The Canongate Burns (21 page)
Read The Canongate Burns Online
Authors: Robert Burns
First printed in the Kilmarnock edition, 1786.
Friendship, mysterious cement of the soul!
Sweet'ner of Life, and solder of Society!
I owe thee much.
â BLAIR
Dear Smith, the sleest, pawkie thief,
slyest, cunning
That e'er attempted stealth or rief!
robbery/plunder
Ye surely hae some warlock-breef
have, wizard-spell
                Owre human hearts;
over
5
For ne'er a bosom yet was prief
proof
                Against your arts.
For me, I swear by sun an' moon,
And ev'ry star that blinks aboon,
above
Ye've cost me twenty pair o' shoon,
shoes
10
                 Just gaun to see you;
going
And ev'ry ither pair that's done,
other
                Mair taen I'm wi' you.
more taken
That auld, capricious carlin,
Nature
,
hag
To mak amends for scrimpit stature,
make, stunted
15
She's turn'd you off, a human-creature
                On her
first
plan;
And in her freaks, on ev'ry feature
                She's wrote
the Man
.
Just now I've taen the fit o' rhyme,
taken
20
My barmie noddle's working prime,
excited head/brain
My fancy yerket up sublime,
pulled together
                Wi' hasty summon:
Hae ye a leisure-moment's time
have
                To hear what's comin?
25
Some rhyme a neebor's name to lash;
neighbour
Some rhyme (vain thought!) for needfu' cash;
Some rhyme to court the countra clash,
country gossip
                An' raise a din;
For me, an
aim
I never fash;
think of
30
                 I rhyme for
fun
.
The star that rules my luckless lot,
Has fated me the russet coat,
poor man's coat
An' damn'd my fortune to the groat;
smallest coin
                But, in requit,
as compensation
35
Has blest me with a
random-shot
                O' countra wit.
country
This while my notion's taen a sklent,
taken a turn/bend
To try my fate in guid, black
prent
;
good, print
But still the mair I'm that way bent,
more
40
                 Something cries, âHoolie!
halt
I red you, honest man, tak tent!
warn, heed
                Ye'll shaw your folly:
show
âThere's ither Poets, much your betters,
other
Far seen in
Greek
, deep men o'
letters
,
well versed
45
Hae thought they had ensur'd their debtors,
have
                A' future ages;
Now moths deform, in shapeless tatters,
                Their unknown pages.'
Then farewell hopes o' Laurel-boughs
50
To garland my poetic brows!
Henceforth, I'll rove where busy ploughs
                Are whistling thrang;
busily/at work
An' teach the lanely heights an' howes
lonely hills and dales
                My rustic sang.
song
55
I'll wander on, wi' tentless heed
carefree
How never-halting moments speed,
Till Fate shall snap the brittle thread;
                Then, all unknown,
I'll lay me with th'
inglorious dead
,
60
                  Forgot and gone!
But why o' Death, begin a tale?
Just now we're living sound an' hale;
strong
Then top and maintop croud the sail,
crowd
                Heave
Care
o'er-side!
65
And large, before Enjoyment's gale,
                Let's tak the tide.
This life, sae far's I understand,
so
Is a' enchanted fairy-land,
Where Pleasure is the Magic-wand,
70
                That, wielded right,
Maks Hours like Minutes, hand in hand,
makes
                Dance by fu' light.
The
magic-wand
then let us wield;
For, ance that five-an'-forty's speel'd,
once, climbed/reached
75
See, crazy, weary, joyless, Eild,
old age
                Wi' wrinkl'd face,
Comes hostin, hirplan owre the field,
coughing, limping over
                Wi' creepin pace.
When ance
life's day
draws near the gloamin,
once, twilight
80
Then fareweel vacant, careless roamin;
farewell
An' fareweel chearfu' tankards foamin,
                An' social noise:
An' fareweel dear, deluding Woman,
                The joy of joys!
85
O
Life
! how pleasant, in thy morning,
Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning!
Cold-pausing Caution's lesson scorning,
                We frisk away,
Like school-boys, at th' expected warning,
90
                To joy an' play.
We wander there, we wander here,
We eye the
rose
upon the brier,
Unmindful that the
thorn
is near,
                Among the leaves;
95
And tho' the puny wound appear,
                Short while it grieves.
Some, lucky, find a flow'ry spot,
For which they never toil'd nor swat;
sweated
They drink the
sweet
and eat the
fat
,
100
                But care or pain;
without
And haply eye the barren hut
                With high disdain.
With steady aim, some Fortune chase;
Keen Hope does ev'ry sinew brace;
105
Thro' fair, thro' foul, they urge the race,
                And seize the prey:
Then cannie, in some cozie place,
quietly, snug
                They close the
day
.
And others, like your humble servan',
110
Poor wights
! nae rules nor roads observin,
no
To right or left eternal swervin,
                They zig-zag on;
Till, curst with Age, obscure an' starvin,
                They aften groan.
often
115
Alas! what bitter toil an' straining â
But truce with peevish, poor complaining!
Is Fortune's fickle
Luna
waning?
                E'en let her gang!
go
Beneath what light she has remaining,
120
                 Let's sing our Sang.
song
My pen I here fling to the door,
And kneel, ye
Pow'rs
, and warm implore,
âTho' I should wander
Terra
o'er,
world
                In all her climes,
125
Grant me but this, I ask no more,
                Ay rowth o' rhymes.
abundant
âGie dreeping roasts to
countra Lairds
,
give dripping, country
Till icicles hing frae their beards;
hang from
Gie fine braw claes to fine
Life-guards
give, handsome clothes
130
                And
Maids of Honor
;
And yill an' whisky gie to Cairds,
ale, give, tinkers
                Until they sconner.
are sick of it
âA
Title
, DEMPSTER merits it;
A Garter gie to WILLIE PIT;
symbol of Knighthood, give
135
Gie Wealth to some be-ledger'd Cit,
give, accounting citizen
                In cent per cent;
But give me real, sterling Wit,
                And I'm content
âWhile ye are pleas'd to keep me hale,
healthy
140
I'll sit down o'er my scanty meal,
Be't
water-brose
or
muslin-kail
,
gruel, meatless broth
                Wi' cheerfu' face,
As lang's the Muses dinna fail
long, do not
                To say the grace.'
145
An anxious e'e I never throws
eye
Behint my lug, or by my nose;
behind, ear
I jouk beneath Misfortune's blows
dodge/duck
                As weel's I may;
well as
Sworn foe to
sorrow, care
, and
prose
,
150
                 I rhyme away.
O ye douce folk that live by rule,
serious/sober
Grave, tideless-blooded, calm an' cool,
no rise & fall of passions
Compar'd wi' you â O fool! fool! fool!
                How much unlike!
155
Your hearts are just a standing pool,
                Your lives, a dyke!
stone wall
Nae hair-brained, sentimental traces
no
In your unletter'd, nameless faces!
In
arioso
trills and graces
160
                Ye never stray;
But
gravissÃmo
, solemn basses
                Ye hum away.
Ye are sae
grave
, nae doubt ye're
wise
;
so, no
Nae ferly tho' ye do despise
no wonder
165
The hairum-scairum, ram-stam boys,
wild, headlong
                The rattling squad:
I see ye upward cast your eyes â
                Ye ken the road!
know
Whilst I â but I shall haud me there,
hold
170
Wi' you I'll scarce gang
ony where
â
go any
Then,
Jamie
, I shall say nae mair,
no more
                But quat my sang,
quit, song
Content wi' YOU to mak a
pair
,
make
                Whare'er I gang.
go
James Smith (1765â1823) was initially a linen-draper in Mauchline who eventually emigrated to Jamaica after his business partnership in printing near Linlithgow collapsed. He was younger brother to one of the âMauchline Belles'. Smith is the recipient of several letters from Burns.
This is the first of a series of epistles written by Burns to either Ayrshire intimates or intended intimates. This phase of his life, energised by Masonic membership, is intensely social and, as we will see in
The Vision
, a central aspiration, despite so many influences to the contrary, was to put creative tap-roots into Ayrshire soil and anoint himself the Bard of its fertile but, as yet, poetically fallow terrain. Historically this meant, beginning with Wallace, a resurrection of Ayrshire heroes. In terms of his own life he looked to surround himself with fraternal like-minded spirits. Hence this sequence of significant poetic epistles to James Smith, David Sillar, Gavin Hamilton, John Lapraik, William Simpson and John Rankin.
The epistolary form derives, of course, from classical poetry and was heavily used in Augustan verse, most happily by Pope. The genre had been domesticated, however, by an exchange of epistles between Alan Ramsay and William Hamilton of Gilbertfield which were instrumental in reactiving Scottish vernacular poetry in the eighteenth century. As McGuirk has noted, these epistles were âa
means of interchange between patriotic Scots poets' which âalso incorporated Horatian themes: country pleasure, disdain of âgreatness', praise of friendship, discussion of current issues and (especially) the state of Scottish poetry'. The proper use of the genre entails a degree of creative, technical parity between the correspondents. This was denied Burns, but his desire for the comforts of a poetic coterie was so strong that he often seriously overemphasised the talents of his correspondents. Sillars, for example, was a fine fiddler but a less than mediocre poet. Lapraik very likely plagiarised the song for which he achieved local fame. Later in life Burns was to show absolutely no patience with poetic inferiors who clung to his coat-tail in terms of social identity but not creative ability. He was as
creatively
hierarchical as Swift or Pope.
