The Canongate Burns

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?