Dunlop was a poetess, and had the blood of the Wallaces in her
veins: though she disliked the irregularities of the poet, she scorned
to got into a fine moral passion about follies which could not be
helped, and continued her friendship to the last of his life.
veins: though she disliked the irregularities of the poet, she scorned
to got into a fine moral passion about follies which could not be
helped, and continued her friendship to the last of his life.
Robert Burns
]
_Mossgiel, Friday noon. _
MY FRIEND, MY BROTHER,
Warm recollection of an absent friend presses so hard upon my heart,
that I send him the prefixed bagatelle (the Calf), pleased with the
thought that it will greet the man of my bosom, and be a kind of
distant language of friendship.
You will have heard that poor Armour has repaid me double. A very fine
boy and a girl have awakened a thought and feelings that thrill, some
with tender pressure and some with foreboding anguish, through my
soul.
The poem was nearly an extemporaneous production, on a wager with Mr.
Hamilton, that I would not produce a poem on the subject in a given
time.
If you think it worth while, read it to Charles and Mr. W. Parker, and
if they choose a copy of it, it is at their service, as they are men
whose friendship I shall be proud to claim, both in this world and
that which is to come.
I believe all hopes of staying at home will be abortive, but more of
this when, in the latter part of next week, you shall be troubled with
a visit from,
My dear Sir,
Your most devoted,
R. B.
* * * * *
XXVII.
TO MRS. DUNLOP,
OF DUNLOP.
[Mrs.
Dunlop was a poetess, and had the blood of the Wallaces in her
veins: though she disliked the irregularities of the poet, she scorned
to got into a fine moral passion about follies which could not be
helped, and continued her friendship to the last of his life. ]
_Ayrshire_, 1786.
MADAM,
I am truly sorry I was not at home yesterday, when I was so much
honoured with your order for my copies, and incomparably more by the
handsome compliments you are pleased to pay my poetic abilities. I am
fully persuaded that there is not any class of mankind so feelingly
alive to the titillations of applause as the sons of Parnassus: nor is
it easy to conceive how the heart of the poor bard dances with
rapture, when those, whose character in life gives them a right to be
polite judges, honour him with their approbation. Had you been
thoroughly acquainted with me, Madam, you could not have touched my
darling heart-chord more sweetly than by noticing my attempts to
celebrate your illustrious ancestor, the Saviour of his Country.
"Great patriot hero! ill-requited chief! "[160]
The first book I met with in my early years, which I perused with
pleasure, was, "The Life Of Hannibal;" the next was, "The History of
Sir William Wallace:" for several of my earlier years I had few other
authors; and many a solitary hour have I stole out, after the
laborious vocations of the day, to shed a tear over their glorious,
but unfortunate stories. In those boyish days I remember, in
particular, being struck with that part of Wallace's story where these
lines occur--
"Syne to the Leglen wood, when it was late,
To make a silent and safe retreat. "
I chose a fine summer Sunday, the only day my line of life allowed,
and walked half a dozen of miles to pay my respects to the Leglen
wood, with as much devout enthusiasm as ever pilgrim did to Loretto;
and, as I explored every den and dell where I could suppose my heroic
countryman to have lodged, I recollect (for even then I was a rhymer)
that my heart glowed with a wish to be able to make a song on him in
some measure equal to his merits.
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 160: Thomson. ]
* * * * *
XXVIII.
TO MR. JOHN KENNEDY.
_Mossgiel, Friday noon. _
MY FRIEND, MY BROTHER,
Warm recollection of an absent friend presses so hard upon my heart,
that I send him the prefixed bagatelle (the Calf), pleased with the
thought that it will greet the man of my bosom, and be a kind of
distant language of friendship.
You will have heard that poor Armour has repaid me double. A very fine
boy and a girl have awakened a thought and feelings that thrill, some
with tender pressure and some with foreboding anguish, through my
soul.
The poem was nearly an extemporaneous production, on a wager with Mr.
Hamilton, that I would not produce a poem on the subject in a given
time.
If you think it worth while, read it to Charles and Mr. W. Parker, and
if they choose a copy of it, it is at their service, as they are men
whose friendship I shall be proud to claim, both in this world and
that which is to come.
I believe all hopes of staying at home will be abortive, but more of
this when, in the latter part of next week, you shall be troubled with
a visit from,
My dear Sir,
Your most devoted,
R. B.
* * * * *
XXVII.
TO MRS. DUNLOP,
OF DUNLOP.
[Mrs.
Dunlop was a poetess, and had the blood of the Wallaces in her
veins: though she disliked the irregularities of the poet, she scorned
to got into a fine moral passion about follies which could not be
helped, and continued her friendship to the last of his life. ]
_Ayrshire_, 1786.
MADAM,
I am truly sorry I was not at home yesterday, when I was so much
honoured with your order for my copies, and incomparably more by the
handsome compliments you are pleased to pay my poetic abilities. I am
fully persuaded that there is not any class of mankind so feelingly
alive to the titillations of applause as the sons of Parnassus: nor is
it easy to conceive how the heart of the poor bard dances with
rapture, when those, whose character in life gives them a right to be
polite judges, honour him with their approbation. Had you been
thoroughly acquainted with me, Madam, you could not have touched my
darling heart-chord more sweetly than by noticing my attempts to
celebrate your illustrious ancestor, the Saviour of his Country.
"Great patriot hero! ill-requited chief! "[160]
The first book I met with in my early years, which I perused with
pleasure, was, "The Life Of Hannibal;" the next was, "The History of
Sir William Wallace:" for several of my earlier years I had few other
authors; and many a solitary hour have I stole out, after the
laborious vocations of the day, to shed a tear over their glorious,
but unfortunate stories. In those boyish days I remember, in
particular, being struck with that part of Wallace's story where these
lines occur--
"Syne to the Leglen wood, when it was late,
To make a silent and safe retreat. "
I chose a fine summer Sunday, the only day my line of life allowed,
and walked half a dozen of miles to pay my respects to the Leglen
wood, with as much devout enthusiasm as ever pilgrim did to Loretto;
and, as I explored every den and dell where I could suppose my heroic
countryman to have lodged, I recollect (for even then I was a rhymer)
that my heart glowed with a wish to be able to make a song on him in
some measure equal to his merits.
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 160: Thomson. ]
* * * * *
XXVIII.
TO MR. JOHN KENNEDY.
