by Robert Burns
Duncan was a lad o’ grace,
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.
35 Maggie’s was a piteous case,
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.
Duncan could na be her death, not
— Swelling pity smoor’d his Wrath; smothered
Now they’re crouse and canty baith, merry, cheerful both
40 Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.
An earlier version by Burns was sent to Johnson for the S.M.M. but this version sent to Thomson was his final draft. The traditional song can be found in Herd’s collection (1769) but here Burns has adapted it considerably. Another version exists in The Merry Muses of Caledonia, the poet’s collection of bawdy verse. It is one of the more popular, recorded songs by modern folk performers.
The Creed of Poverty
First printed in Stewart, 1802.
In politics if thou would’st mix,
And mean thy fortunes be;
Bear this in mind, be deaf and blind,
Let great folks hear and see.
This untitled epigram was written in pencil, according to Robert Ainslie, on the reverse of an envelope received by Burns from Excise Commissioner Robert Graham in early January 1793. This context would explain the epigram as a spontaneous response to the poet’s chastisement to keep his nose out of politics. Ainslie’s letter, dated 3rd September, 1834, states that the poet was a covert member of the radical Friends of the People and:
The Commissioners of Excise, irritated at his opinions, wrote him a formal official letter, dealing with the large seal of office, informing him that a ‘petty officer’ had ‘no business with politics’. The proud heart of Burns did not like this humbling; after a few wrathful words in secret to one of his friends, he took a pencil and wrote these lines on the envelope (See footnote, Cunningham’s edition, 1834, p. 725).
This is probably an accurate account of the verse’s origin. Kinsley (K536) misdates composition and guesses, wrongly, that the lines were inscribed on a window in The Globe Tavern, Dumfries.
O Poortith Cauld
Tune: Cauld Kail in Aberdeen
First printed in Thomson’s Select Collection, 1798.
O Poortith cauld and restless love, poverty cold
Ye wrack my peace between ye;
Yet poortith a’ I could forgive poverty all
An ’twere na for my Jeanie. not
Chorus
5 O why should Fate sic pleasure have, such
Life’s dearest bands untwining?
Or why sae sweet a flower as love so
Depend on Fortune’s shining?
The warld’s wealth when I think on, world’s
10 Its pride and a’ the lave o’t; all, rest of it
My curse on silly coward man,
That he should be the slave o’t!
O why should Fate, &c.
Her een sae bonie blue betray, eyes so
How she repays my passion;
15 But prudence is her o’erword ay, refrain, always
She talks o’ rank and fashion.
O why should Fate, &c.
O wha can prudence think upon, who
And sic a lassie by him: such
O wha can prudence think upon, who
20 And sae in love as I am? so
O why should Fate, &c.
How blest the wild-wood Indian’s fate,
He woos his artless Dearie:
The silly bogles, Wealth and State, demons
Did never make them eerie. agitated/concerned
O why should Fate, &c.
This fine lyric of rejection due to wealth’s enticements and not genuine love, is supposed to have been written by Burns for Jean Lorimer (1775–1831). Gilbert Burns, who arguably overplays the role of expert on his brother’s works, despite their relationship being increasingly distant during the last years, told Thomson, the heroine was a Jane Blackstock. It is probably based on Jean Lorimer’s rejection of the Exciseman John Gillespie, a colleague of Burns, in favour of a more showy Andrew Whelpdale, who eventually dropped Jean. Jean Lorimer was the poet’s Chloris of many later verses.
Lord Gregory
First printed in Thomson’s Select Collection, 1798.
O mirk, mirk is this midnight hour, dark
And loud the tempest’s roar:
A waefu’ wanderer seeks thy tower, woeful
Lord Gregory ope thy door. open
5 An exile frae her father’s ha’, from, hall/house
And a’ for sake o’ thee;
At least some pity on me shaw, show
If love it may na be. not
Lord Gregory mind’st thou not the grove
10 By bonie Irwine side,
Where first I own’d that virgin-love
I lang, lang had denied. long
How aften didst thou pledge and vow, often
Thou wad for ay be mine! would, always
15 And my fond heart, itsel’ sae true, so
It ne’er mistrusted thine.
Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory,
And flinty is thy breast:
Thou dart of Heaven that flashest by,
20 O wilt thou bring me rest!
Ye mustering thunders from above
Your willing victim see!
But spare and pardon my fause Love, false
His wrangs to Heaven and me! wrongs
This was written for Thomson and sent to him on 26th January, 1793. It is basedonthe old song The Bonie Lass of Lochryan. Dr JohnWalcot (Peter Pindar) wrote his own version of Lord Gregory and his appears next to Burns’s in 1798. Burns, often self-effacing about his songs, praised Walcot’s lyrics as ‘beautiful’ and denigrated his own, stating their chief merit was their ‘ballad simplicity’ (Letter 535). John Syme records that Burns recited Lord Gregory at the Earl of Selkirk’s home, near Kirkcudbright, during their Galloway tour in 1793.
Sonnet –
On Hearing a Thrush Sing
on a Morning Walk in January
First printed by Currie, 1800.
Sing on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough,
Sing on, sweet bird, I’ll listen to thy strain:
See aged Winter ’mid his surly reign
At thy blythe carol clears his furrowed brow. —
5 Thus in bleak Poverty’s dominion drear
Sits meek Content, with light, unanxious heart,
Welcomes the rapid moments, bids them part,
Nor asks if they bring ought to hope, or fear. —
I thank thee, Author of this opening day,
10 Thou whose bright sun now gilds yon orient skies.
Riches denied, thy boon was purer joys,
What Wealth could never give, nor take away! —
But come, thou child of Poverty and Care,
The mite high Heaven bestowed, that mite with thee I’ll share. —
This sonnet was, according to folklore, prompted by John Syme in the wake of the poet’s somewhat humiliating dictate by the Excise to keep his nose out of politics. Syme wished Burns to turn his muse to lighter topics than politics. This poem is not apolitical; it does suggest the consolations of a simple, spiritual life lived on a plane beyond material wealth. This consolation, manifest in the song of the thrush, may have been an influence on that Burns admirer, Walt Whitman. Whitman also employs the consolatory song of the thrush in his great poem on Lincoln’s death, When Lilacs Last in the Door-yard Bloom’d.
On General Dumourier’s Desertion
from the French Republican Army
First printed in Cromek’s Select Scottish Songs, 1810.
YOU’RE welcome to Despots, Dumourier;
You’re welcome to Despots, Dumourier. —
How does Dampiere do?
Aye, and Bournonville too?
5 Why did they not come along with you, Dumourier?
I will fight France with you, Dumourier, —
I will fight France with you, Dumourier: —
I will fight France with you,
I will take my chance with you;
10 By my soul, I’ll dance with you, Dumourier. —
Then let us fight about, Dumourier;
Then let us fight about, Dumourier;
Then let us fight about,
’Till Freedom’s spark is out,
15 Then we’ll be damn’d — no doubt — Dumourier.
This parody of the Scots song Robin Adair castigates the French General Charles François Dumouriez (1739–1823) who deserted the French Republican army in late March 1793. The incident was reported in The Edinburgh Advertiser (and other newspapers) of 5th–19th April, 1793 under the news title ‘A Counter Revolution in France’. Stories emerged from France that Dumouriez wanted to reestablish a French monarchy as the only way to European peace, a policy the Convention rejected on 30th March, denouncing Dumouriez as a traitor. Count Ajax de Beurnonville (l. 4), the minister at war, Camus, and four deputies from the Convention were sent to arrest Dumouriez, but he captured them and sent the threat to the Convention that his army would march on Paris and set up a new monarchy. Dampiere’s (l. 3) forces attacked Dumouriez’s troops (now bolstered by the Austrians who had defeated Dumouriez who made an armistice with them) and repelled them. Dampiere was killed several weeks after this work was written. Pro-government newspapers in Britain turned Dumouriez into a hero and he was eventually welcomed to Britain in June 1793 and toured London in a hackney carriage, to large crowds, before attending the House of Commons as a guest to hear a debate on the war. Burns, as an avid newspaper reader would have known all this. Dumouriez eventually died in 1823 at Turville Park, Buckinghamshire, England.
Given that Britain went to war with France on 1st February, 1793, the royalist ‘Despots’ attacked in this song are principally Britain and Austria. The second stanza gives ironic assent to those loyalists who would line up with Dumouriez to fight France, culminating in the final stanza where Freedom itself is eventually destroyed. This pro-French revolutionary song is written with obvious anti-war sentiments further exposing the myth that Burns ceased to write controversial work from early January 1793. A similar ironic ending is found in the recently discovered The Cob Web, where it is concluded that there would be food enough for everyone to eat when eventually most of the British soldiers in France had been killed. Burns and his contemporaries all employed the spelling ‘Dumourier’ for Dumouriez’s surname, even Dumouriez himself did so in at least one letter addressed to British newspapers.
Young Jessie
Tune: Bonie Dundee
First printed in Thomson’s Select Collection, 1798.
TRUE-HEARTED was he, the sad swain o’ the Yarrow,
And fair are the maids on the banks of the Ayr;
But by the sweet side o’ the Nith’s winding river,
Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair:
5 To equal young Jessie, seek Scotia all over;
To equal young Jessie, you seek it in vain:
Grace, Beauty, and Elegance fetter her lover,
And maidenly modesty fixes the chain. —
Fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning,
10 And sweet is the lily at evening close;
But in the fair presence o’ lovely, young Jessie,
Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose.
Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring;
Enthron’d in her een he delivers his law: eyes
15 And still to her charms she alone is a stranger,
Her modest demeanor’s the jewel of a’.
This was written on Miss Jenny Staig, daughter of David Staig, Provost of Dumfries. It was sent to Thomson in early 1793 but remained unpublished until 1798. Kinsley (p. 542) misprints l. 13 as ‘Love tits in her smile’.
Farewell, Thou Stream
Tune: Nancy’s to the Green-Wood Gane
First printed in Thomson’s edition of 1799.
FAREWELL, thou stream that winding flows
Around Eliza’s dwelling;
O mem’ry, spare the cruel throes
Within my bosom swelling:
5 Condemn’d to drag a hopeless chain,
And yet in secret languish;
To feel a fire in every vein,
Nor dare disclose my anguish. —
Love’s veriest wretch, unseen, unknown
10 I fain my griefs would cover;
The bursting sigh, th’ unweeting groan, tearless
Betray the hapless lover:
I know thou doom’st me to despair,
Nor wilt, nor canst relieve me;
15 But, Oh Eliza, hear one prayer,
For pity’s sake forgive me!
The music of thy voice I heard,
Nor wist while it enslav’d me;
I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear’d,
20 Till fears no more had sav’d me:
Th’ unwary Sailor thus, aghast,
The wheeling torrent viewing,
Mid circling horrors sinks at last
In overwhelming ruin. —
This was written to the air employed by Allan Ramsay in his song The Last Time I Came o’er the Moor. Burns changed the namein the second line to Eliza from Maria after his quarrel with the Riddells.
Meg o’ the Mill:
Tune: O Bonnie Lass, Will Ye Lie in a Barrack.
First printed in Currie, 1800.
O ken ye what Meg o’ the mill has gotten, know, got
An’ ken ye what Meg o’ the mill has gotten?
She’s gotten a coof wi’ a claute o’ siller, fool, lots, money
And broken the heart o’ the barley Miller. —
5 The Miller was strappin, the Miller was ruddy, strong, rugged
A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady;
The Laird was a widdifu’, bleerit knurl; rascal, bleary dwarf
She’s left the gude-fellow and taen the churl. — good, taken
The Miller, he hecht her a heart leal and luving, offered, loyal
10 The Laird did address her wi’ matter more muving,
A fine pacing horse wi’ a clear chain’d bridle,
A whip by her side, and a bony side-saddle. —
O wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing, woe, money, so
And wae on the luve that is fixed on a mailen! woe, farm
15 A tocher’s nae word in a true lover’s parle, dowry no, pledge
But gie me my luve and a fig for the warl! give, world
Here Burns has reworked an old song he sent to Johnson. For the old version, see our Appendix of rejected and doubtful works. This version was sent to Thomson in 1793, but was rejected by him.
Blythe Hae I Been on Yon Hill
Tune: Liggeram cosh, or My Bonnie Wee Lass
First printed by Thomson, 1799.
Blythe hae I been on yon hill, have
As the lambs before me;
Careless ilka thought and free, every
As the breeze flew o’er me:
5 Now nae langer sport and play, no longer
Mirth or sang can please me; song
Lesley is sae fair and coy, so
Care and anguish seize me. —
Heavy, heavy is the task,
10 Hopeless love declaring:
Trembling, I dow nocht but glow’r, do nothing, stare
Sighing, dumb, despairing!
If she winna ease the thraws, will not, throes
In my bosom swelling;
15 Underneath the grass-green sod
Soon maun be my dwelling. — must
Burns wrote this on Miss Lesley Baillie, the heroine of Saw Ye Bonie Lesley. The poet describes the song as one of ‘the finest songs I ever made in my life … composed on a young lady, positively the most beautiful, lovely woman in the world’ (Letter 586).
Logan Braes
Tune: Logan Water
First printed in Currie, 1800.
O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide
The day I was my Willie’s bride;
And years sin syne hae o’er
us run since then
Like Logan to the simmer sun. summer
5 But now thy flowery banks appear
Like drumlie Winter, dark and drear, gloomy
While my dear lad maun face his faes, must, foes
Far, far frae me and Logan braes. — from, hill slopes
Again the merry month o’ May
10 Has made our hills and vallies gay;
The birds rejoice in leafy bowers,
The bees hum round the breathing flowers:
Blythe Morning lifts his rosy eye,
And Evening’s tears are tears o’ joy:
15 My soul delightless, a’ surveys, all
While Willie’s far frae Logan braes. — from
Within yon milk white hawthorn bush, that
Amang her nestlings sits the thrush; among
Her faithfu’ Mate will share her toil,
20 Or wi’ his song her cares beguile:
But I wi’ my sweet nurslings here,
Nae Mate to help, nae Mate to cheer, no
Pass widowed nights and joyless days,
While Willie’s far frae Logan braes. — from
25 O wae upon you, Men o’ State, woe
That brethren rouse in deadly hate!
As ye make mony a fond heart mourn, many
Sae may it on your heads return! so
How can your flinty hearts enjoy Lanarkshire
