The Canongate Burns

by Robert Burns

  Epistle to Wm. Tytler of Woodhouselee,

  Author of a Defence of Mary Queen of Scots -

  With an Impression of the Author’s Portrait

  First printed by Currie in 1800.

  REVERED Defender of beauteous Stuart,

  Of Stuart! — a Name once respected,

  A Name which to love was once mark of a true heart,

  But now ’tis despis’d and neglected.

  5 Tho’ something like moisture conglobes in my eye,

  Let no man misdeem me disloyal;

  A poor, friendless wand’rer may well claim a sigh,

  Still more if that Wand’rer were royal.

  My Fathers that name have rever’d on a throne,

  10 My Fathers have fallen to right it;

  Those Fathers would spurn their degenerate Son

  That NAME should he scoffingly slight it.

  Still in pray’rs for King George I most cordially join,

  The Queen and the rest of the gentry:

  15 Be they wise, be they foolish,’ tis nothing of mine,

  Their title ‘s avow’d in the Country.

  But why of that Epocha make such a fuss,

  That gave us th’ Electoral Stem?

  If bringing them over was lucky for us,

  20 I’m sure ’twas as lucky for them!

  But Politics, truce! we’re on dangerous ground;

  Who knows how the fashions may alter:

  The doctrines today that are loyalty sound,

  Tomorrow may bring us a halter.

  25 I send you a trifle, a head of a Bard,

  A trifle scarce worthy your care;

  But accept it, good Sir, as a mark of regard,

  Sincere as a saint’s dying prayer.

  Now Life’s chilly evening dim shades on your eye,

  30 And ushers the long dreary night;

  But you, like the star that athwart gilds the sky,

  Your course to the latest is bright.

  May 1787

  This work, where Jacobite sympathy is in inverse proportion to anti-Hanoverian antipathy, was addressed to William Tytler (1711–92), Laird of Woodhouselee, a writer to the Signet and author on various subjects, including a defence of Mary Queen of Scots, music and antiquities. It is notorious for, arguably, the worst line Burns ever wrote, ‘Tho’ something like moisture conglobes in my eye…’ What is forgotten as opposed to such saccharine Jacobitism is the wicked anti-Hanoverian dig of ll. 17–20, edited out by Currie (1800), but restored in Pickering, 1839. It was Tytler, the musician who collected old songs for Johnson’s Scots Musical Museum, who gravely upset David Hume with his A Historical and Critical Enquiry into the Evidence … against Mary Queen of Scots. With his examination of the Rev. Dr Robertson’s Dissertation and Hume’s History (1760), Hume felt that a ‘sound beating or even a Rope too good for him’ and that a ‘Scots Jacobite, who maintains the innocence of Queen Mary must be considered as … beyond the reach of argument or reason, and must be left to his Prejudices’ (E.C. Mossner, David Hume, 1954, pp. 413–14). The affair is discussed by L.L. Bongie, in ‘The Eighteenth Century Marian Controversy’, Studies in Scottish Literature, 1964, pp. 236–52). Hume does not emerge from this article as clear winner but, in places, irascible and unconvincing. It also reveals the depth of passion personal and political that Mary Queen of Scots could evoke in eighteenth-century Scotland. Hume would have found Burns at least as invidious as Tytler in this respect. This, for example, is Burns writing to Dr Moore whose novel Zeluco contains a duel fought over Mary’s reputation:

  The Ballad on Queen Mary, was begun while I was busy with Percy’s Reliques of English Poetry. By the way, how much is every honest heart which has a tincture of genuine Caledonian Prejudice, obliged to you for your glorious story of Buchanan & Targe … What a rocky-hearted, perfidious Succubus was that Queen Elizabeth! Judas Iscariot was a sad dog to be sure, but still his demerits shrink to insignificance, compared with the doings of the infernal Bess Tudor (Letter 437).

  The poem was sent to Tytler on 4th May 1787, along with an engraving of Burns by Beugo, prior to the poet’s departure on his Border tour with Robert Ainslie.

  To Miss Ainslie in Church

  First printed in Cromek, 1808.

  Fair maid, you need not take the hint,

  Nor idle texts pursue;

  ’Twas guilty sinners that he meant,

  Not angels such as you.

  This was composed during the poet’s Border tour with Robert Ainslie in 1787. On 6th May, Burns attended church at Duns accompanied by Ainslie and his sister. The story has it that when the minister denounced all sinners, Miss Ainslie appeared agitated; on observing this, Burns used a blank leaf in his bible to write the epigram.

  For William Creech

  Selkirk, 13th May, 1787.

  First printed by Cromek, 1808.

  Auld chuckie REEKIE ’s1 sair distrest, old, mother-hen, sore

  Down droops her ance weel-burnish’d crest, once, well-

  Nae joy her bonie buskit nest no, trimmed

  Can yield ava; at all

  5 Her darling bird that she loes best, loves

  Willie’s awa. — away

  O Willie was a witty wight,

  And had o’ things an unco sleight; uncommon skill

  Auld Reekie ay he keepit tight, old, kept in order

  10 And trig an’ braw: trim, handsome

  But now they’ll busk her like a fright, dress, freak

  Willie’s awa. —

  The stiffest o’ them a’ he bow’d,

  The bauldest o’ them a’ he cow’d, boldest

  15 They durst nae mair than he allow’d, did no more

  That was a law:

  We’ve lost a birkie weel worth gowd, blade, well, gold

  Willie’s awa. —

  Now gawkies, tawpies, gowks, and fools, boobies, silly girls, dolts

  20 Frae colleges and boarding-schools, from

  May sprout like simmer puddock-stools summer, toadstools

  In glen or shaw; wood

  He wha could brush them down to mools who, dust

  Willie’s awa. —

  25 The brethren o’ the Commerce-Chaumer chamber

  May mourn their loss wi’ doolfu’ clamour; doleful

  He was a dictionar and grammar

  Amang them a’:

  I fear they’ll now mak mony a stammer, make many

  30 Willie’s awa. —

  Nae mair we see his levee door no more

  Philosophers and Poets pour,

  And toothy Critics by the score

  In bloody raw; row

  35 The Adjutant of a’ the core band

  Willie’s awa. —

  Now worthy Greg’ry’s2 Latin face,

  Tytler’s and Greenfield’s3 modest grace,

  McKenzie, Stuart,4 such a brace

  40 As Rome ne’er saw;

  They a’ maun meet some ither place, must, other

  Willie’s awa. —

  Poor BURNS — even Scotch Drink canna quicken, cannot

  He cheeps like some bewilder’d chicken,

  45 Scar’d frae its minnie and the cleckin from, mother, brood

  By hoodie-craw: hooded carrion crow

  Grief’s gien his heart an unco kickin, given, uncommon beating

  Willie’s awa. —

  Now ev’ry sour-mou’d, girnin blellum, bad-mouthed, snarling nag

  50 And Calvin’s folk are fit to fell him; kill

  Ilk self-conceited, critic-skellum each, -scullion

  His quill may draw;

  He wha could brawlie ward their bellum who, finely repel, attack

  Willie’s awa. —

  55 Up wimpling, stately Tweed I’ve sped, meandering

  And Eden scenes on chrystal Jed,

  And Ettrick banks now roaring red

  While tempests blaw;

  But every joy and pleasure’s fled,

  60 Willie’s awa. —

  May I be
Slander’s common speech;

  A text for Infamy to preach;

  And lastly, streekit out to bleach stretched

  In winter snaw snow

  65 When I forget thee, WILLIE CREECH,

  Tho’ far awa! —

  May never wicked Fortune touzle him, ruffle

  May never wicked men bamboozle him,

  Until a pow as auld’s Methusalem head of hair, old as

  70 He canty claw: cheery scratch

  Then to the blessed, new Jerusalem

  Fleet-wing awa. —

  This was written on 13th May 1787 while Burns was on his tour of the Borders. He wrote to William Creech (1745–1815), his Edinburgh printer, enclosing the poem ‘wrote, nearly extempore, in a solitary Inn at Selkirk, after a miserable wet day’s riding’ (Letter 106). This humorous, Ramsay-derived mock elegy was written prior to the decline in their friendship.

  1 Old Reekie refers to Edinburgh.

  2 Dr James Gregory (1753–1821).

  3 Alexander Fraser Tytler (1747–1813) and Rev. William Greenfield (d. 1827).

  4 Henry Mackenzie (1745–1831) and Professor Dugald Stewart (1753–1828).

  To Symon Gray

  First printed in Cunningham, 1834.

  I

  SYMON Gray,

  You’re dull to-day.

  II

  Dullness, with redoubled sway,

  Has seized the wits of Symon Gray.

  III

  Dear Cimon Gray,

  The other day,

  When you sent me some rhyme,

  I could not then just ascertain

  5 Its worth, for want of time.

  But now today, good Mr. Gray,

  I’ve read it o’er and o’er,

  Tried all my skill, but find I’m still

  Just where I was before.

  10 We auld wives’ minions gie our opinions,

  Solicited or no;

  Then of its fauts my honest thoughts

  I’ll give — and here they go.

  Such damn’d bombast no time that’s past

  15 Will show, or time to come,

  So, Cimon dear, your song I’ll tear,

  And with it wipe my [bum].

  These epigrams were penned by Burns during May 1787 on his tour of the Borders. Simon Gray, who, according to oral tradition, was a retired businessman, met Burns in Duns, on 6th May (See Kinsley’s note, Vol. 3, p. 1237) and pestered the bard with his home-spun versification. Scott Douglas, in 1876, was too prudish to print the last two lines, choosing to pretend that he had been ‘told the piece concludes’ with the line ending ‘nor time to come’ (See Vol. II, p. 308).

  To Mr. Renton of Lamerton

  First printed in Chambers, 1851.

  Your billet, Sir, I grant receipt; letter

  Wi’ you I’ll canter ony gate; any road

  Tho’ ’twere a trip to yon blue warl world

  Where Birkies march on burning marl.1 fellows, stone

  Then, Sir, God willing, I’ll attend ye;

  And to His goodness I commend ye. —

  R. Burns.

  Mr John Renton of Lamerton invited Burns to join him at Mordington House, by Berwick, during the poet’s tour of the Borders in 1787. The above reply was written about 18th May, 1787. There is no evidence from the poet’s journal or letters that he visited Renton, who was related to the poet’s Dumfries friend Charles Sharpe, though this verse suggests he did.

  1 A reference to Hell, alluding to Milton’s Paradise Lost, Book I, l. 296.

  Epigram at Inveraray

  First printed by Stewart, 1801.

  Whoe’er he be that sojourns here,

  I pity much his case,

  Unless he come to wait upon

  The Lord their God, His Grace.

  There ’s naething here but Highland pride, nothing

  And Highland scab and hunger;

  If Providence has sent me here,

  ’Twas surely in an anger.

  This was composed on 24th June, 1787 when Burns was travelling through Argyllshire. Stewart (1801) remarks in his introduction to these verses, ‘Burns, accompanied by a friend, having gone to Inverary at a time when some company were there on a visit to his Grace the Duke of Argyll, finding himself and his companion entirely neglected by the Inn-Keeper, whose whole attention seemed to be occupied with the visitors of his Grace, expressed his disapprobation of the uncivility with which they were treated in the following lines’.

  Elegy on the Death of Sir James Hunter Blair

  First printed by Currie, 1800.

  The lamp of day, with ill-presaging glare,

  Dim, cloudy, sank beneath the western wave:

  Th’ inconstant blast howl’d thro’ the darkening air,

  And hollow whistled in the rocky cave.

  5 Lone as I wander’d by each cliff and dell,

  Once1 the lov’d haunts of Scotia’s royal train;

  Or mus’d where limpid streams, once hallow’d, well;2

  Or mouldering ruins mark the sacred Fane.3

  Th’ increasing blast roared round the beetling rocks;

  10 The clouds, swift-wing’d, flew o’er the starry sky;

  The groaning trees, untimely, shed their locks,

  And shooting meteors caught the startled eye. —

  The paly moon rose in the livid east,

  And ’mong the cliffs disclos’d a stately Form,

  15 In weeds of woe, that frantic beat her breast,

  And mix’d her wailings with the raving storm. —

  Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow;

  ’Twas CALEDONIA’S trophy’d shield I view’d;

  Her form majestic droop’d in pensive woe,

  20 The lightning of her eye in tears imbu’d. —

  Revers’d that spear, redoubtable in war,

  Reclin’d that banner, erst in fields unfurl’d,

  That like a deathful meteor gleam’d afar,

  And brav’d the mighty monarchs of the world. —

  25 ‘My patriot-Son fills an untimely grave!’

  With accent wild and lifted arms she cry’d;

  ‘Low lies the hand that oft was stretch’d to save,

  Low lies the heart that swell’d with honor’s pride. —

  ‘A weeping Country joins a Widow’s tear,

  30 The helpless Poor mix with the Orphan’s cry;

  The drooping Arts surround their Patron’s bier,

  And grateful Science heaves the heart-felt sigh. —

  ‘I saw my Sons resume their ancient fire;

  I saw fair Freedom’s blossoms richly blow:

  35 But ah, how hope is born but to expire!

  Relentless Fate has laid their Guardian low. —

  ‘My Patriot falls — but shall he lie unsung,

  While empty Greatness saves a worthless name?

  No: every Muse shall join her tuneful tongue,

  40 And future ages hear his growing fame. —

  ‘And I will join a Mother’s tender cares,

  Thro’ future times to make his virtues last,

  That distant years may boast of other BLAIRS —’

  She said, and vanish’d with the sweeping blast.

  Sir James Hunter Blair (1741–87) was originally from Ayr, the son of a merchant. He was a Whig politician, M.P for Edinburgh 1780–4, became the city’s Lord Provost in 1784 and a Baronet, 1786. In notes to the Glenriddell manuscript Burns wrote of Blair as a friend: ‘… my grief was sincere … a worthy, public-spirited man’. His death occurred on 1st July, 1787.

  1 The King’s Park at Holyrood House. R.B.

  2 St Anthony’s Well. R.B.

  3 St Anthony’s chapel. R.B.

  To Miss Ferrier

  With a Copy of Elegy on the Death of Sir James Hunter Blair

  First printed in Chambers, 1851.

  Madam

  Nae Heathen Name shall I prefix,

  Frae Pindus or Parnassus;

  AULD REEKIE dings them a�
� to sticks Edinburgh, knocks down

  For rhyme-inspiring Lasses. —

  5 Jove’s tunefu’ Dochters three times three daughters

  Made Homer deep their debtor;

  But gien the body half an e’e, given, eye

  NINE FERRIERS wad done better. — would [have]

  Last day my mind was in a bog,

  10 Down George’s Street I stoited; staggered

  A creeping, cauld, PROSAIC fog cold

  My very senses doited. — dulled

  Do what I dought to set her free, dared

  My Muse lay in the mire; soul

  15 Ye turned a neuk — I saw your e’e — corner

  She took the wing like fire. —

  The mournfu’ Sang I here enclose, song

  In GRATITUDE I send you;

  And pray in rhyme, sincere as prose,