His
knowledge
of
the world was vastly superior to mine, and I was all attention to
learn.
the world was vastly superior to mine, and I was all attention to
learn.
Robert Forst
None of the rhymes of
those days are in print, except "Winter, a dirge," the eldest of my
printed pieces; "The Death of poor Maillie," "John Barleycorn," and
songs first, second, and third. Song second was the ebullition of that
passion which ended the forementioned school-business.
My twenty-third year was to me an important aera. Partly through whim,
and partly that I wished to set about doing something in life, I
joined a flax-dresser in a neighboring town (Irvine) to learn his
trade. This was an unlucky affair. My * * * and to finish the whole,
as we were giving a welcome carousal to the new year, the shop took
fire and burnt to ashes, and I was left, like a true poet, not worth a
sixpence.
I was obliged to give up this scheme; the clouds of misfortune were
gathering thick round my father's head; and, what was worst of all, he
was visibly far gone in a consumption; and to crown my distresses, a
_belle fille_, whom I adored, and who had pledged her soul to meet me
in the field of matrimony, jilted me, with peculiar circumstances of
mortification. The finishing evil that brought up the rear of this
infernal file, was my constitutional melancholy being increased to
such a degree, that for three months I was in a state of mind scarcely
to be envied by the hopeless wretches who have got their
mittimus--depart from me, ye cursed!
From this adventure I learned something of a town life; but the
principal thing which gave my mind a turn, was a friendship I formed
with a young fellow, a very noble character, but a hapless son of
misfortune. He was the son of a simple mechanic; but a great man in
the neighbourhood taking him under his patronage, gave him a genteel
education, with a view of bettering his situation in life. The patron
dying just as he was ready to launch out into the world, the poor
fellow in despair went to sea; where, after a variety of good and
ill-fortune, a little before I was acquainted with him he had been set
on shore by an American privateer, on the wild coast of Connaught,
stripped of everything. I cannot quit this poor fellow's story without
adding, that he is at this time master of a large West-Indiaman
belonging to the Thames.
His mind was fraught with independence, magnanimity, and every manly
virtue. I loved and admired him to a degree of enthusiasm, and of
course strove to imitate him. In some measure I succeeded; I had pride
before, but he taught it to flow in proper channels.
His knowledge of
the world was vastly superior to mine, and I was all attention to
learn. He was the only man I ever saw who was a greater fool than
myself where woman was the presiding star; but he spoke of illicit
love with the levity of a sailor, which hitherto I had regarded with
horror. Here his friendship did me a mischief, and the consequence
was, that soon after I resumed the plough, I wrote the "Poet's
Welcome. "[177] My reading only increased while in this town by two stray
volumes of Pamela, and one of Ferdinand Count Fathom, which gave me
some idea of novels. Rhyme, except some religious pieces that are in
print, I had given up; but meeting with Fergusson's Scottish Poems, I
strung anew my wildly-sounding lyre with emulating vigour. When my
father died, his all went among the hell-hounds that growl in the
kennel of justice; but we made a shift to collect a little money in
the family amongst us, with which, to keep us together, my brother and
I took a neighbouring farm. My brother wanted my hair-brained
imagination, as well as my social and amorous madness; but in good
sense, and every sober qualification, he was far my superior.
I entered on this farm with a full resolution, "come, go to, I will be
wise! " I read farming books, I calculated crops; I attended markets;
and in short, in spite of the devil, and the world, and the flesh, I
believe I should have been a wise man; but the first year, from
unfortunately buying bad seed, the second from a late harvest, we
lost half our crops. This overset all my wisdom, and I returned, "like
the dog to his vomit, and the sow that was washed, to her wallowing in
the mire. "
I now began to be known in the neighbourhood as a maker of rhymes. The
first of my poetic offspring that saw the light, was a burlesque
lamentation on a quarrel between two reverend Calvinists, both of them
_dramatis personae_ in "Holy Fair. " I had a notion myself that the
piece had some merit; but, to prevent the worst, I gave a copy of it
to a friend, who was very fond of such things, and told him that I
could not guess who was the author of it, but that I thought it pretty
clever. With a certain description of the clergy, as well as laity, it
met with a roar of applause. "Holy Willie's Prayer" next made its
appearance, and alarmed the kirk-session so much, that they held
several meetings to look over their spiritual artillery, if haply any
of it might be pointed against profane rhymers. Unluckily for me, my
wanderings led me on another side, within point-blank shot of their
heaviest metal.
those days are in print, except "Winter, a dirge," the eldest of my
printed pieces; "The Death of poor Maillie," "John Barleycorn," and
songs first, second, and third. Song second was the ebullition of that
passion which ended the forementioned school-business.
My twenty-third year was to me an important aera. Partly through whim,
and partly that I wished to set about doing something in life, I
joined a flax-dresser in a neighboring town (Irvine) to learn his
trade. This was an unlucky affair. My * * * and to finish the whole,
as we were giving a welcome carousal to the new year, the shop took
fire and burnt to ashes, and I was left, like a true poet, not worth a
sixpence.
I was obliged to give up this scheme; the clouds of misfortune were
gathering thick round my father's head; and, what was worst of all, he
was visibly far gone in a consumption; and to crown my distresses, a
_belle fille_, whom I adored, and who had pledged her soul to meet me
in the field of matrimony, jilted me, with peculiar circumstances of
mortification. The finishing evil that brought up the rear of this
infernal file, was my constitutional melancholy being increased to
such a degree, that for three months I was in a state of mind scarcely
to be envied by the hopeless wretches who have got their
mittimus--depart from me, ye cursed!
From this adventure I learned something of a town life; but the
principal thing which gave my mind a turn, was a friendship I formed
with a young fellow, a very noble character, but a hapless son of
misfortune. He was the son of a simple mechanic; but a great man in
the neighbourhood taking him under his patronage, gave him a genteel
education, with a view of bettering his situation in life. The patron
dying just as he was ready to launch out into the world, the poor
fellow in despair went to sea; where, after a variety of good and
ill-fortune, a little before I was acquainted with him he had been set
on shore by an American privateer, on the wild coast of Connaught,
stripped of everything. I cannot quit this poor fellow's story without
adding, that he is at this time master of a large West-Indiaman
belonging to the Thames.
His mind was fraught with independence, magnanimity, and every manly
virtue. I loved and admired him to a degree of enthusiasm, and of
course strove to imitate him. In some measure I succeeded; I had pride
before, but he taught it to flow in proper channels.
His knowledge of
the world was vastly superior to mine, and I was all attention to
learn. He was the only man I ever saw who was a greater fool than
myself where woman was the presiding star; but he spoke of illicit
love with the levity of a sailor, which hitherto I had regarded with
horror. Here his friendship did me a mischief, and the consequence
was, that soon after I resumed the plough, I wrote the "Poet's
Welcome. "[177] My reading only increased while in this town by two stray
volumes of Pamela, and one of Ferdinand Count Fathom, which gave me
some idea of novels. Rhyme, except some religious pieces that are in
print, I had given up; but meeting with Fergusson's Scottish Poems, I
strung anew my wildly-sounding lyre with emulating vigour. When my
father died, his all went among the hell-hounds that growl in the
kennel of justice; but we made a shift to collect a little money in
the family amongst us, with which, to keep us together, my brother and
I took a neighbouring farm. My brother wanted my hair-brained
imagination, as well as my social and amorous madness; but in good
sense, and every sober qualification, he was far my superior.
I entered on this farm with a full resolution, "come, go to, I will be
wise! " I read farming books, I calculated crops; I attended markets;
and in short, in spite of the devil, and the world, and the flesh, I
believe I should have been a wise man; but the first year, from
unfortunately buying bad seed, the second from a late harvest, we
lost half our crops. This overset all my wisdom, and I returned, "like
the dog to his vomit, and the sow that was washed, to her wallowing in
the mire. "
I now began to be known in the neighbourhood as a maker of rhymes. The
first of my poetic offspring that saw the light, was a burlesque
lamentation on a quarrel between two reverend Calvinists, both of them
_dramatis personae_ in "Holy Fair. " I had a notion myself that the
piece had some merit; but, to prevent the worst, I gave a copy of it
to a friend, who was very fond of such things, and told him that I
could not guess who was the author of it, but that I thought it pretty
clever. With a certain description of the clergy, as well as laity, it
met with a roar of applause. "Holy Willie's Prayer" next made its
appearance, and alarmed the kirk-session so much, that they held
several meetings to look over their spiritual artillery, if haply any
of it might be pointed against profane rhymers. Unluckily for me, my
wanderings led me on another side, within point-blank shot of their
heaviest metal.
