The Canongate Burns (120 page)
Read The Canongate Burns Online
Authors: Robert Burns
First printed in Cunningham, 1834.
Grant me, indulgent Heaven, that I may live
To see the miscreants feel the pains they give:
Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air,
Till SLAVE and DESPOT be but
things which were
!
These lines were supposedly written extempore by Burns but feature in two separate places. They are not written
against
the French revolution as some nineteenth century editors presented them but are lines aimed directly at the âterror' imposed by Pitt's government in Britain during the early to mid-1790s. They are very close in sentiment and expression to the poem
On the Year 1793
, printed in
The Edinburgh Gazetteer
on 8th January, 1793 and if inserted at the end of that poem, seamlessly complete it.
â
First printed in
The Burns Chronicle
, 1940.
PERISH their names, however great or brave,
Who in the DESPOT's cursed errands bleed!
But who for FREEDOM fill a hero's grave,
Fame with a Seraph-pen, record the glorious deed!
These lines are written after Mrs Cowley's
Stanzas to Della Crusca
in Syme's copy of
The British Album
. Kinsley accepts them (no. 412C) but Mackay rejects them. The lines are, in fact, very close in tone and language to the newly, discovered
Lines on Ambition
written in 1793.
â
First printed in
The Burns Chronicle
, 1940.
LOVE's records, written on a heart like mine,
Not Time's last effort can efface a line.
There is no evidence in
The British Album
or elsewhere that these lines were copied by Burns from another poet, but appear to have been prompted by the poem
Henry Deceived
in the anthology.
First printed in Currie, 1800.
Tune: Hughie Green
O were my Love yon Lilack fair
      Wi' purple blossoms to the Spring,
And I, a bird to shelter there,
      When wearied on my little wing,
5
How I wad mourn, when it was torn
would
      By Autumn wild and Winter rude!
But I wad sing on wanton wing,
would
      When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd.
O, gin my love were yon red rose,
were/if
10
      That grows upon the castle wa'!
wall
And I mysel a drap o' dew,
drop
      Into her bonie breast to fa'!
fall
Oh, there beyond expression blesst
      I'd feast on beauty a' the night;
15
Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest,
-soft folds
      Till fley'd awa by Phoebus' light!
put to flight
The first stanza of this song is from Burns, the last is from the traditional song in Herd's collection (1769).
or
There was a Lass
First printed in Currie, 1800.
There was a lass, and she was fair,
      At kirk and market to be seen;
When a' our fairest maids were met,
      The fairest maid was bonie Jean.
5
And ay she wrought her country wark,
labour
      And ay she sang sae merrilie;
so
The blythest bird upon the bush
      Had ne'er a lighter heart than she.
But hawks will rob the tender joys
10
      That bless the little lintwhite's nest;
linnet's
And frost will blight the fairest flowers,
      And love will break the soundest rest.
Young Robie was the brawest lad,
finest
      The flower and pride of a' the glen;
15
And he had owsen, sheep, and kye,
oxen, cattle
      And wanton naigies nine or ten.
horses
He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste, went,
cattle sale
      He danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down;
And, lang ere witless Jeanie wist,
long, knew
20
      Her heart was tint, her peace was stown.
lost, stolen
As in the bosom of the stream
      The moon-beam dwells at dewy e'en;
evening
So, trembling, pure, was tender love
      Within the breast of bonie Jean.
25
And now she works her Mammie's wark,
labour
      And ay she sighs wi' care and pain;
Yet wist na what her ail might be,
knew not, ailment
      Or what wad make her weel again.
would, well
But did na Jeanie's heart lowp light,
not, jump
30
      And did na joy blink in her e'e;
not, eye
As Robie tauld a tale o' love,
told
      Ae e'enin on the lily lea.
one
The sun was sinking in the west,
      The birds sang sweet in ilka grove:
each
35
His cheek to hers he fondly laid,
      And whisper'd thus his tale of love.
O Jeanie fair, I loe thee dear;
love
      O canst thou think to fancy me!
Or wilt thou leave thy Mammie's cot,
mother's cottage
40
      And learn to tent the farms wi' me.
tend
At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge,
not
      Or naething else to trouble thee;
nothing
But stray amang the heather-bells,
among
      And tent the waving corn wi' me.
gather
45
Now what could artless Jeanie do?
      She had nae will to say him na:
no, refuse
At length she blush'd a sweet consent,
      And love was ay between them twa.
two
Bonie Jean
is the most appropriate title for this work. The heroine is Jean McMurdo, daughter of John McMurdo. Thomson eventually printed the song in 1805.
First printed in Currie, 1800.
Ye warblers of the vocal grove,
      Your heavy loss deplore;
Now half your melody is lost,
      Sweet Echo is no more.
Each shrieking, screaming bird and beast,
      Exalt your tuneless voice;
Half your deformity is hid,
      Here Echo silent lies.
The authenticity of these verses relies somewhat on the reminiscence of John Syme that Burns composed lines at the Gordons of Kenmure Castle, in late July 1793, on their pet dog, Echo, who had recently died. Kinsley prints two versions, suggesting that the first is probably lines remembered by Syme and gives the second, above, as the authentic (See Vol. III, p. 1434). This, though, may be open to question given that the holograph in the Rosenbach catalogue is considered a hurried scrawl which might not be by Burns. The version printed by Mackay is placed in our Appendix with other works doubted or rejected.
First printed in Cromek, 1808.
When Morine, deceas'd, to the Devil went down,
      'Twas nothing would serve him but Satan's own crown!
Thy fool's head, quoth Satan, that crown shall wear never;
      I grant thou'rt as wicked âbut not quite so clever. â
This was found among the Glenriddell manuscript collection. John Morine of Laggan, near Ellisland, purchased the poet's farm. He and Burns supposedly quarrelled over the amount that should be paid for a large heap of dung.
Tune: Robin Adair
First printed in Currie, 1800.
While larks with little wing
      Fann'd the pure air,
Viewing the breathing Spring,
      Forth I did fare:
5
Gay, the sun's golden eye
Peep'd o'er the mountains high;
Such thy morn! did I cry,
      Phillis the fair.
In each bird's careless song,
10
      Glad, I did share;
While yon wild flowers among
      Chance led me there:
Sweet to the opening day,
Rosebuds bent the dewy spray;
15
Such thy bloom, did I say,
      Phillis the fair.
Down in a shady walk,
      Doves cooing were;
I mark'd the cruel hawk,
20
      Caught in a snare:
So kind may Fortune be,
Such make his destiny!
He who would injure thee,
      Phillis the fair.
This was written on Phillis McMurdo, younger sister of Jean and daughter of John McMurdo of Drumlanrig. Burns picked up the tune from a Highlander based in Dumfries with the Breadalbane Fencibles.
Tune: Robin Adair.
First printed in Thomson, 1799.
Had I a cave on some wild, distant shore,
Where the winds howl to the waves' dashing roar:
      There would I weep my woes,
      There seek my lost repose,
5
      Till grief my eyes should close,
            Ne'er to wake more.
Falsest of womankind, canst thou declare,
All thy fond, plighted vows â fleeting as air!
      To thy new lover hie,
10
      Laugh o'er thy perjury â
      Then in thy bosom try,
            What peace is there!
Burns wrote this lyric in recollection of the unfortunate break-up of Alexander Cunningham and his beloved Anna, as also expressed in
Anna, Thy Charms
. Writing to Thomson in August 1793 Burns admitted he had not succeeded in matching the lyrics perfectly to the music of
Robin Adair
(Letter 576).
First printed in Thomson, 1799.
But warily tent, when ye come to court me,
take care
And come nae unless the back-yett be a-jee;
not, -gate, ajar
Syne up the back-style and let naebody see,
then, -stile, nobody
      And come as ye were na comin to me â
not
5
      And come as ye were na comin to me. â
not
Chorus
O WHISTLE an' I'll come to ye, my lad,
O whistle an' I'll come to ye, my lad;
Tho' father, an' mother, an' a' should gae mad,
go
      Thy JEANIE will venture wi' ye, my lad.
10
At kirk, or at market whene'er ye meet me,
Gang by me as tho' that ye car'd na a flie;
go, cared not, fly
But steal me a blink o' your bonie black e'e,
eye
      Yet look as ye were na lookin to me â
not
      Yet look as ye were na lookin to me. â
not
            O whistle an' I'll, &c.
15
Ay vow and protest that ye care na for me,
not
And whyles ye may lightly my beauty a wee;
at times, a little
But court na anither tho' jokin ye be,
not another
      For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me â
lure, from
      For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me. â
lure, from
20
            O whistle an' I'll, &c.
An earlier version of this song features in Johnson's S.M.M. Vol. II, 1788. The earlier version is omitted in favour of the later. The chorus is taken from a fragment in the Herd collection (1769)
Tune: The Muckin o Geordie's Byre
First printed in Thomson, 1799.
ADOWN winding Nith I did wander,
      To mark the sweet flowers as they spring;
Adown winding Nith I did wander,
      Of Phillis to muse and to sing. â
Chorus
5
Awa wi' your Belles and your Beauties;
away
      They never wi' her can compare:
Whaever hae met wi' my Phillis,
whoever has
      Has met wi' the Queen o' the Fair. â
The Daisy amus'd my fond fancy,
10
      So artless, so simple, so wild:
Thou emblem, said I, o' my Phillis,
      For she is Simplicity's child. â
1
            Awa wi' your Belles &c.
The Rose-bud's the blush o' my Charmer,
      Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prest:
15
How fair and how pure is the lily,
      But fairer and purer her breast. â
            Awa wi' your Belles &c.
Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour,
      They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie:
Her breath is the breath o' the woodbine,
20
      Its dew-drop o' diamond, her eye. â
            Awa wi' your Belles &c.
Her voice is the songs o' the morning,
      That wake thro' the green-spreading grove;
When Phebus peeps over the mountains
      On music, and pleasure, and love. â
            Awa wi' your Belles &c.
25
But Beauty, how frail and how fleeting,
      The bloom of a fine summer's day;
While Worth in the mind o' my Phillis
      Will flourish without a decay. â
            Awa wi' your Belles &c.
The heroine of this work is Phillis McMurdo, daughter of John, as mentioned in notes to
Phillis the Fair
.
1
Here the
Poet
trusts that he shall also be found a
Prophet
; and this charming feature willl ever be a distinguishing trait in his Heroine. R.B.
