by Robert Burns
Yours with the greatest regards, Daer.
Daer, was almost certainly, in the eyes of Burns, a potential leader of a reformed Scotland.
1 Professor Dugald Stewart.
2 A reference probably to Dr Hugh Blair.
1 An interesting anticipation of a later controversy.
Ye Sons of Old Killie
Tune: Shawnboy
First printed in Cunningham, 1834.
Ye sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie,
To follow the noble vocation;
Your thrifty old mother has scarce such another
To sit in that honored station.
5 I’ve little to say, but only to pray,
As praying’s the ton of your fashion;
A prayer from the Muse you well may excuse,
’Tis seldom her favourite passion.
Ye Powers who preside o’er the wind and the tide,
10 Who marked each element’s border;
Who formed this frame with beneficent aim,
Whose sovereign statute is order;
Within this dear mansion may wayward contention
Or withered envy ne’er enter;
15 May secrecy round be the mystical bound,
And brotherly love be the centre.
A note on the manuscript of this song reads: ‘This song, wrote by Mr Burns, was sung by him in the Kilmarnock Kilwinning Lodge, in 1786, and given by him to Mr [William] Parker, who was Master of the Lodge’. William Parker is referred to in l. 1.
Epistle to Captain William Logan at Park
30th October, 1786
First printed in Cunningham, 1834.
Hail, thairm-inspirin, rattlin Willie! fiddle string
Tho’ Fortune’s road be rough an’ hilly
To every fiddling, rhyming billie, fellow
We never heed;
5 But take it like th’ unback’d Fillie, unbroken young horse
Proud o’ her speed.
When, idly goavin, whyles we saunter, staring stupidly, wander
Yirr, Fancy barks, — awa we canter, a growl, away
Up-hill, down-brae, till some mishanter, hill-slope, mishap
10 Some black Bog-hole,
Arreests us; then the scathe an’ banter harm
We’re forced to thole.
Hale be your HEART! Hale be your FIDDLE! healthy/sound
Lang may your elbuck jink an’ diddle, long, elbow, play
15 To cheer you through the weary widdle trouble
O this vile Warl: world
Until you on a cummock dridle, short stick, totter
A gray-hair’d Carl! old man
Come WEALTH, come POORTITH, late or soon, poverty
20 Heaven send your HEART-STRINGS ay IN TUNE!
And screw your TEMPER-PINS aboon fiddle-pegs, above
A FIFTH or mair, more
The melancholious, sairie croon sad notes
O’ cankrie CARE! ill-natured
25 May still your Life, from day to day
Nae LENTE LARGO, in the play, no, slow/monotony
But ALLEGRETTO FORTE, gay, lively/graceful
Harmonious flow:
A sweeping, kindling, bauld STRATHSPEY, bold, fiddle tune
30 Encore! Bravo!
A’ blessings on the cheery gang folk
Wha dearly like a Jig or sang; who, song
An’ never think o RIGHT an WRANG wrong
By square and rule,
35 But as the CLEGS O’ FEELING stang, gadflies, sting
Are wise or fool!
My hand-wal’d CURSE keep hard in chase -chosen
The harpy, hoodock, purse-proud RACE, crow-like/greedy
Wha count on POORTITH as disgrace! who, poverty
40 Their tuneless hearts,
May FIRE-SIDE DISCORDS jar a BASS
To a’ their PARTS!
But come — your hand — my careless brither —
I’ th’ tither WARLD, if there ’s anither, other, another
45 An’ that there is, I’ve little swither doubt
About the matter;
We, cheek for-chow, shall jog thegither, -jowl, together
I’se ne’er bid better.
We’ve faults an’ failins, — granted clearly:
50 We’re frail, backsliding Mortals meerly:
Eve’s bonie SQUAD, Priests wyte them sheerly blame, entirely
For our grand fa’: fall
But still — but still — I like them dearly;
GOD bless them a’!
55 Ochon! for poor CASTALIAN DRINKERS, alas, inspiration/poets
When they fa’ foul o’ earthly Jinkers! sprightly women
The witching, curst, delicious blinkers alluring girls
Hae put me hyte; have, daft
An’ gart me weet my waukrife winkers made, wet wakeful eyes
60 Wi’ girnan spite. snarling
But by yon Moon! an’ that’s high swearin;
An’ every Star within my hearin!
An’ by her een! wha was a dear ane, eyes, who, one
I’ll ne’er forget;
65 I hope to gie the JADS a clearin give, wenches
In fair play yet!
My loss I mourn, but not repent it:
I’ll seek my pursie whare I tint it: purse, lost
Ance to the Indies I were wonted, once, destined
70 Some cantraip hour, magic
By some sweet Elf I’ll yet be dinted, enchanted
Then, VIVE L’AMOUR!
Faites mes BAISSEMAINS respectueuse, respectful greetings
To sentimental Sister Susie,
75 And honest LUCKY; no to roose you, praise
Ye may be proud,
That sic a couple Fate allows ye such
To grace your blood.
Nae mair at present can I measure;
80 An’ trowth my rhymin ware’s nae treasure; truth, no
But when in Ayr, some half-hour’s leisure,
Be ’t light, be ’t dark,
Sir Bard will do himself the pleasure
To call at PARK.
Robert Burns.
Burns met William Logan in 1786 when he was a Lieutenant on half pay who had served in the American war. From the epistle it is evident Logan’s skill as a fiddler warmed Burns to him. Other editors have given the title as Epistle to Major Logan, not the title written by Burns, since it was in the service of the West Lowland Fencibles from 1794 that Logan was designated a Major. Burns celebrates a manifestly free fellow spirit with witty extended musical analogies in his customary praise of the spontaneous over the cautionary.
Extempore Reply to an Invitation
First printed in Cunningham, 1834.
Sir,
Yours this moment I unseal,
And faith! I’m gay and hearty!
To tell the truth and shame the deil, devil
I am as fou as Bartie: drunk
But Foorsday, Sir, my promise leal, Thursday, true
Expect me o’ your partie,
If on a beastie I can speel horse, climb
Or hurl in a cartie. cart
Yours, — Robert Burns.
Mauchlin, Monday Night, 10 o’clock
The composition date of this is estimated as somtime in 1785 or 1786. Who the invitation was from is not known, but it may have been James Kennedy or John Richmond.
The Night was Still
First printed in Blackie’s Land of Burns, 1840.
The night was still, and o’er the hill
The moon shone on the castle wa’; wall
The mavis sang, while dew-drops hang
Around her on the castle wa’.
Sae merrily they danc’d the ring, so
Frae e’enin till the cocks did craw, from, evening, crow
And aye the owerword o’ the spring
Was Irvine’s bairns are bonie a’. children
This charming little lyric was written and given to a daughter of Dr George Lawrie in 1786.
/> Rusticity’s Ungainly Form
First printed in Lockart, 1827.
RUSTICITY’S ungainly form
May cloud the highest mind;
But when the heart is nobly warm,
The good excuse will find.
Propriety’s cold cautious rules
Warm Fervour may o’erlook;
But spare poor Sensibility
The ungentle harsh rebuke.
This was included on a blank leaf of a book given by Burns to Dr Lawrie’s son Archibald. Hearsay recorded by Scott Douglas suggests the words refer to a conversation between Mrs Lawrie and Burns about Peggy Kennedy (see Scott Douglas, Kilmarnock edition, vol. II, p. 306, headnote).
Verses Intended to be Written Below a Noble Earl’s Picture
First printed in Cunningham, 1834.
WHOSE is that noble, dauntless brow?
And whose that eye of fire?
And whose that generous, Princely mien,
Ev’n rooted Foes admire?
Stranger, to justly show that brow,
And mark that eye of fire,
Would take HIS hand, whose vernal tints,
His other Works admire.
Bright as a cloudless Summer-sun,
With stately port he moves;
His guardian Seraph eyes with awe
The noble Ward he loves.
Among th’ illustrious Scottish Sons
That Chief thou may’st discern,
Mark Scotia’s fond-returning eye,
It dwells upon GLENCAIRN.
This was written probably late in 1786. A copy was sent to Lord Glencairn on 13th January, 1787 asking permission to print the verses. Glencairn declined (see Letter 334). The verses first appear in Cunningham, although Kinsley (Vol. III, p. 1223), errs in stating that they appear first in Chalmers, 1851.
There was a Lad
Tune: Daintie Davie
First printed in Cromek, 1808.
THERE was a lad was born in Kyle, the parish name
But what na day o’ what na style,
I doubt it ’s hardly worth the while
To be sae nice wi’ Robin. so
Chorus
5 Robin was a rovin’ Boy,
Rantin’, rovin’, rantin’, rovin’;
Robin was a rovin’ Boy,
Rantin’ rovin’ Robin.
Our monarch’s hindmost year but ane 1759
10 Was five-and-twenty days begun,
’Twas then a blast o’ Janwar’ Win’1 January winds
Blew hansel in on Robin. A first gift
Robin was &c.
The Gossip keekit in his loof, glanced, face
Quo’ scho wha lives will see the proof, quoth she, who
15 This waly boy will be nae coof, sturdy, no fool
I think we’ll ca’ him Robin. call
Robin was &c.
He’ll hae misfortunes great an’ sma’, have, small
But ay a heart aboon them a’; above
He’ll be a credit ’till us a’, to
20 We’ll a’ be proud o’ Robin.
Robin was &c.
But sure as three times three mak nine,
I see by ilka score and line, every
This chap will dearly like our kin’, kind
So leeze me on thee, Robin. commend
Robin was &c.
25 Guid faith quo’ scho I doubt you Stir, good, she
Ye’ll gar the lasses lie aspar; make, legs apart
But twenty fauts ye may hae waur — faults, have worse
So blessin’s on thee, Robin.
Robin was &c.
This features in the S. C. B. dated 9th April 1787. The chorus is adapted from a traditional song but the versification is the poet’s own celebration of his birthday. The song may have been begun earlier but the lyrics here are from 1787. It is an optimistic autobiographical piece, written with future fame in mind, given the success of his Kilmarnock edition and his success in Edinburgh. It is ironic that this work was probably never sung publicly during the poet’s life as it first appears in print in 1808. After the first Burns Clubs were set up in the early 19th century, it gained a growing popularity and is now one of the most sung Scots songs. The second line of the last stanza still condemns that stanza to a degree of discreet censorship in performance.
1 January 25th 1759, the date of my Bardship’s vital existence. R. B.
Elegy
On the Death of Robert Ruisseaux
First printed in Cromek, 1808.
Now Robin lies in his last lair,
He’ll gabble rhyme, nor sing nae mair, talk, no more
Cauld Poverty, wi’ hungry stare, cold
Nae mair shall fear him; no more
5 Nor anxious Fear, nor cankert Care, crabbed
E’er mair come near him. more
To tell the truth, they seldom fash’t him, troubled
Except the moment that they crush’t him;
For sune as Chance or Fate had hush’t ’em soon
10 Tho’ e’er sae short, so
Then wi’ a rhyme or sang he lash’t ’em, song
And thought it sport.
Tho’ he was bred to kintra wark, country-work
And counted was baith wight and stark, both, sturdy, strong
15 Yet that was never Robin’s mark
To mak a man;
But tell him, he was learn’d and clark, well read, scholar
Ye roos’d him then! roused
This mock-elegy was written during 1787. The poet plays on the French for ‘brook’ by employing ‘Ruisseaux’, meaning streams, i.e. Scottish burns. The reference to Jean Jacques Rousseau (1712–78), as a seminal influence on the French revolution was not noted by Kinsley.
On Robert Fergusson – I
First printed in Cromek, 1808.
Curse on ungrateful man, that can be pleas’d,
And yet can starve the author of the pleasure!
O thou, my elder brother in Misfortune,
By far my elder Brother in the Muse,
With tears I pity thy unhappy fate!
Why is the Bard unfitted for the world,
Yet has so keen a relish of its Pleasures?
