet. About the gloomy
month of November, when 'the people of England hang and drown
themselves,' anything generally is better than one's own thought.
Fond as I may be of my own productions, it is not for their sake that
I am so anxious to send you them. I am ambitious, covetously ambitious
of being known to a gentleman whom I am proud to call my countryman; a
gentleman who was a foreign ambassador as soon as he was a man, and a
leader of armies as soon as he was a soldier, and that with an eclat
unknown to the usual minions of a court, men who, with all the
adventitious advantages of princely connexions and princely fortune,
must yet, like the caterpillar, labour a whole lifetime before they
reach the wished height, there to roost a stupid chrysalis, and doze
out the remaining glimmering existence of old age.
If the gentleman who accompanied you when you did me the honour of
calling on me, is with you, I beg to be respectfully remembered to
him.
I have the honour to be,
Sir,
Your highly obliged, and most devoted
Humble servant,
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXXIV.
TO MISS DAVIES.
[This accomplished lady was the youngest daughter of Dr. Davies, of
Tenby, in Pembrokeshire: she was related to the Riddels of Friar's
Carse, and one of her sisters married Captain Adam Gordon, of the
noble family of Kenmure. She had both taste and skill in verse. ]
It is impossible, Madam, that the generous warmth and angelic purity
of your youthful mind, can have any idea of that moral disease under
which I unhappily must rank us the chief of sinners; I mean a
torpitude of the moral powers, that may be called, a lethargy of
conscience. In vain Remorse rears her horrent crest, and rouses all
her snakes; beneath the deadly fixed eye and leaden hand of Indolence,
their wildest ire is charmed into the torpor of the bat, slumbering
out the rigours of winter, in the chink of a ruined wall. Nothing
less, Madam, could have made me so long neglect your obliging
commands. Indeed I had one apology--the bagatelle was not worth
presenting. Besides, so strongly am I interested in Miss Davies's fate
and welfare in the serious business of life, amid its chances and
changes, that to make her the subject of a silly ballad is downright
mockery of these ardent feelings; 'tis like an impertinent jest to a
dying friend.
Gracious Heaven! why this disparity between our wishes and our powers?
Why is the most generous wish to make others blest, impotent and
ineffectual--as the idle breeze that crosses the pathless desert! In
my walks of life I have met with a few people to whom how gladly would
I have said--"Go, be happy! I know that your hearts have been wounded
by the scorn of the proud, whom accident has placed above you--or
worse still, in whose hands are, perhaps, placed many of the comforts
of your life. But there! ascend that rock, Independence, and look
justly down on their littleness of soul. Make the worthless tremble
under your indignation, and the foolish sink before your contempt; and
largely impart that happiness to others, which, I am certain, will
give yourselves so much pleasure to bestow. "
Why, dear Madam, must I wake from this delightful revery, and find it
all a dream? Why, amid my generous enthusiasm, must I, find myself
poor and powerless, incapable of wiping one tear from the eye of pity,
or of adding one comfort to the friend I love! --Out upon the world,
say I, that its affairs are administered so ill! They talk of
reform;--good Heaven! what a reform would I make among the sons and
even the daughters of men! --Down, immediately, should go fools from
the high places, where misbegotten chance has perked them up, and
through life should they skulk, ever haunted by their native
insignificance, as the body marches accompanied by its shadow. --As for
a much more formidable class, the knaves, I am at a loss what to do
with them: had I a world, there should not be a knave in it.
But the hand that could give, I would liberally fill: and I would pour
delight on the heart that could kindly forgive, and generously love.
Still the inequalities of life are, among men, comparatively
tolerable--but there is a delicacy, a tenderness, accompanying every
view in which we can place lovely Woman, that are grated and shocked
at the rude, capricious distinctions of fortune. Woman is the
blood-royal of life: let there be slight degrees of precedency among
them--but let them be ALL sacred. --Whether this last sentiment be
right or wrong, I am not accountable; it is an original component
feature of my mind.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXXV.
TO MRS. DUNLOP.
[Burns, says Cromek, acknowledged that a refined and accomplished
woman was a being all but new to him till he went to Edinburgh, and
received letters from Mrs. Dunlop. ]
_Ellisland, 17th December, 1791. _
Many thanks to you, Madam, for your good news respecting the little
floweret and the mother-plant. I hope my poetic prayers have been
heard, and will be answered up to the warmest sincerity of their
fullest extent; and then Mrs. Henri will find her little darling the
representative of his late parent, in everything but his abridged
existence.
I have just finished the following song, which to a lady the
descendant of Wallace--and many heroes of his true illustrious
line--and herself the mother of several soldiers, needs neither
preface nor apology.
_Scene_--_a field of battle_--_time of the day, evening;
the wounded and dying of the victorious army are supposed to
join in the following_
SONG OF DEATH.
Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies
Now gay with the bright setting sun;
Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties--
Our race of existence is run!
The circumstance that gave rise to the foregoing verses was, looking
over with a musical friend M'Donald's collection of Highland airs, I
was struck with one, an Isle of Skye tune, entitled "Oran and Aoig,
or, The Song of Death," to the measure of which I have adapted my
stanzas. I have of late composed two or three other little pieces,
which, ere yon full-orbed moon, whose broad impudent face now stares
at old mother earth all night, shall have shrunk into a modest
crescent, just peeping forth at dewy dawn, I shall find an hour to
transcribe for you. _A Dieu je vous commende. _
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXXVI.
TO MRS. DUNLOP.
[That the poet spoke mildly concerning the rebuke which he received
from the Excise, on what he calls his political delinquencies, his
letter to Erskine of Mar sufficiently proves. ]
_5th January, 1792. _
You see my hurried life, Madam: I can only command starts of time;
however, I am glad of one thing; since I finished the other sheet, the
political blast that threatened my welfare is overblown. I have
corresponded with Commissioner Graham, for the board had made me the
subject of their animadversions; and now I have the pleasure of
informing you, that all is set to rights in that quarter. Now as to
these informers, may the devil be let loose to ---- but, hold! I was
praying most fervently in my last sheet, and I must not so soon fall a
swearing in this.
Alas! how little do the wantonly or idly officious think what mischief
they do by their malicious insinuations, indirect impertinence, or
thoughtless blabbings. What a difference there is in intrinsic worth,
candour, benevolence, generosity, kindness,--in all the charities and
all the virtues, between one class of human beings and another! For
instance, the amiable circle I so lately mixed with in the hospitable
hall of Dunlop, their generous hearts--their uncontaminated dignified
minds--their informed and polished understandings--what a contrast,
when compared--if such comparing were not downright sacrilege--with
the soul of the miscreant who can deliberately plot the destruction of
an honest man that never offended him, and with a grin of satisfaction
see the unfortunate being, his faithful wife, and prattling innocents,
turned over to beggary and ruin!
Your cup, my dear Madam, arrived safe. I had two worthy fellows dining
with me the other day, when I, with great formality, produced my
whigmeeleerie cup, and told them that it had been a family-piece among
the descendants of William Wallace. This roused such an enthusiasm,
that they insisted on bumpering the punch round in it; and by and by,
never did your great ancestor lay a _Suthron_ more completely to rest,
than for a time did your cup my two friends. Apropos, this is the
season of wishing. My God bless you, my dear friend, and bless me, the
humblest and sincerest of your friends, by granting you yet many
returns of the season! May all good things attend you and yours
wherever they are scattered over the earth!
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXXVII.
TO MR. WILLIAM SMELLIE,
PRINTER.
[When Burns sends his warmest wishes to Smellie, and prays that
fortune may never place his subsistence at the mercy of a knave, or
set his character on the judgment of a fool, he had his political
enemies probably in his mind. ]
_Dumfries, 22d January, 1792. _
I sit down, my dear Sir, to introduce a young lady to you, and a lady
in the first ranks of fashion too. What a task! to you--who care no
more for the herd of animals called young ladies, than you do for the
herd of animals called young gentlemen. To you--who despise and detest
the groupings and combinations of fashion, as an idiot painter that
seems industrious to place staring fools and unprincipled knaves in
the foreground of his picture, while men of sense and honesty are too
often thrown in the dimmest shades. Mrs. Riddel, who will take this
letter to town with her, and send it to you, is a character that, even
in your own way, as a naturalist and a philosopher, would be an
acquisition to your acquaintance. The lady, too, is a votary to the
muses; and as I think myself somewhat of a judge in my own trade, I
assure you that her verses, always correct, and often elegant, are
much beyond the common run of the _lady-poetesses_ of the day. She is
a great admirer of your book; and, hearing me say that I was
acquainted with you, she begged to be known to you, as she is just
going to pay her first visit to our Caledonian capital. I told her
that her best way was, to desire her near relation, and your intimate
friend, Craigdarroch, to have you at his house while she was there;
and lest you might think of a lively West Indian girl, of eighteen, as
girls of eighteen too often deserve to be thought of, I should take
care to remove that prejudice. To be impartial, however, in
appreciating the lady's merits, she has one unlucky failing: a failing
which you will easily discover, as she seems rather pleased with
indulging in it; and a failing that you will easily pardon, as it is a
sin which very much besets yourself;--where she dislikes, or despises,
she is apt to make no more a secret of it, than where she esteems and
respects.
I will not present you with the unmeaning _compliments of the season_,
but I will send you my warmest wishes and most ardent prayers, that
Fortune may never throw your subsistence to the mercy of a Knave, or
set your character on the judgment of a Fool; but that, upright and
erect, you may walk to an honest grave, where men of letters shall
say, here lies a man who did honour to science, and men of worth shall
say, here lies a man who did honour to human nature.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXXVIII.
TO MR. W. NICOL.
[This ironical letter was in answer to one from Nicol, containing
counsel and reproof. ]
_20th February, 1792. _
O thou, wisest among the wise, meridian blaze of prudence, full-moon
of discretion, and chief of many counsellors!
How infinitely is thy
puddle-headed, rattle-headed, wrong-headed, round-headed slave
indebted to thy supereminent goodness, that from the luminous path of
thy own right-lined rectitude, thou lookest benignly down on an erring
wretch, of whom the zig-zag wanderings defy all the powers of
calculation, from the simple copulation of units, up to the hidden
mysteries of fluxions! May one feeble ray of that light of wisdom
which darts from thy sensorium, straight as the arrow of heaven, and
bright as the meteor of inspiration, may it be my portion, so that I
may be less unworthy of the face and favour of that father of proverbs
and master of maxims, that antipode of folly, and magnet among the
sages, the wise and witty Willie Nicol! Amen! Amen! Yea, so be it!
For me! I am a beast, a reptile, and know nothing! From the cave of my
ignorance, amid the fogs of my dulness, and pestilential fumes of my
political heresies, I look up to thee, as doth a toad through the
iron-barred lucerne of a pestiferous dungeon, to the cloudless glory
of a summer sun! Sorely sighing in bitterness of soul, I say, when
shall my name be the quotation of the wise, and my countenance be the
delight of the godly, like the illustrious lord of Laggan's many
hills? As for him, his works are perfect: never did the pen of calumny
blur the fair page of his reputation, nor the bolt of hatred fly at
his dwelling.
Thou mirror of purity, when shall the elfine lamp of my glimmerous
understanding, purged from sensual appetites and gross desires, shine
like the constellation of thy intellectual powers! --As for thee, thy
thoughts are pure, and thy lips are holy. Never did the unhallowed
breath of the powers of darkness, and the pleasures of darkness,
pollute the sacred flame of thy sky-descended and heaven-bound
desires: never did the vapours of impurity stain the unclouded serene
of thy cerulean imagination. O that like thine were the tenor of my
life, like thine the tenor of my conversation! then should no friend
fear for my strength, no enemy rejoice in my weakness! Then should I
lie down and rise up, and none to make me afraid. --May thy pity and
thy prayer be exercised for, O thou lamp of wisdom and mirror of
morality! thy devoted slave.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXXIX.
TO FRANCIS GROSE, ESQ. , F. S. A.
[Captain Grose was introduced to Burns, by his brother Antiquary, of
Friar's Carse: he was collecting materials for his work on the
Antiquities of Scotland. ]
_Dumfries, 1792. _
SIR,
I believe among all our Scots Literati you have not met with Professor
Dugald Stewart, who fills the moral philosophy chair in the University
of Edinburgh. To say that he is a man of the first parts, and what is
more, a man of the first worth, to a gentleman of your general
acquaintance, and who so much enjoys the luxury of unencumbered
freedom and undisturbed privacy, is not perhaps recommendation
enough:--but when I inform you that Mr. Stewart's principal
characteristic is your favourite feature; _that_ sterling independence
of mind, which, though every man's right, so few men have the courage
to claim, and fewer still, the magnanimity to support:--when I tell
you that, unseduced by splendour, and undisgusted by wretchedness, he
appreciates the merits of the various actors in the great drama of
life, merely as they perform their parts--in short, he is a man after
your own heart, and I comply with his earnest request in letting you
know that he wishes above all things to meet with you. His house,
Catrine, is within less than a mile of Sorn Castle, which you proposed
visiting; or if you could transmit him the enclosed, he would with the
greatest pleasure meet you anywhere in the neighbourhood. I write to
Ayrshire to inform Mr. Stewart that I have acquitted myself of my
promise. Should your time and spirits permit your meeting with Mr.
Stewart, 'tis well; if not, I hope you will forgive this liberty, and
I have at least an opportunity of assuring you with what truth and
respect,
I am, Sir,
Your great admirer,
And very humble servant,
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXXX.
TO FRANCIS GROSE, ESQ. , F. S. A.
[This letter, interesting to all who desire to see how a poet works
beauty and regularity out of a vulgar tradition, was first printed by
Sir Egerton Brydges, in the "Censura Literaria. "]
_Dumfries, 1792. _
Among the many witch stories I have heard, relating to Alloway kirk, I
distinctly remember only two or three.
Upon a stormy night, amid whistling squalls of wind, and bitter blasts
of hail; in short, on such a night as the devil would choose to take
the air in; a farmer or farmer's servant was plodding and plashing
homeward with his plough-irons on his shoulder, having been getting
some repairs on them at a neighbouring smithy. His way lay by the kirk
of Alloway, and being rather on the anxious look-out in approaching a
place so well known to be a favourite haunt of the devil and the
devil's friends and emissaries, he was struck aghast by discovering
through the horrors of the storm and stormy night, a light, which on
his nearer approach plainly showed itself to proceed from the haunted
edifice. Whether he had been fortified from above, on his devout
supplication, as is customary with people when they suspect the
immediate presence of Satan; or whether, according to another custom,
he had got courageously drunk at the smithy, I will not pretend to
determine; but so it was that he ventured to go up to, nay, into, the
very kirk. As luck would have it, his temerity came off unpunished.
The members of the infernal junto were all out on some midnight
business or other, and he saw nothing but a kind of kettle or caldron,
depending from the roof, over the fire, simmering some heads of
unchristened children, limbs of executed malefactors, &c. , for the
business of the night. --It was in for a penny in for a pound, with the
honest ploughman: so without ceremony he unhooked the caldron from off
the fire, and pouring out the damnable ingredients, inverted it on his
head, and carried it fairly home, where it remained long in the
family, a living evidence of the truth of the story.
Another story, which I can prove to be equally authentic, was as
follows:
On a market day in the town of Ayr, a farmer from Carrick, and
consequently whose way lay by the very gate of Alloway kirk-yard, in
order to cross the river Doon at the old bridge, which is about two or
three hundred yards farther on than the said gate, had been detained
by his business, till by the time he reached Alloway it was the wizard
hour, between night and morning.
Though he was terrified with a blaze streaming from the kirk, yet it
is a well-known fact that to turn back on these occasions is running
by far the greatest risk of mischief, he prudently advanced on his
road. When he had reached the gate of the kirk-yard, he was surprised
and entertained, through the ribs and arches of an old gothic window,
which still faces the highway, to see a dance of witches merrily
footing it round their old sooty blackguard master, who was keeping
them all alive with the power of his bag-pipe. The farmer stopping his
horse to observe them a little, could plainly descry the faces of many
old women of his acquaintance and neighbourhood. How the gentleman was
dressed tradition does not say; but that the ladies were all in their
smocks: and one of them happening unluckily to have a smock which was
considerably too short to answer all the purpose of that piece of
dress, our farmer was so tickled, that he involuntarily burst out,
with a loud laugh, "Weel luppen, Maggy wi' the short sark! " and
recollecting himself, instantly spurred his horse to the top of his
speed. I need not mention the universally known fact, that no
diabolical power can pursue you beyond the middle of a running stream.
Lucky it was for the poor farmer that the river Doon was so near, for
notwithstanding the speed of his horse, which was a good one, against
he reached the middle of the arch of the bridge, and consequently the
middle of the stream, the pursuing, vengeful hags, were so close at
big heels, that one of them actually sprung to seize him; but it was
too late, nothing was on her side of the stream, but the horse's tail,
which immediately gave way at her infernal grip, as if blasted by a
stroke of lightning; but the farmer was beyond her reach. However, the
unsightly, tailless condition of the vigorous steed was, to the last
hour of the noble creature's life, an awful warning to the Carrick
farmers, not to stay too late in Ayr markets.
The last relation I shall give, though equally true, is not so well
identified as the two former, with regard to the scene; but as the
best authorities give it for Alloway, I shall relate it.
On a summer's evening, about the time that nature puts on her sables
to mourn the expiry of the cheerful day, a shepherd boy, belonging to
a farmer in the immediate neighbourhood of Alloway kirk, had just
folded his charge, and was returning home. As he passed the kirk, in
the adjoining field, he fell in with a crew of men and women, who were
busy pulling stems of the plant Ragwort. He observed that as each
person pulled a Ragwort, he or she got astride of it, and called out,
"Up horsie! " on which the Ragwort flew off, like Pegasus, through the
air with its rider. The foolish boy likewise pulled his Ragwort, and
cried with the rest, "Up horsie! " and, strange to tell, away he flew
with the company. The first stage at which the cavalcade stopt, was a
merchant's wine-cellar in Bordeaux, where, without saying by your
leave, they quaffed away at the best the cellar could afford, until
the morning, foe to the imps and works of darkness, threatened to
throw light on the matter, and frightened them from their carousals.
The poor shepherd lad, being equally a stranger to the scene and the
liquor, heedlessly got himself drunk; and when the rest took horse, he
fell asleep, and was found so next day by some of the people belonging
to the merchant. Somebody that understood Scotch, asking him what he
was, he said such-a-one's herd in Alloway, and by some means or other
getting home again, he lived long to tell the world the wondrous tale.
I am, &c. ,
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXXXI.
TO MR. S. CLARKE,
EDINBURGH.
[This introduction of Clarke, the musician, to the M'Murdo's of
Drumlanrig, brought to two of the ladies the choicest honours of the
muse. ]
_July 1, 1792. _
Mr. Burns begs leave to present his most respectful compliments to Mr.
Clarke. --Mr. B. some time ago did himself the honour of writing to Mr.
C. respecting coming out to the country, to give a little musical
instruction in a highly respectable family, where Mr. C. may have his
own terms, and may be as happy as indolence, the devil, and the gout
will permit him. Mr. B. knows well how Mr. C. is engaged with another
family; but cannot Mr. C. find two or three weeks to spare to each of
them? Mr. B. is deeply impressed with, and awfully conscious of, the
high importance of Mr. C. 's time, whether in the winged moments of
symphonious exhibition, at the keys of harmony, while listening
seraphs cease their own less delightful strains; or in the drowsy
arms of slumb'rous repose, in the arms of his dearly beloved
elbowchair, where the frowsy, but potent power of indolence,
circumfuses her vapours round, and sheds her dews on the head of her
darling son. But half a line conveying half a meaning from Mr. C.
would make Mr. B. the happiest of mortals.
* * * * *
CCXXXII.
TO MRS. DUNLOP.
[To enthusiastic fits of admiration for the young and the beautiful,
such as Burns has expressed in this letter, he loved to give way:--we
owe some of his best songs to these sallies. ]
_Annan Water Foot, 22d August, 1792. _
Do not blame me for it, Madam;--my own conscience, hackneyed and
weather-beaten as it is in watching and reproving my vagaries,
follies, indolence, &c. , has continued to punish me sufficiently.
* * * * *
Do you think it possible, my dear and honoured friend, that I could be
so lost to gratitude for many favours; to esteem for much worth, and
to the honest, kind, pleasurably tie of, now old acquaintance, and I
hope and am sure of progressive, increasing friendship--as for a
single day, not to think of you--to ask the Fates what they are doing
and about to do with my much-loved friend and her wide-scattered
connexions, and to beg of them to be as kind to you and yours as they
possibly can?
Apropos! (though how it is apropos, I have not leisure to explain,) do
you not know that I am almost in love with an acquaintance of
yours? --Almost! said I--I am in love, souse! over head and ears, deep
as the most unfathomable abyss of the boundless ocean; but the word
Love, owing to the _intermingledoms_ of the good and the bad, the pure
and the impure, in this world, being rather an equivocal term for
expressing one's sentiments and sensations, I must do justice to the
sacred purity of my attachment. Know, then, that the heart-struck awe;
the distant humble approach; the delight we should have in gazing upon
and listening to a messenger of heaven, appearing in all the unspotted
purity of his celestial home, among the coarse, polluted, far inferior
sons of men, to deliver to them tidings that make their hearts swim in
joy, and their imaginations soar in transport--such, so delighting and
so pure, were the emotions of my soul on meeting the other day with
Miss Lesley Baillie, your neighbour, at M----. Mr. B. with his two
daughters, accompanied by Mr. H. of G. passing through Dumfries a few
days ago, on their way to England, did me the honour of calling on me;
on which I took my horse (though God knows I could ill spare the
time), and accompanied them fourteen or fifteen miles, and dined and
spent the day with them. 'Twas about nine, I think, when I left them,
and riding home, I composed the following ballad, of which you will
probably think you have a dear bargain, as it will cost you another
groat of postage. You must know that there is an old ballad beginning
with--
"My bonnie Lizzie Baillie
I'll rowe thee in my plaidie, &c. "
So I parodied it as follows, which is literally the first copy,
"unanointed, unanneal'd;" as Hamlet says. --
O saw ye bonny Lesley
As she gaed o'er the border?
She's gane like Alexander,
To spread her conquests farther.
So much for ballads. I regret that you are gone to the east country,
as I am to be in Ayrshire in about a fortnight. This world of ours,
notwithstanding it has many good things in it, yet it has ever had
this curse, that two or three people, who would be the happier the
oftener they met together, are, almost without exception, always so
placed as never to meet but once or twice a-year, which, considering
the few years of a man's life, is a very great "evil under the sun,"
which I do not recollect that Solomon has mentioned in his catalogue
of the miseries of man. I hope and believe that there is a state of
existence beyond the grave, where the worthy of this life will renew
their former intimacies, with this endearing addition, that, "we meet
to part no more! "
. . . . . . . . . . . .
"Tell us, ye dead,
Will none of you in pity disclose the secret,
What 'tis you are, and we must shortly be? "
BLAIR
A thousand times have I made this apostrophe to the departed sons of
men, but not one of them has ever thought fit to answer the question.
"O that some courteous ghost would blab it out! " but it cannot be; you
and I, my friend, must make the experiment by ourselves and for
ourselves. However, I am so convinced that an unshaken faith in the
doctrines of religion is not only necessary, by making us better men,
but also by making us happier men, that I should take every care that
your little godson, and every little creature that shall call me
father, shall be taught them.
So ends this heterogeneous letter, written at this wild place of the
world, in the intervals of my labour of discharging a vessel of rum
from Antigua.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXXXIII.
TO MR. CUNNINGHAM.
[There is both bitterness and humour in this letter: the poet
discourses on many matters, and woman is among them--but he places the
bottle at his elbow as an antidote against the discourtesy of
scandal. ]
_Dumfries, 10th September, 1792. _
No! I will not attempt an apology. --Amid all my hurry of business,
grinding the faces of the publican and the sinner on the merciless
wheels of the Excise; making ballads, and then drinking, and singing
them! and, over and above all, the correcting the press-work of two
different publications; still, still I might have stolen five minutes
to dedicate to one of the first of my friends and fellow-creatures. I
might have done as I do at present, snatched an hour near "witching
time of night," and scrawled a page or two. I might have congratulated
my friend on his marriage; or I might have thanked the Caledonian
archers for the honour they have done me (though, to do myself
justice, I intended to have done both in rhyme, else I had done both
long ere now). Well, then, here's to your good health! for you must
know, I have set a nipperkin of toddy by me, just by way of spell, to
keep away the meikle horned deil, or any of his subaltern imps who may
be on their nightly rounds.
But what shall I write to you? --"The voice said cry," and I said,
"what shall I cry? "--O, thou spirit! whatever thou art, or wherever
thou makest thyself visible! be thou a bogle by the eerie side of an
auld thorn, in the dreary glen through which the herd-callan maun
bicker in his gloamin route frae the faulde! --Be thou a brownie, set,
at dead of night, to thy task by the blazing ingle, or in the solitary
barn, where the repercussions of thy iron flail half affright thyself
as thou performest the work of twenty of the sons of men, ere the
cock-crowing summon thee to thy ample cog of substantial brose--Be
thou a kelpie, haunting the ford or ferry, in the starless night,
mixing thy laughing yell with the howling of the storm and the roaring
of the flood, as thou viewest the perils and miseries of man on the
foundering horse, or in the tumbling boat! --or, lastly, be thou a
ghost, paying thy nocturnal visits to the hoary ruins of decayed
grandeur; or performing thy mystic rites in the shadow of the
time-worn church, while the moon looks, without a cloud, on the silent
ghastly dwellings of the dead around thee! or taking thy stand by the
bedside of the villain, or the murderer, pourtraying on his dreaming
fancy, pictures, dreadful as the horrors of unveiled hell, and
terrible as the wrath of incensed Deity! --Come, thou spirit, but not
in these horrid forms; come with the milder, gentle, easy
inspirations, which thou breathest round the wig of a prating
advocate, or the tete of a tea-sipping gossip, while their tongues run
at the light-horse gallop of clishmaclaver for ever and ever--come
and assist a poor devil who is quite jaded in the attempt to share
half an idea among half a hundred words; to fill up four quarto pages,
while he has not got one single sentence of recollection, information,
or remark worth putting pen to paper for.
I feel, I feel the presence of supernatural assistance! circled in the
embrace of my elbowchair, my breast labours, like the bloated Sybil on
her three-footed stool, and like her, too, labours with
Nonsense. --Nonsense, suspicious name! Tutor, friend, and finger-post
in the mystic mazes of law; the cadaverous paths of physic; and
particularly in the sightless soarings of SCHOOL DIVINITY,
who, leaving Common Sense confounded at his strength of pinion,
Reason, delirious with eyeing his giddy flight; and Truth creeping
back into the bottom of her well, cursing the hour that ever she
offered her scorned alliance to the wizard power of Theologic
Vision--raves abroad on all the winds. "On earth Discord! a gloomy
Heaven above, opening her jealous gates to the nineteenth thousandth
part of the tithe of mankind; and below, an inescapable and inexorable
hell, expanding its leviathan jaws for the vast residue of
mortals! ! ! "--O doctrine! comfortable and healing to the weary,
wounded soul of man! Ye sons and daughters of affliction, ye _pauvres
miserables_, to whom day brings no pleasure, and night yields no rest,
be comforted! "'Tis but _one_ to nineteen hundred thousand that your
situation will mend in this world;" so, alas, the experience of the
poor and the needy too often affirms; and 'tis nineteen hundred
thousand sand to _one_, by the dogmas of * * * * * * * * that you will be
damned eternally in the world to come!
But of all nonsense, religious nonsense is the most nonsensical; so
enough, and more than enough of it. Only, by the by, will you or can
you tell me, my dear Cunningham, why a sectarian turn of mind has
always a tendency to narrow and illiberalize the heart? They are
orderly; they may be just; nay, I have known them merciful: but still
your children of sanctity move among their fellow-creatures with a
nostril-snuffing putrescence, and a foot-spurning filth, in short,
with a conceited dignity that your titled * * * * * * * * or any other
of your Scottish lordlings of seven centuries standing, display when
they accidentally mix among the many-aproned sons of mechanical life. I
remember, in my plough-boy days, I could not conceive it possible that a
noble lord could be a fool, or a godly man could be a knave--How
ignorant are plough-boys! --Nay, I have since discovered that a _godly
woman_ may be a *****! --But hold--Here's t'ye again--this rum is
generous Antigua, so a very unfit menstruum for scandal.
Apropos, how do you like, I mean _really_ like, the married life? Ah, my
friend! matrimony is quite a different thing from what your love-sick
youths and sighing girls take it to be! But marriage, we are told, is
appointed by God, and I shall never quarrel with any of his
institutions. I am a husband of older standing than you, and shall give
you _my_ ideas of the conjugal state, (_en passant_; you know I am no
Latinist, is not _conjugal_ derived from _jugum_, a yoke? ) Well, then,
the scale of good wifeship I divide into ten parts:--good-nature, four;
good sense, two; wit, one; personal charms, viz.
paths of propriety and rectitude, must be incident to human nature, do
thou, Fortune, put it in my power, always from myself, and of myself,
to bear the consequence of those errors! I do not want to be
independent that I may sin, but I want to be independent in my
sinning.
To return in this rambling letter to the subject I set out with, let
me recommend my friend, Mr. Clarke, to your acquaintance and good
offices; his worth entitles him to the one, and his gratitude will
merit the other. I long much to hear from you.
Adieu!
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXIX.
TO THE EARL OF BUCHAN.
[Lord Buchan printed this letter in his Essay on the Life of Thomson,
in 1792. His lordship invited Burns to leave his corn unreaped, walk
from Ellisland to Dryburgh, and help him to crown Thomson's bust with
bays, on Ednam Hill, on the 22d of September. ]
_Ellisland, August 29th, 1791. _
MY LORD,
Language sinks under the ardour of my feelings when I would thank your
lordship for the honour you have done me in inviting me to make one at
the coronation of the bust of Thomson. In my first enthusiasm in
reading the card you did me the honour to write me, I overlooked
every obstacle, and determined to go; but I fear it will not be in my
power. A week or two's absence, in the very middle of my harvest, is
what I much doubt I dare not venture on. I once already made a
pilgrimage _up_ the whole course of the Tweed, and fondly would I take
the same delightful journey _down_ the windings of that delightful
stream.
Your lordship hints at an ode for the occasion: but who would write
after Collins? I read over his verses to the memory of Thomson, and
despaired. --I got indeed to the length of three or four stanzas, in
the way of address to the shade of the bard, on crowning his bust. I
shall trouble your lordship with the subjoined copy of them, which, I
am afraid, will be but too convincing a proof how unequal I am to the
task. However, it affords me an opportunity of approaching your
lordship, and declaring how sincerely and gratefully I have the honour
to be, &c. ,
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXX.
TO MR. THOMAS SLOAN.
[Thomas Sloan was a west of Scotland man, and seems, though not much
in correspondence, to have been on intimate terms with Burns. ]
_Ellisland, Sept. 1, 1791. _
MY DEAR SLOAN,
Suspense is worse than disappointment, for that reason I hurry to tell
you that I just now learn that Mr. Ballantyne does not choose to
interfere more in the business. I am truly sorry for it, but cannot
help it.
You blame me for not writing you sooner, but you will please to
recollect that you omitted one little necessary piece of
information;--your address.
However, you know equally well, my hurried life, indolent temper, and
strength of attachment. It must be a longer period than the longest
life "in the world's hale and undegenerate days," that will make me
forget so dear a friend as Mr. Sloan. I am prodigal enough at times,
but I will not part with such a treasure as that.
I can easily enter into the _embarras_ of your present situation. You
know my favourite quotation from Young--
---------------"On reason build RESOLVE!
That column of true majesty in man;"
and that other favourite one from Thomson's Alfred--
"What proves the hero truly GREAT,
Is never, never to despair. "
Or shall I quote you an author of your acquaintance?
"---- Whether DOING, SUFFERING, OR FORBEARING,
You may do miracles by--PERSEVERING. "
I have nothing new to tell you. The few friends we have are going on
in the old way. I sold my crop on this day se'ennight, and sold it
very well. A guinea an acre, on an average, above value. But such a
scene of drunkenness was hardly ever seen in this country. After the
roup was over, about thirty people engaged in a battle, every man for
his own hand, and fought it out for three hours. Nor was the scene
much better in the house. No fighting, indeed, but folks lying drunk
on the floor, and decanting, until both my dogs got so drunk by
attending them, that they could not stand. You will easily guess how I
enjoyed the scene; as I was no farther over than you used to see me.
Mrs. B. and family have been in Ayrshire these many weeks.
Farewell; and God bless you, my dear friend!
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXXI.
TO LADY E. CUNNINGHAM.
[The poem enclosed was the Lament for James, Earl of Glencairn: it is
probable that the Earl's sister liked the verses, for they were
printed soon afterwards. ]
MY LADY,
I would, as usual, have availed myself of the privilege your goodness
has allowed me, of sending you anything I compose in my poetical way;
but as I had resolved, so soon as the shock of my irreparable loss
would allow me, to pay a tribute to my late benefactor, I determined
to make that the first piece I should do myself the honour of sending
you. Had the wing of my fancy been equal to the ardour of my heart,
the enclosed had been much more worthy your perusal: as it is, I beg
leave to lay it at your ladyship's feet. As all the world knows my
obligations to the late Earl of Glencairn, I would wish to show as
openly that my heart glows, and will ever glow, with the most grateful
sense and remembrance of his lordship's goodness. The sables I did
myself the honour to wear to his lordship's memory, were not the
"mockery of woe. " Nor shall my gratitude perish with me! --if among my
children I shall have a son that has a heart, he shall hand it down to
his child as a family honour, and a family debt, that my dearest
existence I owe to the noble house of Glencairn!
I was about to say, my lady, that if you think the poem may venture to
see the light, I would, in some way or other, give it to the world.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXXII.
TO MR. AINSLIE.
[It has been said that the poet loved to aggravate his follies to his
friends: but that this tone of aggravation was often ironical, this
letter, as well as others, might be cited. ]
_Ellisland, 1791. _
MY DEAR AINSLIE,
Can you minister to a mind diseased? can you, amid the horrors of
penitence, remorse, head-ache, nausea, and all the rest of the d----d
hounds of hell, that beset a poor wretch, who has been guilty of the
sin of drunkenness--can you speak peace to a troubled soul?
_Miserable perdu_ that I am, I have tried everything that used to
amuse me, but in vain: here must I sit, a monument of the vengeance
laid up in store for the wicked, slowly counting every chick of the
clock as it slowly, slowly, numbers over these lazy scoundrels of
hours, who, d----n them, are ranked up before me, every one at his
neighbour's backside, and every one with a burthen of anguish on his
back, to pour on my devoted head--and there is none to pity me. My
wife scolds me! my business torments me, and my sins come staring me
in the face, every one telling a more bitter tale than his
fellow. --When I tell you even * * * has lost its power to please, you
will guess something of my hell within, and all around me--I begun
_Elibanks and Elibraes_, but the stanzas fell unenjoyed, and
unfinished from my listless tongue: at last I luckily thought of
reading over an old letter of yours, that lay by me in my book-case,
and I felt something for the first time since I opened my eyes, of
pleasurable existence. ---- Well--I begin to breathe a little, since I
began to write to you. How are you, and what are you doing? How goes
Law? Apropos, for connexion's sake, do not address to me supervisor,
for that is an honour I cannot pretend to--I am on the list, as we
call it, for a supervisor, and will be called out by and bye to act as
one; but at present, I am a simple gauger, tho' t'other day I got an
appointment to an excise division of 25_l. per annum_ better than the
rest. My present income, down money, is 70_l. per annum. _
I have one or two good fellows here whom you would be glad to know.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXXIII.
TO COL. FULLARTON.
OF FULLARTON.
[This letter was first published in the Edinburgh Chronicle. ]
_Ellisland, 1791. _
SIR,
I have just this minute got the frank, and next minute must send it to
post, else I purposed to have sent you two or three other bagatelles,
that might have amused a vacant hour about as well as "Six excellent
new songs," or, the Aberdeen 'Prognostication for the year to come. ' I
shall probably trouble you soon with another packet. About the gloomy
month of November, when 'the people of England hang and drown
themselves,' anything generally is better than one's own thought.
Fond as I may be of my own productions, it is not for their sake that
I am so anxious to send you them. I am ambitious, covetously ambitious
of being known to a gentleman whom I am proud to call my countryman; a
gentleman who was a foreign ambassador as soon as he was a man, and a
leader of armies as soon as he was a soldier, and that with an eclat
unknown to the usual minions of a court, men who, with all the
adventitious advantages of princely connexions and princely fortune,
must yet, like the caterpillar, labour a whole lifetime before they
reach the wished height, there to roost a stupid chrysalis, and doze
out the remaining glimmering existence of old age.
If the gentleman who accompanied you when you did me the honour of
calling on me, is with you, I beg to be respectfully remembered to
him.
I have the honour to be,
Sir,
Your highly obliged, and most devoted
Humble servant,
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXXIV.
TO MISS DAVIES.
[This accomplished lady was the youngest daughter of Dr. Davies, of
Tenby, in Pembrokeshire: she was related to the Riddels of Friar's
Carse, and one of her sisters married Captain Adam Gordon, of the
noble family of Kenmure. She had both taste and skill in verse. ]
It is impossible, Madam, that the generous warmth and angelic purity
of your youthful mind, can have any idea of that moral disease under
which I unhappily must rank us the chief of sinners; I mean a
torpitude of the moral powers, that may be called, a lethargy of
conscience. In vain Remorse rears her horrent crest, and rouses all
her snakes; beneath the deadly fixed eye and leaden hand of Indolence,
their wildest ire is charmed into the torpor of the bat, slumbering
out the rigours of winter, in the chink of a ruined wall. Nothing
less, Madam, could have made me so long neglect your obliging
commands. Indeed I had one apology--the bagatelle was not worth
presenting. Besides, so strongly am I interested in Miss Davies's fate
and welfare in the serious business of life, amid its chances and
changes, that to make her the subject of a silly ballad is downright
mockery of these ardent feelings; 'tis like an impertinent jest to a
dying friend.
Gracious Heaven! why this disparity between our wishes and our powers?
Why is the most generous wish to make others blest, impotent and
ineffectual--as the idle breeze that crosses the pathless desert! In
my walks of life I have met with a few people to whom how gladly would
I have said--"Go, be happy! I know that your hearts have been wounded
by the scorn of the proud, whom accident has placed above you--or
worse still, in whose hands are, perhaps, placed many of the comforts
of your life. But there! ascend that rock, Independence, and look
justly down on their littleness of soul. Make the worthless tremble
under your indignation, and the foolish sink before your contempt; and
largely impart that happiness to others, which, I am certain, will
give yourselves so much pleasure to bestow. "
Why, dear Madam, must I wake from this delightful revery, and find it
all a dream? Why, amid my generous enthusiasm, must I, find myself
poor and powerless, incapable of wiping one tear from the eye of pity,
or of adding one comfort to the friend I love! --Out upon the world,
say I, that its affairs are administered so ill! They talk of
reform;--good Heaven! what a reform would I make among the sons and
even the daughters of men! --Down, immediately, should go fools from
the high places, where misbegotten chance has perked them up, and
through life should they skulk, ever haunted by their native
insignificance, as the body marches accompanied by its shadow. --As for
a much more formidable class, the knaves, I am at a loss what to do
with them: had I a world, there should not be a knave in it.
But the hand that could give, I would liberally fill: and I would pour
delight on the heart that could kindly forgive, and generously love.
Still the inequalities of life are, among men, comparatively
tolerable--but there is a delicacy, a tenderness, accompanying every
view in which we can place lovely Woman, that are grated and shocked
at the rude, capricious distinctions of fortune. Woman is the
blood-royal of life: let there be slight degrees of precedency among
them--but let them be ALL sacred. --Whether this last sentiment be
right or wrong, I am not accountable; it is an original component
feature of my mind.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXXV.
TO MRS. DUNLOP.
[Burns, says Cromek, acknowledged that a refined and accomplished
woman was a being all but new to him till he went to Edinburgh, and
received letters from Mrs. Dunlop. ]
_Ellisland, 17th December, 1791. _
Many thanks to you, Madam, for your good news respecting the little
floweret and the mother-plant. I hope my poetic prayers have been
heard, and will be answered up to the warmest sincerity of their
fullest extent; and then Mrs. Henri will find her little darling the
representative of his late parent, in everything but his abridged
existence.
I have just finished the following song, which to a lady the
descendant of Wallace--and many heroes of his true illustrious
line--and herself the mother of several soldiers, needs neither
preface nor apology.
_Scene_--_a field of battle_--_time of the day, evening;
the wounded and dying of the victorious army are supposed to
join in the following_
SONG OF DEATH.
Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies
Now gay with the bright setting sun;
Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties--
Our race of existence is run!
The circumstance that gave rise to the foregoing verses was, looking
over with a musical friend M'Donald's collection of Highland airs, I
was struck with one, an Isle of Skye tune, entitled "Oran and Aoig,
or, The Song of Death," to the measure of which I have adapted my
stanzas. I have of late composed two or three other little pieces,
which, ere yon full-orbed moon, whose broad impudent face now stares
at old mother earth all night, shall have shrunk into a modest
crescent, just peeping forth at dewy dawn, I shall find an hour to
transcribe for you. _A Dieu je vous commende. _
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXXVI.
TO MRS. DUNLOP.
[That the poet spoke mildly concerning the rebuke which he received
from the Excise, on what he calls his political delinquencies, his
letter to Erskine of Mar sufficiently proves. ]
_5th January, 1792. _
You see my hurried life, Madam: I can only command starts of time;
however, I am glad of one thing; since I finished the other sheet, the
political blast that threatened my welfare is overblown. I have
corresponded with Commissioner Graham, for the board had made me the
subject of their animadversions; and now I have the pleasure of
informing you, that all is set to rights in that quarter. Now as to
these informers, may the devil be let loose to ---- but, hold! I was
praying most fervently in my last sheet, and I must not so soon fall a
swearing in this.
Alas! how little do the wantonly or idly officious think what mischief
they do by their malicious insinuations, indirect impertinence, or
thoughtless blabbings. What a difference there is in intrinsic worth,
candour, benevolence, generosity, kindness,--in all the charities and
all the virtues, between one class of human beings and another! For
instance, the amiable circle I so lately mixed with in the hospitable
hall of Dunlop, their generous hearts--their uncontaminated dignified
minds--their informed and polished understandings--what a contrast,
when compared--if such comparing were not downright sacrilege--with
the soul of the miscreant who can deliberately plot the destruction of
an honest man that never offended him, and with a grin of satisfaction
see the unfortunate being, his faithful wife, and prattling innocents,
turned over to beggary and ruin!
Your cup, my dear Madam, arrived safe. I had two worthy fellows dining
with me the other day, when I, with great formality, produced my
whigmeeleerie cup, and told them that it had been a family-piece among
the descendants of William Wallace. This roused such an enthusiasm,
that they insisted on bumpering the punch round in it; and by and by,
never did your great ancestor lay a _Suthron_ more completely to rest,
than for a time did your cup my two friends. Apropos, this is the
season of wishing. My God bless you, my dear friend, and bless me, the
humblest and sincerest of your friends, by granting you yet many
returns of the season! May all good things attend you and yours
wherever they are scattered over the earth!
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXXVII.
TO MR. WILLIAM SMELLIE,
PRINTER.
[When Burns sends his warmest wishes to Smellie, and prays that
fortune may never place his subsistence at the mercy of a knave, or
set his character on the judgment of a fool, he had his political
enemies probably in his mind. ]
_Dumfries, 22d January, 1792. _
I sit down, my dear Sir, to introduce a young lady to you, and a lady
in the first ranks of fashion too. What a task! to you--who care no
more for the herd of animals called young ladies, than you do for the
herd of animals called young gentlemen. To you--who despise and detest
the groupings and combinations of fashion, as an idiot painter that
seems industrious to place staring fools and unprincipled knaves in
the foreground of his picture, while men of sense and honesty are too
often thrown in the dimmest shades. Mrs. Riddel, who will take this
letter to town with her, and send it to you, is a character that, even
in your own way, as a naturalist and a philosopher, would be an
acquisition to your acquaintance. The lady, too, is a votary to the
muses; and as I think myself somewhat of a judge in my own trade, I
assure you that her verses, always correct, and often elegant, are
much beyond the common run of the _lady-poetesses_ of the day. She is
a great admirer of your book; and, hearing me say that I was
acquainted with you, she begged to be known to you, as she is just
going to pay her first visit to our Caledonian capital. I told her
that her best way was, to desire her near relation, and your intimate
friend, Craigdarroch, to have you at his house while she was there;
and lest you might think of a lively West Indian girl, of eighteen, as
girls of eighteen too often deserve to be thought of, I should take
care to remove that prejudice. To be impartial, however, in
appreciating the lady's merits, she has one unlucky failing: a failing
which you will easily discover, as she seems rather pleased with
indulging in it; and a failing that you will easily pardon, as it is a
sin which very much besets yourself;--where she dislikes, or despises,
she is apt to make no more a secret of it, than where she esteems and
respects.
I will not present you with the unmeaning _compliments of the season_,
but I will send you my warmest wishes and most ardent prayers, that
Fortune may never throw your subsistence to the mercy of a Knave, or
set your character on the judgment of a Fool; but that, upright and
erect, you may walk to an honest grave, where men of letters shall
say, here lies a man who did honour to science, and men of worth shall
say, here lies a man who did honour to human nature.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXXVIII.
TO MR. W. NICOL.
[This ironical letter was in answer to one from Nicol, containing
counsel and reproof. ]
_20th February, 1792. _
O thou, wisest among the wise, meridian blaze of prudence, full-moon
of discretion, and chief of many counsellors!
How infinitely is thy
puddle-headed, rattle-headed, wrong-headed, round-headed slave
indebted to thy supereminent goodness, that from the luminous path of
thy own right-lined rectitude, thou lookest benignly down on an erring
wretch, of whom the zig-zag wanderings defy all the powers of
calculation, from the simple copulation of units, up to the hidden
mysteries of fluxions! May one feeble ray of that light of wisdom
which darts from thy sensorium, straight as the arrow of heaven, and
bright as the meteor of inspiration, may it be my portion, so that I
may be less unworthy of the face and favour of that father of proverbs
and master of maxims, that antipode of folly, and magnet among the
sages, the wise and witty Willie Nicol! Amen! Amen! Yea, so be it!
For me! I am a beast, a reptile, and know nothing! From the cave of my
ignorance, amid the fogs of my dulness, and pestilential fumes of my
political heresies, I look up to thee, as doth a toad through the
iron-barred lucerne of a pestiferous dungeon, to the cloudless glory
of a summer sun! Sorely sighing in bitterness of soul, I say, when
shall my name be the quotation of the wise, and my countenance be the
delight of the godly, like the illustrious lord of Laggan's many
hills? As for him, his works are perfect: never did the pen of calumny
blur the fair page of his reputation, nor the bolt of hatred fly at
his dwelling.
Thou mirror of purity, when shall the elfine lamp of my glimmerous
understanding, purged from sensual appetites and gross desires, shine
like the constellation of thy intellectual powers! --As for thee, thy
thoughts are pure, and thy lips are holy. Never did the unhallowed
breath of the powers of darkness, and the pleasures of darkness,
pollute the sacred flame of thy sky-descended and heaven-bound
desires: never did the vapours of impurity stain the unclouded serene
of thy cerulean imagination. O that like thine were the tenor of my
life, like thine the tenor of my conversation! then should no friend
fear for my strength, no enemy rejoice in my weakness! Then should I
lie down and rise up, and none to make me afraid. --May thy pity and
thy prayer be exercised for, O thou lamp of wisdom and mirror of
morality! thy devoted slave.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXXIX.
TO FRANCIS GROSE, ESQ. , F. S. A.
[Captain Grose was introduced to Burns, by his brother Antiquary, of
Friar's Carse: he was collecting materials for his work on the
Antiquities of Scotland. ]
_Dumfries, 1792. _
SIR,
I believe among all our Scots Literati you have not met with Professor
Dugald Stewart, who fills the moral philosophy chair in the University
of Edinburgh. To say that he is a man of the first parts, and what is
more, a man of the first worth, to a gentleman of your general
acquaintance, and who so much enjoys the luxury of unencumbered
freedom and undisturbed privacy, is not perhaps recommendation
enough:--but when I inform you that Mr. Stewart's principal
characteristic is your favourite feature; _that_ sterling independence
of mind, which, though every man's right, so few men have the courage
to claim, and fewer still, the magnanimity to support:--when I tell
you that, unseduced by splendour, and undisgusted by wretchedness, he
appreciates the merits of the various actors in the great drama of
life, merely as they perform their parts--in short, he is a man after
your own heart, and I comply with his earnest request in letting you
know that he wishes above all things to meet with you. His house,
Catrine, is within less than a mile of Sorn Castle, which you proposed
visiting; or if you could transmit him the enclosed, he would with the
greatest pleasure meet you anywhere in the neighbourhood. I write to
Ayrshire to inform Mr. Stewart that I have acquitted myself of my
promise. Should your time and spirits permit your meeting with Mr.
Stewart, 'tis well; if not, I hope you will forgive this liberty, and
I have at least an opportunity of assuring you with what truth and
respect,
I am, Sir,
Your great admirer,
And very humble servant,
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXXX.
TO FRANCIS GROSE, ESQ. , F. S. A.
[This letter, interesting to all who desire to see how a poet works
beauty and regularity out of a vulgar tradition, was first printed by
Sir Egerton Brydges, in the "Censura Literaria. "]
_Dumfries, 1792. _
Among the many witch stories I have heard, relating to Alloway kirk, I
distinctly remember only two or three.
Upon a stormy night, amid whistling squalls of wind, and bitter blasts
of hail; in short, on such a night as the devil would choose to take
the air in; a farmer or farmer's servant was plodding and plashing
homeward with his plough-irons on his shoulder, having been getting
some repairs on them at a neighbouring smithy. His way lay by the kirk
of Alloway, and being rather on the anxious look-out in approaching a
place so well known to be a favourite haunt of the devil and the
devil's friends and emissaries, he was struck aghast by discovering
through the horrors of the storm and stormy night, a light, which on
his nearer approach plainly showed itself to proceed from the haunted
edifice. Whether he had been fortified from above, on his devout
supplication, as is customary with people when they suspect the
immediate presence of Satan; or whether, according to another custom,
he had got courageously drunk at the smithy, I will not pretend to
determine; but so it was that he ventured to go up to, nay, into, the
very kirk. As luck would have it, his temerity came off unpunished.
The members of the infernal junto were all out on some midnight
business or other, and he saw nothing but a kind of kettle or caldron,
depending from the roof, over the fire, simmering some heads of
unchristened children, limbs of executed malefactors, &c. , for the
business of the night. --It was in for a penny in for a pound, with the
honest ploughman: so without ceremony he unhooked the caldron from off
the fire, and pouring out the damnable ingredients, inverted it on his
head, and carried it fairly home, where it remained long in the
family, a living evidence of the truth of the story.
Another story, which I can prove to be equally authentic, was as
follows:
On a market day in the town of Ayr, a farmer from Carrick, and
consequently whose way lay by the very gate of Alloway kirk-yard, in
order to cross the river Doon at the old bridge, which is about two or
three hundred yards farther on than the said gate, had been detained
by his business, till by the time he reached Alloway it was the wizard
hour, between night and morning.
Though he was terrified with a blaze streaming from the kirk, yet it
is a well-known fact that to turn back on these occasions is running
by far the greatest risk of mischief, he prudently advanced on his
road. When he had reached the gate of the kirk-yard, he was surprised
and entertained, through the ribs and arches of an old gothic window,
which still faces the highway, to see a dance of witches merrily
footing it round their old sooty blackguard master, who was keeping
them all alive with the power of his bag-pipe. The farmer stopping his
horse to observe them a little, could plainly descry the faces of many
old women of his acquaintance and neighbourhood. How the gentleman was
dressed tradition does not say; but that the ladies were all in their
smocks: and one of them happening unluckily to have a smock which was
considerably too short to answer all the purpose of that piece of
dress, our farmer was so tickled, that he involuntarily burst out,
with a loud laugh, "Weel luppen, Maggy wi' the short sark! " and
recollecting himself, instantly spurred his horse to the top of his
speed. I need not mention the universally known fact, that no
diabolical power can pursue you beyond the middle of a running stream.
Lucky it was for the poor farmer that the river Doon was so near, for
notwithstanding the speed of his horse, which was a good one, against
he reached the middle of the arch of the bridge, and consequently the
middle of the stream, the pursuing, vengeful hags, were so close at
big heels, that one of them actually sprung to seize him; but it was
too late, nothing was on her side of the stream, but the horse's tail,
which immediately gave way at her infernal grip, as if blasted by a
stroke of lightning; but the farmer was beyond her reach. However, the
unsightly, tailless condition of the vigorous steed was, to the last
hour of the noble creature's life, an awful warning to the Carrick
farmers, not to stay too late in Ayr markets.
The last relation I shall give, though equally true, is not so well
identified as the two former, with regard to the scene; but as the
best authorities give it for Alloway, I shall relate it.
On a summer's evening, about the time that nature puts on her sables
to mourn the expiry of the cheerful day, a shepherd boy, belonging to
a farmer in the immediate neighbourhood of Alloway kirk, had just
folded his charge, and was returning home. As he passed the kirk, in
the adjoining field, he fell in with a crew of men and women, who were
busy pulling stems of the plant Ragwort. He observed that as each
person pulled a Ragwort, he or she got astride of it, and called out,
"Up horsie! " on which the Ragwort flew off, like Pegasus, through the
air with its rider. The foolish boy likewise pulled his Ragwort, and
cried with the rest, "Up horsie! " and, strange to tell, away he flew
with the company. The first stage at which the cavalcade stopt, was a
merchant's wine-cellar in Bordeaux, where, without saying by your
leave, they quaffed away at the best the cellar could afford, until
the morning, foe to the imps and works of darkness, threatened to
throw light on the matter, and frightened them from their carousals.
The poor shepherd lad, being equally a stranger to the scene and the
liquor, heedlessly got himself drunk; and when the rest took horse, he
fell asleep, and was found so next day by some of the people belonging
to the merchant. Somebody that understood Scotch, asking him what he
was, he said such-a-one's herd in Alloway, and by some means or other
getting home again, he lived long to tell the world the wondrous tale.
I am, &c. ,
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXXXI.
TO MR. S. CLARKE,
EDINBURGH.
[This introduction of Clarke, the musician, to the M'Murdo's of
Drumlanrig, brought to two of the ladies the choicest honours of the
muse. ]
_July 1, 1792. _
Mr. Burns begs leave to present his most respectful compliments to Mr.
Clarke. --Mr. B. some time ago did himself the honour of writing to Mr.
C. respecting coming out to the country, to give a little musical
instruction in a highly respectable family, where Mr. C. may have his
own terms, and may be as happy as indolence, the devil, and the gout
will permit him. Mr. B. knows well how Mr. C. is engaged with another
family; but cannot Mr. C. find two or three weeks to spare to each of
them? Mr. B. is deeply impressed with, and awfully conscious of, the
high importance of Mr. C. 's time, whether in the winged moments of
symphonious exhibition, at the keys of harmony, while listening
seraphs cease their own less delightful strains; or in the drowsy
arms of slumb'rous repose, in the arms of his dearly beloved
elbowchair, where the frowsy, but potent power of indolence,
circumfuses her vapours round, and sheds her dews on the head of her
darling son. But half a line conveying half a meaning from Mr. C.
would make Mr. B. the happiest of mortals.
* * * * *
CCXXXII.
TO MRS. DUNLOP.
[To enthusiastic fits of admiration for the young and the beautiful,
such as Burns has expressed in this letter, he loved to give way:--we
owe some of his best songs to these sallies. ]
_Annan Water Foot, 22d August, 1792. _
Do not blame me for it, Madam;--my own conscience, hackneyed and
weather-beaten as it is in watching and reproving my vagaries,
follies, indolence, &c. , has continued to punish me sufficiently.
* * * * *
Do you think it possible, my dear and honoured friend, that I could be
so lost to gratitude for many favours; to esteem for much worth, and
to the honest, kind, pleasurably tie of, now old acquaintance, and I
hope and am sure of progressive, increasing friendship--as for a
single day, not to think of you--to ask the Fates what they are doing
and about to do with my much-loved friend and her wide-scattered
connexions, and to beg of them to be as kind to you and yours as they
possibly can?
Apropos! (though how it is apropos, I have not leisure to explain,) do
you not know that I am almost in love with an acquaintance of
yours? --Almost! said I--I am in love, souse! over head and ears, deep
as the most unfathomable abyss of the boundless ocean; but the word
Love, owing to the _intermingledoms_ of the good and the bad, the pure
and the impure, in this world, being rather an equivocal term for
expressing one's sentiments and sensations, I must do justice to the
sacred purity of my attachment. Know, then, that the heart-struck awe;
the distant humble approach; the delight we should have in gazing upon
and listening to a messenger of heaven, appearing in all the unspotted
purity of his celestial home, among the coarse, polluted, far inferior
sons of men, to deliver to them tidings that make their hearts swim in
joy, and their imaginations soar in transport--such, so delighting and
so pure, were the emotions of my soul on meeting the other day with
Miss Lesley Baillie, your neighbour, at M----. Mr. B. with his two
daughters, accompanied by Mr. H. of G. passing through Dumfries a few
days ago, on their way to England, did me the honour of calling on me;
on which I took my horse (though God knows I could ill spare the
time), and accompanied them fourteen or fifteen miles, and dined and
spent the day with them. 'Twas about nine, I think, when I left them,
and riding home, I composed the following ballad, of which you will
probably think you have a dear bargain, as it will cost you another
groat of postage. You must know that there is an old ballad beginning
with--
"My bonnie Lizzie Baillie
I'll rowe thee in my plaidie, &c. "
So I parodied it as follows, which is literally the first copy,
"unanointed, unanneal'd;" as Hamlet says. --
O saw ye bonny Lesley
As she gaed o'er the border?
She's gane like Alexander,
To spread her conquests farther.
So much for ballads. I regret that you are gone to the east country,
as I am to be in Ayrshire in about a fortnight. This world of ours,
notwithstanding it has many good things in it, yet it has ever had
this curse, that two or three people, who would be the happier the
oftener they met together, are, almost without exception, always so
placed as never to meet but once or twice a-year, which, considering
the few years of a man's life, is a very great "evil under the sun,"
which I do not recollect that Solomon has mentioned in his catalogue
of the miseries of man. I hope and believe that there is a state of
existence beyond the grave, where the worthy of this life will renew
their former intimacies, with this endearing addition, that, "we meet
to part no more! "
. . . . . . . . . . . .
"Tell us, ye dead,
Will none of you in pity disclose the secret,
What 'tis you are, and we must shortly be? "
BLAIR
A thousand times have I made this apostrophe to the departed sons of
men, but not one of them has ever thought fit to answer the question.
"O that some courteous ghost would blab it out! " but it cannot be; you
and I, my friend, must make the experiment by ourselves and for
ourselves. However, I am so convinced that an unshaken faith in the
doctrines of religion is not only necessary, by making us better men,
but also by making us happier men, that I should take every care that
your little godson, and every little creature that shall call me
father, shall be taught them.
So ends this heterogeneous letter, written at this wild place of the
world, in the intervals of my labour of discharging a vessel of rum
from Antigua.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXXXIII.
TO MR. CUNNINGHAM.
[There is both bitterness and humour in this letter: the poet
discourses on many matters, and woman is among them--but he places the
bottle at his elbow as an antidote against the discourtesy of
scandal. ]
_Dumfries, 10th September, 1792. _
No! I will not attempt an apology. --Amid all my hurry of business,
grinding the faces of the publican and the sinner on the merciless
wheels of the Excise; making ballads, and then drinking, and singing
them! and, over and above all, the correcting the press-work of two
different publications; still, still I might have stolen five minutes
to dedicate to one of the first of my friends and fellow-creatures. I
might have done as I do at present, snatched an hour near "witching
time of night," and scrawled a page or two. I might have congratulated
my friend on his marriage; or I might have thanked the Caledonian
archers for the honour they have done me (though, to do myself
justice, I intended to have done both in rhyme, else I had done both
long ere now). Well, then, here's to your good health! for you must
know, I have set a nipperkin of toddy by me, just by way of spell, to
keep away the meikle horned deil, or any of his subaltern imps who may
be on their nightly rounds.
But what shall I write to you? --"The voice said cry," and I said,
"what shall I cry? "--O, thou spirit! whatever thou art, or wherever
thou makest thyself visible! be thou a bogle by the eerie side of an
auld thorn, in the dreary glen through which the herd-callan maun
bicker in his gloamin route frae the faulde! --Be thou a brownie, set,
at dead of night, to thy task by the blazing ingle, or in the solitary
barn, where the repercussions of thy iron flail half affright thyself
as thou performest the work of twenty of the sons of men, ere the
cock-crowing summon thee to thy ample cog of substantial brose--Be
thou a kelpie, haunting the ford or ferry, in the starless night,
mixing thy laughing yell with the howling of the storm and the roaring
of the flood, as thou viewest the perils and miseries of man on the
foundering horse, or in the tumbling boat! --or, lastly, be thou a
ghost, paying thy nocturnal visits to the hoary ruins of decayed
grandeur; or performing thy mystic rites in the shadow of the
time-worn church, while the moon looks, without a cloud, on the silent
ghastly dwellings of the dead around thee! or taking thy stand by the
bedside of the villain, or the murderer, pourtraying on his dreaming
fancy, pictures, dreadful as the horrors of unveiled hell, and
terrible as the wrath of incensed Deity! --Come, thou spirit, but not
in these horrid forms; come with the milder, gentle, easy
inspirations, which thou breathest round the wig of a prating
advocate, or the tete of a tea-sipping gossip, while their tongues run
at the light-horse gallop of clishmaclaver for ever and ever--come
and assist a poor devil who is quite jaded in the attempt to share
half an idea among half a hundred words; to fill up four quarto pages,
while he has not got one single sentence of recollection, information,
or remark worth putting pen to paper for.
I feel, I feel the presence of supernatural assistance! circled in the
embrace of my elbowchair, my breast labours, like the bloated Sybil on
her three-footed stool, and like her, too, labours with
Nonsense. --Nonsense, suspicious name! Tutor, friend, and finger-post
in the mystic mazes of law; the cadaverous paths of physic; and
particularly in the sightless soarings of SCHOOL DIVINITY,
who, leaving Common Sense confounded at his strength of pinion,
Reason, delirious with eyeing his giddy flight; and Truth creeping
back into the bottom of her well, cursing the hour that ever she
offered her scorned alliance to the wizard power of Theologic
Vision--raves abroad on all the winds. "On earth Discord! a gloomy
Heaven above, opening her jealous gates to the nineteenth thousandth
part of the tithe of mankind; and below, an inescapable and inexorable
hell, expanding its leviathan jaws for the vast residue of
mortals! ! ! "--O doctrine! comfortable and healing to the weary,
wounded soul of man! Ye sons and daughters of affliction, ye _pauvres
miserables_, to whom day brings no pleasure, and night yields no rest,
be comforted! "'Tis but _one_ to nineteen hundred thousand that your
situation will mend in this world;" so, alas, the experience of the
poor and the needy too often affirms; and 'tis nineteen hundred
thousand sand to _one_, by the dogmas of * * * * * * * * that you will be
damned eternally in the world to come!
But of all nonsense, religious nonsense is the most nonsensical; so
enough, and more than enough of it. Only, by the by, will you or can
you tell me, my dear Cunningham, why a sectarian turn of mind has
always a tendency to narrow and illiberalize the heart? They are
orderly; they may be just; nay, I have known them merciful: but still
your children of sanctity move among their fellow-creatures with a
nostril-snuffing putrescence, and a foot-spurning filth, in short,
with a conceited dignity that your titled * * * * * * * * or any other
of your Scottish lordlings of seven centuries standing, display when
they accidentally mix among the many-aproned sons of mechanical life. I
remember, in my plough-boy days, I could not conceive it possible that a
noble lord could be a fool, or a godly man could be a knave--How
ignorant are plough-boys! --Nay, I have since discovered that a _godly
woman_ may be a *****! --But hold--Here's t'ye again--this rum is
generous Antigua, so a very unfit menstruum for scandal.
Apropos, how do you like, I mean _really_ like, the married life? Ah, my
friend! matrimony is quite a different thing from what your love-sick
youths and sighing girls take it to be! But marriage, we are told, is
appointed by God, and I shall never quarrel with any of his
institutions. I am a husband of older standing than you, and shall give
you _my_ ideas of the conjugal state, (_en passant_; you know I am no
Latinist, is not _conjugal_ derived from _jugum_, a yoke? ) Well, then,
the scale of good wifeship I divide into ten parts:--good-nature, four;
good sense, two; wit, one; personal charms, viz.
