All day, with Fashion's gaudy sons, In sport she wanders o'er the plain: When evening shades obscure the sky, And soothe a poor forsaken swain. I shall just transcribe another of Turnbull's, which would go charmingly to Lewie Gordon. LAURA. Let me wander where I will, By shady wood or winding rill; Where the sweetest May-born flowers Let me wander where I will, If at rosy dawn I choose If beneath the moon's pale ray, Through unfrequented wilds I stray: When at night the drowsy god The rest of your letter I shall answer at some other opportunity. Gavin Turnbull was the author of a now forgotten volume, published at Glasgow in 1788, under the title of Poetical Essays. Burns's overestimate of his merits must be obvious from the pieces selected. Our bard had in this respect a resemblance to Sir Walter Scott, so remarkable for the generosity of his judgments on the works of his friends. IMPROMPTU ON MRS RIDDEL'S BIRTHDAY, 4TH NOVEMBER 1793. Old Winter, with his frosty beard, 'Now, Jove, for once be mighty civil, That brilliant gift shall so enrich me, Spring, Summer, Autumn, cannot match me.' Though we have not many professed impromptus of Burns, it is certain that he shewed a remarkable readiness in producing such trifles. His surviving companions could relate many instances of his giving forth epigrams and (what was a favourite form of verse with him) epitaphs upon individuals, as well as graces before and after meat, almost instantaneously after being requested to do so. It seemed to them something like a miracle. Most of the versicles published under these names were produced in this unpremeditated manner, and with no design beyond the raising of a laugh for the moment. It is scarcely just, therefore, to criticise them as a department of his works. Many others, we are assured, have been forgotten, or rest only in the memory of a few of those few who remain to describe Burns from personal knowledge. As an example of his ready powers of versification: A Mr Ladyman, an English commercial traveller, alighting one day at Brownhill Inn, in Dumfriesshire, found that he should have to dine with a company in which was Robert Burns. The dinner, at which the landlord, Bacon, presided, passed off well, the principal dish being the well-known namesake of the host, who, it may be remarked, appeared to be looked on as something of a superfluity at his own table. The man had retired for a few minutes to see after a fresh supply of toddy, when some one called upon Burns to give the young Englishman some proof of his being really Burns the poet, by composing some verses on the spur of the moment; and it was with hardly an interval for reflection that the bard pronounced as follows: At Brownhill we always get dainty good cheer, We've all things that's nice, and mostly in season, Another instance: Nicol and Masterton had come to spend a week of their vacation at Dumfries, for the purpose of enjoying the society of their friend Burns. The scene of the Peck o' Maut was renewed every evening in the Globe Tavern. Excepting, indeed, that Burns attended to his duty in the forenoon, and that Willie and Allan took a rattling walk before dinner, to give themselves an appetite, it might be said that the week was one entire and perfect chrysolite of merry-making. One day, when they were to dine at the Globe, they found, on coming in at three, that no dinner had been ordered. As Burns had taken on himself this duty, the fault was his, and the other two gentlemen were wroth with him accordingly. Just like him,' quoth Mrs Hyslop : 'ye might hae kent that he's ne'er to lippen to.' 'Well, but can we have anything to eat? You know we must dine somehow.' Mrs Hyslop, or as Burns called her, Meg, proved propitious. There was a tup's-head in the pot for John and herself; and, if they pleased, they might have the first of it. Now a good tup's-head, with the accompanying trotters-seeing that, in the Scottish cuisine, nothing is taken off but the woolis a dish which will amply satisfy six or even eight persons; so it was no contemptible resource for the hungry trio. When it had been disposed on the board, 'Burns,' said Nicol, 'we fine you 1 From Mr Ladyman's own report of the incident, in 1824. 'At the sale of the effects of Mr Bacon, Brownhill Inn, after his death in 1825, his snuffbox, being found to bear the inscription ROBT. BURNS, OFFICER THE EXCISE -although only a horn plainly mounted with silver, brought £5. It was understood to have been presented by Burns to Bacon, with whom he had spent many a merry night.'— Ayrshire Monthly News-Letter, April 5, 1844. 2 The editor begs to say, that he here speaks with due caution: he has been one of a party of eight persons who dined heartily on a tup's-head with its accompanying broth. for your neglect of arrangements: you give us something new as a grace.' Our poet instantly, with appropriate gesture and tone, said: O Lord, when hunger pinches sore, Do thou stand us in stead, And send us from thy bounteous store, A tup or wether head! Amen. They fell to and enjoyed their fare prodigiously, leaving, however, Now, a miraculously ample sufficiency for the host and hostess. Burns, we've not done with you. We fine you again. Return thanks.' He as promptly said: O Lord, since we have feasted thus, Which we so little merit, Let Meg now take away the flesh, MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 7th November 1793. MY GOOD SIR-After so long a silence, it gave me peculiar pleasure to recognise your well-known hand, for I had begun to be apprehensive that all was not well with you. I am happy to find, however, that your silence did not proceed from that cause, and that you have got among the ballads once more. I have to thank you for your English song to Leiger m' choss, which I think extremely good, although the colouring is warm. Your friend Mr Turnbull's songs have doubtless considerable merit; and as you have the command of his manuscripts, I hope you may find out some that will answer as English songs to the airs yet unprovided. BURNS TO MR THOMSON. December 1793. Tell me how you like the following verses to the tune of My Jo Janet? MY SPOUSE NANCY. TUNE-My Jo Janet. 'Husband, husband, cease your strife, Though I am your wedded wife, 1 From a gentleman who was intimate with Burns at that time. 'One of two must still obey, Is it man, or woman, say, "If 'tis still the lordly word, 'Sad will I be, so bereft, Yet I'll try to make a shift, 'My poor heart then break it must, Think, think how you will bear it.' 'I will hope and trust in Heaven, Strength to bear it will be given, 'Well, sir, from the silent dead, 'I'll wed another like my dear, Then all hell will fly for fear, TO JOHN M'MURDO, ESQ. DUMFRIES, December 1793. SIR-It is said that we take the greatest liberties with our greatest friends, and I pay myself a very high compliment in the manner in which I am going to apply the remark. I have owed you money longer than ever I owed it to any man. Here is Ker's account, and here are six guineas; and now, I don't owe a shilling to man-or woman either. But for these d dirty dog-cared 1 Dr Currie here added the song, Wilt thou be my Dearie? It does not appear in the original manuscript. The reader will find it afterwards in a different connection. |