The Canongate Burns

by Robert Burns

  This work makes an interesting comparison to On the Destruction of the Trees at Drumlanrig, a poem presented to the world as a work of Burns, but then claimed by Henry Mackenzie, although he did not add it to his collected writings.

  1 Bruar Falls, in Athole, are exceedingly picturesque and beautiful; but their effect is much impaired by the want of trees and shrubs. – R.B.

  On Scaring Some Water-Fowl in Loch Turit,

  A Wild Scene among the Hills of Oughtertyre

  First printed in the Edinburgh edition, 1793.

  Why, ye tenants of the lake,

  For me your wat’ry haunt forsake?

  Tell me, fellow-creatures, why

  At my presence thus you fly?

  5 Why disturb your social joys,

  Parent, filial, kindred ties? —

  Common friend to you and me,

  Nature’s gifts to all are free:

  Peaceful keep your dimpling wave,

  10 Busy feed, or wanton lave;

  Or, beneath the sheltering rock,

  Bide the surging billow’s shock.

  Conscious, blushing for our race,

  Soon, too soon, your fears I trace:

  15 Man, your proud usurping foe,

  Would be lord of all below:

  Plumes himself in Freedom’s pride,

  Tyrant stern to all beside.

  The eagle, from the cliffy brow,

  20 Marking you his prey below,

  In his breast no pity dwells,

  Strong Necessity compels.

  But Man, to whom alone is given

  A ray direct from pitying Heaven,

  25 Glories in his heart humane —

  And creatures for his pleasure slain.

  In these savage, liquid plains,

  Only known to wandering swains,

  Where the mossy riv’let strays,

  30 Far from human haunts and ways;

  All on Nature you depend,

  And life’s poor season peaceful spend.

  Or, if Man’s superior might

  Dare invade your native right,

  35 On the lofty ether borne,

  Man with all his powers you scorn;

  Swiftly seek, on clanging wings,

  Other lakes and other springs;

  And the foe you cannot brave,

  40 Scorn at least to be his slave.

  A note by Burns in his Glenriddell Manuscript reads: ‘This was a production of a solitary forenoon’s walk from Ochtertyre-house. – I lived there, Sir William’s guest, for two or three weeks, and was much flattered by my hospitable reception. – What a pity that the mere emotions of gratitude are so impotent in this world!’ Tis lucky that, as we are told, they will be of some avail in the world to come.’ The poet met Sir William Murray of Ochtertyre (1705–1793), the Earl of Mansfield, when visiting Blair Atholl in the first week of September 1787 and later visited the old man at his home in Strathearn, where he composed this work in October 1787. Euphemia Murray, a young cousin of Sir William, and daughter of Mungo Murray of Lintrose, is the subject of the poet’s song, Blythe Was She. Euphemia was known as the ‘flower of Strathmore’. The poem is another example of Burns’s preoccupation with man as bestial predator.

  Verses Written with a Pencil

  over the Chimney-Piece, in the Parlour of the Inn at Kenmore, Taymouth

  First printed in The Edinburgh Evening Courant, 6th September 1787.

  Admiring Nature in her wildest grace,

  These northern scenes with weary feet I trace;

  O’er many a winding dale and painful steep,

  Th’ abodes of coveyed grouse and timid sheep,

  5 My savage journey, curious, I pursue,

  Till fam’d Breadalbane opens to my view. —

  The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides,

  The woods, wild-scattered, clothe their ample sides;

  Th’ outstretching lake, embosomed ‘mong the hills,

  10 The eye with wonder and amazement fills;

  The Tay, meandering sweet in infant pride,

  The palace, rising on his verdant side;

  The lawns, wood-fring’d in Nature’s native taste;

  The hillocks, dropt in Nature’s careless haste,

  15 The arches, striding o’er the new-born stream;

  The village, glittering in the noontide beam —

  Poetic ardors in my bosom swell,

  Lone wand’ring by the hermit’s mossy cell:

  The sweeping theatre of hanging woods;

  20 The incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods —

  Here Poesy might wake her heaven-taught lyre,

  And look through Nature with creative fire;

  Here, to the wrongs of Fate half reconcil’d,

  Misfortune’s lightened steps might wander wild;

  25 And Disappointment, in these lonely bounds,

  Find balm to soothe her bitter rankling wounds:

  Here heart-struck Grief might heavenward stretch her scan,

  And injur’d Worth forget and pardon man.

  When published in the Edinburgh Evening Courant these verses were described as the work of the ‘celebrated Ayrshire bard’ and found by an unknown person, who gives only their initials, ‘O.B.’, while on visit to Taymouth, where the verses were found on a Hermitage wall. Most editors guess that Burns himself sent the verses to the newspaper. A further variant edition appears in The Bee magazine on 9th May 1792, under the title Verses Written on a Window in Breadalbane, by Mr Robert Burns. There are several textual changes between the two versions. The copy in The Bee is probably a textual improvement made by Burns taken from a manuscript sent to a friend as there is no evidence that Burns visited Breadalbane on a second tour. If this is the case, Burns appears to have reverted to the earlier version when including the poem in his 1793 Edinburgh edition.

  Written with a Pencil Standing

  by the Fall of Fyers, near Loch Ness

  First printed in the Edinburgh edition, 1793.

  Among the heathy hills and ragged woods

  The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods;

  Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds,

  Where, thro’ a shapeless breach, his stream resounds,

  5 As high in air the bursting torrents flow,

  As deep recoiling surges foam below,

  Prone down the rock the whitening sheet descends,

  And viewless Echo’s ear, astonished, rends.

  Dim-seen through rising mists and ceaseless showers,

  10 The hoary cavern, wide-surrounding, lours.

  Still thro’ the gap the struggling river toils,

  And still, below, the horrid caldron boils —

  This was composed around 5th September 1787, when Burns travelled from Loch Ness to Foyers. In form and metre, this verse follows on from the pastoral sketch of the previous work, on the scenic view from Breadalbane.

  On the Birth of a Posthumous Child,

  Born in Peculiar Circumstances of Family-Distress

  First printed in the Edinburgh edition, 1793.

  Sweet flow’ret, pledge o’ meikle love, much

  And ward o’ mony a prayer, many

  What heart o’ stane wad thou na move, stone would, not

  Sae helpless, sweet, and fair. so

  5 November hirples o’er the lea, limps

  Chill, on thy lovely form;

  And gane, alas! the shelt’ring tree, gone

  Should shield thee frae the storm from

  May He who gives the rain to pour,

  10 And wings the blast to blaw, blow

  Protect thee frae the driving show’r, from

  The bitter frost and snaw! snow

  May He, the friend of Woe and Want,

  Who heals life’s various stounds, pangs/pains

  15 Protect and guard the mother plant,

  And heal her cruel wounds.

  But late she flourished, rooted fast,

  Fair on the summer morn:


  Now, feebly bends she, in the blast,

  20 Unsheltered and forlorn.

  Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem,

  Unscath’d by ruffian hand!

  And from thee many a parent stem

  Arise to deck our land.

  The head-note to this poem, in the Glenriddell Manuscripts, reads: ‘Extempore nearly – On the Birth of Monsr. Henri, posthumous child to a Monsr. Henri, a Gentleman of family and fortune from Switzerland; who died after three days illness, leaving his lady, a sister of Sir Thos. Wallace, in her sixth month of this her first child. – The lady and her Family were particular friends of the Author. – The child was born in November 1790’. James Henri married Mrs Dunlop’s daughter Susan, but died 22nd June, 1790. Burns wrote to Mrs Dunlop, on hearing of the birth, ‘I literally, jumped for joy … out skipt I among the broomy banks of Nith to muse over my joy by retail. – To keep within the bounds of prose was impossible. Mrs Little’s is a more elegant, but not a more sincere Compliment to the sweet little fellow, than I extempore almost poured out to him in the following verses’ (Letter 427).

  N.B. The Whistle: A Ballad was the last work printed in the 1793 Edinburgh edition. It was first published in Johnson’s fourth volume of the Scots Musical Museum, August 1792 and is therefore printed in the next section, songs published by Burns during his lifetime.

  PART FOUR

  The Songs of Burns Published During His Lifetime

  Young Peggy

  Tune: The Last Time I came O’er the Moor

  First printed in the S.M.M., Vol. 1, 22nd May, 1787.

  Young Peggy blooms our boniest lass,

  Her blush is like the morning,

  The rosy dawn, the springing grass,

  With early gems adorning:

  5 Her eyes outshine the radiant beams

  That gild the passing shower,

  And glitter o’er the crystal streams,

  And cheer each fresh’ning flower.

  Her lips, more than the cherries bright,

  10 A richer dye has grac’d them,

  They charm th’ admiring gazer’s sight

  And sweetly tempt to taste them:

  Her smile is as the ev’ning mild,

  When feather’d pairs are courting,

  15 And little lambkins wanton wild,

  In playful bands disporting.

  Were Fortune lovely Peggy’s foe,

  Such sweetness would relent her,

  As blooming Spring unbends the brow

  20 Of surly, savage Winter.

  Detraction’s eye no aim can gain

  Her winning pow’rs to lessen;

  And fretful Envy grins in vain,

  The poison’d tooth to fasten.

  25 Ye Pow’rs of Honour, Love, and Truth,

  From ev’ry ill defend her;

  Inspire the highly-favour’d Youth

  The destinies intend her;

  Still fan the sweet connubial flame

  30 Responsive in each bosom;

  And bless the dear parental name

  With many a filial blossom.

  Young Peggy was Margaret Kennedy (1766–95), daughter of Robert Kennedy of Daljarrock, where he worked as the factor to the Earl of Cassilis. The poet met Margaret because her father was Gavin Hamilton’s brother-in-law. Burns sent a copy of the song in a letter to Miss Kennedy in the Autumn of 1785:

  Permit me to present you with the enclosed SONG, as a small tho’ grateful tribute for the honour of your acquaintance. I have, in these verses, attempted some faint sketches of your PORTRAIT in the unimbellished, simple manner of descriptive TRUTH. Flattery I leave to your LOVERS; whose exaggerating Fancies may make them imagine you still nearer, if possible, to Perfection than you really are.

  … even the sight of a fine flower, or the company of a fine Woman (by far the finest part of God’s works below), have sensations for the poetic heart that the HERD of Man are strangers to…. I am, as in many other things, indebted to Mr Hamilton’s kindness in introducing me to you (Letter 20).

  The aspirations of the last stanza are tragically ironic, given what happened to Margaret Kennedy nine years later, when, in 1794, she had an affair with a Captain Andrew McDoul, whose child she bore, resulting in a paternity row in which McDoul denied being the child’s father. Young Peggy died before the £3000 award was made for the child’s maintenance.

  Johnson appears to have selected his own tune, Loch Eroch Side, when he printed the song. The poet was advised not to print the song in his Edinburgh edition (Letters 90 and 88) and decided to send it to the S.M.M.

  Bonie Dundee

  First printed in the S.M.M., Vol. 1, 22nd May, 1787.

  ‘O whar did ye get that hauver-meal bannock?’ where, oatmeal

  O silly blind body, O dinna ye see; do you not

  I gat it frae a young, brisk Sodger Laddie, got, from, soldier

  Between Saint Johnston and bonie Dundee. Perth

  5 O gin I saw the laddie that gae me’t! if, gave

  Aft has he doudl’d me up on his knee; often, dandled

  May Heaven protect my bonie Scots laddie,

  And send him hame to his babie and me. home

  ‘My blessin’s upon thy sweet, wee lippie! lips

  10 My blessins upon thy bonie e’e brie! eyebrow

  Thy smiles are sae like my blythe Sodger

  Thou’s ay the dearer and dearer to me!

  But I’ll big a bow’r on yon bonie banks, build

  Whare Tay rins wimplin by sae clear; where, runs, so

  15 And I’ll cleed thee in the tartan sae fine, clothe, so

  And mak thee a man like thy daddie dear.’ make

  This is an updated version of a traditional song. The first verse is improved, the second is from Burns. The description ‘hauver-meal bannock’ is a euphemistic reference to being pregnant and showing it.

  To the Weaver’s Gin Ye Go

  Tune: To the Weaver’s Gin ye Go

  First printed in the S.M.M., Vol. 2, 14th February, 1788.

  My heart was ance as blythe and free,

  As simmer days were lang, summer, long

  But a bonie, westlin weaver lad from the West

  Had gart me change my sang. made, song

  Chorus

  5 To the weaver’s gin ye go, fair maids, if

  To the weaver’s gin ye go, if

  I rede you right, gang ne’er at night, warn, go

  To the weaver’s gin ye go. if

  My mither sent me to the town mother

  10 To warp a plaiden wab;

  But the weary, weary warpin o’t

  Has gart me sigh and sab. made, sob

  To the weaver’s &c.

  A bonie, westlin weaver lad

  Sat working at his loom;

  15 He took my heart, as wi’ a net

  In every knot and thrum.

  To the weaver’s &c.

  I sat beside my warpin-wheel,

  And ay I ca’d it roun’; always, drove

  And every shot and every knock,

  20 My heart it gae a stoun. gave, thump

  To the weaver’s &c.

  The moon was sinking in the west

  Wi’ visage pale and wan,

  As my bonie, westlin weaver lad

  Convoy’d me thro’ the glen.

  To the weaver’s &c.

  25 But what was said, or what was done,

  Shame fa’ me gin I tell; fall on, if

  But Oh! I fear the kintra soon countryside

  Will ken as weel’s mysel! know, as well as

  To the weaver’s &c.

  This is based on an old song but the lyrics, bar the chorus, are from Burns. The poet comments:

  The chorus of this song is old, the rest of it is mine. Here, once for all, let me apologise for many silly compositions of mine in this work. Many beautiful airs wanted words; in the hurry of other avocations, if I could string a parcel of rhymes together anything near tolerable, I was fain to let them pass. He must b
e an excellent poet indeed, whose every performance is excellent.

  This self-deprecatory remark should not be taken seriously. Burns had a phenomenal capacity to evolve lyrics from traditional music. Having brought him wool to weave, the girl finds herself caught not only in the rhythm of the shuttle but of the penis. The garment is made and she also finds herself pregnant.

  I’m o’er Young to Marry Yet

  Tune: I’m o’er Young to Marry Yet

  First printed in the S.M.M., Vol. 2, 14th February, 1788.

  I am my mammie’s ae bairn, one child