syllable. There is a degree of wild irregularity in many of the compositions and fragments which are daily sung to them by my compeers, the common people-a certain happy arrangement of old Scotch syllables, and yet, very frequently, nothing, not even like rhyme, or sameness of jingle, at the ends of the lines. This has made me sometimes imagine, that perhaps it might be possible for a Scotch poet, with a nice judicious ear, to set compositions to many of our most favourite airs, particularly that class of them mentioned above, independent of rhyme altogether. There is a noble sublimity, a heart-melting tenderness, in some of our ancient ballads, which shew them to be the work of a masterly hand and it has often given me many a heartache to reflect that such glorious old bards-bards who very probably owed all their talents to native genius, yet have described the exploits of heroes, the pangs of disappointment, and the meltings of love, with such fine strokes of nature-that their very names (oh how mortifying to a bard's vanity!) are now buried among the wreck of things which were.' Oh ye illustrious names unknown! who could feel so strongly and describe so well: the last, the meanest of the Muse's trainone who, though far inferior to your flights, yet eyes your path, and with trembling wing would sometimes soar after you-a poor rustic bard unknown, pays this sympathetic pang to your memory! Some of you tell us, with all the charms of verse, that you have been unfortunate in the world-unfortunate in love: he, too, has felt the loss of his little fortune, the loss of friends, and, worse than all, the loss of the woman he adored. Like you, all his consolation was his Muse: she taught him in rustic measures to complain. Happy could he have done it with your strength of imagination and flow of verse! May the turf lie lightly on your bones!-and may you now enjoy that solace and rest which this world rarely gives to the heart tuned to all the feelings of poesy and love! September 8. The following fragment is done something in imitation of the manner of a noble old Scottish piece called M'Millan's Peggy, and sings to the tune of 'Gala Water.' My Montgomery's Peggy was my deity for six or eight months. She had been bred (though, as the world says, without any just pretence for it) in a style of life rather elegant; but as Vanburgh says, in one of his comedies: 'My star found me out' there too; for though I began the affair merely in a gaieté de cœur, or, to tell the truth, which will scarcely be believed, a vanity of shewing my parts in courtship, particularly my abilities at a billet-doux, which I always piqued myself upon, made me lay siege to her; and when, as I always do in my foolish gallantries, I had battered myself into a very warm affection for her, she told me one day, in a flag of truce, that her fortress had been for some time before the rightful property of another; but, with the greatest friendship and politeness, she offered me every alliance except actual possession. I found out afterwards that what she told me of a pre-engagement was really true; but it cost me some heartaches to get rid of the affair. I have even tried to imitate, in this extempore thing, that irregularity in the rhyme which, when judiciously done, has such a fine effect on the ear. FRAGMENT. Although my bed were in yon muir, &c.1 There is a fragment in imitation of an old Scotch song, well known among the country ingle-sides. I cannot tell the name either of the song or the tune, but they are in fine unison with one another. By the way, these old Scottish airs are so nobly sentimental, that when one would compose to them, to 'south the tune,' as our Scotch phrase is, over and over, is the readiest way to catch the inspiration, and raise the bard into that glorious enthusiasm so strongly characteristic of our old Scotch poetry. I shall here set down one verse of the piece mentioned above, both to mark the song and tune I mean, and likewise as a debt I owe to the author, as the repeating of that verse has lighted up my flame a thousand times: 'When clouds in skies do come together To hide the brightness of the weather, "Though fickle fortune has deceived me, She promised fair, and performed but ill; 'I'll act with prudence as far's I'm able, I'll meet thee with an undaunted mind.' The above was an extempore, under the pressure of a heavy train of misfortunes, which indeed threatened to undo me altogether. It was just at the close of that dreadful period mentioned, p. viii.; and though the weather has brightened up a little with me, yet there 1 See ante, the song entitled Montgomery's Peggy. Alluding to the misfortunes he feelingly laments before this verse.-B. 3 Reference is here made to that part of the Commonplace-book bearing date March 1784. has always been since a tempest brewing round me in the grim sky of futurity, which I pretty plainly see will some time or other, perhaps ere long, overwhelm me, and drive me into some doleful dell, to pine in solitary, squalid wretchedness. However, as I hope my poor country Muse, who, all rustic, awkward, and unpolished as she is, has more charms for me than any other of the pleasures of life beside as I hope she will not then desert me, I may even then learn to be, if not happy, at least easy, and sowth a sang to soothe my misery. 'Twas at the same time I set about composing an air in the old Scotch style. I am not musical scholar enough to prick down my tune properly; so it can never see the light, and perhaps 'tis no great matter, but the following were the verses I composed to suit it : Oh raging fortune's withering blast My stem was fair, my bud was green, But luckless fortune's northern storms But luckless fortune's northern storms The tune consisted of three parts, so that the above verses just went through the whole air. To quote the valuable letter of his brother Gilbert: Among the earliest of his poems was the Epistle to Davie. Robert often composed without any regular plan. When anything made a strong impression on his mind, so as to rouse it to any poetic exertion, he would give way to the impulse, and embody the thought in rhyme. If he hit on two or three stanzas to please him, he would then think of proper introductory, connecting, and concluding stanzas; hence the middle of a poem was often first produced. It was, I think, in summer 1781, when in the interval of harder labour, he and I were weeding in the garden (kail-yard), that he repeated to me the principal part of this epistle. I believe the first idea of Robert's becoming an author was started on this occasion. I was much pleased with the epistle, and said to him I was of opinion it would bear being printed.' This poem appears to have been completed, as it now stands, in January 1785, for a copy in the poet's handwriting exists in possession of Miss Grace Aiken, Ayr, bearing that date, and with the following more ample title-An Epistle to Davie, a Brother Poet, Lover, Ploughman, and Fiddler. EPISTLE TO DAVIE, A BROTHER POE T. January While winds frae aff Ben-Lomond blaw, And hing us owre the ingle, I set me down to pass the time, I grudge a wee the great folk's gift, I tent less, and want less It's hardly in a body's power To see how things are shared; How best o' chicls are whiles in want, And ken na how to wair't; in-ear little comfortably While coofs on countless thousands rant, fools know-spend 2 The old-remembered beggar, even in my own time, like the baccoch, or travelling cripple of Ireland, was expected to merit his quarters by something beyond an exposition of his distresses. He was often a talkative, facetious fellow, prompt at repartee, and not withheld from exercising his power that way by any respect of persons, his patched cloak giving him the privilege of the ancient jester. To be a guid crack-that is, to possess talents for conversation-was essential to the trade of a "puir body" of the more esteemed class; and Burns, who delighted in the amusement their discourses afforded, seems to have looked forward To lie in kilns and barns at e'en, Yet then content could make us blest; The honest heart that's free frae a' What though, like commoners of air, Yet nature's charms, the hills and woods, hold with gloomy firmness to the possibility of himself becoming, one day or other, a member of their itinerant society. In his poetical works, it is alluded to so often as perhaps to indicate that he considered the consummation as not utterly impossible. Thus, in the fine dedication of his works to Gavin Hamilton, he says: "And when I downa yoke a naig, Then, Lord be thankit, I can beg." Again, in his Epistle to Davie, a brother poet, he states that, in their closing career, "The last o't, the warst o't, And after having remarked, that Is only but to beg." "To lie in kilns and barns at e'en, When banes are crazed, and bluid is thin, the bard reckons up, with true poetical spirit, that free enjoyment of the beauties of nature which might counterbalance the hardship and uncertainty of the life even of a mendicant. In one of his prose letters, to which I have lost the reference, he details this idea yet more As the life of a seriously, and dwells upon it, as not ill adapted to his habits and powers. Scottish mendicant of the eighteenth century seems to have been contemplated without much horror by Robert Burns, the author can hardly have erred in giving to Edie Ochiltree something of poetical character and personal dignity above the more abject of his miserable calling. The class had, in fact, some privileges. A lodging, such as it was, was readily granted to them in some of the outhouses; and the awmous (alms) of a handful of meal (called a gowpen) was scarce denied by the poorest cottager. The mendicant disposed these, according to their different quality, in various bags around his person, and thus carried about with him the principal part of his sustenance, which he literally received for the asking. At the houses of the gentry, his cheer was mended by scraps of broken meat, and perhaps a Scottish “twalpenny," or English penny, which was expended in snuff or whisky. In fact, these indolent peripatetics suffered much less real hardship and want of food than the poor peasants from whom they received alms.'-SIR WALTER SCOTT-Notes to Antiquary. |