The Complete Works of Robert Burns - LightNovelsOnl.com
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IV.
As once on Pisgah purg'd was the sight Of a son of Circ.u.mcision, So may be, on this Pisgah height, Bob's purblind, mental vision: Nay, Bobby's mouth may be open'd yet Till for eloquence you hail him, And swear he has the angel met That met the a.s.s of Balaam.
LXXVII.
TO A LADY,
WITH A PRESENT OF A PAIR OF DRINKING-GLa.s.sES.
[To Mrs. M'Lehose, of Edinburgh, the poet presented the drinking-gla.s.ses alluded to in the verses: they are, it seems, still preserved, and the lady on occasions of high festival, indulges, it is said, favourite visiters with a draught from them of "The blood of s.h.i.+raz' scorched vine."]
Fair Empress of the Poet's soul, And Queen of Poetesses; Clarinda, take this little boon, This humble pair of gla.s.ses.
And fill them high with generous juice, As generous as your mind; And pledge me in the generous toast-- "The whole of human kind!"
"To those who love us!"--second fill; But not to those whom we love; Lest we love those who love not us!-- A third--"to thee and me, love!"
LXXVIII.
TO CLARINDA.
[This is the lady of the drinking-gla.s.ses; the Mrs. Mac of many a toast among the poet's acquaintances. She was, in those days, young and beautiful, and we fear a little giddy, since she indulged in that sentimental and platonic flirtation with the poet, contained in the well-known letters to Clarinda. The letters, after the poet's death, appeared in print without her permission: she obtained an injunction against the publication, which still remains in force, but her anger seems to have been less a matter of taste than of whim, for the injunction has been allowed to slumber in the case of some editors, though it has been enforced against others.]
Clarinda, mistress of my soul, The measur'd time is run!
The wretch beneath the dreary pole So marks his latest sun.
To what dark cave of frozen night Shall poor Sylvander hie; Depriv'd of thee, his life and light, The sun of all his joy.
We part--but, by these precious drops That fill thy lovely eyes!
No other light shall guide my steps Till thy bright beams arise.
She, the fair sun of all her s.e.x, Has blest my glorious day; And shall a glimmering planet fix My wors.h.i.+p to its ray?
LXXIX.
VERSES
WRITTEN UNDER THE PORTRAIT OF FERGUSSON, THE POET, IN A COPY OF THAT AUTHOR'S WORKS PRESENTED TO A YOUNG LADY.
[Who the young lady was to whom the poet presented the portrait and Poems of the ill-fated Fergusson, we have not been told. The verses are dated Edinburgh, March 19th, 1787.]
Curse on ungrateful man, that can be pleas'd, And yet can starve the author of the pleasure!
O thou my elder brother in misfortune, By far my elder brother in the muses, With tears I pity thy unhappy fate!
Why is the bard unpitied by the world, Yet has so keen a relish of its pleasures?
Lx.x.x.
PROLOGUE
SPOKEN BY MR. WOODS ON HIS BENEFIT NIGHT,
MONDAY, 16 April, 1787.
[The Woods for whom this Prologue was written, was in those days a popular actor in Edinburgh. He had other claims on Burns: he had been the friend as well as comrade of poor Fergusson, and possessed some poetical talent. He died in Edinburgh, December 14th, 1802.]
When by a generous Public's kind acclaim, That dearest meed is granted--honest fame; When _here_ your favour is the actor's lot, Nor even the _man_ in _private life_ forgot; What breast so dead to heavenly virtue's glow, But heaves impa.s.sion'd with the grateful throe?
Poor is the task to please a barbarous throng, It needs no Siddons' powers in Southerne's song; But here an ancient nation fam'd afar, For genius, learning high, as great in war-- Hail, CALEDONIA, name for ever dear!
Before whose sons I'm honoured to appear!
Where every science--every n.o.bler art-- That can inform the mind, or mend the heart, Is known; as grateful nations oft have found Far as the rude barbarian marks the bound.
Philosophy, no idle pedant dream, Here holds her search by heaven-taught Reason's beam; Here History paints, with elegance and force, The tide of Empires' fluctuating course; Here Douglas forms wild Shakspeare into plan, And Harley[68] rouses all the G.o.d in man.
When well-form'd taste and sparkling wit unite, With manly lore, or female beauty bright, (Beauty, where faultless symmetry and grace, Can only charm as in the second place,) Witness my heart, how oft with panting fear, As on this night, I've met these judges here!
But still the hope Experience taught to live, Equal to judge--you're candid to forgive.
Nor hundred-headed Riot here we meet, With decency and law beneath his feet: Nor Insolence a.s.sumes fair Freedom's name; Like CALEDONIANS, you applaud or blame.
O Thou dread Power! whose Empire-giving hand Has oft been stretch'd to s.h.i.+eld the honour'd land!
Strong may she glow with all her ancient fire: May every son be worthy of his sire; Firm may she rise with generous disdain At Tyranny's, or direr Pleasure's chain; Still self-dependent in her native sh.o.r.e, Bold may she brave grim Danger's loudest roar, Till Fate the curtain drop on worlds to be no more.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 68: The Man of Feeling, by Mackenzie.]
