The bridegroom may forget the bride That on his head an hour has been; That smiles sae sweetly on her knee; And a' that thou hast done for me! How deeply Burns mourned the loss and revered the memory of this amiable, noble friend and benefactor we further learn from his letter, enclosing the "Lament," to Lady Cunningham, the deceased Earl's sister, wherein he says:-"As all the world knows my obligations to the late Earl of Glencairn, I would wish to show, as openly, that my heart glows, and shall ever glow, with the most grateful sense and remembrance of his lordship's goodness. The sables I did myself the honour to wear to his lordship's memory were not the 'mockery of woe.' Nor shall my gratitude perish with me! If among my children I shall have a son that has a heart, he shall hand it down to his child as a family honour and a family debt; that my dearest existence I owe to the noble house of Glencairn !” When, in February 1789, the poet paid a hurried visit to Edinburgh, to receive from Creech some £50,-the balance due for further sales of the Edinburgh edition,he did not on that occasion see Clarinda. The estrangement, presumably caused by his marrying Jean Armour, passed off, however, and the correspondence with Clarinda was to some extent renewed. Learning that this lady was about to set out for Jamaica to rejoin her errant husband, Burns repaired to Edinburgh about the end of November 1791, to say "Good-bye." Moved by this crisis in Clarinda's sadly romantic life, he wrote the well-known songs, "Behold the hour, the boat arrive," "Here awa', there awa'," "My Nannie's awa'," and those intensely glowing lines, which have been justly described as "the alpha and omega of feeling, containing the essence of an existence of pain and pleasure distilled into one burning drop": Ae fond kiss, and then we sever! Who shall say that Fortune grieves him, I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, Had we never loved sae kindly, We had ne'er been broken-hearted. Fare-thee-weel, thou first and fairest ! Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; Deep in heart-rung tears I'll pledge thee. Merely observing the fact that those three years yielded various songs and minor poems which are not noticed here, we close this chapter with Burns's last poetical composition at Ellisland, his "Song of Death," a poem in some respects worthy to take rank with "Scots wha hae," by virtue of its inspiring ring of patriotic bravery. In his letter to Mrs. Dunlop, of 17th December 1791, he thus introduces this spirited ode:-"I have just finished the following song, which, to a lady, the descendant of Wallace, and many heroes of his truly illustrious lineand herself the mother of several soldiers—needs neither preface nor apology." Scene-A Field of battle. SONG OF DEATH. AIR-Oran an Aoig. Time of the day-Evening. The wounded and Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies, Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties— Thou grim king of Terrors, thou life's gloomy foe! Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant! but know Thou strik'st the dull peasant-he sinks in the dark, Thou strik'st the young hero-a glorious mark! In the field of proud honour-our swords in our hands, While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands, Oh, who would not die with the brave? CHAPTER VIII. DUMFRIES, 1792-1795. AGE, 33-36. But, oh! thou bitter stepmother and hard In naked feeling and in aching pride He bears the unbroken blast from every side. Third Epistle to Mr. Graham. From this time, his wit became more gloomy and sarcastic, and his conversation and writings began to assume a misanthropical tone, by which they had not been before, in any eminent degree, distinguished. But, with all his failings, his was still that exalted mind which had raised itself above the depression of its original condition with all the energy of the lion pawing to free his hinder limbs from the yet encumbering earth. Memoir of Burns, by his contemporary, Robert Heron. IN thus far tracing the life-story of Burns, every sympathetic student must experience, side by side with constant admiration of his amazing poetic genius, many a feeling of pain and sorrow at the vexing record of aberration, disappointment, and care,-a record only now and then lightened by a few evanescent gleams of hope appearing amid the prevailing unrest of a swiftly alternating and almost equally saddening glare and gloom. And now, from the time of his enforced departure from Ellisland until he is laid to rest in the tomb, the story darkens as to the terrible close of a great, sad tragedy. The record of these few last years-apart, indeed, from their rich harvest of deathless song is simply heartrending. Towards the end of December 1791, leaving Ellisland, Burns became tenant of a humble abode in the Wee Vennel" (now known as Bank Street), Dumfries; where "the father no longer saw the sun rise over the beautiful river, the little ones1 had no longer the gowaned sod to sport over, and the mother found that every article of household necessity had to be purchased." The dwelling consisted of three apartments-parlour and kitchen, with a small room or bedcloset between, which last served as the Poet's study. Regarding his career now, there was cause for grave apprehension in the state of things which subsisted in Dumfries one hundred years ago. There he had to encounter, of course on a small scale, but in no less alluring form, nearly all the temptations of city life; and also some that are peculiar to a provincial town—a small capital in its way-such as Dumfries then was:— The curse of country towns-says Chambers, whose earlier years reached back to the times in question-is the partial and entire idleness of large classes of the inhabitants. There is always a cluster of men living on competencies, and a greater number of tradesmen whose shop-duties do not occupy half their time. Till a very recent period, dissipation in greater or less intensity was the rule and not the exception amongst these men; and in Dumfries, sixty years ago, this rule held good. In those days, tavern enjoyments were in vogue among men who do not now enter a public place of entertainment once in a twelvemonth. The weary waste of spirits and energy at these soaking evening meetings was deplorable. Insipid toasts, petty raillery, empty gabble about trivial occurrences, endless disputes on small questions of fact, where an almanac or a dictionary would have settled all, these, relieved by a song when it was to be had, formed the staple of convivial life as I remember it in such places in my own younger days. It was a life without progress, or profit, or any gleam of a tendency to moral elevation. The only redemption to be hoped for it was in such scintillations of wit and eloquence as a man like Burns could give. For him, on the other hand, to do so was to sacrifice the bread of angels before blocks and dolts. Burns came into this society a comparatively pure man, for, though the 1 In March 1791, his family circle was increased by the advent of an illegitimate daughter born at the Globe Tavern; and in April by the birth of a son who was named William Nicol, after the Poet's friend and quondam travelling companion. The daughter here referred to was, in common with the Poet's other two daughters, named Elizabeth. The story of Mrs. Burns taking home this child, and rearing it tenderly as her own, is one of most affecting interest. |