FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 195: The ballad is in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border,
ed.
[Footnote 195: The ballad is in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border,
ed.
Robert Burns
The
catastrophe of the piece is a poor ruined female, lamenting her fate.
She concludes with this pathetic wish:--
"O that my father had ne'er on me smil'd;
O that my mother had ne'er to me sung!
O that my cradle had never been rock'd;
But that I had died when I was young!
"O that the grave it were my bed;
My blankets were my winding sheet;
The clocks and the worms my bedfellows a';
And O sae sound as I should sleep! "
I do not remember in all my reading, to have met with anything more
truly the language of misery, than the exclamation in the last line.
Misery is like love; to speak its language truly, the author must have
felt it.
I am every day expecting the doctor to give your little godson[196]
the small-pox. They are _rife_ in the country, and I tremble for his
fate. By the way, I cannot help congratulating you on his looks and
spirit. Every person who sees him, acknowledges him to be the finest,
handsomest child he has ever seen. I am myself delighted with the
manly swell of his little chest, and a certain miniature dignity in
the carriage of his head, and the glance of his fine black eye, which
promise the undaunted gallantry of an independent mind.
I thought to have sent you some rhymes, but time forbids. I promise
you poetry until you are tired of it, next time I have the honour of
assuring you how truly I am, &c.
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 195: The ballad is in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border,
ed. 1833, vol. iii. p. 304. ]
[Footnote 196: The bard's second son, Francis. ]
* * * * *
CLXXXVI.
TO MR. PETER HILL,
BOOKSELLER, EDINBURGH.
[The Mademoiselle Burns whom the poet inquires about, was one of the
"ladies of the Canongate," who desired to introduce free trade in her
profession into a close borough: this was refused by the magistrates
of Edinburgh, though advocated with much eloquence and humour in a
letter by her namesake--it is coloured too strongly with her calling
to be published. ]
_Ellisland, 2d Feb. , 1790. _
No! I will not say one word about apologies or excuses for not
writing. --I am a poor, rascally gauger, condemned to gallop at least
200 miles every week to inspect dirty ponds and yeasty barrels, and
where can I find time to write to, or importance to interest anybody?
The upbraidings of my conscience, nay the upbraidings of my wife, have
persecuted me on your account these two or three months past.
catastrophe of the piece is a poor ruined female, lamenting her fate.
She concludes with this pathetic wish:--
"O that my father had ne'er on me smil'd;
O that my mother had ne'er to me sung!
O that my cradle had never been rock'd;
But that I had died when I was young!
"O that the grave it were my bed;
My blankets were my winding sheet;
The clocks and the worms my bedfellows a';
And O sae sound as I should sleep! "
I do not remember in all my reading, to have met with anything more
truly the language of misery, than the exclamation in the last line.
Misery is like love; to speak its language truly, the author must have
felt it.
I am every day expecting the doctor to give your little godson[196]
the small-pox. They are _rife_ in the country, and I tremble for his
fate. By the way, I cannot help congratulating you on his looks and
spirit. Every person who sees him, acknowledges him to be the finest,
handsomest child he has ever seen. I am myself delighted with the
manly swell of his little chest, and a certain miniature dignity in
the carriage of his head, and the glance of his fine black eye, which
promise the undaunted gallantry of an independent mind.
I thought to have sent you some rhymes, but time forbids. I promise
you poetry until you are tired of it, next time I have the honour of
assuring you how truly I am, &c.
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 195: The ballad is in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border,
ed. 1833, vol. iii. p. 304. ]
[Footnote 196: The bard's second son, Francis. ]
* * * * *
CLXXXVI.
TO MR. PETER HILL,
BOOKSELLER, EDINBURGH.
[The Mademoiselle Burns whom the poet inquires about, was one of the
"ladies of the Canongate," who desired to introduce free trade in her
profession into a close borough: this was refused by the magistrates
of Edinburgh, though advocated with much eloquence and humour in a
letter by her namesake--it is coloured too strongly with her calling
to be published. ]
_Ellisland, 2d Feb. , 1790. _
No! I will not say one word about apologies or excuses for not
writing. --I am a poor, rascally gauger, condemned to gallop at least
200 miles every week to inspect dirty ponds and yeasty barrels, and
where can I find time to write to, or importance to interest anybody?
The upbraidings of my conscience, nay the upbraidings of my wife, have
persecuted me on your account these two or three months past.
