Indies, I took the following farewell of a dear girl. It is quite
trifling, and has nothing of the merits of "Ewe-bughts;" but it will
fill up this page. You must know that all my earlier love-songs were
the breathings of ardent passion, and though it might have been easy
in aftertimes to have given them a polish, yet that polish, to me,
whose they were, and who perhaps alone cared for them, would have
defaced the legend of my heart, which was so faithfully inscribed on
them. Their uncouth simplicity was, as they say of wines, their race.
Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary? &c.[202]
"Gala Water" and "Auld Rob Morris" I think, will most probably be the
next subject of my musings. However, even on my verses, speak out your
criticisms with equal frankness. My wish is not to stand aloof, the
uncomplying bigot of _opiniatrete_, but cordially to join issue with
you in the furtherance of the work.
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 200: Song CLXXVII]
[Footnote 201: It is something worse in the Edinburgh edition--"Behind
yon hills where Stinchar flows."--Poems, p 322.]
[Footnote 202: Song CLXXIX.]
* * * * *
CCXXXVIII.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[The poet loved to describe the influence which the charms of Miss
Lesley Baillie exercised over his imagination.]
_November 8th, 1792._
If you mean, my dear Sir, that all the songs in your collection shall
be poetry of the first merit, I am afraid you will find more
difficulty in the undertaking than you are aware of. There is a
peculiar rhythmus in many of our airs, and a necessity of adapting
syllables to the emphasis, or what I would call the feature-notes of
the tune, that cramp the poet, and lay him under almost insuperable
difficulties. For instance, in the air, "My wife's a wanton wee
thing," if a few lines smooth and pretty can be adapted to it, it is
all you can expect. The following were made extempore to it; and
though on further study I might give you something more profound, yet
it might not suit the light-horse gallop of the air so well as this
random clink:--
My wife's a winsome wee thing, &c.[203]
I have just been looking over the "Collier's bonny dochter;" and if
the following rhapsody, which I composed the other day, on a charming
Ayrshire girl, Miss Lesley Baillie, as she passed through this place
to England, will suit your taste better than the "Collier Lassie,"
fall on and welcome:--
O, saw ye bonny Lesley? &c.[204]
I have hitherto deferred the sublimer, more pathetic airs, until more
leisure, as they will take, and deserve, a greater effort. However,
they are all put into your hands, as clay into the hands of the
potter, to make one vessel to honour, and another to dishonour.
Farewell, &c.
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 203: Song CLXXX.]
[Footnote 204: Song CLXXXI.]
* * * * *
CCXXXIX.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[The story of Mary Campbell's love is related in the notes on the
songs which the poet wrote in her honour. Thomson says, in his answer,
"I have heard the sad story of your Mary; you always seem inspired
when you write of her."]
_14th November, 1792._
MY DEAR SIR,
I agree with you that the song, "Katherine Ogie," is very poor stuff,
and unworthy, altogether unworthy of so beautiful an air. I tried to
mend it; but the awkward sound, Ogie, recurring so often in the rhyme,
spoils every attempt at introducing sentiment into the piece. The
foregoing song[205] pleases myself; I think it as in my happiest manner:
you will see at first glance that it suits the air. The subject of the
song is one of the most interesting passages of my youthful days, and I
own that I should be much flattered to see the verses set to an air
which would ensure celebrity. Perhaps, after all, 'tis the still glowing
prejudice of my heart that throws a borrowed lustre over the merits of
the composition.
I have partly taken your idea of "Auld Rob Morris." I have adopted the
two first verses, and am going on with the song on a new plan, which
promises pretty well. I take up one or another, just as the bee of the
moment buzzes in my bonnet-lug; and do you, _sans ceremonie_, make
what use you choose of the productions.
Adieu, &c.
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 205:
Ye banks and braes and streams around
The castle o' Montgomery.
Song CLXXXII]
* * * * *
CCXL.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[The poet approved of several emendations proposed by Thomson, whose
wish was to make the words flow more readily with the music: he
refused, however, to adopt others, where he thought too much of the
sense was sacrificed.]
_Dumfries, 1st December, 1792._
Your alterations of my "Nannie, O!" are perfectly right. So are those
of "My wife's a winsome wee thing." Your alteration of the second
stanza is a positive improvement. Now, my dear Sir, with the freedom
which characterizes our correspondence, I must not, cannot alter
"Bonnie Lesley." You are right; the word "Alexander" makes the line a
little uncouth, but I think the thought is pretty. Of Alexander,
beyond all other heroes, it may be said, in the sublime language of
Scripture, that "he went forth conquering and to conquer."
For nature made her what she is,
And never made anither. (Such a person as she is.)
This is, in my opinion, more poetical than "Ne'er made sic anither."
However, it is immaterial: make it either way. "Caledonie," I agree
with you, is not so good a word as could be wished, though it is
sanctioned in three or four instances by Allan Ramsay; but I cannot
help it. In short, that species of stanza is the most difficult that I
have ever tried.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXLI.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[Duncan Gray, which this letter contained, became a favourite as soon
as it was published, and the same may be said of Auld Rob Morris.]
_4th December, 1792._
The foregoing ["Auld Rob Morris," and "Duncan Gray,"[206]] I submit, my
dear Sir, to your better judgment. Acquit them or condemn them, as
seemeth good in your sight. "Duncan Gray" is that kind of light-horse
gallop of an air, which precludes sentiment. The ludicrous is its
ruling feature.
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 206: Songs CLXXXIII. and CLXXXIV.]
* * * * *
CCXLII.
TO MRS. DUNLOP.
[Burns often discourses with Mrs. Dunlop on poetry and poets: the
dramas of Thomson, to which he alludes, are stiff, cold compositions.]
_Dumfries, 6th December, 1792._
I shall be in Ayrshire, I think, next week; and, if at all possible, I
shall certainly, my much-esteemed friend, have the pleasure of
visiting at Dunlop-house.
Alas, Madam! how seldom do we meet in this world, that we have reason
to congratulate ourselves on accessions of happiness! I have not
passed half the ordinary term of an old man's life, and yet I scarcely
look over the obituary of a newspaper, that I do not see some names
that I have known, and which I, and other acquaintances, little
thought to meet with there so soon. Every other instance of the
mortality of our kind, makes us cast an anxious look into the dreadful
abyss of uncertainty, and shudder with apprehension for our own fate.
But of how different an importance are the lives of different
individuals? Nay, of what importance is one period of the same life,
more than another? A few years ago, I could have laid down in the
dust, "careless of the voice of the morning;" and now not a few, and
these most helpless individuals, would, on losing me and my exertions,
lose both their "staff and shield." By the way, these helpless ones
have lately got an addition; Mrs. B---- having given me a fine girl
since I wrote you. There is a charming passage in Thomson's "Edward
and Eleonora:"
"The valiant _in himself_, what can he suffer?
Or what need he regard his _single_ woes?" &c.
As I am got in the way of quotations, I shall give you another from
the same piece, peculiarly, alas! too peculiarly apposite, my dear
Madam, to your present frame of mind:
"Who so unworthy but may proudly deck him
With his fair-weather virtue, that exults
Glad o'er the summer main! the tempest comes,
The rough winds rage aloud; when from the helm,
This virtue shrinks, and in a corner lies
Lamenting--Heavens! if privileged from trial,
How cheap a thing were virtue?"
I do not remember to have heard you mention Thomson's dramas. I pick
up favourite quotations, and store them in my mind as ready armour,
offensive or defensive, amid the struggle of this turbulent existence.
Of these is one, a very favourite one, from his "Alfred:"
"Attach thee firmly to the virtuous deeds
And offices of life; to life itself,
With all its vain and transient joys, sit loose."
Probably I have quoted some of these to you formerly, as indeed when I
write from the heart, I am apt to be guilty of such repetitions. The
compass of the heart, in the musical style of expression, is much more
bounded than that of the imagination; so the notes of the former are
extremely apt to run into one another; but in return for the paucity
of its compass, its few notes are much more sweet. I must still give
you another quotation, which I am almost sure I have given you before,
but I cannot resist the temptation. The subject is religion--speaking
of its importance to mankind, the author says,
"'Tis this, my friend, that streaks our morning bright."
I see you are in for double postage, so I shall e'en scribble out
t'other sheet. We, in this country here, have many alarms of the
reforming, or rather the republican spirit, of your part of the
kingdom. Indeed we are a good deal in commotion ourselves. For me, I
am a placeman, you know; a very humble one indeed, Heaven knows, but
still so much as to gag me. What my private sentiments are, you will
find out without an interpreter.
* * * * *
I have taken up the subject, and the other day, for a pretty actress's
benefit night, I wrote an address, which I will give on the other
page, called "The rights of woman:"
"While Europe's eye is fixed on mighty things."
I shall have the honour of receiving your criticisms in person at
Dunlop.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXLIII.
TO R. GRAHAM, ESQ.,
FINTRAY.
[Graham stood by the bard in the hour of peril recorded in this
letter: and the Board of Excise had the generosity to permit him to
eat its "bitter bread" for the remainder of his life.]
_December, 1792._
SIR,
I have been surprised, confounded, and distracted by Mr. Mitchell, the
collector, telling me that he has received an order from your Board to
inquire into my political conduct, and blaming me as a person
disaffected to government.
Sir, you are a husband--and a father.--You know what you would feel,
to see the much-loved wife of your bosom, and your helpless, prattling
little ones, turned adrift into the world, degraded and disgraced from
a situation in which they had been respectable and respected, and left
almost without the necessary support of a miserable existence. Alas,
Sir! must I think that such, soon, will be my lot! and from the
d--mned, dark insinuations of hellish, groundless envy too! I believe,
Sir, I may aver it, and in the sight of Omniscience, that I would not
tell a deliberate falsehood, no, not though even worse horrors, if
worse can be, than those I have mentioned, hung over my head; and I
say, that the allegation, whatever villain has made it, is a lie! To
the British constitution on Revolution principles, next after my God,
I am most devoutly attached; you, Sir, have been much and generously
my friend.--Heaven knows how warmly I have felt the obligation, and
how gratefully I have thanked you.--Fortune, Sir, has made you
powerful, and me impotent; has given you patronage, and me
dependence.--I would not for my single self, call on your humanity;
were such my insular, unconnected situation, I would despise the tear
that now swells in my eye--I could brave misfortune, I could face
ruin; for at the worst, "Death's thousand doors stand open;" but, good
God! the tender concerns that I have mentioned, the claims and ties
that I see at this moment, and feel around me, how they unnerve
courage, and wither resolution! To your patronage, as a man of some
genius, you have allowed me a claim; and your esteem, as an honest
man, I know is my due: to these, Sir, permit me to appeal; by these
may I adjure you to save me from that misery which threatens to
overwhelm me, and which, with my latest breath I will say it, I have
not deserved.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXLIV.
TO MRS. DUNLOP.
[Burns was ordered, he says, to mind his duties in the Excise, and to
hold his tongue about politics--the latter part of the injunction was
hard to obey, for at that time politics were in every mouth.]
_Dumfries, 31st December, 1792._
DEAR MADAM,
A hurry of business, thrown in heaps by my absence, has until now
prevented my returning my grateful acknowledgments to the good family
of Dunlop, and you in particular, for that hospitable kindness which
rendered the four days I spent under that genial roof, four of the
pleasantest I ever enjoyed.--Alas, my dearest friend! how few and
fleeting are those things we call pleasures! on my road to Ayrshire, I
spent a night with a friend whom I much valued; a man whose days
promised to be many; and on Saturday last we laid him in the dust!
_Jan. 2, 1793._
I have just received yours of the 30th, and feel much for your
situation. However, I heartily rejoice in your prospect of recovery
from that vile jaundice. As to myself, I am better, though not quite
free of my complaint.--You must not think, as you seem to insinuate,
that in my way of life I want exercise. Of that I have enough; but
occasional hard drinking is the devil to me. Against this I have again
and again bent my resolution, and have greatly succeeded. Taverns I
have totally abandoned: it is the private parties in the family way,
among the hard-drinking gentlemen of this country, that do me the
mischief--but even this I have more than half given over.
Mr. Corbet can be of little service to me at present; at least I
should be shy of applying. I cannot possibly be settled as a
supervisor, for several years. I must wait the rotation of the list,
and there are twenty names before mine. I might indeed get a job of
officiating, where a settled supervisor was ill, or aged; but that
hauls me from my family, as I could not remove them on such an
uncertainty. Besides, some envious, malicious devil, has raised a
little demur on my political principles, and I wish to let that matter
settle before I offer myself too much in the eye of my supervisors. I
have set, henceforth, a seal on my lips, as to these unlucky politics;
but to you I must breathe my sentiments. In this, as in everything
else, I shall show the undisguised emotions of my soul. War I
deprecate: misery and ruin to thousands are in the blast that
announces the destructive demon.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXLV.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[The songs to which the poet alludes were "Poortith Cauld," and "Galla
Water."]
_Jan. 1793._
Many returns of the season to you, my dear Sir. How comes on your
publication?--will these two foregoing [Songs CLXXXV. and
CLXXXVI.] be of any service to you? I should like to know
what songs you print to each tune, besides the verses to which it is
set. In short, I would wish to give you my opinion on all the poetry
you publish. You know it is my trade, and a man in the way of his
trade may suggest useful hints that escape men of much superior parts
and endowments in other things.
If you meet with my dear and much-valued Cunningham, greet him, in my
name, with the compliments of the season.
Yours, &c.,
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXLVI.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[Thomson explained more fully than at first the plan of his
publication, and stated that Dr. Beattie had promised an essay on
Scottish music, by way of an introduction to the work.]
_26th January, 1793._
I approve greatly, my dear Sir, of your plans. Dr. Beattie's essay
will, of itself, be a treasure. On my part I mean to draw up an
appendix to the Doctor's essay, containing my stock of anecdotes, &c.,
of our Scots songs. All the late Mr. Tytler's anecdotes I have by me,
taken down in the course of my acquaintance with him, from his own
mouth. I am such an enthusiast, that in the course of my several
peregrinations through Scotland, I made a pilgrimage to the individual
spot from which every song took its rise, "Lochaber" and the "Braes of
Ballenden" excepted. So far as the locality, either from the title of
the air, or the tenor of the song, could be ascertained, I have paid
my devotions at the particular shrine of every Scots muse.
I do not doubt but you might make a very valuable collection of
Jacobite songs; but would it give no offence? In the meantime, do not
you think that some of them, particularly "The sow's tail to Geordie,"
as an air, with other words, might be well worth a place in your
collection of lively songs?
If it were possible to procure songs of merit, it would be proper to
have one set of Scots words to every air, and that the set of words to
which the notes ought to be set. There is a _naviete_, a pastoral
simplicity, in a slight intermixture of Scots words and phraseology,
which is more in unison (at least to my taste, and, I will add, to
every genuine Caledonian taste) with the simple pathos, or rustic
sprightliness of our native music, than any English verses whatever.
The very name of Peter Pindar is an acquisition to your work. His
"Gregory" is beautiful. I have tried to give you a set of stanzas in
Scots, on the same subject, which are at your service. Not that I
intend to enter the lists with Peter--that would be presumption
indeed. My song, though much inferior in poetic merit, has, I think,
more of the ballad simplicity in it.
[Here follows "Lord Gregory." Song CLXXXVII.]
My most respectful compliments to the honourable gentleman who
favoured me with a postscript in your last. He shall hear from me and
receive his MSS. soon.
Yours,
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXLVII.
TO MR. CUNNINGHAM.
[The seal, with the coat-of-arms which the poet invented, is still in
the family, and regarded as a relique.]
_3d March, 1793._
Since I wrote to you the last lugubrious sheet, I have not had time to
write you further. When I say that I had not time, that as usual
means, that the three demons, indolence, business, and ennui, have so
completely shared my hours among them, as not to leave me a five
minutes' fragment to take up a pen in.
Thank heaven, I feel my spirits buoying upwards with the renovating
year. Now I shall in good earnest take up Thomson's songs. I dare say
he thinks I have used him unkindly, and I must own with too much
appearance of truth. Apropos, do you know the much admired old
Highland air called "The Sutor's Dochter?" It is a first-rate
favourite of mine, and I have written what I reckon one of my best
songs to it. I will send it to you as it was sung with great applause
in some fashionable circles by Major Roberston, of Lude, who was here
with his corps.
* * * * *
There is one commission that I must trouble you with. I lately lost a
valuable seal, a present from a departed friend which vexes me much.
I have gotten one of your Highland pebbles, which I fancy would make a
very decent one; and I want to cut my armorial bearing on it; will you
be so obliging as inquire what will be the expense of such a business?
I do not know that my name is matriculated, as the heralds call it, at
all; but I have invented arms for myself, so you know I shall be chief
of the name; and, by courtesy of Scotland, will likewise be entitled
to supporters. These, however, I do not intend having on my seal. I am
a bit of a herald, and shall give you, _secundum artem_, my arms. On a
field, azure, a holly-bush, seeded, proper, in base; a shepherd's pipe
and crook, saltier-wise, also proper in chief. On a wreath of the
colours, a wood lark perching on a sprig of bay-tree, proper, for
crest. Two mottos; round the top of the crest, _Wood-notes wild_: at
the bottom of the shield, in the usual place, _Better a wee bush than
nae bield._ By the shepherd's pipe and crook I do not mean the
nonsense of painters of Arcadia, but a _stock and horn_, and a _club_,
such as you see at the head of Allan Ramsay, in Allan's quarto edition
of the _Gentle Shepherd._ By the bye, do you know Allan? He must be a
man of very great genius--Why is he not more known?--Has he no
patrons? or do "Poverty's cold wind and crushing rain beat keen and
heavy" on him! I once, and but once, got a glance of that noble
edition of the noblest pastoral in the world; and dear as it was, I
mean dear as to my pocket, I would have bought it; but I was told
that it was printed and engraved for subscribers only. He is the
_only_ artist who has hit _genuine_ pastoral _costume._ What, my dear
Cunningham, is there in riches, that they narrow and harden the heart
so? I think, that were I as rich as the sun, I should be as generous
as the day; but as I have no reason to imagine my soul a nobler one
than any other man's, I must conclude that wealth imparts a bird-lime
quality to the possessor, at which the man, in his native poverty,
would have revolted. What has led me to this, is the idea, of such
merit as Mr. Allan possesses, and such riches us a nabob or government
contractor possesses, and why they do not form a mutual league. Let
wealth shelter and cherish unprotected merit, and the gratitude and
celebrity of that merit will richly repay it.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXLVIII.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[Burns in these careless words makes us acquainted with one of his
sweetest songs.]
_20th March, 1793._
MY DEAR SIR,
The song prefixed ["Mary Morison"[207]] is one of my juvenile works. I
leave it in your hands. I do not think it very remarkable, either for
its merits or demerits. It is impossible (at least I feel it so in my
stinted powers) to be always original, entertaining, and witty.
What is become of the list, &c., of your songs? I shall be out of all
temper with you, by and bye. I have always looked on myself as the
prince of indolent correspondence, and valued myself accordingly; and
I will not, cannot, bear rivalship from you, nor anybody else.
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 207: Song CLXXXVIII.]
* * * * *
CCXLIX.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[For the "Wandering Willie" of this communication Thomson offered
several corrections.]
_March, 1793._
Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie,
Now tired with wandering, haud awa hame;
Come to my bosom, my ae only dearie,
And tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same.
Loud blew the cauld winter winds at our parting;
It was na the blast brought the tear in my e'e;
Now welcome the simmer, and welcome my Willie,
The simmer to nature, my Willie to me.
Ye hurricanes, rest in the cave o' your slumbers!
Oh how your wild horrors a lover alarms!
Awaken, ye breezes! blow gently, ye billows!
And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms.
But if he's forgotten his faithfulest Nannie,
O still flow between us, thou wide, roaring main;
May I never see it, may I never trow it,
But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain!
I leave it to you, my dear Sir, to determine whether the above, or the
old "Thro' the lang muir I have followed my Willie," be the best.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCL.
TO MISS BENSON.
[Miss Benson, when this letter was written, was on a visit to
Arbigland, the beautiful seat of Captain Craik; she is now Mrs. Basil
Montagu.]
_Dumfries, 21st March, 1793._
MADAM,
Among many things for which I envy those hale, long-lived old fellows
before the flood, is this in particular, that when they met with
anybody after their own heart, they had a charming long prospect of
many, many happy meetings with them in after-life.