"
Why, dear Madam, must I wake from this delightful revery, and find it
all a dream?
Why, dear Madam, must I wake from this delightful revery, and find it
all a dream?
Robert Burns
Davies, of
Tenby, in Pembrokeshire: she was related to the Riddels of Friar's
Carse, and one of her sisters married Captain Adam Gordon, of the
noble family of Kenmure. She had both taste and skill in verse. ]
It is impossible, Madam, that the generous warmth and angelic purity
of your youthful mind, can have any idea of that moral disease under
which I unhappily must rank us the chief of sinners; I mean a
torpitude of the moral powers, that may be called, a lethargy of
conscience. In vain Remorse rears her horrent crest, and rouses all
her snakes; beneath the deadly fixed eye and leaden hand of Indolence,
their wildest ire is charmed into the torpor of the bat, slumbering
out the rigours of winter, in the chink of a ruined wall. Nothing
less, Madam, could have made me so long neglect your obliging
commands. Indeed I had one apology--the bagatelle was not worth
presenting. Besides, so strongly am I interested in Miss Davies's fate
and welfare in the serious business of life, amid its chances and
changes, that to make her the subject of a silly ballad is downright
mockery of these ardent feelings; 'tis like an impertinent jest to a
dying friend.
Gracious Heaven! why this disparity between our wishes and our powers?
Why is the most generous wish to make others blest, impotent and
ineffectual--as the idle breeze that crosses the pathless desert! In
my walks of life I have met with a few people to whom how gladly would
I have said--"Go, be happy! I know that your hearts have been wounded
by the scorn of the proud, whom accident has placed above you--or
worse still, in whose hands are, perhaps, placed many of the comforts
of your life. But there! ascend that rock, Independence, and look
justly down on their littleness of soul. Make the worthless tremble
under your indignation, and the foolish sink before your contempt; and
largely impart that happiness to others, which, I am certain, will
give yourselves so much pleasure to bestow.
"
Why, dear Madam, must I wake from this delightful revery, and find it
all a dream? Why, amid my generous enthusiasm, must I, find myself
poor and powerless, incapable of wiping one tear from the eye of pity,
or of adding one comfort to the friend I love! --Out upon the world,
say I, that its affairs are administered so ill! They talk of
reform;--good Heaven! what a reform would I make among the sons and
even the daughters of men! --Down, immediately, should go fools from
the high places, where misbegotten chance has perked them up, and
through life should they skulk, ever haunted by their native
insignificance, as the body marches accompanied by its shadow. --As for
a much more formidable class, the knaves, I am at a loss what to do
with them: had I a world, there should not be a knave in it.
But the hand that could give, I would liberally fill: and I would pour
delight on the heart that could kindly forgive, and generously love.
Still the inequalities of life are, among men, comparatively
tolerable--but there is a delicacy, a tenderness, accompanying every
view in which we can place lovely Woman, that are grated and shocked
at the rude, capricious distinctions of fortune. Woman is the
blood-royal of life: let there be slight degrees of precedency among
them--but let them be ALL sacred. --Whether this last sentiment be
right or wrong, I am not accountable; it is an original component
feature of my mind.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXXV.
TO MRS. DUNLOP.
Tenby, in Pembrokeshire: she was related to the Riddels of Friar's
Carse, and one of her sisters married Captain Adam Gordon, of the
noble family of Kenmure. She had both taste and skill in verse. ]
It is impossible, Madam, that the generous warmth and angelic purity
of your youthful mind, can have any idea of that moral disease under
which I unhappily must rank us the chief of sinners; I mean a
torpitude of the moral powers, that may be called, a lethargy of
conscience. In vain Remorse rears her horrent crest, and rouses all
her snakes; beneath the deadly fixed eye and leaden hand of Indolence,
their wildest ire is charmed into the torpor of the bat, slumbering
out the rigours of winter, in the chink of a ruined wall. Nothing
less, Madam, could have made me so long neglect your obliging
commands. Indeed I had one apology--the bagatelle was not worth
presenting. Besides, so strongly am I interested in Miss Davies's fate
and welfare in the serious business of life, amid its chances and
changes, that to make her the subject of a silly ballad is downright
mockery of these ardent feelings; 'tis like an impertinent jest to a
dying friend.
Gracious Heaven! why this disparity between our wishes and our powers?
Why is the most generous wish to make others blest, impotent and
ineffectual--as the idle breeze that crosses the pathless desert! In
my walks of life I have met with a few people to whom how gladly would
I have said--"Go, be happy! I know that your hearts have been wounded
by the scorn of the proud, whom accident has placed above you--or
worse still, in whose hands are, perhaps, placed many of the comforts
of your life. But there! ascend that rock, Independence, and look
justly down on their littleness of soul. Make the worthless tremble
under your indignation, and the foolish sink before your contempt; and
largely impart that happiness to others, which, I am certain, will
give yourselves so much pleasure to bestow.
"
Why, dear Madam, must I wake from this delightful revery, and find it
all a dream? Why, amid my generous enthusiasm, must I, find myself
poor and powerless, incapable of wiping one tear from the eye of pity,
or of adding one comfort to the friend I love! --Out upon the world,
say I, that its affairs are administered so ill! They talk of
reform;--good Heaven! what a reform would I make among the sons and
even the daughters of men! --Down, immediately, should go fools from
the high places, where misbegotten chance has perked them up, and
through life should they skulk, ever haunted by their native
insignificance, as the body marches accompanied by its shadow. --As for
a much more formidable class, the knaves, I am at a loss what to do
with them: had I a world, there should not be a knave in it.
But the hand that could give, I would liberally fill: and I would pour
delight on the heart that could kindly forgive, and generously love.
Still the inequalities of life are, among men, comparatively
tolerable--but there is a delicacy, a tenderness, accompanying every
view in which we can place lovely Woman, that are grated and shocked
at the rude, capricious distinctions of fortune. Woman is the
blood-royal of life: let there be slight degrees of precedency among
them--but let them be ALL sacred. --Whether this last sentiment be
right or wrong, I am not accountable; it is an original component
feature of my mind.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXXV.
TO MRS. DUNLOP.
