The Canongate Burns (48 page)
Read The Canongate Burns Online
Authors: Robert Burns
with the Foregoing Poem
First printed in the Edinburgh edition, 1793.
Thou, who thy honour as thy God rever'st,
Who, save thy
mind's reproach
, nought earthly fear'st,
To thee this votive off'ring I impart,
The tearful tribute of a broken heart.
The
Friend
thou valued'st, I the
Patron
lov'd;
His worth, his honour, all the world approv'd.
We'll mourn till we too go as he has gone,
And tread the shadowy path to that dark world unknown.
Sir John Whitefoord (1734â1803) was a friend of James Cunningham, Earl of Glencairn. Burns composed these brief lines in October 1791. Whitefoord's reply, written from Maybole, 16th October 1791, in acknowledgement of the
Lament
and lines addressed to
himself, remarked âLet us cherish this hope for our departed friend, and moderate our grief for that loss we have sustained, knowing he cannot come to us, but we may go to him'. (See Scott Douglas's edition, Vol. I, p. 348 headnote.)
Tam o' Shanter
Prompted by the antiquarian Francis Grose, a friend of Robert Riddell of Glenriddell, Burns was asked to provide any ghost stories concerning Alloway church that might be utilised in Francis Grose's forthcoming book on Scottish antiquities. The result was a prose recollection, eventually honed into the comic-epic masterpiece,
Tam
o'Shanter
. The poet's remarkable ability to translate prose into poetry is apparent in examining his comments to Grose and because they provide the genesis of the poem, we give them here as introduction:
Among the many Witch Stories I have heard relating to Alloway Kirk, I distinctly remember two or three. Upon a stormy night, amid whirling squalls of wind and bitter blasts of hail, in short on such a night as the devil would chuse to take the air in, a farmer or farmer's servant was plodding and plashing homeward with his plough-iron on his shoulder, having been getting some repairs on them at a neighbouring smithy. His way lay by the Kirk of Aloway, and being on the anxious look-out in approaching a place so well known to be a favourite haunt of the devil and the devil's friends and emissaries, he was struck aghast by discovering through the horrors of the storm and stormy night, a light, which on his nearer approach, plainly shewed itself to proceed from the haunted edifice. Whether he had been fortified from above on his devout supplication, as is customary with people when they suspect the immediate presence of Satan; or whether, according to another custom, he had got courageously drunk at the smithy, I will not pretend to determine; but so it was that he ventured to go up to, nay into the very kirk. As good luck would have it, his temerity came off unpunished. The members of the infernal junto were all out on some midnight business or other, and he saw nothing but a kind of kettle or caldron, depending from the roof, over the fire, simmering some heads of unchristened children, limbs of executed malefactors, &c. for the business of the night. It was, in for a penny in for a pound, with the honest ploughman: so without ceremony he unhooked
the caldron from off the fire, and pouring out the damnable ingredients, inverted it on his head, and carried it fairly home, where it remained long in the family a living evidence of the truth of the story.
Another story which I can prove to be equally authentic was as follows. On a market day in the town of Ayr, a farmer from Carrick, and consequently whose way lay by the very gate of Alloway Kirk-yard in order to cross the river Doon at the old bridge, which is about two or three hundred yards further on than the said gate, had been detained by his business, till by the time he reached Alloway, it was the wizard hour, between night and morning. Though he was terrified, with a blaze streaming from the kirk, yet as it is a well-known fact that to turn back on these occasions is running by far the greatest risk of mischief, he prudently advanced on his road. When he had reached the gate of the kirk-yard, he was surprised and entertained, through the ribs and arches of an old gothic window which still faces the highway, to see a dance of witches merrily footing it round their old sooty blackguard master, who was keeping them alive with the powers of his bag-pipe. The farmer stopping his horse to observe them a little, could plainly descry the faces of many old women of his acquaintance and neighbourhood. How the gentleman was dressed, tradition does not say; but the ladies were all in their smocks: and one of them happening unluckily to have a smock which was considerably too short to answer all the purpose of that piece of dress, our farmer was so tickled that he involuntarily burst out, with a loud laugh, âWell luppen Maggy wi the short sark!' and recollecting himself, instantly spurred his horse to the top of his speed. I need not mention the universal known fact, that no diabolical power can pursue you beyond the middle of a running stream. Lucky it was for the poor farmer that the river Doon was so near, for notwithstanding the speed of his horse, which was a good one, against the odds he reached the middle of the arch of the bridge, and consequently the middle of the stream, the pursuing, vengeful, hags, were so close at his heels, that one of them actually sprung to seize him; but it was too late, nothing was on her side of the stream but the horse's tail, which immediately gave way to her infernal grip, as if blasted by a stroke of lightning; but the farmer was beyond her reach. However, the unsightly, tailless condition of the vigorous steed was to the last hour of the noble creature âs life, an awful warning to the Carrick farmers, not to stay too late in Ayr markets â¦. (Letter 401).
First printed in
The Edinburgh Herald
, 18th March, 1791; then
The Edinburgh
Magazine
, March 1791; followed by publication in Francis Grose's
Antiquities of Scotland
, Vol. II, April 1791 before inclusion in the Edinburgh edition, 1793.
Of Brownyis and of Bogillis full is this Buke
.
GAWIN DOUGLAS.
      When chapman billies leave the street,
pedlar friends
And drouthy neebors, neebors meet,
thirsty neighbours
As market-days are wearing late,
An' folk begin to tak the gate;
road/go home
5
While we sit bousing at the nappy,
drinking, ale
And getting fou and unco happy,
full/drunk, mighty
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
not, long
The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles,
bogs, pools, stiles
That lie between us and our hame,
home
10
Whare sits our sulky sullen dame,
where
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.
      This truth fand honest
Tam o' Shanter
,
found
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter,
from, one
15
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses
who/that
For honest men and bonie lasses).
pretty
     Â
O Tam!
had'st thou but been sae wise,
so
As taen thy ain wife
Kate's
advice!
taken, own
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,
told, well, rogue
20
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum;
chattering, babbling, idle talker
That frae November till October,
from
Ae market-day thou was nae sober;
one, not
That ilka melder, wi' the miller,
every meal grinding
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;
long, money
25
That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on,
horse, shod
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on;
got, full/drunk
That at the Lord's house, even on Sunday,
Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday.
She prophesied that late or soon,
30
Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon;
Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk,
wizards, dark
By
Alloway's
auld, haunted kirk.
old
Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet,
makes, weep
To think how mony counsels sweet,
many
35
How mony lengthen'd, sage advices,
many
The husband frae the wife despises!
from
      But to our tale: â Ae market-night,
one
Tam
had got planted unco right;
mighty
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely,
fire, blazing
40
Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely
foaming ale
And at his elbow, Souter
Johnny
,
cobbler
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony;
drinking pal
Tam
lo'ed him like a very brither â
loved, brother
They had been fou for weeks thegither!
full/drunk, together
45
The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter
drove, songs, chat
And ay the ale was growing better:
The landlady and
Tam
grew gracious,
Wi' favours, secret, sweet and precious:
The Souter tauld his queerest stories;
cobbler told
50
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus:
The storm without might rair and rustle,
roar
Tam
did na mind the storm a whistle.
not
Care, mad to see a man sae happy,
so
E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy:
among, ale
55
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure,
fly home, loads
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure:
Kings may be blest, but
Tam
was glorious,
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious!
       But pleasures are like poppies spread,
60
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed;
Or like the snow falls in the river,
A moment white â then melts for ever;
Or like the borealis race,
That flit ere you can point their place;
65
Or like the rainbow's lovely form
Evanishing amid the storm. â
Nae man can tether time or tide;
no, hold/control
The hour approaches
Tam
maun ride;
must
That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane,
-stone
70
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in;
And sic a night he taks the road in,
such, takes
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.
       The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last;
it would have blown
The rattling showers rose on the blast;
75
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd;
Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd:
long
That night, a child might understand,
The Deil had business on his hand.
devil
       Weel mounted on his gray mare,
Meg
â
well
80
A better never lifted leg â
Tam
skelpit on thro' dub and mire,
rode fast, puddle
Despising wind, and rain, and fire;
Whyles holding fast his guid blue bonnet;
good
Whyles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet;
muttering, old
85
Whyles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares,
looking with fear
Lest bogles catch him unawares:
bogies
Kirk-Alloway
was drawing nigh,
Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry. â
where ghosts, owls
By this time he was cross the ford,
burn
90
Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd;
where, snow, pedlar, smothered
And past the birks and meikle stane,
birches, big stone
Whare drunken
Charlie
brak's neck-bane;
where, broke his, -bone
And thro' the whins, and by the cairn,
gorse bushes
Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn;
where, found, child
95
And near the thorn, aboon the well,
above
Whare
Mungo's
mither hang'd hersel. â
where, mother
Before him
Doon
pours all his floods;
The doubling storm roars thro' the woods;
The lightnings flash from pole to pole;
100
Near and more near the thunders roll:
When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees,
Kirk-Alloway
seem'd in a bleeze;
blaze/lit up
Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing;
every chink in the wall
And loud resounded mirth and dancing.
105
       Inspiring bold
John Barleycorn!
What dangers thou canst make us scorn!
Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil;
cheap two penny ale, no
Wi' usquabae, we'll face the Devil! â
whisky
The swats sae ream'd in
Tammie's
noddle,
small beers, so, mind
110
Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle.
cared not a farthing
But
Maggie
stood, right sair astonish'd,
sore
Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd,
spurred and slapped
She ventur'd forward on the light;
And, vow!
Tam
saw an unco sight!
strange/wondrous
115
Warlocks and witches in a dance;
wizards
Nae cotillion brent new frae
France
,
no, brand new from
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels,
Put life and mettle in their heels.
A winnock-bunker in the east,
window recess
120
There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast;
old
A tousie tyke, black, grim, and large,
shaggy dog
To gie them music was his charge:
give
He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl,
made, blare
Till roof and rafters a' did dirl. â
ring/shake
125
Coffins stood round, like open presses,
cupboards
That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses;
showed
And by some devilish cantraip sleight,
magic trick
Each in its cauld hand held a light. â
cold
By which heroic
Tam
was able
130
To note upon the haly table,
holy
A murderer's banes, in gibbet-airns;
bones, -irons
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns;
two, -long, babies
A thief new-cutted frae a rape,
from, rope
Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape;
mouth, gasp
135
Five tomahawks wi' blude red-rusted;
axes, blood
Five scymitars wi' murder crusted;
A garter, which a babe had strangled;
A knife, a father's throat had mangled,
Whom his ain son o' life bereft,
own
140
The grey-hairs yet stack to the heft;
1
stuck, handle
[Three Lawyers' tongues, turned inside out,
Wi' lies seamed like a beggar's clout;
Three Priests' hearts, rotten black as muck,
Lay stinking, vile, in every neuk].
corner
145
       As
Tammie
glowr'd, amaz'd, and curious,
stared
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious:
The piper loud and louder blew;
The dancers quick and quicker flew;
They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit,
clasped one another
150
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit,
every witch, sweated, steamed
And coost her duddies to the wark,
cast off clothes, work
And linket at it in her sark! set to it,
shirt
       Now
Tam
, O
Tam
! had thae been queans,
they, girls
A' plump and strapping in their teens,
155
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen,
shirts, greasy flannel
Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen!
snow-, fine threaded linen
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair,
these breeches
That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair,
once, good
I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdies,
would have given, backside
160
For ae blink o' the bonie burdies!
one, pretty lasses
But wither'd beldams, auld and droll,
hags, old
Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal,
tough, would, abort
Louping and flinging on a crummock,
jumping, cudgel
I wonder did na turn thy stomach.
not
165
But
Tam
kend what was what fu' brawlie,
knew, full well
There was ae winsome wench and wawlie,
one comely, choice
That night enlisted in the core,
(Lang after kend on
Carrick
shore;
long, known
For mony a beast to dead she shot,
many
170
An' perish'd mony a bonie boat,
many, handsome
And shook baith meikle corn and bear,
both much, barley
And kept the country-side in fear).
Her cutty-sark, o' Paisley harn short
shirt, coarse cloth
That while a lassie she had worn,
175
In longitude tho' sorely scanty,
revealing
It was her best, and she was vauntie. â
proud of it
Ah! little kend thy reverend grannie,
knew
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie,
shirt, bought
Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches),
two pounds
180
Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches!
would
Â
      But here my Muse her wing maun cour;
must fold/curb
Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r;
such
To sing how Nannie lap and flang,
leaped, kicked
(A souple jad she was, and strang),
supple lass, strong
185
And how
Tam
stood like ane bewitch'd,
one
And thought his very een enrich'd;
eyes
Â
Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain,
stared, fidgeted excitedly
And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main:
jerked
Till first ae caper, syne anither,
one, then another
190
Tam
tint his reason a' thegither,
lost, together
And roars out, âWeel done, Cutty-sark!'
well
And in an instant all was dark:
And scarcely had he
Maggie
rallied,
When out the hellish legion sallied.
