, like midges
sporting
in the mottie sun, or craws
prognosticating a storm in a hairst day.
prognosticating a storm in a hairst day.
Robert Forst
Ramsay at
Auchtertyre, near Stirling: a man to whose worth I cannot do justice.
My respectful kind compliments to Mrs. Cruikshank, and my dear little
Jeanie, and if you see Mr. Masterton, please remember me to him.
I am ever,
My dear Sir, &c.
R. B.
* * * * *
LXX.
TO MR. JAMES SMITH.
LINLITHGOW.
[The young lady to whom the poet alludes in this letter, was very
beautiful, and very proud: it is said she gave him a specimen of both
her temper and her pride, when he touched on the subject of love. ]
_June 30, 1787. _
MY DEAR FRIEND,
On our return, at a Highland gentleman's hospitable mansion, we fell
in with a merry party, and danced till the ladies left us, at three in
the morning. Our dancing was none of the French or English insipid
formal movements; the ladies sung Scotch songs like angels, at
intervals; then we flew at Bab at the Bowster, Tullochgorum, Loch
Erroch Side, &c.
, like midges sporting in the mottie sun, or craws
prognosticating a storm in a hairst day. --When the dear lasses left
us, we ranged round the bowl till the good-fellow hour of six; except
a few minutes that we went out to pay our devotions to the glorious
lamp of day peering over the towering top of Benlomond. We all
kneeled; our worthy landlord's son held the bowl; each man a full
glass in his hand; and I, as priest, repeated some rhyming nonsense,
like Thomas-a-Rhymer's prophecies I suppose. --After a small
refreshment of the gifts of Somnus, we proceeded to spend the day on
Lochlomond, and reach Dumbarton in the evening. We dined at another
good fellow's house, and consequently, pushed the bottle; when we went
out to mount our horses, we found ourselves "No vera fou but gaylie
yet. " My two friends and I rode soberly down the Loch side, till by
came a Highlandman at the gallop, on a tolerably good horse, but which
had never known the ornaments of iron or leather. We scorned to be
out-galloped by a Highlandman, so off we started, whip and spur. My
companions, though seemingly gaily mounted, fell sadly astern; but my
old mare, Jenny Geddes, one of the Rosinante family, she strained past
the Highlandman in spite of all his efforts with the hair halter; just
as I was passing him, Donald wheeled his horse, as if to cross before
me to mar my progress, when down came his horse, and threw his rider's
breekless a----e in a clipt hedge; and down came Jenny Geddes over
all, and my bardship between her and the Highlandman's horse. Jenny
Geddes trode over me with such cautious reverence, that matters were
not so bad as might well have been expected; so I came off with a few
cuts and bruises, and a thorough resolution to be a pattern of
sobriety for the future.
I have yet fixed on nothing with respect to the serious business of
life. I am, just as usual, a rhyming, mason-making, raking, aimless,
idle fellow. However, I shall somewhere have a farm soon. I was going
to say, a wife too; but that must never be my blessed lot. I am but a
younger son of the house of Parnassus, and like other younger sons of
great families, I may intrigue, if I choose to run all risks, but must
not marry.
I am afraid I have almost ruined one source, the principal one,
indeed, of my former happiness; that eternal propensity I always had
to fall in love. My heart no more glows with feverish rapture.
Auchtertyre, near Stirling: a man to whose worth I cannot do justice.
My respectful kind compliments to Mrs. Cruikshank, and my dear little
Jeanie, and if you see Mr. Masterton, please remember me to him.
I am ever,
My dear Sir, &c.
R. B.
* * * * *
LXX.
TO MR. JAMES SMITH.
LINLITHGOW.
[The young lady to whom the poet alludes in this letter, was very
beautiful, and very proud: it is said she gave him a specimen of both
her temper and her pride, when he touched on the subject of love. ]
_June 30, 1787. _
MY DEAR FRIEND,
On our return, at a Highland gentleman's hospitable mansion, we fell
in with a merry party, and danced till the ladies left us, at three in
the morning. Our dancing was none of the French or English insipid
formal movements; the ladies sung Scotch songs like angels, at
intervals; then we flew at Bab at the Bowster, Tullochgorum, Loch
Erroch Side, &c.
, like midges sporting in the mottie sun, or craws
prognosticating a storm in a hairst day. --When the dear lasses left
us, we ranged round the bowl till the good-fellow hour of six; except
a few minutes that we went out to pay our devotions to the glorious
lamp of day peering over the towering top of Benlomond. We all
kneeled; our worthy landlord's son held the bowl; each man a full
glass in his hand; and I, as priest, repeated some rhyming nonsense,
like Thomas-a-Rhymer's prophecies I suppose. --After a small
refreshment of the gifts of Somnus, we proceeded to spend the day on
Lochlomond, and reach Dumbarton in the evening. We dined at another
good fellow's house, and consequently, pushed the bottle; when we went
out to mount our horses, we found ourselves "No vera fou but gaylie
yet. " My two friends and I rode soberly down the Loch side, till by
came a Highlandman at the gallop, on a tolerably good horse, but which
had never known the ornaments of iron or leather. We scorned to be
out-galloped by a Highlandman, so off we started, whip and spur. My
companions, though seemingly gaily mounted, fell sadly astern; but my
old mare, Jenny Geddes, one of the Rosinante family, she strained past
the Highlandman in spite of all his efforts with the hair halter; just
as I was passing him, Donald wheeled his horse, as if to cross before
me to mar my progress, when down came his horse, and threw his rider's
breekless a----e in a clipt hedge; and down came Jenny Geddes over
all, and my bardship between her and the Highlandman's horse. Jenny
Geddes trode over me with such cautious reverence, that matters were
not so bad as might well have been expected; so I came off with a few
cuts and bruises, and a thorough resolution to be a pattern of
sobriety for the future.
I have yet fixed on nothing with respect to the serious business of
life. I am, just as usual, a rhyming, mason-making, raking, aimless,
idle fellow. However, I shall somewhere have a farm soon. I was going
to say, a wife too; but that must never be my blessed lot. I am but a
younger son of the house of Parnassus, and like other younger sons of
great families, I may intrigue, if I choose to run all risks, but must
not marry.
I am afraid I have almost ruined one source, the principal one,
indeed, of my former happiness; that eternal propensity I always had
to fall in love. My heart no more glows with feverish rapture.
