No More Learning

[Cunningham could tell a merry story, and sing a humorous song; nor
was he without a feeling for the deep sensibilities of his friend's
verse. ]

_Ellisland, 12th March, 1791. _

If the foregoing piece be worth your strictures, let me have them. For
my own part, a thing that I have just composed always appears through
a double portion of that partial medium in which an author will ever
view his own works. I believe in general, novelty has something in it
that inebriates the fancy, and not unfrequently dissipates and fumes
away like other intoxication, and leaves the poor patient, as usual,
with an aching heart. A striking instance of this might be adduced,
in the revolution of many a hymeneal honeymoon. But lest I sink into
stupid prose, and so sacrilegiously intrude on the office of my
parish-priest, I shall fill up the page in my own way, and give you
another song of my late composition, which will appear perhaps in
Johnson's work, as well as the former.

You must know a beautiful Jacobite air, _There'll never be peace 'till
Jamie comes hame. _ When political combustion ceases to be the object
of princes and patriots, it then you know becomes the lawful prey of
historians and poets.

By yon castle wa' at the close of the day,
I heard a man sing, tho' his head it was grey;
And as he was singing, the tears fast down came--
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.

If you like the air, and if the stanzas hit your fancy, you cannot
imagine, my dear friend, how much you would oblige me, if by the
charms of your delightful voice, you would give my honest effusion to
"the memory of joys that are past," to the few friends whom you
indulge in that pleasure. But I have scribbled on 'till I hear the
clock has intimated the near approach of

That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane. --

So good night to you! Sound be your sleep, and delectable your dreams!
Apropos, how do you like this thought in a ballad, I have just now on
the tapis?
I look to the west when I gae to rest,
That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be;
Far, far in the west is he I lo'e best,
The lad that is dear to my babie and me!

Good night, once more, and God bless you!

R. B.

* * * * *




CCXI.


TO MR. ALEXANDER DALZEL,

FACTOR, FINDLAYSTON.

[Cromek says that Alexander Dalzel introduced the poetry of Burns to
the notice of the Earl of Glencairn, who carried the Kilmarnock
edition with him to Edinburgh, and begged that the poet would let him
know what his views in the world were, that he might further them. ]

_Ellisland, 19th March, 1791. _

MY DEAR SIR,

I have taken the liberty to frank this letter to you, as it encloses
an idle poem of mine, which I send you; and God knows you may perhaps
pay dear enough for it if you read it through. Not that this is my own
opinion; but the author, by the time he has composed and corrected his
work, has quite pored away all his powers of critical discrimination.

I can easily guess from my own heart, what you have felt on a late
most melancholy event. God knows what I have suffered, at the loss of
my best friend, my first and dearest patron and benefactor; the man to
whom I owe all that I am and have! I am gone into mourning for him,
and with more sincerity of grief than I fear some will, who by
nature's ties ought to feel on the occasion.

I will be exceedingly obliged to you, indeed, to let me know the news
of the noble family, how the poor mother and the two sisters support
their loss. I had a packet of poetic bagatelles ready to send to Lady
Betty, when I saw the fatal tidings in the newspaper.