The Complete Works of Robert Burns Part 180

If you think it worth while, read it to Charles and Mr. W. Parker, and if they choose a copy of it, it is at their service, as they are men whose friendship I shall be proud to claim, both in this world and that which is to come.

I believe all hopes of staying at home will be abortive, but more of this when, in the latter part of next week, you shall be troubled with a visit from,

My dear Sir,

Your most devoted,

R. B.

XXVII.

TO MRS. DUNLOP,

OF DUNLOP.

[Mrs. Dunlop was a poetess, and had the blood of the Wallaces in her veins: though she disliked the irregularities of the poet, she scorned to got into a fine moral pa.s.sion about follies which could not be helped, and continued her friendship to the last of his life.]

_Ayrshire_, 1786.

MADAM,

I am truly sorry I was not at home yesterday, when I was so much honoured with your order for my copies, and incomparably more by the handsome compliments you are pleased to pay my poetic abilities. I am fully persuaded that there is not any cla.s.s of mankind so feelingly alive to the t.i.tillations of applause as the sons of Parna.s.sus: nor is it easy to conceive how the heart of the poor bard dances with rapture, when those, whose character in life gives them a right to be polite judges, honour him with their approbation. Had you been thoroughly acquainted with me, Madam, you could not have touched my darling heart-chord more sweetly than by noticing my attempts to celebrate your ill.u.s.trious ancestor, the Saviour of his Country.

"Great patriot hero! ill-requited chief!"[160]

The first book I met with in my early years, which I perused with pleasure, was, "The Life Of Hannibal;" the next was, "The History of Sir William Wallace:" for several of my earlier years I had few other authors; and many a solitary hour have I stole out, after the laborious vocations of the day, to shed a tear over their glorious, but unfortunate stories. In those boyish days I remember, in particular, being struck with that part of Wallace's story where these lines occur--

"Syne to the Leglen wood, when it was late, To make a silent and safe retreat."

I chose a fine summer Sunday, the only day my line of life allowed, and walked half a dozen of miles to pay my respects to the Leglen wood, with as much devout enthusiasm as ever pilgrim did to Loretto; and, as I explored every den and dell where I could suppose my heroic countryman to have lodged, I recollect (for even then I was a rhymer) that my heart glowed with a wish to be able to make a song on him in some measure equal to his merits.

R. B.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 160: Thomson.]

XXVIII.

TO MR. JOHN KENNEDY.

[It is a curious chapter in the life of Burns to count the number of letters which he wrote, the number of fine poems he composed, and the number of places which he visited in the unhappy summer and autumn of 1786.]

_Kilmarnock, August_, 1786.

MY DEAR SIR,

Your truly facetious epistle of the 3d inst. gave me much entertainment. I was sorry I had not the pleasure of seeing you as I pa.s.sed your way, but we shall bring up all our lee way on Wednesday, the 16th current, when I hope to have it in my power to call on you and take a kind, very probably a last adieu, before I go for Jamaica; and I expect orders to repair to Greenock every day.--I have at last made my public appearance, and am solemnly inaugurated into the numerous cla.s.s.--Could I have got a carrier, you should have had a score of vouchers for my authorship; but now you have them, let them speak for themselves.--

Farewell, my dear friend! may guid luck hit you, And 'mang her favourites admit you!

If e'er Detraction sh.o.r.e to smit you, May nane believe him!

And ony de'il that thinks to get you, Good Lord deceive him.

R. B.

XXIX.

TO MR. JAMES BURNESS,

MONTROSE.

[The good and generous James Burness, of Montrose, was ever ready to rejoice with his cousin's success or sympathize with his sorrows, but he did not like the change which came over the old northern surname of Burness, when the bard modified it into Burns: the name now a rising one in India, is spelt Burnes.]

_Mossgiel, Tuesday noon, Sept. 26, 1786._

MY DEAR SIR,

I this moment receive yours--receive it with the honest hospitable warmth of a friend's welcome. Whatever comes from you wakens always up the better blood about my heart, which your kind little recollections of my parental friends carries as far as it will go. 'Tis there that man is blest! 'Tis there, my friend, man feels a consciousness of something within him above the trodden clod! The grateful reverence to the h.o.a.ry (earthly) author of his being--the burning glow when he clasps the woman of his soul to his bosom--the tender yearnings of heart for the little angels to whom he has given existence--these nature has poured in milky streams about the human heart; and the man who never rouses them to action, by the inspiring influences of their proper objects, loses by far the most pleasurable part of his existence.

My departure is uncertain, but I do not think it will be till after harvest. I will be on very short allowance of time indeed, if I do not comply with your friendly invitation. When it will be I don't know, but if I can make my wish good, I will endeavour to drop you a line some time before. My best compliments to Mrs. ----; I should [be]

equally mortified should I drop in when she is abroad, but of that I suppose there is little chance.

What I have wrote heaven knows; I have not time to review it; so accept of it in the beaten way of friendship. With the ordinary phrase--perhaps rather more than the ordinary sincerity,

I am, dear Sir,

Ever yours,

R. B.