Farewell the glen sae bushy, O! Burns himself, in the notes on Johnson's Museum, which he wrote for Captain Riddel of Glenriddel,' says, regarding this song, it was a composition of mine in very early life, before I was at all known in the world. My Highland Lassie was a warm-hearted, charming young creature as ever blessed a man with generous love.' And then he goes on to relate the above story of their parting. Now, the whole circumstances detailed in this little ballad-his love, his desire of fortune for the sake of the loved one, and especially his being compelled by the frowns of fortune to cross the raging sea-entirely answer to the crisis at which Burns had now arrived, and they do not at all answer to any other period of his life of which we have any knowledge. There is another song, which was found amongst the poet's manuscripts after his death, and which answers perfectly to the circumstances and feelings which have been represented: it is entitled by himself A PRAYER FOR MARY. Powers celestial! whose protection Let my Mary's kindred spirit Draw your choicest influence down. Make the gales you waft around her When in distant lands I roam; To realms unknown while fate exiles me, Make her bosom still my home. Burns also told Mr Thomson in 1792: In my very early years, 1 Cromek's Reliques, p. 237. when I was thinking of going to the West Indies, I took the following farewell of a dear girl: '— [WILL YE GO TO THE INDIES, MY MARY?] Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, And leave auld Scotia's shore? Oh sweet grow the lime and the orange, But a' the charms o' the Indics I hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary, Oh plight me your faith, my Mary, We hac plighted our troth, my Mary, And curst be the cause that shall part us! But for the phrases, 'very early life,' and 'my very early years,' there could be no difficulty in assigning My Highland Lassie and Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary? which is evidently another expression of the same passion, to the date 1786; but Mr Douglas argued, that either Burns felt as if the lapse of six years had brought him out of youth into middle life, or he wished to maintain a mystery regarding the story of Mary. For his studying to keep the matter in some obscurity, there certainly might be motives of some cogency; for one, a dislike to recall before the mind of his wife an affair which had come somewhat awkwardly between them, and run nigh to sever them for ever. But then, it may be said, Burns was a man above disguises and secrets. So he was in general; yet did he not say in a poem which left his hand this very month 'Aye keep something to yoursel' Ye scarcely tell to ony?' The first verse is not to be read as expressing a desire of the poet that Mary should accompany him to the West Indies; the rest of the poem makes the idea of a parting and farewell quite clear. The verse is to be accepted simply as a variation of the song whose air was adopted-Will ye go to the Ewe-buchts, Marion? The ingenuity and industry of Mr Douglas had so nearly succeeded in solving this curious problem in Burns's history, that it is almost a pity to add to the evidence he has brought forward. So it is, however, that, as will be seen hereafter, proofs of a more satisfactory kind for the same conclusion have been discovered. It is to be feared that Burns was not a man for whom his admirers can safely claim steadiness of affection, any more than they can arrogate for him a romantic or platonic delicacy. His was a heart whose pulses were synchronous with those of no other human being; he loved keenly, enthusiastically, for the time, but not necessarily for a long time; and then there were 'under-plots in the drama of his love.'' It appears as if there was still another maiden high in his book of passion during this agitating period. Of her he takes leave in terms nearly resembling those employed in the Highland Lassie, and which involve the same allusions regarding his own approaching exile from his native land: ELIZA. TUNE-Gilderoy. From thee, Eliza, I must go, They never, never can divide Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear, We part to meet no more! But the last throb that leaves my heart, While death stands victor by, That throb, Eliza, is thy part, And thine that latest sigh! This song appeared in the first edition of his poems, and the reality of the person and of the name assigned to her is attested by his telling in a letter, written on his return to Mauchline in June 1787, It is well at this time to recall what his brother Gilbert says regarding the plurality of his attachments:-' One generally reigned paramount in his affections; but as Yorick's affections flowed out toward Madame de L- at the remise door, while the eternal vows of Eliza were upon him, so Robert was frequently encountering other attractions, which formed so many under-plots in the drama of his love.' that he had called for his 'quondam Eliza.' From a variety of circumstances, the editor has been led to conclude that Eliza was identical with the Miss Betty, one of the Mauchline Belles. She was an amiable girl-had felt kindly towards Burns through all his late distresses-and had thus raised a kind of love, chiefly composed of gratitude, in his bosom. There is sufficiently clear evidence, apart from all consideration of Eliza, that the gust of passion towards Mary did not long maintain the bright integrity which was promised for it on the banks of the Faile. It is tolerably evident, from the songs, that the idea of taking Mary along with him had soon been given up, if it ever was seriously entertained. Within a very few weeks after his parting with her, we find him speaking of Jean as one who still had a sway over his affections. He tells how vainly he had been endeavouring, by dissipation and other mischiefs, to drive her out of his head, notwithstanding that he now regarded her as even more unfaithful towards himself than ever. But before giving the letter in which this sentiment is expressed, a brief recital of circumstances is necessary. At the end of March, in order to avoid the pressure of her father's displeasure, Jean went to Paisley, to stay for some time with an uncle, Andrew Purdie, a carpenter; and here she found a friendly shelter. There was no other person in Paisley whom she knew, excepting a good-looking young weaver, named Robert Wilson, who was a native of Mauchline, and who had often danced with her at the balls there. Finding herself in want of money, she thought of applying for some to Wilson, whose profession was in those days so prosperous as to bring him in a considerable income. The young man called for her, spoke kindly, and advanced the little sum she required. He repeated the visit several times, and thus gave rise to a report which reached Mauchline, that Jean and he were likely to form a match. In reality, the young man acted at first under mere kindness: the utmost length he ever went afterwards was to tell Jean that, if she did not marry Burns, he would never take a wife while she remained disengaged. The story, however, reached the ears of Burns in its most exaggerated form, and while it made him completely miserable, it enabled him to know that Jean was still dear to him. TO MR DAVID BRICE.' MOSSGIEL, June 12, 1786. DEAR BRICE-I received your message by G. Paterson, and as I am not very throng [busy] at present, I just write to let you know that there is such a worthless, rhyming reprobate, as your humble servant, still in the land of the living, though I can scarcely say in the place of hope. I have no news to tell you that will give me any pleasure to mention, or you to hear. 2 Poor ill-advised ungrateful Armour came home on Friday last. You have heard all the particulars of that affair, and a black affair it is. What she thinks of her conduct now I don't know one thing I do know-she has made me completely miscrable. Never man loved, or rather adored, a woman more than I did her; and to confess a truth between you and me, I do still love her to distraction after all, though I won't tell her so if I were to see her, which I don't want to do. My poor dear unfortunate Jean! how happy have I been in thy arms! It is not the losing her that makes me so unhappy, but for her sake I feel most severely. I foresee she is in the road to, I am afraid, eternal ruin. May Almighty God forgive her ingratitude and perjury to me, as I from my very soul forgive her; and may His grace be with her and bless her in all her future life! I can have no nearer idea of the place of eternal punishment than what I have felt in my own breast on her account. I have tried often to forget her; I have run into all kinds of dissipation and riots, mason-meetings, drinkingmatches, and other mischief, to drive her out of my head, but all in vain. And now for a grand cure: the ship is on her way home that is to take me out to Jamaica; and then, farewell dear old Scotland! and farewell dear ungrateful Jean! for never, never will I see you more. You will have heard that I am going to commence poet in print; and to-morrow my works go to the press. I expect it will be a volume of about 200 pages-it is just the last foolish action I intend to do; and then turn a wise man as fast as possible. Believe me to be, dear Brice, your friend and well-wisher, R. B. It serves to add to the strange confusion of the love-affairs of Burns, that there is a canzonet in which the same ideas which we have already seen brought forward regarding an eternal constancy to Mary and Eliza are wrought up in favour of Jean. |