[Burns, says Cromek,
acknowledged
that a refined and accomplished
woman was a being all but new to him till he went to Edinburgh, and
received letters from Mrs.
woman was a being all but new to him till he went to Edinburgh, and
received letters from Mrs.
Robert Forst
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.
[Burns, says Cromek, acknowledged that a refined and accomplished
woman was a being all but new to him till he went to Edinburgh, and
received letters from Mrs. Dunlop. ]
_Ellisland, 17th December, 1791. _
Many thanks to you, Madam, for your good news respecting the little
floweret and the mother-plant. I hope my poetic prayers have been
heard, and will be answered up to the warmest sincerity of their
fullest extent; and then Mrs. Henri will find her little darling the
representative of his late parent, in everything but his abridged
existence.
I have just finished the following song, which to a lady the
descendant of Wallace--and many heroes of his true illustrious
line--and herself the mother of several soldiers, needs neither
preface nor apology.
_Scene_--_a field of battle_--_time of the day, evening;
the wounded and dying of the victorious army are supposed to
join in the following_
SONG OF DEATH.
Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies
Now gay with the bright setting sun;
Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties--
Our race of existence is run!
The circumstance that gave rise to the foregoing verses was, looking
over with a musical friend M'Donald's collection of Highland airs, I
was struck with one, an Isle of Skye tune, entitled "Oran and Aoig,
or, The Song of Death," to the measure of which I have adapted my
stanzas. I have of late composed two or three other little pieces,
which, ere yon full-orbed moon, whose broad impudent face now stares
at old mother earth all night, shall have shrunk into a modest
crescent, just peeping forth at dewy dawn, I shall find an hour to
transcribe for you. _A Dieu je vous commende. _
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXXVI.
TO MRS.
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.
[Burns, says Cromek, acknowledged that a refined and accomplished
woman was a being all but new to him till he went to Edinburgh, and
received letters from Mrs. Dunlop. ]
_Ellisland, 17th December, 1791. _
Many thanks to you, Madam, for your good news respecting the little
floweret and the mother-plant. I hope my poetic prayers have been
heard, and will be answered up to the warmest sincerity of their
fullest extent; and then Mrs. Henri will find her little darling the
representative of his late parent, in everything but his abridged
existence.
I have just finished the following song, which to a lady the
descendant of Wallace--and many heroes of his true illustrious
line--and herself the mother of several soldiers, needs neither
preface nor apology.
_Scene_--_a field of battle_--_time of the day, evening;
the wounded and dying of the victorious army are supposed to
join in the following_
SONG OF DEATH.
Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies
Now gay with the bright setting sun;
Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties--
Our race of existence is run!
The circumstance that gave rise to the foregoing verses was, looking
over with a musical friend M'Donald's collection of Highland airs, I
was struck with one, an Isle of Skye tune, entitled "Oran and Aoig,
or, The Song of Death," to the measure of which I have adapted my
stanzas. I have of late composed two or three other little pieces,
which, ere yon full-orbed moon, whose broad impudent face now stares
at old mother earth all night, shall have shrunk into a modest
crescent, just peeping forth at dewy dawn, I shall find an hour to
transcribe for you. _A Dieu je vous commende. _
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXXVI.
TO MRS.
