Robert Burns - Part 2

The Cotter’s Saturday Night – continued from Part 1

(For reasons of space in this reconstructed page, versees 9, 13, and 15 have been omitted)

But hark! a rap comes gently to the door;
Jenny, wha kens the meaning o’ the same,
Tells how a neebor lad came o’er the moor,
To do some errands, and convoy her hame.
The wily mother sees the conscious flame
Sparkle in Jenny’s e’e, and flush her cheek;
With heart-struck anxious care, enquires his name,
While Jenny, haffins is afraid to speak;                                 half afraid
Weel-pleased the mother hears, it’s nae wild worthless rake.

Wi’ kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben;                          in
A strappin’ youth, he takes the mother’s eye;
Blythe Jenny sees the visit’s no ill taen;                               taken
The father cracks of horses, pleughs and kye.                      talks
The youngster’s artless heart o’erflows wi’ joy,
But blate an’ laithfu’, scarce can weel behave;                 modest, reluctant
The mother, wi’ a woman’s wiles, can spy,
What makes the youth sae bashfu’ and sae grave,
Weel-pleas’d to think her bairn’s respected like the lave.        child, rest

Is there in human form, that bears a heart –
A wretch! a villain! lost to love and truth!
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art,
Betray sweet Jenny’s unsuspecting youth?
Curse on his perjur’d arts! dissembling smooth!
Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exil’d?
Is there no pity, no relenting ruth,
Points to the parents fondling o’er their child?
Then paints the ruin’d maid, and their distraction wild!

But now the supper crowns their simple board,
The halesome parritch, chief of Scotia’s food;                porridge
The sowp their only hawkie does afford;                        sup, cow
That ‘yont the hallan snugly chows her cood:                beyond, partition
The dame brings forth, in complimental mood,
To grace the lad, her weel-hain’d kebbuck , fell,            saved, cheese
And aft he’s prest, and aft he ca’s it guid;                     often
The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell
How ‘twas a towmond auld, sin’ lint was i’ the bell.       year old, flax

The cheerfu’ supper done, wi’ serious face,
They, round the ingle, form a circle wide;                      hearth
The sire turns o’er, with patriarchal grace,
The big ha’-Bible, ance his father’s pride:
His bonnet rev’rently is laid aside,
His lyart haffets wearing thin and bare;                         streaked hair
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide,
He wails a portion with judicious care;
And “Let us worship God!” he says with solemn air.

The priest-like father reads the sacred page,
How Abram was the friend of God on high;
Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage,
With Amalek’s ungracious progeny:
Or how the royal bard did groaning lie
Beneath the stroke of Heaven’s avenging ire;
Or Job’s pathetic plaint, and wailing cry;
Or wrapt Isaiah’s wild, seraphic fire;
Or other holy seer’s that tune the sacred lyre.

Then kneeling down to Heaven’s Eternal King,
The saint, the father, and the husband prays:
Hope “springs exulting on triumphant wing,”
That thus they all shall meet in future days:
There, ever bask in uncreated rays,
No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear,
Together hymning their Creator’s praise,
In such society, yet still more dear;
While circling Time moves round in an eternal sphere.

Compar’d with this, how poor Religion’s pride,
In all the pomp of method, and of art,
When men display to congregations wide
Devotion’s ev’ry grace, except the heart!
The Power, incens’d, the pageant will desert,
The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole;
But haply, in some cottage far apart,
May hear, well-pleas’d, the language of the soul;
And in His Book of Life, the inmates poor enrol.

Then homeward all take off their sev’ral way;
The youngling cottagers retire to rest;
The parent-pair their secret homage pay,
And proffer up to Heaven the warm request,
That He who stills the raven’s clam’rous nest,
And decks the lily fair in flow’ry pride.
Would, in the way His Wisdom sees the best,
For them and for their little ones provide;
But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside.

For scenes like these, old Scotia’s grandeur springs,
That makes her lov’d at home, rever’d abroad:
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings,
“An honest man’s the noblest work of God;”
And certes, in fair virtue’s heavenly road,
The cottage leaves the palace far behind.
What is a lordling’s pomp? a cumbrous load,
Disguising oft the wretch of human kind,
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refin’d!

O Scotia! my dear, my native soil!
For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent,
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil
Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content!
And O! may Heaven their simple lives prevent
From luxury’s contagion, weak and vile!
Then howe’er crowns and coronets be rent,
A virtuous populace may rise the while,
And stand a wall of fire around their much lov’d isle.

O Thou! who pour’d the patriotic tide,
That stream’d thro’ great unhappy Wallace’ heart
Who dar’d to, nobly, stem tyrannic pride,
Or nobly die, the second glorious part:
(The patriot’s God, peculiarly thou art,
His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!)
O never, never Scotia’s realm desert,
But still the patriot, and the patriot-bard
In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard!
_____

When he wrote this next poem: “To A Mouse”, Robert Burns was twenty six. And besides those verses that were inspired by Nelly Kilpatrick and Peggy Thompson, Burns had not long fallen in love with Jean Armour, whom he would later marry. But already, he had a daughter, Elizabeth, by Elizabeth Paton, a servant girl to his widowed mother. At this time too, he was still playing an active part on the farm, and as the note to this poem makes clear, “To A Mouse” was inspired when he unwittingly destroyed a mouse’s nest with the plough. Here, he is full of empathy for this despised creature, and with its plight. (Homeless and without fodder in the depth of winter). And significantly, he draws a parallel between this lowly creature and his own social situation. They are both outcasts. And the poem ends with an unexpected twist, where Burns writes enviously of the mouse’s limited intelligence. “Still thou art blest, compared wi’ me; / The present only touches thee: . . . “

To A Mouse

On turning her up in her Nest with the Plough

November 1785

Wee, sleekit, cow’rin, tim’rous beastie,               crafty,

O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!                        breast

Thou need na start awa sae hasty,                     away, so

                          Wi’ bickering brattle!                With, hurrying, noise

I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee,                     would, loath, run

                          Wi murd’ring pattle!

I’m truly sorry man’s dominion,

Has broken natures social union,

An’ justifies this ill opinion,

                          Which makes thee startle

At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,

                          An’ fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;               not, sometimes

What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!              must

A daimen icker in a thrave                             (ear of corn, from 24 sheaves)

                          ‘S a sma’ request;                    Is a small request.

I’ll get a blessin’ wi’ the lave,                               with the rest

                          An’ never miss’t!

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!                          small

It’s silly wa’s the win’s are strewin                      west ? scattering ?

An’ naething, now, to big a new ane,                   nothing, build

                          O’ foggage green!                    foliage

An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin’,

                          Baith snell an’ keen!                Eager, sharp

Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste,

An’ weary winter comin’ fast,

An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,                      warm

                          Thou thought to dwell—

‘Till crash! The cruel coulter past

                          Out throu’ thy cell.

That wee bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble,               stubble

Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!

Now thou’s turn’d out, for a’ thy trouble,

                          But house or hald,                  hall

To thole the winter’s sleety dribble,

                          An’ cranreuch cauld!               Hoar-frost, cold

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,                      not alone

In proving foresight may be vain:

The best-laid schemes o’ mice an men

                          Gang aft agley,                      Go, awry

An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,                 leaves

                          For promis’d joy!

Still thou art blest, compar’d wi’ me;

The present only toucheth thee:

But, Och! I backward cast my e’e,

                          On prospects drear!

An’ forward, tho’ I canna see,

                          I guess an’ fear!

_____

As a parent, who was deeply religious and took to heart his role as a moral guardian, William Burness observed in his young son Robert, not just a quickness of mind, but also, a temperament given to rapid changes of mood. On the one hand he could be contemplative and gloomy, and on the other, unusually vocal when roused. And he observed also, how his eyes and body spoke for him as well. As for Robert’s future, William had this to say to his wife Agnes: “Whoever may live to see it, something extraordinary will come from that boy.” But, he was less sure, when Robert as a young man (and in defiance of his wishes,) took to dancing. And though he later allowed Robert's sisters to join him at these dancing classes, Robert felt that his defiance brought about a subtle change in his father’s attitude towards him. What he described as: “a kind of dislike.” But for Robert, dancing brought freedom and feelings of release from his gloomier moods and from the solitude of daily life.

In 1780, (when he was twenty one,) Robert persuaded his brother Gilbert and five friends, to set up what became known as the Bachelors’ Club. At first they met once a month in a cottage; but the idea of the Bachelors’ Club became so popular, that they took to meeting once a week in a tavern. They paid three pence each towards ale, but drinking was kept to the last activity of the evening, when they would drink a toast to their respective sweethearts. Whatever else they might have talked about, the discussion of religious subjects was barred, perhaps because of Robert’s strong views on the subject. As to who could qualify as a member, these were the guidelines:

“Every man proper for a member of this society must have a frank, open, honest heart; above anything dirty or mean; and must be a professed lover of one or more of the female sex. No haughty, self-conceited person, who looks upon himself as superior to the rest of the club, and especially no mean spirited, worldly mortal, whose only will is to heap up money, shall upon any pretence whatever be admitted. In short the proper person for this society is a cheerful, honest-hearted lad, who if he has a friend that is true, and a mistress that is kind, and as much wealth as genteelly to make both ends meet, is just as happy as this world can make him.”

So what then did Robert make of the local girls? Well, he had quite a few of them in his sights when he came to write this:

_____

Continued in Part 3.

__________________

© Cormac McCloskey

    (Poems excluded)

Note: This blog, "Robert Burns - Part 2" was first published on Windows Lives Spaces, by me, on 5th February 2006