I am at present quite occupied with the charming
sensations
of the
toothache, so have not a word to spare.
toothache, so have not a word to spare.
Robert Burns
THOMSON.
[In the double service of poesy and music the poet had to sing of
pangs which he never endured, from beauties to whom he had never
spoken. ]
FORLORN my love, no comfort near, &c. [284]
How do you like the foregoing? I have written it within this hour: so
much for the speed of my Pegasus; but what say you to his bottom?
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 284: Song CCLVIII. ]
* * * * *
CCCXVII.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[The unexampled brevity of Burns's letters, and the extraordinary flow
and grace of his songs, towards the close of his life, have not now
for the first time been remarked. ]
LAST May a braw wooer. [285]
Why, why tell thy lover. [286]
Such is the peculiarity of the rhythm of this air, that I find it
impossible to make another stanza to suit it.
I am at present quite occupied with the charming sensations of the
toothache, so have not a word to spare.
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 285: Song CCLIX. ]
[Footnote 286: Song CCLX. ]
* * * * *
CCCXVIII.
TO MRS. RIDDEL.
_Supposes himself to be writing from the dead to the living. _
[Ill health, poverty, a sense of dependence, with the much he had
deserved of his country, and the little he had obtained, were all at
this time pressing on the mind of Burns, and inducing him to forget
what was due to himself as well as to the courtesies of life. ]
MADAM,
I dare say that this is the first epistle you ever received from this
nether world. I write you from the regions of Hell, amid the horrors
of the damned. The time and the manner of my leaving your earth I do
not exactly know, as I took my departure in the heat of a fever of
intoxication contracted at your too hospitable mansion; but, on my
arrival here, I was fairly tried, and sentenced to endure the
purgatorial tortures of this infernal confine for the space of
ninety-nine years, eleven months, and twenty-nine days, and all on
account of the impropriety of my conduct yesternight under your roof.
Here am I, laid on a bed of pitiless furze, with my aching head
reclined on a pillow of ever-piercing thorn, while an infernal
tormentor, wrinkled, and old, and cruel, his name I think is
_Recollection_, with a whip of scorpions, forbids peace or rest to
approach me, and keeps anguish eternally awake. Still, Madam, if I
could in any measure be reinstated in the good opinion of the fair
circle whom my conduct last night so much injured, I think it would
be an alleviation to my torments. For this reason I trouble you with
this letter.
[In the double service of poesy and music the poet had to sing of
pangs which he never endured, from beauties to whom he had never
spoken. ]
FORLORN my love, no comfort near, &c. [284]
How do you like the foregoing? I have written it within this hour: so
much for the speed of my Pegasus; but what say you to his bottom?
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 284: Song CCLVIII. ]
* * * * *
CCCXVII.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[The unexampled brevity of Burns's letters, and the extraordinary flow
and grace of his songs, towards the close of his life, have not now
for the first time been remarked. ]
LAST May a braw wooer. [285]
Why, why tell thy lover. [286]
Such is the peculiarity of the rhythm of this air, that I find it
impossible to make another stanza to suit it.
I am at present quite occupied with the charming sensations of the
toothache, so have not a word to spare.
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 285: Song CCLIX. ]
[Footnote 286: Song CCLX. ]
* * * * *
CCCXVIII.
TO MRS. RIDDEL.
_Supposes himself to be writing from the dead to the living. _
[Ill health, poverty, a sense of dependence, with the much he had
deserved of his country, and the little he had obtained, were all at
this time pressing on the mind of Burns, and inducing him to forget
what was due to himself as well as to the courtesies of life. ]
MADAM,
I dare say that this is the first epistle you ever received from this
nether world. I write you from the regions of Hell, amid the horrors
of the damned. The time and the manner of my leaving your earth I do
not exactly know, as I took my departure in the heat of a fever of
intoxication contracted at your too hospitable mansion; but, on my
arrival here, I was fairly tried, and sentenced to endure the
purgatorial tortures of this infernal confine for the space of
ninety-nine years, eleven months, and twenty-nine days, and all on
account of the impropriety of my conduct yesternight under your roof.
Here am I, laid on a bed of pitiless furze, with my aching head
reclined on a pillow of ever-piercing thorn, while an infernal
tormentor, wrinkled, and old, and cruel, his name I think is
_Recollection_, with a whip of scorpions, forbids peace or rest to
approach me, and keeps anguish eternally awake. Still, Madam, if I
could in any measure be reinstated in the good opinion of the fair
circle whom my conduct last night so much injured, I think it would
be an alleviation to my torments. For this reason I trouble you with
this letter.
