The Canongate Burns

by Robert Burns

  Yours by Mr Stoddart was the welcomest letter I ever received. God grant that now when your health is reestablished, you may

  take a little, little more care of a life so truly invaluable to your friends! As to your very very excellent epistle from a certain Capital of a certain Empire, I shall answer it in its own way sometime next week … Once more let me congratulate you on your returning health. God grant that you may live at least while I live, for were I to lose you it would leave a Vacuum in my enjoyments that nothing could fill up.

  By April 1793, he is writing to her in terms of an intimacy which suggests not only a, at least, fantasised physical intimacy, but a political affinity. Sharing revolutionary sentiments, he promised, in a manner which exaggerates his own risk, to find her a pair of fashionable French gloves, despite such enemy products being prohibited. The mixture of the political and the erotic is obviously a heady brew for him as long as the only ‘Satyr Man’ familiar to Maria is himself. The fall out, which was eventually repaired between them, may have been the notorious ‘Sabine incident’ but the intensity of Burns’s rage was not only thwarted sexuality but the difference between them in social class, which allowed Maria not sexual but political freedom. As ll. 43–4 suggest she has a freedom to speak politically quite denied to him.

  How he deals with Maria’s withdrawal of affection in this poem is, however, to locate his dislike for Maria not in himself but in the unfortunate James Williamson into whose pathologically inflamed consciousness we enter. His role as actor-director also allows Burns to play throughout with images of theatre versus reality. Thus we have not only Maria being made up by Harry, her servant (ll. 16–20) but the fact that Williamson cannot keep Maria focused on him on stage as her promiscuous eye is diverted from him as Highland hero to the kilted but breechless members of the cast. This nakedness they share with the Sans Culottes of the French Revolution so that implicit in Maria’s politics is an element of rough trading. He also lists the alleged suitors besieging Maria at Woodley Park. The Irishman in ll. 31–2 is Captain Gillespie. Though the text gives ‘bronze’, ‘brogue’ makes much more sense because what Williamson is most jealous about is his loss of verbal intercourse with Maria. Even more than her appearance, her writing skills are attacked; she is a protean, derivative mimic who absorbs he language of her male admirers the better to plagiarise it. Colonel McDoual (l. 33–4) of Logan was a noted womaniser. Maitland Bushby (ll. 35–6) was sheriff of Wigtown.

  In ll. 56–70 we return to the scene of Williamson’s incarceration by James Lowther (1736–1802), Earl of Lonsdale who, Kinsley tells us, was ‘more detested than any man alive, as a shameless political sharper, a domestic bashaw, and an intolerable tyrant over his tenants and dependents…. Robert Adam told me many stories of him, which made me conclude that he was truly a madman, though too rich to be confined’ (Alexander Carlyle, Autobiography, 1910 edn, pp. 438–9). The kind of aristocrat Burns loved to hate, it was, ironically, the very man Boswell’s sycophantic Anglophilia wretchedly got him into service with.

  Prophetic of Burns’s own relationship with Maria, the concluding (ll. 71–83) part of the poem calls for reconciliation and a return to their old linguistic alliance. Writing to Smellie (Letter 492) Burns described Maria Riddell as having ‘one unlucky failing … where she dislikes, or despises, she is apt to make no more secret of it— than where she esteems or respects’. He might envy her freedom but, finally, he could not deny her talent nor withhold his admiration. Her own memoir of Burns (see Kinsley pp. 1545–7) confirms the rightness of, at least, his literary judgement.

  On Miss Jean Scott

  First printed in Stewart, Glasgow, 1801.

  OH! had each SCOT of ancient times

  Been, JEANY SCOTT, as thou art,

  The bravest heart on English ground

  Had yielded like a coward. —

  The heroine here is still unknown. Kinsley picks up on the Chambers anecdote that it was based on Miss Jean Scott of Ecclefechan, daughter of the local postmaster (Chambers, Vol. IV, p. 193). Some editions print the title as On Miss Jean Scott of Ayr.

  I’ll Ay Ca’ in by Yon Town

  Tune: We’ll Gang Nae Mair to Yon Town

  First printed in Johnson, December 1796.

  There’s nane sall ken, there’s nane sall guess, none shall know

  What brings me back the gate again, journey

  But she, my fairest faithfu’ lass,

  And stownlins we sall meet again. — secretly

  Chorus:

  5 I’ll ay ca’ in by yon town, always call, that

  And by yon garden green, again;

  I’ll ay ca’ in by yon town,

  And see my bonie Jean again. —

  She’ll wander by the aiken tree, oak

  10 When trystin time draws near again; meeting/cattle fair

  And when her lovely form I see,

  O haith, she’s doubly dear again! a private oath

  This is given as Burns’s work because of the Hastie manuscript sent to Johnson, although it was printed without the poet’s signature which usually indicates that it was either a traditional song or one he slightly updated.

  On Chloris Being Ill

  Tune: Ay Waukin O

  First printed in Currie, 1800.

  Can I cease to care,

  Can I cease to languish,

  While my darling Fair

  Is on the couch of anguish. —

  Chorus

  5 Long, long the night,

  Heavy comes the morrow,

  While my soul’s delight

  Is on her bed of sorrow. —

  Ev’ry hope is fled;

  10 Ev’ry fear is terror;

  Slumber even I dread,

  Ev’ry dream is horror. —

  Long, long the night, &c.

  Hear me, Powers Divine!

  Oh, in pity, hear me!

  15 Take aught else of mine,

  But my Chloris spare me!

  Long, long the night, &c.

  Chloris (Jean Lorimer) is, once again, the heroine of this work. Burns sent a copy to Thomson in April 1795, having already sent a version to Maria Riddell in March when their friendship appears to have been somewhat repaired. Thomson printed it in 1801.

  Elegy on Mr. William Cruikshank, A.M.

  First printed in Hogg and Motherwell, 1834.

  Now honest William’s gaen to Heaven, gone

  I wat na gin’t can mend him: don’t know if it

  The fauts he had in Latin lay, faults

  For nane in English kend them. — none, knew

  William Cruikshank died in early 1795. Burns met him through either Robert Ainslie (both came from Duns) or William Nicol. Cruikshank was a colleague of Nicol at the Edinburgh High School where both men taught classics. Burns wrote The Rosebud for Cruikshank’s daughter.

  Address to the Woodlark –

  Tune: Loch Erroch side

  First printed in Thomson, 1798.

  O stay, sweet warbling wood lark stay,

  Nor quit for me the trembling spray,

  A hapless lover courts thy lay,

  Thy soothing, fond complaining. —

  5 Again, again that tender part,

  That I may catch thy melting art;

  For surely that wad touch her heart would

  Wha kills me wi’ disdaining.— who

  Say, was thy little mate unkind,

  10 And heard thee as the careless wind?

  Oh, nocht but love and sorrow join’d, nothing

  Sic notes o’ woe could wauken! such, waken

  Thou tells o’ never-ending care;

  O’ speechless grief, and dark despair:

  15 For pity’s sake, sweet bird, nae mair! no more

  Or my poor heart is broken!

  On the Adam manuscript, a note states that the poet’s son James Glencairn Burns claimed his father wrote this song at the request of Mrs John McMurdo. An early variant is recorded in Scott Douglas’s Edinburgh edition, titled S
ong Composed on Hearing a Bird Sing While Musing on Chloris, allegedly taken from a pencil manuscript by Burns then in private hands.

  Their Groves o’ Sweet Myrtle

  Tune: Humours of Glen

  First printed in The London Star, 22nd December, 1796.

  THEIR groves o’ sweet myrtle let Foreign Lands reckon,

  Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume,

  Far dearer to me yon lone glen o’ green breckan bracken

  Wi’ th’ burn stealing under the lang, yellow broom: long

  5 Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers,

  Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk, lowly, unseen;

  For there, lightly tripping among the wild flowers,

  A list’ning the linnet, aft wanders my JEAN. oft

  Tho’ rich is the breeze in their gay, sunny vallies,

  10 And cauld, CALEDONIA’S blast on the wave; cold

  Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace,

  What are they? The haunt o’ the TYRANT and SLAVE.

  The SLAVE’S spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains

  The brave CALEDONIAN views wi’ disdain;

  15 He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains,

  Save LOVE’S willing fetters, the chains o’ his JEAN.

  This twin eulogy of love and patriotism, to Mrs Jean Burns and to Caledonia was sent to Thomson in April 1795. It was published by him in 1799 to one of the poet’s favourite melodies, The Humours of Glen. It was copied by The Morning Chronicle on 24th December, 1796, then Edinburgh Magazine in May, 1797, followed by the Scots Magazine, June 1797.

  ’Twas Na Her Bonie Blue E’e

  Tune: Laddie Lie Near Me

  First printed in Currie, 1800.

  ’Twas na her bonie blue e’e was my ruin; not, eye

  Fair tho’ she be, that was ne’er my undoing:

  ’Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us, nobody

  ’Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o’ kindness. stolen

  5 Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me, sore

  Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me; sore, must stay

  But tho’ fell Fortune should fate us to sever,

  Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever.

  Chloris I’m thine wi’ a passion sincerest,

  10 And thou hast plighted me love o’ the dearest!

  And thou ’rt the angel that never can alter,

  Sooner the Sun in his motion would falter. —

  This was sent to Thomson in April 1795 when the song collector requested that Burns provide lyrics to the tune Laddie Lie Near Me. Thomson never printed them.

  How Cruel are the Parents

  Tune: John Anderson My Jo

  First printed in Thomson, 1799.

  How cruel are the Parents

  Who riches only prize,

  And to the wealthy booby

  Poor Woman sacrifice:

  5 Meanwhile the hapless Daughter

  Has but a choice of strife;

  To shun a tyrant Father’s hate

  Become a wretched Wife. —

  The ravening hawk pursuing,

  10 The trembling dove thus flies,

  To shun impending ruin

  Awhile her pinion tries;

  Till of escape despairing,

  No shelter or retreat,

  15 She trusts the ruthless Falconer

  And drops beneath his feet. —

  This was, as the poet indicates in his first draft title: ‘Altered from an Old English Song’. It was sent to Thomson on 9th May, 1795. It is only partly reworked from the traditional lyric.

  Mark Yonder Pomp

  Tune: Deil Tak the Wars

  First printed in Currie, 1800.

  MARK yonder pomp of costly fashion,

  Round the wealthy, titled bride:

  But when compar’d with real passion,

  Poor is all that princely pride.

  5 What are the showy treasures,

  What are the noisy pleasures,

  The gay, gaudy glare of vanity and art:

  The polish’d jewel’s blaze

  May draw the wond’ring gaze,

  10 And courtly grandeur bright

  The fancy may delight,

  But never, never can come near the heart. —

  But did you see my dearest Chloris

  In simplicity’s array;

  15 Lovely as yonder sweet opening flower is,

  Shrinking from the gaze of day.

  O then, the heart alarming,

  And all resistless charming,

  In Love’s delightful fetters, she chains the willing soul!

  20 Ambition would disown

  Th’ world’s imperial crown,

  Even Av’rice would deny

  His worshipp’d deity,

  And feel thro’ every vein love’s raptures roll.

  This was sent to Thomson in May 1795. Although Chloris (Jean Lorimer) is mentioned, her name is mere cover for the contrast of ‘natural’ feelings of love and passion, untainted by what Burns saw as the more artificial world of the aristocratic fiscally-arranged marriage, then increasingly in vogue.

  Address to the Toothache

  Written by the Author when he was grievously tormented by that Disorder.

  First printed in The Belfast Newsletter, 11th September, 1797.

  MY curse on your envenom’d stang, sting

  That shoots my tortur’d gooms alang, gums along

  An’ thro’ my lugs gies mony a bang ears give, pain

  Wi’ gnawin vengeance,

  5 Tearing my nerves wi’ bitter twang, twinge

  Like racking engines.

  A’ down my beard the slavers trickle, saliva

  I cast the wee stools o’er the meikle, small, largest

  While round the fire the hav’rels keckle, idiots cackle

  10 To see me loup; jump

  I curse an’ ban, an’ wish a heckle flax-comb

  Were i’ their doup. backsides

  Whan fevers burn, or ague freeze, when

  Rheumatics gnaw, or colic squeeze us,

  15 Our neebors sympathise, to ease us, neighbours

  Wi’ pitying moan;

  But thou — the hell o’ a’ diseases,

  They mock our groan.

  O’ a’ the num’rous human dools, woes

  20 Ill-hairsts, daft bargains, cutty-stools, bad harvests, public shaming

  Or worthy frien’s laid i’ the mools, earth

  Sad sight to see!

  The tricks o’ knaves, or fash o’ fools, annoyance

  Thou bear’st the gree. wins the prize

  25 Whare’er that place be, priests ca’ Hell, wherever

  Whare a’ the tones o’ misery yell, where

  An’ plagues in ranked number tell

  In deadly raw, row

  Thou, Tooth-ache, surely bear’st the bell

  30 Aboon them a’! above

  O! thou grim, mischief-making chiel, chap/fellow

  That gars the notes o’ discord squeel, makes

  Till human-kind aft dance a reel often

  In gore a shoe thick, blood

  35 Gie a’ the faes o’ Scotland’s weal give all, foes

  A TOWMOND’S TOOTHACHE! year’s

  This work is undated, but its composition probably coincides with the poet’s letter of May 1795 where he describes suffering from an awful toothache in the following manner, that ‘fifty troops of infernal Spirits are riding post from ear to ear along my jaw-bones’ (Letter 671). This appeared first in the Belfast Newsletter, then a few days later, in The Morning Chronicle, 19th September, 1797. Burns had an avid, largely for political reasons, Ulster audience.

  Forlorn My Love

  Tune: Let Me in this ae Night

  First printed in Currie, 1800.

  FORLORN my Love, no comfort near,

  Far, far from thee I wander here;

  Far, far from thee, the fate severe

&n
bsp; At which I most repine, Love. —

  Chorus

  5 O wert thou, Love, but near me,

  But near, near, near me;

  How kindly thou wouldst chear me,

  And mingle sighs with mine, Love. —

  Around me scowls a wintry sky,

  10 Blasting each bud of hope and joy;

  And shelter, shade, nor home have I,

  Save in these arms of thine, Love. —

  O wert thou, &c.

  Cold, alter’d friends with cruel art

  Poisoning fell Fortune’s dart; —

  15 Let me not break thy faithful heart,

  And say that fate is mine, Love. —

  O wert thou, &c.

  But, dreary tho’ the moments fleet,

  O let me think we yet shall meet!

  That only ray of solace sweet

  20 Can on thy Chloris shine, Love. —

  O wert thou, &c.

  This was first sent to Thomson in June 1795 (Letter 672) but updated in early August that year (Letter 676). It was eventually printed by Thomson in 1805. Chloris, again, refers to Jean Lorimer.