ROBERT BURNS: SKETCH OF HIS LIFE. ROBERT BURNS, the greatest of Scotland's poets, was born the 25th of January, 1759, in a clay-built cottage, raised by his father's own hands, on the banks of the Doon, in the district of Kyle, and county of Ayr. He was the eldest of seven children, the next after him being Gilbert, whose name is often met with in connection with the poet's. At the time of his birth, and for some seven years after, his father was in the employment of a Mr. Ferguson as gardener and overseer; living all the while, however, in his own house, his wife managing her family, and her little dairy, which consisted of two or three COWS. In this service he won the entire respect and confidence of Mr. Ferguson; who accordingly leased him a farm of about ninety English acres at Mount Oliphant, in the parish of Ayr; and also lent him a hundred pounds to aid in stocking the farm. To this place he removed in the Spring of 1766. At the age of six years, Robert was sent by his father to a school at Alloway, about a mile distant, taught by Mr. John Murdoch. Under his instruction, Robert and Gilbert pursued their studies together, and with much success; their father's" dearest wish and prayer being, that he might have it in his power to keep his children under his own eye till they could discern between good and evil.” "At those years," says the poet, "I was by no means a favourite with anybody. I was a good deal noted for a retentive memory, a stubborn, sturdy something in my disposition, and an enthusiastic idiot piety. I say idiot piety, because I was then but a child. Though it cost the schoolmaster some thrashings, I made an excellent English scholar, and by the time I was ten or eleven years of age, I was a critic in substantives, verbs, and particles." The farming at Mount Oliphant did not prosper; the land being poor, and various adversities falling upon the family. I quote from Gilbert Burns: "To the buffetings of misfortune we could only oppose hard labour and the most rigid economy. We lived very sparingly. For several years butcher's meat was a stranger in the house, while all the members of the family exerted themselves to the utmost of their strength, and rather beyond it, in the labours of the farm. My brother, at the age of thirteen, assisted in threshing the crop of corn, and at fifteen was the principal labourer on the farm, for we had no hired servant, male or female." - By the terms of the lease, the lessee had a right to throw it up, if he chose, at the end of every sixth year. He tried to better himself at the end of the first six years, but, failing in this, he continued there six more: he then took the farm of Lochlea, 130 acres, in the parish of Tarbolton, and removed thither in the Spring of 1777. As the contract was not in writing, a misunderstanding arose, the decision of which involved the lessee's affairs in ruin. There the poet's father died in February, 1784, after an occupancy of about seven years. The acquisitions which Burns made, and the poetical talent he displayed, under the pressure of early and incessant toil, show at once the extraordinary force and activity of his mind. In the various labours of the farm, he excelled all his competitors. His brother Gilbert says that in mowing, the exercise that tries all the muscles most severely, Robert was the only man that, at the end of a Summer's day, he was ever obliged to acknowledge as his master. But while the poet gave his powers of body to the labours of the farm, his thoughts were elsewhere. Whether "following his plough along the mountain-side," or wielding his scythe in the hay-field, he was humming the songs of his country, musing on the deeds of ancient valour, or rapt in the illusions of fancy. On Sundays he was wont to indulge in free intercourse with the charms of Nature. It was his delight to wander alone on the banks of the Ayr, and listen to the song of the blackbird at the close of the Summer's day. But still greater was his pleasure, as he himself informs us, in walking on the sheltered side of a wood, in a cloudy winter day, and hearing the storm rave among the trees; and more elevated still his delight to ascend some eminence during the agitations of nature, to stride along its summit while the lightning flashed around him, and, amidst the howlings of the tempest, to apostrophize the spirit of the storm. Such situations he declares most favourable to devotion Rapt in enthusiasm, I seem to ascend towards Him who walks on the wings of the wind!" 66 In the Summer of 1781, as his father had concluded to try flax-growing, the poet went to Irvine to learn the trade of dressing flax. While thus at work, his food consisted chiefly of oatmeal sent to him from his father's family. Even there misfortune pursued him. "As we were giving," 66 says he, a welcome carousal to the new year, the shop took fire and burnt to ashes, and I was left, like a true poet, not worth a sixpence." -Soon after their father's death, the poet and his brother collected together what little property law and misfortune had spared, and took the farm of Mossgiel, 118`acres. Their mother superintended the dairy and the household, while they undertook for the rest. It appears that love and poetry shot up together in the soul of Burns; and that the love-shoots came pretty early in life. It was at the age of fifteen that he first began to feel the power of "dear, deluding woman," his Parnassus at that time being a stubble-field, and his inspirer a fair-haired girl from whose hands he picked the thistle-stings. And so onward the Muses from whom he caught his inspirations were various "lasses" who came within the circle of his acquaintance. "My heart," says he, "was completely tinder, and was eternally lighted up by some goddess or other; and, as in every other warfare in this world, sometimes I was received with favour, and sometimes mortified with repulse." One of these heroines was a servant in the family of General Stewart, of Afton: Burns, during a visit with David Sillar, is said to have left one of his songs, which was soon chanted in bower and hall, and attracted the notice of Mrs. Stewart, a beautiful and accomplished lady, who sent for the poet on his next visit, and by her remarks and praise confirmed his inclination to lyric verse. Thus, before the removal to Mossgiel, poetry had become a passion with Burns. Without any settled plan of study, he composed at the plough, at the harrow, and with the reaping-hook in his hand; and commonly had several poems in progress, taking them up as his mood of mind suited the theme, and laying them down as he grew careless or tired. Meanwhile a bad form of evil was working itself deeply into his habits. Many farmers on the sea-coast were engaged in contraband trade; and Burns, though perhaps taking no part in the traffic, associated with those who carried it on; thinking, apparently, that insight into new ways of life, and human character, would more than compensate the risk. But, as Cunningham observes, in his Life of Burns, “it is dangerous for a bare hand to pluck a lily from among nettles; men of few virtues and many follies are unsafe companions." Gilbert tells us that at Irvine his brother "had contracted some acquaintance of a freer manner of thinking, whose society prepared him for overleaping the bounds of rigid virtue which had hitherto restrained him." This evil tendency was no doubt strengthened by the fierce theologic warfare which was agitating the Kirk between the two factions known as the Old Light and the New Light. Burns himself sided with the latter; and as he was gifted with a vein of the most powerful and pungent satire, here was a mark for his wit too inviting for him to refrain. In this wretched warfare his genius got infected with the worst venom of theologic rancour: the poems in which he harrowed the Old Light are indeed terrible for their satire, but their wit does not redeem their profanity. "I now began," says Burns himself, " to be known in the neighbourhood as a maker of rhymes. The first of my poetic offspring that saw the light was a burlesque lamentation on a quarrel between two reverend Calvinists, both of them dramatis personæ in my Holy Fair." The poet's first serious love-passage, so far as we know, was with her whom his divine song To Mary in Heaven has taught us to reverence so tenderly. This girl was Mary Campbell, a peasant's daughter, who, at the time she captivated Burns, was serving in the humble capacity of dairymaid in the Castle of Montgomery. She was beautiful, but she had something better than beauty. She returned the poet's affection with the fervour of innocence and youth. "After a pretty long trial," says Burns, "of the most ardent reciprocal affection, we met, by appointment, on the second Sunday of May, in a sequestered spot on the banks of the Ayr, where we spent a day in taking a farewell, before she should embark for the West Highlands, to arrange matters among her friends for our projected change of life. At the close of the Autumn following, she crossed the sea to meet me at Greenock, where she had scarce landed, when she was seized with a malignant fever, which hurried my dear girl to her grave in a few days, before I could even learn of her illness." How deep and true was his religion towards this gentle creature, is shown by the songs wherein he celebrates so pathetically her person and her virtues. He had another love-entrancement in which Jean Armour was the heroine. Jean's father was exceedingly rigid in his piety, and a staunch believer in the glory of the Old Light, and she was his favourite child. He would not tolerate the addresses of "a profane scoffer; and so the lovers had recourse to stolen meetings under the cloud of night, and twilight interviews under the greenwood tree. This perilous courtship resulted in the poet's being likely to become a father before he was a husband." The father, on learning his daughter's condition, was overwhelmed with grief; and when, on her knees before him, she implored forgiveness, and showed "the marriage lines,”. -as the private acknowledgment of marriage, without the sanction of the Kirk, was called, - he snatched the certificate from her, threw it into the fire, and commanded her to think herself no longer the poet's wife. Jean trembled and obeyed: forgetting that Burns was still her husband in the sight of Heaven, and according to the laws of man also, she refused to see him, or listen to aught he could say. All this was felt by Burns as a most crushing affliction: at times he fairly went frantic from the effects of it. Duty, however, and affection alike held him true and steadfast to Jean Armour. Some time after her sickness, he went to visit her, and was received with due civility. Jean held up a pretty female infant to him he took it lovingly in his arms, and after a while returned it to the mother, asking the blessing of God upon her and her infant. He was turning away to converse with other people present, when Jean said archly, "But this is not all, here is another baby," and handed him a male child born at the same time. He was much surprised, but took that child too in his arms, and repeated his blessing upon it. On a later occasion, when the Armours were doing their utmost to exclude him, he made his way into the house, and flew to the bed where the mother and infants were lying, and, putting his cheek to Jean's, and then to those of the sleeping babes, wept bitterly. All this shows conclusively what stuff the poet's heart was made of. Some time before, Burns had made arrangements for publishing a volume of his poems; and now, amidst all these miseries and sufferings, he brought out that volume which first told the world that a new and mighty poet had risen in the land. The volume made its appearance in July, 1786, and the poems were everywhere received with the most eager admiration and delight. At this time Burns was in despair of being able to live in Scotland, and had determined on seeking refuge in the West Indies, where he had engaged to serve as overseer on an estate belonging to Dr. Douglas: The poems were now bringing him some considerable returns in money; and as soon as he was master of nine guineas, the price of carrying him across the Atlantic, he took a steerage passage on the first ship that was to sail from the Clyde. But it so happened at this time that the Rev. Mr. Laurie, minister of Loudoun, a kind and steadfast friend of Burns, had sent a copy of the poems to the blind poet, Dr. Blacklock, of Edinburgh. This drew a letter from Blacklock, which gave a new turn to affairs. I must give the matter in the poet's own words: - "I had been for some days skulking from covert to covert, under all the terrors of a jail, as some ill-advised people had uncoupled the merciless pack of the law at my heels. I had taken the last farewell of my few friends; my chest was on the road to Greenock; I had composed the last song I should ever measure in Caledonia, The gloomy night is gathering fast,' when a letter from Dr. Blacklock to a friend of mine overthrew all my schemes by opening new prospects to my poetic ambition. The Doctor belonged to a set of critics for whose applause I had not dared to hope. His opinion that I should meet with encouragement in Edinburgh for a second edition fired me so much, that away I posted for that city, without a single acquaintance, or a single letter of introduction." Burns set out for Edinburgh in November, 1786, and arrived the second day after, having performed the journey on foot. Within a month after his arrival, he was in the midst of the first society both for rank and talent. Jane, Duchess of Gordon, then the leader of fashion in the Scotch metropolis, appreciated his poetry, and eagerly patronized him. Lord Monboddo, Dr. Robertson, Dr. Blair, Dr. Gregory, Dr. Adam Ferguson, Mackenzie the novelist, and Mr. Fraser Tytler, all extended to the rustic poet the warmest and most generous encouragement. Nor was he a whit spoiled by all this homage. His native good sense carried him through it unhurt. Nothing could be more manly and dignified than the manner in which he received the praises and attentions of fair ladies and learned divines. No thought of forsaking his original calling appears to have entered his mind. He returned gladly to the home and friends of his youth. He received £500 for the Edinburgh edition of his poems, and was thus enabled, soon after, to take a farm, called Ellisland, on the banks of the Nith, and also to lend his brother Gilbert £180 to enable him to support the family on that of Mossgiel. He was no sooner possessed of a house of his own than he made the only reparation he could to Jean Armour. He privately married her the latter end of April, 1788, and the next month took her to his new dwelling-place. But misfortune still dogged his steps. The farm proved a ruinous undertaking. Burns was finally compelled to give it up, and remove into the town of Dumfries, where he remained till his death. He supported his family on his income as an exciseman, £50 per annum, the only appointment, under Government, which his friends had been able to procure him. Debt and difficulties gathered round his path; and an accidental circumstance, which occurred in January, 1796, brought physical suffering also on the sad struggling years of the great Scottish poet. He had sat late one evening at the Globe Tavern, and on his return home, overcome by drowsiness, and, alas! slightly intoxicated, he sank down on the snow, and slept for some hours in the open air. A severe cold, from the effects of which he never recovered, followed. Change of air and sea-bathing were tried for the restoration of his health in vain. On the 18th of July he became unable to stand. His mind sank into delirium, unless when roused by conversation; the fever increased rapidly, and on the fourth day "the sufferings of this great but ill-fated genius terminated, and a life was closed in which virtue and passion had been at perpetual variance." POEMS BY ROBERT BURNS. THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. Let not ambition mock their useful toil, The short but simple annals of the poor.-GRAY. 1 My loved, my honour'd, much respected friend!1 With honest pride I scorn each selfish end: Ah! though his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween. 2 November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh; And, weary, o'er the moor his course does hameward bend. 3 At length his lonely cot appears in view, Beneath the shelter of an agèd tree; Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin', stacher through His we bit ingle, blinkin' bonnily, His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wifie's smile, Does a' his weary carking cares beguile, An' makes him quite forget his labour an' his toil. 1 Robert Aiken, Esq., to whom the poem was inscribed. -For explanation of Scottish terms, see Glossary at the end of the poems by Burns. |