tremble at its approach. I scorn the affectation of seeming modesty to cover self-conceit. That I have some merit I do not deny; but I see with frequent wringings of heart, that the novelty of my character, and the honest national prejudice of my countrymen, have borne me to a height altogether untenable to my abilities. For the honour Miss Williams has done me, please, Sir, return her in my name my most grateful thanks. I have more than once thought of paying her in kind, but have hitherto quitted the idea in hopeless despondency. I had never before heard of her; but the other day I got her poems, which for several reasons, some belonging to the head, and others the offspring of the heart, give me a great deal of pleasure. I have little pretensions to critic lore; there are, I think, two characteristic features in her poetry -the unfettered wild flight of native genius, and the querulous sombre tenderness of "timesettled sorrow." I only know what pleases me, often without being able to tell why. R. B. I WANTED to purchase a profile of your lordship, which I was told was to be got in town; but I am truly sorry to see that a blundering painter has spoiled a "human face divine.” The enclosed stanzas I intended to have written below a picture or profile of your lordship, could I have been so happy as to procure one with anything of a likeness. As I will soon return to my shades, I wanted to have something like a material object for my gratitude; I wanted to have it in my power to say to a friend, there is my noble patron, my generous benefactor. Allow me, my lord, to publish these verses. I conjure your lordship, by the honest throe of gratitude, by the generous wish of benevolence, by all the powers and feelings which compose the magnanimous mind, do not deny me this petition. I owe much to your lordship: and, what has not in some other instances always been the case with me, the weight of the obligation is a pleasing load. I trust I have a heart as independent as your lordship's, than which I can say nothing more; and I would not be beholden to favours that would crucify my feelings. Your dignified character in life, and manner of supporting that character, are flattering to my pride; and I would be jealous of the purity of my grateful attachment, where I was under the patronage of one of the much favoured sons of fortune. Almost every poet has celebrated his patrons, particularly when they were names dear to fame, and illustrious in their country; allow me, then, my lord, if you think the verses have intrinsic merit, to tell the world how much I have the honour to be, Your lordship's highly indebted, And ever grateful humble servant, XLIX. XLVIII. TO THE EARL OF GLENCAIRN. [The Earl of Glencairn seems to have refused, from motives of delicacy, the request of the poet: the verses, TO THE EARL OF BUCHAN. [The Earl of Buchan, a man of talent, but more than tolerably vain, advised Burns to visit the battle-fields and scenes celebrated in song on the Scottish border, with the hope, perhaps, that he would drop a few of his happy verses in Dryburgh Abbey, the residence of his dependence, and character, on the one hand; I lordship.] MY LORD, THE honour your lordship has done me, by your notice and advice in yours of the 1st instant, I shall ever gratefully remember : "Praise from thy lips, 'tis mine with joy to boast, They best can give it who deserve it most."1 Your lordship touches the darling chord of my heart when you advise me to fire my muse at Scottish story and Scotch scenes. I wish for nothing more than to make a leisurely pilgrimage through my native country; to sit and muse on those once hard-contended fields, where Caledonia, rejoicing, saw her bloody lion borne through broken ranks to victory and fame; and, catching the inspiration, to pour the deathless names in song. But, my lord, in the midst of these enthusiastic reveries, a long-visaged, dry, moral-looking phantom strides across my imagination, and pronounces these emphatic words: : tender you civility, dependence, and wretchedness, on the other. I will not insult your understanding by bidding you make a choice.” This, my lord, is unanswerable. I must return to my humble station, and woo my rustic muse in my wonted way at the plough-tail. Still, my lord, while the drops of life warm my heart, gratitude to that dear-loved country in which I boast my birth, and gratitude to those her distinguished sons who have honoured me so much with their patronage and approbation, shall, while stealing through my humble shades; ever distend my bosom, and at times, as now, draw forth the swelling tear. R. B. L. TO MR. JAMES CANDLISH. [James Candlish, a student of medicine, was well ac quainted with the poetry of Lowe, author of that sublime lyric, "Mary's Dream," and at the request of Burns sen Lowe's classic song of "Pompey's Ghost," to the Musical Museum.] Edinburgh, March 21, 1787. MY EVER DEAR OLD ACQUAINTANCE, I was equally surprised and pleased at your "I, Wisdom, dwell with Prudence. Friend, I do not come to open the ill-closed wounds of follies and misfortunes, merely to give you your pain I wish through these wounds to imprint a lasting lesson on your heart. I will not mention how many of my salutary advices you have despised: I have given you line upon line and pre-letter, though I dare say you will think by my cept upon precept; and while I was chalking out to you the straight way to wealth and character, with audacious effrontery you have zigżagged across the path, contemning me to my face: you know the consequences. It is not yet three months since home was so hot for you that you were on the wing for the western shore of the Atlantic, not to make a fortune, but to hide your misfortune. "Now that your dear-loved Scotia puts it in your power to return to the situation of your forefathers, will you follow these will-o'-wisp meteors of fancy and whim, till they bring you once more to the brink of ruin? I grant that the utmost ground you can occupy is but half a step from the veriest poverty; but still it is half a step from it. If all that I can urge be ineffectual, let her who seldom calls to you in vain, let the call of pride prevail with you. You know how you feel at the iron gripe of ruthless oppression: you know how you bear the galling sneer of contumelious greatness. I hold you out the conveniences, the comforts of life, in 1 Imitated from Pope's Eloisa to Abelard. delaying so long to write to you that I am so I am still, in the Apostle Paul's phrase, "The old man with his deeds," as when we date the 6th current, which was read and appointed to be engrossed in their sederunt book, and of which letter the tenor follows: [The name of the friend to whom this letter was ad- | produced a letter from Mr. Robert Burns, of ressed is still unknown, though known to Dr. Currie. The Esculapian Club of Edinburgh have, since the death of Burns, added some iron-work, with an inscription in honour of the Ayrshire poet, to the original headstone. The cost to the poet was £5 10s.] Edinburgh, March, 1787. MY DEAR SIR, You may think, and too justly, that I am a selfish, ungrateful fellow, having received so many repeated instances of kindness from you, and yet never putting pen to paper to say thank you; but if you knew what a devil of a life my conscience has led me on that account, your good heart would think yourself too much avenged. By the bye, there is nothing in the whole frame of man which seems to be so unaccountable as that thing called conscience. Had the troublesome yelping cur powers efficient to prevent a mischief, he might be of use; but at the beginning of the business, his feeble efforts are to the workings of passion as the infant frosts of an autumnal morning to the unclouded fervour of the rising sun: and no sooner are the tumultuous doings of the wicked deed over, than, amidst the bitter native consequences of folly, in the very vortex of our horrors, up starts conscience, and harrows us with the feelings of the damned. I have enclosed you, by way of expiation, some verse and prose, that, if they merit a place in your truly entertaining miscellany, you are welcome to. The prose extract is literally as Mr. Sprott sent it me. The inscription on the stone is as follows: "HERE LIES ROBERT FERGUSSON, POET. Born, September 5th, 1751-Died, 16th October, 1774. "No sculptur'd marble here, nor pompous lay, 'No storied urn or animated bust;' This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way To pour her sorrows o'er her poet's dust." On the other side of the stone is as follows: "To the honourable baillies of Canongate, Edinburgh.-Gentlemen, I am sorry to be told that the remains of Robert Fergusson, the so justly celebrated poet, a man whose talents for ages to come will do honour to our Caledonian name, lie in your church-yard among the ignoble dead, unnoticed and unknown. "Some memorial to direct the steps of the lovers of Scottish song, when they wish to shed a tear over the narrow house' of the bard who is no more, is surely a tribute due to Fergusson's memory: a tribute I wish to have the honour of paying. "I petition you then, gentlemen, to permit me to lay a simple stone over his revered ashes, to remain an unalienable property to his deathless fame. I have the honour to be, gentlemen, your very humble servant (sic subscribitur), ROBERT BUrns." Thereafter the said managers, in consideration of the laudable and disinterested motion of Mr. Burns, and the propriety of his request, did, and hereby do, unanimously, grant power and liberty to the said Robert Burns to erect a headstone at the grave of the said Robert Fergusson, and to keep up and preserve the same to his memory in all time coming. Extracted forth of the records of the managers, by WILLIAM SPROTT, Clerk. LII. TO MRS. DUNLOP. [The poet alludes in this letter to the profits of the Idinburgh edition of his Poems: the exact sum is no reflection, whom these connexions will not rouse to exertion. I guess that I shall clear between two and three hundred pounds by my authorship; with that sum I intend, so far as I may be said to have any intention, to return to my old acquaintance, the plough, and, if I can meet with a lease by which I can live, to commence farmer. I do not intend to give up poetry; being bred to labour, secures me independence, and the muses are my chief, sometimes have been my only enjoyment. If my practice second my resolution, I shall have principally at heart the serious business of life; but while following my I READ your letter with watery eyes. A little, very little while ago, I had scarce a friend but the stubborn pride of my own bosom: now I 2m distinguished, patronized, befriended by you. Tour friendly advices, I will not give them the cold name of criticisms, I receive with reverence. I have made some small alterations in what I before had printed. I have the advice of some very judicious friends among the literati here, but with them I sometimes find it necessary to claim the privilege of thinking for my-plough, or building up my shocks, I shall cast a self. The noble Earl of Glencairn, to whom I owe more than to any man, does me the honour of giving me his strictures: his hints, with respect to impropriety or indelicacy, I follow implicitly. You kindly interest yourself in my future views and prospects; there I can give you no light. It is all "Dark as was Chaos ere the infant sun Was roll'd together, or had tried his beams The appellation of a Scottish bard, is by far my highest pride; to continue to deserve it is my most exalted ambition. Scottish scenes and Scottish story are the themes I could wish to sing. I have no dearer aim than to have it in my power, unplagued with the routine of business, for which heaven knows I am unfit enough, to make leisurely pilgrimages through Caledonia; to sit on the fields of her battles; to wander on the romantic banks of her rivers; and to muse by the stately towers or venerable ruins, once the honoured abodes of her heroes. But these are all Utopian thoughts: I have dallied long enough with life; 'tis time to be in earnest. I have a fond, an aged mother to care for: and some other bosom ties perhaps equally tender. Where the individual only suffers by the consequences of his own thoughtlessness, indolence, or folly, he may be excusable; nay, shining abilities, and some of the nobler virtues, may half sanctify a heedless character; but where God and nature have intrusted the welfare of others to his care; where the trust is sacred, and the ties are dear, that man must be far gone in selfishness, or strangely lost to 1 Blair's Grave. leisure glance to that dear, that only feature of my character, which gave me the notice of my country, and the patronage of a Wallace. Thus, honoured Madam, I have given you the bard, his situation, and his views, native as they are in his own bosom. R. B. “Rude am I in speech, And therefore little can I grace my cause so I shall not trouble you with any fine speeches I come abroad in print, for certain on Wednesday. Your orders I shall punctually attend to; only, by the way, I must tell you that I was paid before for Dr. Moore's and Miss Williams's copies, through the medium of Commissioner Cochrane in this place, but that we can settle when I have the honour of waiting on you. 2 From Othello. [The book to which the poet alludes, was the wellknown View of Society by Dr. Moore, a work of spirit and observation.] Edinburgh, 23d April, 1787. I RECEIVED the books, and sent the one you mentioned to Mrs. Dunlop. I am ill skilled in beating the coverts of imagination for metaphors of gratitude. I thank you, Sir, for the honour you have done me; and to my latest hour will warmly remember it. To be highly pleased with your book is what I have in common with the world; but to regard these volumes as a mark of the author's friendly esteem, is a still more supreme gratification. I leave Edinburgh in the course of ten days or a fortnight, and after a few pilgrimages over some of the classic ground of Caledonia, Cow 1 Adam Smith. den Knowes, Banks of Yarrow, Tweed, &c., shall return to my rural shades, in all likelihood never more to quit them. I have formed many intimacies and friendships here, but I am afraid they are all of too tender a construction to bear carriage a hundred and fifty miles. To the rich, the great, the fashionable, the polite, I have no equivalent to offer; and I am afraid my meteor appearance will by no means entitle me to a settled correspondence with any of you, who are the permanent lights of genius and literature. My most respectful compliments to Miss Williams. If once this tangent flight of mine were over, and I were returned to my wonted leisurely motion in my old circle, I may probably endeavour to return her poetic compliment in kind. R. B. LVI. TO MRS. DUNLOP. [This letter was in answer to one of criticism and remonstrance, from Mrs. Dunlop, respecting "The Dream," which she had begged the poet to omit, lest it should harm his fortunes with the world.] Edinburgh, 30th April, 1787. YOUR criticisms, Madam, I understand very well, and could have wished to have pleased you better. You are right in your guess that I am not very amenable to counsel. Poets, much my superiors, have so flattered those who possessed the adventitious qualities of wealth and power, that I am determined to flatter no created being, either in prose or verse. I set as little by princes, lords, clergy, critics, &c., as all these respective gentry do by my bardship. I know what I may expect from the world, by and by-illiberal abuse, and perhaps contemptuous neglect. I am happy, Madam, that some of my own favourite pieces are distinguished by your particular approbation. For my "Dream," which has unfortunately incurred your loyal displeasure, I hope in four weeks, or less, to have the honour of appearing, at Dunlop, in its defence R B. in person. |