_
Do not blame me for it, Madam;--my own conscience, hackneyed and
weather-beaten as it is in watching and reproving my vagaries,
follies, indolence, &c.
Do not blame me for it, Madam;--my own conscience, hackneyed and
weather-beaten as it is in watching and reproving my vagaries,
follies, indolence, &c.
Robert Forst
Mr.
B.
is deeply impressed with, and awfully conscious of, the
high importance of Mr. C. 's time, whether in the winged moments of
symphonious exhibition, at the keys of harmony, while listening
seraphs cease their own less delightful strains; or in the drowsy
arms of slumb'rous repose, in the arms of his dearly beloved
elbowchair, where the frowsy, but potent power of indolence,
circumfuses her vapours round, and sheds her dews on the head of her
darling son. But half a line conveying half a meaning from Mr. C.
would make Mr. B. the happiest of mortals.
* * * * *
CCXXXII.
TO MRS. DUNLOP.
[To enthusiastic fits of admiration for the young and the beautiful,
such as Burns has expressed in this letter, he loved to give way:--we
owe some of his best songs to these sallies. ]
_Annan Water Foot, 22d August, 1792.
_
Do not blame me for it, Madam;--my own conscience, hackneyed and
weather-beaten as it is in watching and reproving my vagaries,
follies, indolence, &c. , has continued to punish me sufficiently.
* * * * *
Do you think it possible, my dear and honoured friend, that I could be
so lost to gratitude for many favours; to esteem for much worth, and
to the honest, kind, pleasurably tie of, now old acquaintance, and I
hope and am sure of progressive, increasing friendship--as for a
single day, not to think of you--to ask the Fates what they are doing
and about to do with my much-loved friend and her wide-scattered
connexions, and to beg of them to be as kind to you and yours as they
possibly can?
Apropos! (though how it is apropos, I have not leisure to explain,) do
you not know that I am almost in love with an acquaintance of
yours? --Almost! said I--I am in love, souse! over head and ears, deep
as the most unfathomable abyss of the boundless ocean; but the word
Love, owing to the _intermingledoms_ of the good and the bad, the pure
and the impure, in this world, being rather an equivocal term for
expressing one's sentiments and sensations, I must do justice to the
sacred purity of my attachment. Know, then, that the heart-struck awe;
the distant humble approach; the delight we should have in gazing upon
and listening to a messenger of heaven, appearing in all the unspotted
purity of his celestial home, among the coarse, polluted, far inferior
sons of men, to deliver to them tidings that make their hearts swim in
joy, and their imaginations soar in transport--such, so delighting and
so pure, were the emotions of my soul on meeting the other day with
Miss Lesley Baillie, your neighbour, at M----. Mr. B. with his two
daughters, accompanied by Mr. H. of G. passing through Dumfries a few
days ago, on their way to England, did me the honour of calling on me;
on which I took my horse (though God knows I could ill spare the
time), and accompanied them fourteen or fifteen miles, and dined and
spent the day with them. 'Twas about nine, I think, when I left them,
and riding home, I composed the following ballad, of which you will
probably think you have a dear bargain, as it will cost you another
groat of postage.
high importance of Mr. C. 's time, whether in the winged moments of
symphonious exhibition, at the keys of harmony, while listening
seraphs cease their own less delightful strains; or in the drowsy
arms of slumb'rous repose, in the arms of his dearly beloved
elbowchair, where the frowsy, but potent power of indolence,
circumfuses her vapours round, and sheds her dews on the head of her
darling son. But half a line conveying half a meaning from Mr. C.
would make Mr. B. the happiest of mortals.
* * * * *
CCXXXII.
TO MRS. DUNLOP.
[To enthusiastic fits of admiration for the young and the beautiful,
such as Burns has expressed in this letter, he loved to give way:--we
owe some of his best songs to these sallies. ]
_Annan Water Foot, 22d August, 1792.
_
Do not blame me for it, Madam;--my own conscience, hackneyed and
weather-beaten as it is in watching and reproving my vagaries,
follies, indolence, &c. , has continued to punish me sufficiently.
* * * * *
Do you think it possible, my dear and honoured friend, that I could be
so lost to gratitude for many favours; to esteem for much worth, and
to the honest, kind, pleasurably tie of, now old acquaintance, and I
hope and am sure of progressive, increasing friendship--as for a
single day, not to think of you--to ask the Fates what they are doing
and about to do with my much-loved friend and her wide-scattered
connexions, and to beg of them to be as kind to you and yours as they
possibly can?
Apropos! (though how it is apropos, I have not leisure to explain,) do
you not know that I am almost in love with an acquaintance of
yours? --Almost! said I--I am in love, souse! over head and ears, deep
as the most unfathomable abyss of the boundless ocean; but the word
Love, owing to the _intermingledoms_ of the good and the bad, the pure
and the impure, in this world, being rather an equivocal term for
expressing one's sentiments and sensations, I must do justice to the
sacred purity of my attachment. Know, then, that the heart-struck awe;
the distant humble approach; the delight we should have in gazing upon
and listening to a messenger of heaven, appearing in all the unspotted
purity of his celestial home, among the coarse, polluted, far inferior
sons of men, to deliver to them tidings that make their hearts swim in
joy, and their imaginations soar in transport--such, so delighting and
so pure, were the emotions of my soul on meeting the other day with
Miss Lesley Baillie, your neighbour, at M----. Mr. B. with his two
daughters, accompanied by Mr. H. of G. passing through Dumfries a few
days ago, on their way to England, did me the honour of calling on me;
on which I took my horse (though God knows I could ill spare the
time), and accompanied them fourteen or fifteen miles, and dined and
spent the day with them. 'Twas about nine, I think, when I left them,
and riding home, I composed the following ballad, of which you will
probably think you have a dear bargain, as it will cost you another
groat of postage.
