glare of remark, and honoured by the notice of those illustrious names of my country whose works, while they are applauded to the end of time, will ever instruct and mend the heart. However the meteor-like novelty of my appearance in the world might attract notice, and honour me with the acquaintance of the permanent lights of genius and literature, those who are truly benefactors of the immortal nature of man, I knew very well that my utmost merit was far unequal to the task of preserving that character when once the novelty was over: I have made up my mind that abuse, or almost even neglect, will not surprise me in my quarters. It is impossible to read these passages, written in the shadows, so to speak, of that bright public glare, without feeling deeply for poor Burns, haunted, amid so splendid an outward show, by such gloomy forebodings, and still inly writhing from the "wandering stabs of remorse.' Making large allowance, however, for his situation in Edinburgh (so trying in many a way), it must be admitted that the results of that time of fame might have been far different from what they turned out to be, had he succeeded better in exercising that "prudent, cautious selfcontrol" of which he elsewhere speaks. Scanning his own ways in Edinburgh, Burns clearly saw and fully acknowledged all this, and more: witness, e.g., that remarkable letter, with its deep, heart-searching allegory, which he wrote in February to the Earl of Buchan : The honour your lordship has done me, by your notice and advice in yours of the 1st instant, I shall ever gratefully remember "Praise from thy lips 'tis mine with joy to boast, Your lordship touches the darling chord of my heart, when you advise me to fire my muse at Scottish story and Scottish scenes. I wish for nothing more than to make a leisurely pilgrimage through my native country; to sit and muse on those once hard-contended fields, where Caledonia, rejoicing, saw her bloody lion borne through broken ranks to victory and fame; and, catching the inspiration, to pour the deathless names in song. But, my lord, in the midst of these enthusiastic reveries, a long-visaged, dry, moral-looking phantom strides across my imagination, and pronounces these emphatic words : "I, Wisdom, dwell with Prudence. Friend, I do not come to open the ill-closed wounds of your follies and misfortunes, merely to give you pain : I wish through these wounds to imprint a lasting lesson on your heart. I will not mention how many of my salutary advices you have despised; I have given you line upon line, and precept upon precept; and while I was chalking out to you the straight way to wealth and character, with audacious effrontery you have zig-zagged across the path, contemning me to my face. You know the consequences. It is not yet three months since home was so hot for you, that you were on the wing for the western shore of the Atlantic, not to make a fortune, but to hide your misfortune. "Now that your dear-loved Scotia puts it in your power to return to the situation of your forefathers, will you follow these will-o'-wisp meteors of fancy and whim, till they bring you once more to the brink of ruin? I grant that the utmost ground you can occupy is but half a step from the veriest poverty; but still it is half a step from it. If all that I can urge be ineffectual, let her who seldom calls to you in vain, let the call of pride prevail with you. You know how you feel at the iron grip of ruthless oppression: you know how you bear the galling sneer of contumelious greatness. I hold you out the conveniences, the comforts of life, independence, and character, on the one hand; I tender you servility, dependence, and wretchedness on the other. I will not insult your understanding by bidding you make a choice." This, my lord, is unanswerable. I must return to my humble station, and woo my rustic muse in my wonted way, at the plough-tail. Still, my lord, while the drops of life warm my heart, gratitude to that dear-loved country in which I boast my birth, and gratitude to those her distinguished sons who have honoured me so much with their patronage and approbation, shall, while stealing through my humble shades, ever distend my bosom, and at times, as now, draw forth the swelling tear. It need occasion little or no surprise that, during these five months, Burns produced very little poetry. He had his new edition to complete and supervise for publication, and endless social engagements to engross his time and tax his powers. Besides, he wrote a goodly number of letters (some of them of outstanding excellence), and began his second Commonplace Book. Among the few poetical pieces composed in Edinburgh, the following may be noted-" Epistle to the Gudewife of Wauchope House," "Address to Edinburgh," and the original and more ballad-like version of "Ye Banks and Braes": Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon, How can ye bloom sae fair? Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird, Thou minds me o' the happy days Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird, That sings beside thy mate; For sae I sat, and sae I sang, Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon, Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose But my fause luver staw the rose, This These winter months in the Edinburgh of that timea city at once socially splendid and convivial, and in learning and literature very illustrious-comprised beyond doubt the most remarkable phase in Burns's career of sunshine and shadow. Indeed, they brought him a triumph unparalleled in the records of literary achievement. Burns," says Carlyle, "still only in his twentyseventh year, is no longer even a ploughman; he is flying to the West Indies to escape disgrace and a jail. month he is a ruined peasant, his wages only £7 a year, and these gone from him; next month he is in the blaze of rank and beauty, handing down jewelled duchesses to dinner-the cynosure of all eyes! Adversity is sometimes hard on a man; but for one man who can stand prosperity, there are a hundred that will stand adversity. I admire much the way in which Burns met all this. Perhaps no man one could point out was ever so sorely tried, and so little forgot himself. Tranquil, unastonished; not abashed, not inflated; neither awkwardness nor affectation: he feels that he there is the man Robert Burns; that 'the rank is but the guinea-stamp'. Burns is admirable here." Of the Poet's comparatively brief day of public life, this was the high noon of his celebrity; and it brought him a full tide of worldly opportunity. If he did not seize the opportunity, as he might have done, we cannot but marvel at the way in which he withstood the sudden glare and strain, and we greatly prefer to pity, nay, even to admire, his temporal self-forgetfulness, rather than that we should have had occasion to blame or blush for any yielding on his part to new-blown snobbishness on the one hand, or any fawning, self-seeking flattery of wealth and social greatness on the other. Not without a heartfelt sigh, however, can we pass from that memorable winter in Edinburgh, which saw the sun of Burns's lifetime fame sweep swiftly up into the zenith of its glory,and saw, too, that sun so soon begin to slowly yet surely cloud over, and go down. CHAPTER V. BORDER, WEST HIGHLAND, NORTHERN, AND DEVON VALLEY MAY 5—OCTOBER 20, 1787. TOURS AGE 28. While through the braes the cushat croods Epistle to William Simpson. Admiring nature in her wildest grace, Here Poesy might wake her heaven-taught lyre Lines at Kenmore, Taymouth. ESCAPING from the double strain of society engagements and club convivialities, Burns set out on 5th May, in company with Mr. Robert Ainslie, a young lawyer in Edinburgh, for a tour in the Border country,1 and arrived that same (Saturday) evening at Ainslie's home at Berrywell, near Dunse. Next day he went with the family to church, where, in Throughout this tour, Burns rode his famous mare "Jenny Geddes," so called by him in memory of the plucky old Scotch worthy of that name, of whom tradition states that she threw her stool at the head of the clergyman who, in 1637, first attempted to read the obnoxious Liturgy in St. Giles' Cathedral. |
