The Canongate Burns (45 page)
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Authors: Robert Burns
Tune: Prepare, my dear Brethren
The final song of the Edinburgh edition, 1787.
No Churchman am I for to rail and to write,
No Statesman nor Soldier to plot or to fight,
No sly man of business contriving a snare,
For a big-belly'd bottle's the whole of my care.Â
5
The Peer I don't envy, I give him his bow;
I scorn not the Peasant, tho' ever so low;
But a club of good fellows, like those that are here,
And a bottle like this, are my glory and care.
Here passes the Squire on his brother â his horse;
10
There Centum per Centum, the Cit with his purse,
citizen
But see you the Crown, how it waves in the air,
coins
There a big-belly'd bottle still eases my care.
The wife of my bosom, alas! she did die;
For sweet consolation to church I did fly;
15
I found that old Solomon proved it fair,
That a big-belly'd bottle's a cure for all care.
I once was persuaded a venture to make;
A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck;
But the pursy old landlord just waddled up stairs,
focused on money
20
With a glorious bottle that ended my cares.
âLife's cares they are comforts'
1
â a maxim laid down
By the Bard, what d'ye call him, that wore the black gown;
And faith I agree with th' old prig to a hair;
For a big-belly'd bottle's a heav'n of care.
A STANZA ADDED IN A MASON LODGE
Then fill up a bumper and make it o'erflow,
And honours Masonic prepare for to throw:
May ev'ry true Brother of the Compass and Square
Masonic instruments
Have a big-belly'd bottle, when harass'd with care!Â
The poet was entered an apprentice member of the Freemasons' Lodge at Tarbolton in 1781 and composed this song, fully aware that the tune formed part of Masonic culture, entitled
The Freemasons
'
March
(Aird's collection of
Airs
, 1782). An earlier version of the tune, 1730, was known as
Freemasons' Health
(Low, p. 84). Composition is assumed to be sometime in the winter of 1783â4, although earlier editors place it in the 1781â2 period. Kinsley records that a political stanza was suppressed in 1787 which alluded to William Pitt and the governmental inquiry into Warren Hastings, which would make the later date accurate. A song with the line âAnd a big-bellied bottle's a mighty good thing' was published in 1751, then again in a collection owned by Burns in 1783,
A Select Collection of
English Songs
. The song was also printed in S.M.M. no. 587, 1803. The quotation from Edward Young's
Night Thoughts
, âLife's cares they are comforts' is taken from Part II, l. 160.
1
Young's
Night Thoughts
. R.B.
First printed in the Edinburgh edition, 1793.
On the Banks of Nith â Dec 1788.
Thou whom chance may hither lead,
Be thou clad in russet weed,
Be thou deckt in silken stole,
Grave these counsels on thy soul.Â
5
      Life is but a day at most,
Sprung from night, in darkness lost:
Hope not sunshine ev'ry hour,
Fear not clouds will always lour.     Â
      As Youth and Love with sprightly dance
10
Beneath thy morning star advance,
Pleasure with her siren air
May delude the thoughtless pair;
Let Prudence bless Enjoyment's cup,
Then raptur'd sip and sip it up. âÂ
15
      As thy day grows warm and high,
Life's meridian flaming nigh,
Dost thou spurn the humble vale?
Life's proud summits would'st thou scale?
Check thy climbing step, elate,
20
Evils lurk in felon-wait:
Dangers, eagle-pinioned, bold,
Soar around each cliffy hold;
While cheerful Peace, with linnet song,
Chants the lowly dells among.
25
      As the shades of ev'ning close,
Beck'ning thee to long repose;
As life itself becomes disease,
Seek the chimney-nook of Ease.
There ruminate with sober thought;
30
On all thou'st seen, and heard, and wrought;
And teach the sportive Younkers round,
Saws of experience, sage and sound:
Say, man's true, genuine estimate,
The grand criterion of his fate,
35
Is not, Art thou high or low?
Did thy fortune ebb or flow?
Did many talents gild thy span?
Or frugal Nature grudge thee one?
Tell them, and press it on their mind,
40
As thou thyself must shortly find,
The smile or frown of awful Heav'n,
To Virtue or to Vice is giv'n.
Say, to be just, and kind, and wise,
There solid self-enjoyment lies;
45
That foolish, selfish, faithless ways,
Lead to be wretched, vile, and base.
      Thus, resign'd and quiet, creep
To the bed of lasting sleep;
Sleep, whence thou shall ne'er awake,
50
Night, where dawn shall never break,
Till Future Life, future no more,
To light and joy the good restore,
To light and joy unknown before.
Stranger, go! Heav'n be thy guide!
55
Quod the Beadsman of Nith-side.Â
This is generally described as the first poetical production to flourish from the friendship of Burns and his nearest neighbour at Ellisland, Captain Robert Riddell (1755â94). Riddell owned the Friar's Carse estate and was well known as an antiquarian, musician and outspoken Whig. Riddell contributed several radical polemical essays to various newspapers of the period, one being the essay signed Cato sent by Burns to
The Edinburgh Gazetteer
in December 1792 (Letter 530). Riddell built the small hermitage, situated almost one mile from Ellisland, on the banks of the river Nith and provided the poet with a key, allowing him to use it whenever he desired. The hermitage is still extant, although it was re-built in the twentieth century. Scott Douglas records that he visited the site and found it in ruins in the latter part of the 19th century.
Kinsley gives two versions of this poem. He presents the first early draft as the main poem, then prints the final polished version
as a secondary work, titled âAltered from the Foregoing â Dec â 1788', no. K223B. Although there are significant differences between the two versions, Burns only printed the final edition in 1793. He did not publish the early draft. It appeared as a separate poem in 1801 with Dr Currie's second edition of the poems of Burns. The version given here is the final draft, updated by Burns in December 1788 and published in 1793.
The earliest version found its way into print via an unauthorised source. Burns remarked to David Blair (a Birmingham Gunmaker) in August 1789, âI know nothing how the Publishers could get it, but as I had given several copies to my friends, it has found its way, I suppose, thro' the well-meant, though blameable officiousness of some of them. â I have a little altered, and, I think, improved that poem â¦' (Letter 360). Kinsley mentions another unsanctioned publication in the
Glasgow Weekly Miscellany
, for 31st November 1791, which may have been forwarded by Robert Riddell. The final version is, as Burns comments, the superior work.
A Gentleman who Held the Patent for his Honours
Immediately from Almighty God!
First printed in the
Edinburgh Magazine
, August 1790, prior to publication
in the Edinburgh edition, 1793.
But now his radiant course is run,
    Â
For Matthew's course was bright:
His soul was like the glorious sun
    Â
A matchless, Heavenly light.
BURNS.
O DEATH! thou tyrant fell and bloody!
The meikle Devil wi' a woodie
great, halter
Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie,
trail, home, smithy
              O'er hurcheon hides,
hedgehog
5
And like stock-fish come o'er his studdie
strike, anvil
              Wi' thy auld sides!
old
He's gane! he's gane! he's frae us torn,
gone, gone, from
The ae best fellow e'er was born!
one
Thee, Matthew, Nature's sel' shall mourn
self
10
              By wood and wild,
Where, haply, Pity strays forlorn,
              Frae man exil'd.
from
Ye hills, near neebors o' the starns,
neighbours, stars
That proudly cock your cresting cairns;
display
15
Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns,
eagles
              Where Echo slumbers,
Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns,
children
              My wailing numbers.
Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens;
every, wood-pigeon knows
20
Ye hazelly shaws and briery dens;
woods, hollows
Ye burnies, wimplin down your glens,
rivulets, winding
              Wi' toddlin din,
trickling noise
Or foaming, strang, wi' hasty stens,
strong, leaps/churns
              Frae lin to lin.
from, waterfall
25
Mourn little harebells o'er the lea;
hill edge
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see;
Ye woodbines hanging bonilie,
              In scented bowers;
Ye roses on your thorny tree,
30
              The first o' flowers.
At dawn, when every grassy blade
Droops with a diamond at his head,
At even', when beans their fragrance shed,
              I' th' rustling gale,
35
Ye maukins whiddin through the glade,
hares, skipping
              Come join my wail.
Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood;
Ye grouse that crap the heather bud;
crop/eat
Ye curlews calling thro' a clud;
cloud
40
              Ye whistling plover;
And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood;
partridge
              He's gane for ever!
gone
Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals;
black
Ye fisher herons, watching eels;
45
Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels
              Circling the lake:
Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels,
              Rair for his sake.
roar
Mourn, clam'ring craiks at close o' day,
corncrakes
50
'Mang fields o' flow'ring clover gay;
And when you wing your annual way
              Frae our cauld shore,
from, cold
Tell thae far warlds, wha lies in clay,
they, worlds, who
              Wham we deplore.
what
55
Ye houlets, frae your ivy bower,
from
In some auld tree, or eldritch tower,
old, haunted
What time the moon, wi' silent glowr,
glower/stare
              Sets up her horn,
Wail thro' the dreary midnight hour
60
              Till waukrife morn.
wakeful
O rivers, forests, hills, and plains!
Oft have ye heard my canty strains:
cheery/joyful
But now, what else for me remains
              But tales of woe?
65
And frae my een the drapping rains
eyes, dropping
              Maun ever flow.
must/shall
Mourn, Spring, thou darling of the year!
Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear:
each, catch
Thou, Simmer, while each corny spear
summer
70
              Shoots up its head,
Thy gay, green, flowery tresses shear,
              For him that's dead.
Thou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow hair,
In grief thy sallow mantle tear;
75
Thou, Winter, hurling thro' the air
              The roaring blast,
Wide o'er the naked world declare
              The worth we've lost.
Mourn him, thou Sun, great source of light!
80
Mourn, Empress of the silent night!
And you, ye twinkling starnies bright,
little stars
              My Matthew mourn;
For through your orbs he's taen his flight,
taken
              Ne'er to return.
85
O Henderson! the man! the brother!
And art thou gone, and gone for ever?
And hast thou crost that unknown river,
crossed
              Life's dreary bound?
Like thee, where shall I find another,
90
              The world around?
Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye Great,
In a' the tinsel trash o' state!
But by thy honest turf I'll wait,
              Thou man of worth!
95
And weep the ae best fellow's fate
one/very
              E'er lay in earth.
THE EPITAPH
STOP, passenger! â my story's brief,
      And truth I shall relate, man;
I tell nae common tale o' grief â
no
100
     For Matthew was a great man.
If thou uncommon merit hast,
      Yet spurn'd at Fortune's door, man,
A look of pity hither cast â
      For Matthew was a poor man.
105
If thou a noble sodger art,
soldier
      That passest by this grave, man,
There moulders here a gallant heart â
      For Matthew was a brave man.
If thou on men, their works and ways,
110
      Canst throw uncommon light, man,
Here lies wha weel had won thy praise â
who well
      For Matthew was a bright man.
If thou, at Friendship's sacred ca'
call
      Wad life itself resign, man,
would
115
Thy sympathetic tear maun fa' â
must fall
      For Matthew was a kind man.
If thou art staunch without a stain,
      Like the unchanging blue, man,
120
This was a kinsman o' thy ain â
own
      For Matthew was a true man.
If thou hast wit, and fun, and fire,
      And ne'er guid wine did fear, man,
good
This was thy billie, dam, and sire â
comrade
      For Matthew was a queer man.
roguish
125
If onie whiggish, whingin' sot,
any, whining
      To blame poor Matthew dare, man,
May dool and sorrow be his lot!
woe/sadness
      For Matthew was a rare man.
Kinsley gives the following biographical details: âMatthew Henderson (1737â88) of Tannochside was a lieutenant in the Earl of Home's regiment, and later held a civil service post in Edinburgh. He was an acquaintance of Boswell's, one of a âgenteel, profligate society who live like a distinct nation in Edinburgh, having constant recruits coming and going' (
Boswell in Search of a Wife 1766â1769
, ed. Brady and Pottle, 1957, p. 125). Henderson was also a Mason and an antiquarian. He was forced by his convivial extravagance to sell his property, and when Burns met him in 1787 he was subsisting on a pension. He was buried in Greyfriars churchyard on 27 November 1788. What Kinsley fails to mention is that Henderson was a member of that dissident, reformist, pro-American, drouthy group, The Crochallan Fencibles. Thus in habits, interests and politics, this was a man after the Bard's own heart. In the copy of the letter he sent to Dugald Stewart he reported that Henderson:
⦠was an intimate acquaintance of mine; and of all Mankind I ever knew, he was one of the first ⦠for a nice sense of honour, a generous contempt for the adventitious distinctions of Men, and sterling tho' sometimes outré Wit. â The inclosed Elegy has pleased me beyond any of my late poetic efforts. â Perhaps 'tis âthe memory of the joys that are past,' and a friend who is no more that biases my criticism. â It is likewise, ever since I read your Aiken on the poetic uses of Natural history, a favourite study of mine, the characters of the Vegetable and the manners of the Animal kingdom. â I regret much that I cannot have your strictures on this Poem. â How I have succeeded on the whole â if there is any incongruity in the imagery â or whether I have not omitted some apt rural paintings altogether (Letter 410).
The poem has all the energy of Burns's elegy for Tam Sampson without, alas, the happy ending. The poet invokes landscape, fish, animals, the seasons, the sun and stars, the very grass itself into a hyperbolic chorus of pathetic fallacy which emerges from a synthesis of his readings in late eighteenth-century natural philosophy
and his creative extension of the powerful elegiac poetry found in Ramsay and Fergusson, particularly in the latter's
Elegy On the
Death of Scots Music
, ll. 13â18 (
Poems
, STS, ii, 38):
Mourn ilka nymph and ilka swain,
Ilk sunny hill and dowie glen;
Let weeping streams and Naiads drain
             Their fountain head;
Let echo swell the dolefu' strain,
             Since music's dead.
Crawford, in a fine reading of this poem (pp. 211â16), sees in it a synergetic fusion of earlier eighteenth-century Scottish and English elegiac elements and also recognises, appropriate to Henderson's character, the pronounced democratic politics of the piece:
Since all of Burns is in the background of this elegy, it is not the least surprising that the last stanza should have political and moral undertones, drawing its main effect from the sharp dichotomy of the plebian's simple turf and the elaborate graves of the upper classes (ll. 91â6). The quiet rumination of Gray's
Elegy
has taken on a Scottish tinge and become imbued with the Honest Man's indignation against his aristocratic opponents. Even at his most traditional and writing an elegy, Burns could not avoid all trace of social criticism. It is only his very worst poems that are completely innocuous.
The Epitaph
which concludes the elegy proper is only superficially divided from the sixteen stanzas that precede it. In reality, it develops all the democratic implications of âthy honest turf' and âThou man of worth' until it becomes like the second half of a diptych: taken together, the two parts constitute the complete poem.