scribed the heart, I am not vain enough to hope | The "Mountain-Daisy," cherished by the ray for distinguished poetic fame. No. XVII. FROM DR MOORE. A poet drew from heaven, shall never die. 'Mid penury's bare soil and bitter gale; On nature with impassion'd look he gazed; No. XVIII. TO DR MOORE. SIR, Clifford Street, January 23, 1787. I HAVE just received your letter, by which I find I have reason to complain of my friend Mrs Dunlop for transmitting to you extracts from my letters to her, by much too freely and too carelessly written for your perusal. I must forgive her, however, in consideration of her good intention, as you will forgive me, I hope, for the freedom I use with certain expressions, in consideration of my admiration of the poems in general. If I may judge of the author's disposition from his works, with REVEREND SIR, Edinburgh, 15th February, 1787. all the other good qualities of a poet, he has PARDON my seeming neglect in delaying so not the irritable temper ascribed to that race long to acknowledge the honour you have done of men by one of their own number, whom me, in your kind notice of me, January 23d. you have the happiness to resemble in ease Not many months ago, I knew no other emand curious felicity of expression. Indeed the ployment than following the plough, nor could poetical beauties, however original and bril- boast any thing higher than a distant acliant, and lavishly scattered, are not all I ad-quaintance with a country clergyman. Mere mire in your works; the love of your native country, that feeling sensibility to all the objects of humanity, and the independent spirit which breathes through the whole, give me a most favourable impression of the poet, and have made me often regret that I did not see the poems, the certain effect of which would have been my seeing the author last summer, when I was longer in Scotland than I have been for many years. I rejoice very sincerely at the encouragement you receive at Edinburgh, and I think you peculiarly fortunate in the patronage of Dr Blair, who, I am informed, interests himself very much for you. I beg to be remembered to him: nobody can have a warmer regard for that gentleman than I have, which, independent of the worth of his character, would be kept alive by the memory of our common friend, the late Mr George B e. greatness never embarrasses me: I have nothing to ask from the great, and I do not fear their judgment; but genius, polished by learning, and at its proper point of elevation in the eye of the world, this of late I frequently meet with, and tremble at its approach. I scorn the affectation of seeming modesty to cover self-conceit. That I have some merit I do not deny; but I see, with frequent wringings of heart, that the novelty of my character, and the honest national prejudice of my countrymen, have borne me to a height altogether untenable to my abilities. For the honour Miss W. has done me, please, Sir, return her in my name, my most grateful thanks. I have more than once thought of paying her in kind, but have hitherto quitted the idea in hopeless despondency. I had never before heard of her; but the other day I got her poems, which, for several reasons, some belonging to the head, and others the offspring of the heart, give me a great deal of pleasure. I have little pretensions to critic lore: there are, I think, two characteristic features in her poetry-the unfettered wild flight of native genius, and the querulous, sombre tenderness of "time-settled sorrow." I only know what pleases me, often without being able to tell why. No. XIX. FROM DR MOORE. DEAR SIR, Clifford Street, 28th February, 1787. WHILE Soon the garden's flaunting flowers decay, YOUR letter of the 15th gave me a great deal And scattered on the earth neglected lie, So you have obtained liberty from the magistrates to erect a stone over Fergusson's grave? I do not doubt it; such things have been, as Shakspeare says, "in the olden-time:" "The poet's fate, is here in emblem shown, He ask'd for bread, and he received a stone." It is, I believe, upon poor Butler's tomb that this is written. But how many brothers of Parnassus, as well as poor Butler and poor Fergusson, have asked for bread, and been served with the same sauce! The magistrates gave you liberty, did they? O generous magistrates!***, celebrated over the three kingdoms for his public spirit, gives a poor poet liberty to raise a tomb to a poor poet's memory!-most generous! *** once upon a time gave that same poet the mighty sum of eighteen pence for a copy of his works. But then it must be considered that the poet was at this time absolutely starying, and besought his aid with all the earnestness of hunger; and, over and above, he received a worth, at least one-third of the value, in exchange, but which, I believe, the poet afterwards very ungratefully expunged. Next week I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you in Edinburgh; and as my stay will be for eight or ten days, I wish you or would take a snug, well-aired bed-room for me, where I may have the pleasure of seeing you over a morning cup of tea. But by all accounts, it will be a matter of some difficulty to see you at all, unless your company is bespoke a week before-hand. There is a great rumour here concerning your great intimacy with the Duchess of -, and other ladies of distinction. I am really told that "cards to invite fly by thousands each night;" and, if you had one, I suppose there would also be "bribes to your old secretary." It seems you are resolved to make hay while the sun shines, and avoid, if possible, the fate of poor Fergusson,... Quærenda pecunia primum est, virtus post nummos, is a good maxim to thrive by: you seemed to despise it while in this country; but probably some philosopher in Edinburgh has taught you better sense. Pray, are you yet engraving as well as printing? Are you yet seized "With itch of picture in the front, With bays of wicked rhyme upon't!" But I must give up this trifling, and attend to matters that more concern myself: so, as the Aberdeen wit says, adieu dryly, we sal drink phan we meet.* *The above extract is from a letter of one of the ablest of our poet's correspondents, which contains some interesting anecdotes of Fergusson, that we should have been happy to have inserted, if they could have been authenticated. The writer is mistaken in suppos No. XXV. TO MRS DUNLOP. MADAM, Edinburgh, March 22, 1787. I READ your letter with watery eyes. A little, very little while ago, I had scarce a friend but the stubborn pride of my own bosom; now I am distinguished, patronized, befriended by you. Your friendly advices, I will not give them the cold name of criticisms, I receive with reverence. I have made some small alterations in what I before had printed. I have the advice of some very judicious friends among the literati here, but with them I sometimes find it necessary to claim the privilege of thinking for myself. The noble Earl of Glencairn, to whom I owe more than to any man, does me the honour of giving me his strictures: his hints with respect to impropriety or indelicacy, I follow implicitly. You kindly interest yourself in my future views and prospects; there I can give you no light; it is all "Dark as was chaos, ere the infant sun Was roll'd together, or had tried his beams The appellation of a Scottish bard is by far my highest pride; to continue to deserve it is my most exalted ambition. Scottish scenes and Scottish story are the themes I could wish to sing. I have no dearer aim than to have it in my power, unplagued with the routine of business, for which heaven knows I am unfit enough, to make leisurely pilgrimages through Caledonia; to sit on the fields of her battles; to wander on the romantic banks of her rivers; and to muse by the stately towers or venerable ruins, once the honoured abodes of her heroes. But these are all Utopian thoughts: I have dallied long enough with life: 'tis time to be in earnest. I have a fond, an aged mother to care for; and some other bosom ties perhaps equally tender. Where the individual only suffers by the consequences of his own thoughtlessness, indolence, or folly, he may be excusable: nay, shining abilities, and some of the nobler virtues, may half-sanctify a heedless character: but where God and nature have intrusted the welfare of others to his care; where the trust is sacred, and the ties are dear, that man must be far gone in selfishness, or strangely lost to reflection, whom these connexions will not rouse to exertion. I guess that I shall clear between two and three hundred pounds by my authorship; with that sum I intend, so far as I may be said to ing the magistrates of Edinburgh had any share in the transaction respecting the monument erected for Fergusson by our bard; this, it is evident, passed between Burns and the Kirk Session of the Canongate. Neither at Edinburgh, nor anywhere else, do magistrates usually trouble themselves to inquire how the house of a poor poet is furnished, or how his grave is adorned. scribed the heart, I am not vain enough to hope | The "Mountain-Daisy," cherished by the ray for distinguished poetic fame. No. XVII. FROM DR MOORE. A poet drew from heaven, shall never die. Mid penury's bare soil and bitter gale; On nature with impassion'd look he gazed; No. XVIII. TO DR MOORE. SIR, Clifford Street, January 23, 1787. I HAVE just received your letter, by which I find I have reason to complain of my friend Mrs Dunlop for transmitting to you extracts from my letters to her, by much too freely and too carelessly written for your perusal. I must forgive her, however, in consideration of ber good intention, as you will forgive me, I hope, for the freedom I use with certain expressions, in consideration of my admiration of the poems in general. If I may judge of the author's disposition from his works, with REVEREND SIR, Edinburgh, 15th February, 1787. all the other good qualities of a poet, he has PARDON my seeming neglect in delaying so not the irritable temper ascribed to that race long to acknowledge the honour you have done of men by one of their own number, whom me, in your kind notice of me, January 23d. you have the happiness to resemble in ease Not many months ago, I knew no other emand curious felicity of expression. Indeed the ployment than following the plough, nor could poetical beauties, however original and bril- boast any thing higher than a distant acliant, and lavishly scattered, are not all I ad-quaintance with a country clergyman. Mere mire in your works; the love of your native country, that feeling sensibility to all the objects of humanity, and the independent spirit which breathes through the whole, give me a most favourable impression of the poet, and have made me often regret that I did not see the poems, the certain effect of which would have been my seeing the author last summer, when I was longer in Scotland than I have been for many years. I rejoice very sincerely at the encouragement you receive at Edinburgh, and I think you peculiarly fortunate in the patronage of Dr Blair, who, I am informed, interests himself very much for you. I beg to be remembered to him: nobody can have a warmer regard for that gentleman than I have, which, independent of the worth of his character, would be kept alive by the memory of our common friend, the late Mr George B. -e. greatness never embarrasses me: I have nothing to ask from the great, and I do not fear their judgment; but genius, polished by learning, and at its proper point of elevation in the eye of the world, this of late I frequently meet with, and tremble at its approach. I scorn the affectation of seeming modesty to cover self-conceit. That I have some merit I do not deny; but I see, with frequent wringings of heart, that the novelty of my character, and the honest national prejudice of my countrymen, have borne me to a height altogether untenable to my abilities. For the honour Miss W. has done me, please, Sir, return her in my name, my most grateful thanks. I have more than once thought of paying her in kind, but have hitherto quitted the idea in hopeless despondency. I had never before heard of her; but the other day I got her poems, which, for several reasons, some belonging to the head, and others the offspring of the heart, give me a great deal of pleasure. I have little pretensions to critic lore: there are, I think, two characteristic features in her poetry-the unfettered wild flight of native genius, and the querulous, sombre tenderness of "time-settled sorrow." I only know what pleases me, often without being able to tell why. DEAR SIR, No. XIX. FROM DR MOORE. Clifford Street, 28th February, 1787. WHILE SOOn the garden's flaunting flowers decay, YOUR letter of the 15th gave me a great deal And scattered on the earth neglected lie, So you have obtained liberty from the magistrates to erect a stone over Fergusson's grave? I do not doubt it; such things have been, as Shakspeare says, "in the olden-time:" "The poet's fate, is here in emblem shown, It is, I believe, upon poor Butler's tomb that this is written. But how many brothers of Parnassus, as well as poor Butler and poor Fergusson, have asked for bread, and been served with the same sauce! No. XXV. TO MRS DUNLOP. MADAM, Edinburgh, March 22, 1787. I READ your letter with watery eyes. A little, very little while ago, I had scarce a friend but the stubborn pride of my own bosom; now I am distinguished, patronized, befriended by you. Your friendly advices, I will not give them the cold name of criticisms, I receive with reverence. I have made some small alterations in what I before had printed. I have the advice of some very judicious friends among the literati here, but with them I sometimes find it necessary to claim the privilege of thinking for myself. The noble Earl of Glencairn, to whom I owe more than to any man, does me the honour of giving me his strictures: his hints with respect to impropriety or indelicacy, I follow implicitly. You kindly interest yourself in my future views and prospects; there I can give you no light; it is all "Dark as was chaos, ere the infant sun Was roll'd together, or had tried his beams The magistrates gave you liberty, did they? O generous magistrates! **, celebrated over the three kingdoms for his public spirit, gives a poor poet liberty to raise a tomb to a poor poet's memory!-most generous! *** once upon a time gave that same poet the mighty sum of eighteen pence for a copy of his works. But then it must be considered that the poet was at this time absolutely starying, and besought his aid with all the earnestness of hunger; and, over and above, he received a worth, at least one-third of the value, in exchange, but which, I believe, the poet afterwards very ungratefully expunged. Next week I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you in Edinburgh; and as my stay will be for eight or ten days, I wish you or would take a snug, well-aired bed-room for me, where I may have the pleasure of seeing you over a morning cup of tea. But by all accounts, it will be a matter of some difficulty to see you at all, unless your company is bespoke a week before-hand. There is a great rumour here concerning your great intimacy with the Duchess of and other ladies of distinction. I am really told that "cards to invite fly by thousands each night;" and, if you had one, I suppose there would also be "bribes to your old secretary." It seems you But these are all Utopian thoughts: I have are resolved to make hay while the sun shines, dallied long enough with life: 'tis time to be and avoid, if possible, the fate of poor Fer- in earnest. I have a fond, an aged mother to gusson, . Quærenda pe care for; and some other bosom ties perhaps cunia primum est, virtus post nummos, is a good equally tender. Where the individual only maxim to thrive by: you seemed to despise it suffers by the consequences of his own thoughtwhile in this country; but probably some phi-lessness, indolence, or folly, he may be excuslosopher in Edinburgh has taught you better sense. Pray, are you yet engraving as well as printing? Are you yet seized "With itch of picture in the front, With bays of wicked rhyme upon't!" But I must give up this trifling, and attend to matters that more concern myself: so, as the Aberdeen wit says, adieu dryly, we sal drink phan we meet.* *The above extract is from a letter of one of the ablest of our poet's correspondents, which contains some interesting anecdotes of Fergusson, that we should have been happy to have inserted, if they could have been authenticated. The writer is mistaken in suppos The appellation of a Scottish bard is by far my highest pride; to continue to deserve it is my most exalted ambition. Scottish scenes and Scottish story are the themes I could wish to sing. I have no dearer aim than to have it in my power, unplagued with the routine of business, for which heaven knows I am unfit enough, to make leisurely pilgrimages through Caledonia; to sit on the fields of her battles; to wander on the romantic banks of her rivers; and to muse by the stately towers or venerable ruins, once the honoured abodes of her heroes. able: nay, shining abilities, and some of the nobler virtues, may half-sanctify a heedless character: but where God and nature have intrusted the welfare of others to his care; where the trust is sacred, and the ties are dear, that man must be far gone in selfishness, or strangely lost to reflection, whom these connexions will not rouse to exertion. I guess that I shall clear between two and three hundred pounds by my authorship; with that sum I intend, so far as I may be said to ing the magistrates of Edinburgh had any share in the transaction respecting the monument erected for Fergusson by our bard; this, it is evident, passed between Burns and the Kirk Session of the Canongate. Neither at Edinburgh, nor anywhere else, do magistrates usually trouble themselves to inquire how the house of a poor poet is furnished, or how his grave is adorned. scribed the heart, I am not vain enough to hope | The "Mountain-Daisy," cherished by the ray for distinguished poetic fame. No. XVII. FROM DR MOORE. A poet drew from heaven, shall never die. Mid penury's bare soil and bitter gale; On nature with impassion'd look he gazed; No. XVIII. TO DR MOORE. SIR, Clifford Street, January 23, 1787. I HAVE just received your letter, by which I find I have reason to complain of my friend Mrs Dunlop for transmitting to you extracts from my letters to her, by much too freely and too carelessly written for your perusal. I must forgive her, however, in consideration of ber good intention, as you will forgive me, I hope, for the freedom I use with certain expressions, in consideration of my admiration of the poems in general. If I may judge of the author's disposition from his works, with REVEREND SIR, Edinburgh, 15th February, 1787. all the other good qualities of a poet, he has PARDON my seeming neglect in delaying so not the irritable temper ascribed to that race long to acknowledge the honour you have done of men by one of their own number, whom me, in your kind notice of me, January 23d. you have the happiness to resemble in ease Not many months ago, I knew no other emand curious felicity of expression. Indeed the ployment than following the plough, nor could poetical beauties, however original and bril- boast any thing higher than a distant acliant, and lavishly scattered, are not all I ad-quaintance with a country clergyman. Mere mire in your works; the love of your native country, that feeling sensibility to all the objects of humanity, and the independent spirit which breathes through the whole, give me a most favourable impression of the poet, and have made me often regret that I did not see the poems, the certain effect of which would have been my seeing the author last summer, when I was longer in Scotland than I have been for many years. I rejoice very sincerely at the encouragement you receive at Edinburgh, and I think you peculiarly fortunate in the patronage of Dr Blair, who, I am informed, interests himself very much for you. I beg to be remembered to him: nobody can have a warmer regard for that gentleman than I have, which, independent of the worth of his character, would be kept alive by the memory of our common friend, the late Mr George B e. greatness never embarrasses me: I have nothing to ask from the great, and I do not fear their judgment; but genius, polished by learning, and at its proper point of elevation in the eye of the world, this of late I frequently meet with, and tremble at its approach. I scorn the affectation of seeming modesty to cover self-conceit. That I have some merit I do not deny; but I see, with frequent wringings of heart, that the novelty of my character, and the honest national prejudice of my countrymen, have borne me to a height altogether untenable to my abilities. For the honour Miss W. has done me, please, Sir, return her in my name, my most grateful thanks. I have more than once thought of paying her in kind, but have hitherto quitted the idea in hopeless despondency. I had never before heard of her; but the other day I got her poems, which, for several reasons, some belonging to the head, and others the offspring of the heart, give me a great deal of pleasure. I have little pretensions to critic lore: there are, I think, two characteristic features in her poetry-the_unfettered wild flight of native genius, and the querulous, sombre tenderness of "time-settled sorrow." I only know what pleases me, often without being able to tell why. No. XIX. FROM DR MOORE. DEAR SIR, Clifford Street, 28th February, 1787. WHILE Soon the garden's flaunting flowers decay, YOUR letter of the 15th gave me a great deal And scattered on the earth neglected lie, |
