would, in some degree, spoil the effect, and shall certainly have
none in my projected song to it. It is not, however, a case in point
with "Rothemurche;" there, as in "Roy's Wife of Aldivalloch," a chorus
goes, to my taste, well enough. As to the chorus going first, that is
the case with "Roy's Wife," as well as "Rothemurche." In fact, in the
first part of both tunes, the rhythm is so peculiar and irregular, and
on that irregularity depends so much of their beauty, that we must
e'en take them with all their wildness, and humour the verse
accordingly. Leaving out the starting note in both tunes, has, I
think, an effect that no regularity could counterbalance the want of.
Try, {Oh Roy's wife of Aldivalloch.
{O lassie wi' the lint-white locks.
and
compare with {Roy's wife of Aldivalloch.
{Lassie wi the lint-white locks.
Does not the lameness of the prefixed syllable strike you? In the last
case, with the true furor of genius, you strike at once into the wild
originality of the air; whereas, in the first insipid method, it is
like the grating screw of the pins before the fiddle is brought into
tune. This is my taste; if I am wrong, I beg pardon of the
_cognoscenti._
"The Caledonian Hunt" is so charming, that it would make any subject
in a song go down; but pathos is certainly its native tongue. Scottish
bacchanalians we certainly want, though the few we have are excellent.
For instance, "Todlin hame," is, for wit and humour, an unparalleled
composition; And "Andrew and his cutty gun" is the work of a master.
By the way, are you not quite vexed to think that those men of genius,
for such they certainly were, who composed our fine Scottish lyrics,
should be unknown? It has given me many a heart-ache. Apropos to
bacchanalian songs in Scottish, I composed one yesterday, for an air I
like much--"Lumps o' pudding."
Contented wi' little and cantie wi' mair.[272]
If you do not relish this air, I will send it to Johnson.
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 271: Song CCXXXV.]
[Footnote 272: Song CCXXXVI.]
* * * * *
CCCVI.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[The instrument which the poet got from the braes of Athol, seems of
an order as rude and incapable of fine sounds as the whistles which
school-boys make in spring from the smaller boughs of the plane-tree.]
Since yesterday's penmanship, I have framed a couple of English
stanzas, by way of an English song to "Roy's Wife." You will allow me,
that in this instance my English corresponds in sentiment with the
Scottish.
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy?[273]
Well! I think this, to be done in two or three turns across my room,
and with two or three pinches of Irish blackguard, is not so far
amiss. You see I am determined to have my quantum of applause from
somebody.
Tell my friend Allan (for I am sure that we only want the trifling
circumstance of being known to one another, to be the best friends on
earth) that I much suspect he has, in his plates, mistaken the figure
of the stock and horn. I have, at last, gotten one, but it is a very
rude instrument. It is comprised of three parts; the stock, which is
the hinder thigh bone of a sheep, such as you see in a mutton ham; the
horn, which is a common Highland cow's horn, cut off at the smaller
end, until the aperture be large enough to admit the stock to be
pushed up through the horn until it be held by the thicker end of the
thigh-bone; and lastly, an oaten reed exactly cut and notched like
that which you see every shepherd boy have, when the corn-stems are
green and full grown. The reed is not made fast in the bone, but is
held by the lips, and plays loose in the smaller end of the stock;
while the stock, with the horn hanging on its larger end, is held by
the hands in playing. The stock has six or seven ventages on the upper
side, and one back-ventage, like the common flute. This of mine was
made by a man from the braes of Athole, and is exactly what the
shepherds wont to use in that country.
However, either it is not quite properly bored in the holes, or else
we have not the art of blowing it rightly; for we can make little of
it. If Mr. Allan chooses, I will send him a sight of mine, as I look
on myself to be a kind of brother-brush with him. "Pride in poets is
nae sin;" and I will say it, that I look on Mr. Allan and Mr. Burns to
be the only genuine and real painters of Scottish costume in the
world.
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 273: Song CCXXXVII.]
* * * * *
CCCVII.
TO PETER MILLER, JUN., ESQ.,
OF DALSWINTON.
[In a conversation with James Perry, editor of the Morning Chronicle,
Mr. Miller, who was then member for the Dumfries boroughs, kindly
represented the poverty of the poet and the increasing number of his
family: Perry at once offered fifty pounds a year for any
contributions he might choose to make to his newspaper: the reasons
for his refusal are stated in this letter.]
_Dumfries, Nov. 1794._
DEAR SIR,
Your offer is indeed truly generous, and most sincerely do I thank you
for it; but in my present situation, I find that I dare not accept it.
You well know my political sentiments; and were I an insular
individual, unconnected with a wife and a family of children, with the
most fervid enthusiasm I would have volunteered my services: I then
could and would have despised all consequences that might have ensued.
My prospect in the Excise is something; at least it is, encumbered as
I am with the welfare, the very existence, of near half-a-score of
helpless individuals, what I dare not sport with.
In the mean time, they are most welcome to my Ode; only, let them
insert it as a thing they have met with by accident and unknown to
me.--Nay, if Mr. Perry, whose honour, after your character of him, I
cannot doubt; if he will give me an address and channel by which
anything will come safe from those spies with which he may be certain
that his correspondence is beset, I will now and then send him any
bagatelle that I may write. In the present hurry of Europe, nothing
but news and politics will be regarded; but against the days of peace,
which Heaven send soon, my little assistance may perhaps fill up an
idle column of a newspaper. I have long had it in my head to try my
hand in the way of little prose essays, which I propose sending into
the world though the medium of some newspaper; and should these be
worth his while, to these Mr. Perry shall be welcome; and all my
reward shall be, his treating me with his paper, which, by the bye, to
anybody who has the least relish for wit, is a high treat indeed.
With the most grateful esteem I am ever,
Dear Sir,
R. B.
* * * * *
CCCVIII.
TO MR. SAMUEL CLARKE, JUN.,
DUMFRIES.
[Political animosities troubled society during the days of Burns, as
much at least as they disturb it now--this letter is an instance of
it.]
_Sunday Morning._
DEAR SIR,
I was, I know, drunk last night, but I am sober this morning. From the
expressions Capt. ---- made use of to me, had I had no-body's welfare
to care for but my own, we should certainly have come, according to
the manners of the world, to the necessity of murdering one another
about the business. The words were such as, generally, I believe, end
in a brace of pistols; but I am still pleased to think that I did not
ruin the peace and welfare of a wife and a family of children in a
drunken squabble. Farther, you know that the report of certain
political opinions being mine, has already once before brought me to
the brink of destruction. I dread lest last night's business may be
misrepresented in the same way.--You, I beg, will take care to prevent
it. I tax your wish for Mr. Burns' welfare with the task of waiting as
soon as possible, on every gentleman who was present, and state this
to him, and, as you please, show him this letter. What, after all, was
the obnoxious toast? "May our success in the present war be equal to
the justice of our cause."--A toast that the most outrageous frenzy of
loyalty cannot object to. I request and beg that this morning you will
wait on the parties present at the foolish dispute. I shall only add,
that I am truly sorry that a man who stood so high in my estimation as
Mr. ----, should use me in the manner in which I conceive he has done.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCCIX.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[Burns allowed for the songs which Wolcot wrote for Thomson a degree
of lyric merit which the world has refused to sanction.]
_December, 1794._
It is, I assure you, the pride of my heart to do anything to forward
or add to the value of your book; and as I agree with you that the
jacobite song in the Museum to "There'll never be peace till Jamie
comes hame," would not so well consort with Peter Pindar's excellent
love-song to that air, I have just framed for you the following:--
Now in her green mantle, &c.[274]
How does this please you? As to the point of time for the expression,
in your proposed print from my "Sodger's Return," it must certainly be
at--"She gaz'd." The interesting dubiety and suspense taking
possession of her countenance, and the gushing fondness, with a
mixture of roguish playfulness, in his, strike me as things of which a
master will make a great deal. In great haste, but in great truth,
yours,
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 274: Song CCXXXVIII.]
* * * * *
CCCX.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[In this brief and off-hand way Burns bestows on Thompson one of the
finest songs ever dedicated to the cause of human freedom.]
_January_, 1795.
I fear for my songs; however, a few may please, yet originality is a
coy feature in composition, and in a multiplicity of efforts in the
same style, disappears altogether. For these three thousand years, we
poetic folks have been describing the spring, for instance; and as the
spring continues the same, there must soon be a sameness in the
imagery, &c., of these said rhyming folks.
A great critic (Aikin) on songs, says that love and wine are the
exclusive themes for song-writing. The following is on neither
subject, and consequently is no song; but will be allowed, I think, to
be two or three pretty good prose thoughts inverted into rhyme.
Is there for honest poverty.[275]
I do not give you the foregoing song for your book, but merely by way
of _vive la bagatelle_; for the piece is not really poetry. How will
the following do for "Craigieburn-wood?"--
Sweet fa's the eve on Craigieburn.[276]
Farewell! God bless you!
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 275: Song CCLXIV.]
[Footnote 276: Song CCXLV.]
* * * * *
CCCXI.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[Of this letter, Dr. Currie writes "the poet must have been tipsy
indeed to abuse sweet Ecclefechan at this rate;" it is one of the
prettiest of our Annandale villages, and the birth-place of that
distinguished biographer.]
_Ecclefechan_, 7_th February_, 1795.
MY DEAR THOMSON,
You cannot have any idea of the predicament in which I write to you.
In the course of my duty as supervisor (in which capacity I have acted
of late), I came yesternight to this unfortunate, wicked little
village. I have gone forward, but snows of ten feet deep have impeded
my progress: I have tried to "gae back the gate I cam again," but the
same obstacle has shut me up within insuperable bars. To add to my
misfortune, since dinner, a scraper has been torturing catgut, in
sounds that would have insulted the dying agonies of a sow under the
hands of a butcher, and thinks himself, on that very account,
exceeding good company. In fact, I have been in a dilemma, either to
get drunk, to forget these miseries; or to hang myself, to get rid of
them: like a prudent man (a character congenial to my every thought,
word, and deed), I of two evils have chosen the least, and am very
drunk, at your service!
I wrote you yesterday from Dumfries. I had not time then to tell you
all I wanted to say; and, Heaven knows, at present have not capacity.
Do you know an air--I am sure you must know it--"We'll gang nae mair
to yon town?" I think, in slowish time, it would make an excellent
song. I am highly delighted with it; and if you should think it worthy
of your attention, I have a fair dame in my eye to whom I would
consecrate it.
As I am just going to bed, I wish you a good night.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCCXII.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[The song of Caledonia, in honour of Mrs. Burns, was accompanied by
two others in honour of the poet's mistress: the muse was high in
song, and used few words in the letter which enclosed them.]
_May, 1795._
O stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay![277]
Let me know, your very first leisure, how you like this song.
Long, long the night.[278]
How do you like the foregoing? The Irish air, "Humours of Glen," is a
great favourite of mine, and as, except the silly stuff in the "Poor
Soldier," there are not any decent verses for it, I have written for
it as follows:--
Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon.[279]
Let me hear from you.
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 277: Song CCXLIX.]
[Footnote 278: Song CCL.]
[Footnote 279: Song CCLI.]
* * * * *
CCCXIII.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[The poet calls for praise in this letter, a species of coin which is
always ready.]
How cruel are the parents.[280]
Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion.[281]
Well, this is not amiss. You see how I answer your orders--your tailor
could not be more punctual. I am just now in a high fit for poetizing,
provided that the strait-jacket of criticism don't cure me. If you
can, in a post or two, administer a little of the intoxicating potion
of your applause, it will raise your humble servant's phrensy to any
height you want. I am at this moment "holding high converse" with the
muses, and have not a word to throw away on such a prosaic dog as you
are.
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 280: Song CCLIII.]
[Footnote 281: Song CCLIV.]
* * * * *
CCCXIV.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[Thomson at this time sent the drawing to Burns in which David Allan
sought to embody the "Cotter's Saturday Night:" it displays at once
the talent and want of taste of the ingenious artist.]
_May, 1795._
Ten thousand thanks for your elegant present--though I am ashamed of
the value of it, being bestowed on a man who has not, by any means,
merited such an instance of kindness. I have shown it to two or three
judges of the first abilities here, and they all agree with me in
classing it as a first-rate production. My phiz is sae kenspeckle,
that the very joiner's apprentice, whom Mrs. Burns employed to break
up the parcel (I was out of town that day) knew it at once. My most
grateful compliments to Allan, who has honoured my rustic music so
much with his masterly pencil. One strange coincidence is, that the
little one who is making the felonious attempt on the cat's tail, is
the most striking likeness of an ill-deedie, d--n'd, wee,
rumblegairie urchin of mine, whom from that propensity to witty
wickedness, and man-fu' mischief, which, even at twa days auld, I
foresaw would form the striking features of his disposition, I named
Willie Nicol, after a certain friend of mine, who is one of the
masters of a grammar-school in a city which shall be nameless.
Give the enclosed epigram to my much-valued friend Cunningham, and
tell him, that on Wednesday I go to visit a friend of his, to whom his
friendly partiality in speaking of me in a manner introduced me--I
mean a well-known military and literary character, Colonel Dirom.
You do not tell me how you liked my two last songs. Are they
condemned?
R. B.
* * * * *
CCCXV.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[In allusion to the preceding letter, Thomson says to Burns, "You
really make me blush when you tell me you have not merited the drawing
from me." The "For a' that and a' that," which went with this letter,
was, it is believed, the composition of Mrs. Riddel.]
In "Whistle, and I'll come to ye, my lad," the iteration of that line
is tiresome to my ear. Here goes what I think is an improvement:--
Oh whistle, and I'll come to ye, my lad;
Oh whistle, and I'll come to ye, my lad;
Tho' father and mother and a' should gae mad,
Thy Jeanie will venture wi' ye, my lad.
In fact, a fair dame, at whose shrine I, the priest of the Nine, offer
up the incense of Parnassus--a dame whom the Graces have attired in
witchcraft, and whom the Loves have armed with lightning--a fair one,
herself the heroine of the song, insists on the amendment, and dispute
her commands if you dare?
This is no my ain lassie,[282] &c.
Do you know that you have roused the torpidity of Clarke at last? He
has requested me to write three or four songs for him, which he is to
set to music himself. The enclosed sheet contains two songs for him,
which please to present to my valued friend Cunningham.
I enclose the sheet open, both for your inspection, and that you may
copy the song "Oh bonnie was yon rosy brier." I do not know whether I
am right, but that song pleases me; and as it is extremely probable
that Clarke's newly-roused celestial spark will be soon smothered in
the fogs of indolence, if you like the song, it may go as Scottish
verses to the air of "I wish my love was in a mire;" and poor
Erskine's English lines may follow.
I enclose you a "For a' that and a' that," which was never in print:
it is a much superior song to mine. I have been told that it was
composed by a lady, and some lines written on the blank leaf of a copy
of the last edition of my poems, presented to the lady whom, in so
many fictitious reveries of passion, but with the most ardent
sentiments of real friendship, I have so often sung under the name of
Chloris:--
To Chloris.[283]
_Une bagatelle de l'amitie._
COILA.
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 282: Song CCLV.]
[Footnote 283: Poems, No. CXLVI.]
* * * * *
CCCXVI.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[In the double service of poesy and music the poet had to sing of
pangs which he never endured, from beauties to whom he had never
spoken.]
FORLORN my love, no comfort near, &c.[284]
How do you like the foregoing? I have written it within this hour: so
much for the speed of my Pegasus; but what say you to his bottom?
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 284: Song CCLVIII.]
* * * * *
CCCXVII.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[The unexampled brevity of Burns's letters, and the extraordinary flow
and grace of his songs, towards the close of his life, have not now
for the first time been remarked.]
LAST May a braw wooer.[285]
Why, why tell thy lover.[286]
Such is the peculiarity of the rhythm of this air, that I find it
impossible to make another stanza to suit it.
I am at present quite occupied with the charming sensations of the
toothache, so have not a word to spare.
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 285: Song CCLIX.]
[Footnote 286: Song CCLX.]
* * * * *
CCCXVIII.
TO MRS. RIDDEL.
_Supposes himself to be writing from the dead to the living._
[Ill health, poverty, a sense of dependence, with the much he had
deserved of his country, and the little he had obtained, were all at
this time pressing on the mind of Burns, and inducing him to forget
what was due to himself as well as to the courtesies of life.]
MADAM,
I dare say that this is the first epistle you ever received from this
nether world. I write you from the regions of Hell, amid the horrors
of the damned. The time and the manner of my leaving your earth I do
not exactly know, as I took my departure in the heat of a fever of
intoxication contracted at your too hospitable mansion; but, on my
arrival here, I was fairly tried, and sentenced to endure the
purgatorial tortures of this infernal confine for the space of
ninety-nine years, eleven months, and twenty-nine days, and all on
account of the impropriety of my conduct yesternight under your roof.
Here am I, laid on a bed of pitiless furze, with my aching head
reclined on a pillow of ever-piercing thorn, while an infernal
tormentor, wrinkled, and old, and cruel, his name I think is
_Recollection_, with a whip of scorpions, forbids peace or rest to
approach me, and keeps anguish eternally awake. Still, Madam, if I
could in any measure be reinstated in the good opinion of the fair
circle whom my conduct last night so much injured, I think it would
be an alleviation to my torments. For this reason I trouble you with
this letter. To the men of the company I will make no apology.--Your
husband, who insisted on my drinking more than I chose, has no right
to blame me; and the other gentlemen were partakers of my guilt. But
to you, Madam, I have much to apologize. Your good opinion I valued as
one of the greatest acquisitions I had made on earth, and I was truly
a beast to forfeit it. There was a Miss I----, too, a woman of fine
sense, gentle and unassuming manners--do make on my part, a miserable
d--mned wretch's best apology to her. A Mrs. G----, a charming woman,
did me the honour to be prejudiced in my favour; this makes me hope
that I have not outraged her beyond all forgiveness.--To all the other
ladies please present my humblest contrition for my conduct, and my
petition for their gracious pardon. O all ye powers of decency and
decorum! whisper to them that my errors, though great, were
involuntary--that an intoxicated man is the vilest of beasts--that it
was not in my nature to be brutal to any one--that to be rude to a
woman, when in my senses, was impossible with me--but--
* * * * *
Regret! Remorse! Shame! ye three hell-hounds that ever dog my steps
and bay at my heels, spare me! spare me!
Forgive the offences, and pity the perdition of, Madam, your humble
slave.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCCXIX.
TO MRS. RIDDEL.
[Mrs. Riddel, it is said, possessed many more of the poet's letters
than are printed--she sometimes read them to friends who could feel
their wit, and, like herself, make allowance for their freedom.]
_Dumfries, 1795._
Mr. Burns's compliments to Mrs. Riddel--is much obliged to her for her
polite attention in sending him the book. Owing to Mr. B.'s being at
present acting as supervisor of excise, a department that occupies his
every hour of the day, he has not that time to spare which is
necessary for any belle-lettre pursuit; but, as he will, in a week or
two, again return to his wonted leisure, he will then pay that
attention to Mrs. R.'s beautiful song, "To thee, loved Nith"--which it
so well deserves. When "Anacharsis' Travels" come to hand, which Mrs.
Riddel mentioned as her gift to the public library, Mr. B. will thank
her for a reading of it previous to her sending it to the library, as
it is a book Mr. B. has never seen: he wishes to have a longer perusal
of them than the regulations of the library allow.
_Friday Eve._
P.S. Mr. Burns will be much obliged to Mrs. Riddel if she will favour
him with a perusal of any of her poetical pieces which he may not have
seen.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCCXX.
TO MISS LOUISA FONTENELLE.
[That Miss Fontenelle, as an actress, did not deserve the high praise
which Burns bestows may be guessed: the lines to which he alludes were
recited by the lady on her benefit-night, and are printed among his
Poems.]
_Dumfries, December, 1795._
MADAM,
In such a bad world as ours, those who add to the scanty sum of our
pleasures, are positively our benefactors. To you, Madam, on our
humble Dumfries boards, I have been more indebted for entertainment
than ever I was in prouder theatres. Your charms as a woman would
insure applause to the most indifferent actress, and your theatrical
talents would insure admiration to the plainest figure. This, Madam,
is not the unmeaning or insidious compliment of the frivolous or
interested; I pay it from the same honest impulse that the sublime of
nature excites my admiration, or her beauties give me delight.
Will the foregoing lines be of any service to you in your approaching
benefit-night? If they will I shall be prouder of my muse than ever.
They are nearly extempore: I know they have no great merit; but though
they should add but little to the entertainment of the evening, they
give me the happiness of an opportunity to declare how much I have the
honour to be, &c.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCCXXI.
TO MRS. DUNLOP.
[Of the sweet girl to whom Burns alludes in this letter he was
deprived during this year: her death pressed sorely on him.]
_15th December, 1795._
MY DEAR FRIEND,