Now
I am on my hobby-horse, I cannot help inserting two other old stanzas,
which please me mightily:--
"Go fetch to me a pint of wine.
I am on my hobby-horse, I cannot help inserting two other old stanzas,
which please me mightily:--
"Go fetch to me a pint of wine.
Robert Burns
But, be that as it may, the
heart of the man and the fancy of the poet are the two grand
considerations for which I live: if miry ridges and dirty dunghills
are to engross the best part of the functions of my soul immortal, I
had better been a rook or a magpie at once, and then I should not
have been plagued with any ideas superior to breaking of clods and
picking up grubs; not to mention barn-door cocks or mallards,
creatures with which I could almost exchange lives at any time. If you
continue so deaf, I am afraid a visit will be no great pleasure to
either of us; but if I hear you are got so well again as to be able to
relish conversation, look you to it, Madam, for I will make my
threatenings good. I am to be at the New-year-day fair of Ayr; and, by
all that is sacred in the world, friend, I will come and see you.
Your meeting, which you so well describe, with your old schoolfellow
and friend, was truly interesting. Out upon the ways of the
world! --They spoil "these social offsprings of the heart. " Two
veterans of the "men of the world" would have met with little more
heart-workings than two old hacks worn out on the road. Apropos, is
not the Scotch phrase, "Auld lang syne," exceedingly expressive? There
is an old song and tune which has often thrilled through my soul. You
know I am an enthusiast in old Scotch songs. I shall give you the
verses on the other sheet, as I suppose Mr. Ker will save you the
postage.
"Should auld acquaintance be forgot! "[192]
Light be the turf on the breast of the heaven-inspired poet who
composed this glorious fragment. There is more of the fire of native
genius in it than in half-a-dozen of modern English Bacchanalians!
Now
I am on my hobby-horse, I cannot help inserting two other old stanzas,
which please me mightily:--
"Go fetch to me a pint of wine. "[193]
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 192: See Song CCX. ]
[Footnote 193: See Song LXXII. ]
* * * * *
CXLIII.
TO MISS DAVIES.
[The Laird of Glenriddel informed "the charming, lovely Davies" that
Burns was composing a song in her praise. The poet acted on this, and
sent the song, enclosed in this characteristic letter. ]
_December, 1788. _
MADAM,
I understand my very worthy neighbour, Mr. Riddel, has informed you
that I have made you the subject of some verses. There is something
so provoking in the idea of being the burthen of a ballad, that I do
not think Job or Moses, though such patterns of patience and meekness,
could have resisted the curiosity to know what that ballad was: so my
worthy friend has done me a mischief, which I dare say he never
intended; and reduced me to the unfortunate alternative of leaving
your curiosity ungratified, or else disgusting you with foolish
verses, the unfinished production of a random moment, and never meant
to have met your ear. I have heard or read somewhere of a gentleman
who had some genius, much eccentricity, and very considerable
dexterity with his pencil. In the accidental group of life into which
one is thrown, wherever this gentleman met with a character in a more
than ordinary degree congenial to his heart, he used to steal a sketch
of the face, merely, he said, as a _nota bene_, to point out the
agreeable recollection to his memory. What this gentleman's pencil was
to him, my muse is to me; and the verses I do myself the honour to
send you are a _memento_ exactly of the same kind that he indulged in.
heart of the man and the fancy of the poet are the two grand
considerations for which I live: if miry ridges and dirty dunghills
are to engross the best part of the functions of my soul immortal, I
had better been a rook or a magpie at once, and then I should not
have been plagued with any ideas superior to breaking of clods and
picking up grubs; not to mention barn-door cocks or mallards,
creatures with which I could almost exchange lives at any time. If you
continue so deaf, I am afraid a visit will be no great pleasure to
either of us; but if I hear you are got so well again as to be able to
relish conversation, look you to it, Madam, for I will make my
threatenings good. I am to be at the New-year-day fair of Ayr; and, by
all that is sacred in the world, friend, I will come and see you.
Your meeting, which you so well describe, with your old schoolfellow
and friend, was truly interesting. Out upon the ways of the
world! --They spoil "these social offsprings of the heart. " Two
veterans of the "men of the world" would have met with little more
heart-workings than two old hacks worn out on the road. Apropos, is
not the Scotch phrase, "Auld lang syne," exceedingly expressive? There
is an old song and tune which has often thrilled through my soul. You
know I am an enthusiast in old Scotch songs. I shall give you the
verses on the other sheet, as I suppose Mr. Ker will save you the
postage.
"Should auld acquaintance be forgot! "[192]
Light be the turf on the breast of the heaven-inspired poet who
composed this glorious fragment. There is more of the fire of native
genius in it than in half-a-dozen of modern English Bacchanalians!
Now
I am on my hobby-horse, I cannot help inserting two other old stanzas,
which please me mightily:--
"Go fetch to me a pint of wine. "[193]
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 192: See Song CCX. ]
[Footnote 193: See Song LXXII. ]
* * * * *
CXLIII.
TO MISS DAVIES.
[The Laird of Glenriddel informed "the charming, lovely Davies" that
Burns was composing a song in her praise. The poet acted on this, and
sent the song, enclosed in this characteristic letter. ]
_December, 1788. _
MADAM,
I understand my very worthy neighbour, Mr. Riddel, has informed you
that I have made you the subject of some verses. There is something
so provoking in the idea of being the burthen of a ballad, that I do
not think Job or Moses, though such patterns of patience and meekness,
could have resisted the curiosity to know what that ballad was: so my
worthy friend has done me a mischief, which I dare say he never
intended; and reduced me to the unfortunate alternative of leaving
your curiosity ungratified, or else disgusting you with foolish
verses, the unfinished production of a random moment, and never meant
to have met your ear. I have heard or read somewhere of a gentleman
who had some genius, much eccentricity, and very considerable
dexterity with his pencil. In the accidental group of life into which
one is thrown, wherever this gentleman met with a character in a more
than ordinary degree congenial to his heart, he used to steal a sketch
of the face, merely, he said, as a _nota bene_, to point out the
agreeable recollection to his memory. What this gentleman's pencil was
to him, my muse is to me; and the verses I do myself the honour to
send you are a _memento_ exactly of the same kind that he indulged in.
