O wha can prudence think upon, And sic a la.s.sie by him?

O wha can prudence think upon, And sae in love as I am?

How blest the wild-wood Indian's fate!

He woos his artless dearie-- The silly bogles, Wealth and State, [goblins]

Can never make him eerie. [afraid]

MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING

She is a winsome wee thing, She is a handsome wee thing, She is a lo'esome wee thing, This sweet wee wife o' mine.

I never saw a fairer, I never lo'ed a dearer, And neist my heart I'll wear her, [next]

For fear my jewel tine. [be lost]

The warld's wrack, we share o't, The warstle and the care o't; [struggle]

Wi' her I'll blythely bear it, And think my lot divine.

Similarly, most of the lyrics addressed to Clarinda in Edinburgh are marked by the sentimentalism and affectation of an affair that engaged only one side, and that among the least pleasing, of the many-sided temperament of the poet.

But, in general, with Burns as with other poets, it was not the catching of a first-hand emotion at white heat that resulted in the best poetry, but the stimulating of his imagination by the vision of a person or a situation that may have had but the hint of a prototype in the actual. We have already noted that the best of the Clarinda poems were written in absence, and that they drop the Arcadian names which typified the make-believe element in that complex affair. So a number of his most charming songs are addressed to girls of whom he had had but a glimpse. But that glimpse sufficed to kindle him, and for the poetry it was all advantage that it was no more.

His relations with women were extremely varied in nature. At one extreme there were friendships like that with Mrs. Dunlop, the letters to whom show that their common interests were mainly moral and intellectual, and were mingled with no emotion more fiery than grat.i.tude. At the other extreme stand relations like that with Anne Park, the heroine of _Yestreen I had a Pint o' Wine_, which were purely pa.s.sionate and transitory. Between these come a long procession affording excellent material for the ingenuity of those skilled in the casuistry of the s.e.xes: the boyish flame for Handsome Nell; the slightly more mature feeling for Ellison Begbie; the various phases of his pa.s.sion for Jean Armour; the perhaps partly fact.i.tious reverence for Highland Mary; the respectful adoration for Margaret Chalmers to whom he is supposed to have proposed marriage in Edinburgh; the deliberate posing in his compliments to Chloris (Jean Lorimer); the grateful gallantry to Jessie Lewars, who ministered to him on his deathbed.

In the later days in Dumfries, when his vitality was running low and he was laboring to supply Thomson with verses even when the spontaneous impulse to compose was rare, we find him theorizing on the necessity of enthroning a G.o.ddess for the nonce. Speaking of _Craigieburn-wood_ and Jean Lorimer, he writes to his prosaic editor:

"The lady on whom it was made is one of the finest women in Scotland; and in fact (_entre nous_) is in a manner to me what Sterne's Eliza was to him--a Mistress, or Friend, or what you will, in the guileless simplicity of Platonic love. (Now, don't put any of your squinting constructions on this, or have any clishmaclaver about it among our acquaintances.) I a.s.sure you that to my lovely Friend you are indebted for many of your best songs of mine. Do you think that the sober gin-horse routine of existence could inspire a man with life, and love, and joy--could fire him with enthusiasm, or melt him with pathos equal to the genius of your Book? No, no!!! Whenever I want to be more than ordinary _in song_; to be in some degree equal to your diviner airs, do you imagine I fast and pray for the celestial emanation?

_Tout au contraire!_ I have a glorious recipe; the very one that for his own use was invented by the Divinity of Healing and Poesy when erst he piped to the flocks of Admetus. I put myself in a regimen of admiring a fine woman; and in proportion to the adorability of her charms, in proportion you are delighted with my verses. The lightning of her eye is the G.o.dhead of Parna.s.sus, and the witchery of her smile the divinity of Helicon!"

Burns is here, of course, on his rhetorical high horse, and the songs to Chloris hardly bear him out; but there is much in the pa.s.sage to enlighten us as to his composing processes. In his younger days his hot blood welcomed every occasion of emotional experience; toward the end, he sought such occasions for the sake of the patriotic task that lightened with its idealism the gathering gloom of his breakdown. But throughout, and this is the important point to note in relating his poetry to his life, his one mode of complimentary address to a woman was in terms of gallantry.

The following group of love songs ill.u.s.trate the various phases of his temperament which we have been discussing. The first two are to Mary Campbell, and exhibit Burns in his most reverential att.i.tude toward women:

HIGHLAND MARY

Ye banks, and braes, and streams around The castle o' Montgomery, Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, Your waters never drumlie! [muddy]

There Simmer first unfauld her robes, [may S. f. unfold]

And there the langest tarry; For there I took the last fareweel O' my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, [birch]

How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade I clasp'd her to my bosom!

The golden hours on angel wings Flew o'er me and my dearie; For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highland Mary.

Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embrace Our parting was fu' tender; And, pledging aft to meet again, We tore oursels asunder; But oh! fell death's untimely frost, That nipt my flower sae early!

Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay, [cold]

That wraps my Highland Mary!

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly!

And closed for aye the sparkling glance, That dwelt on me sae kindly!

And mould'ring now in silent dust, That heart that lo'ed me dearly! [loved]

But still within my bosom's core Shall live my Highland Mary.

TO MARY IN HEAVEN

Thou lingering star, with lessening ray, That lov'st to greet the early morn, Again thou usherest in the day My Mary from my soul was torn.

O Mary! dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest?

Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

That sacred hour can I forget?

Can I forget the hallow'd grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met, To live one day of parting love?

Eternity will not efface Those records dear of transports past; Thy image at our last embrace-- Ah! little thought we 'twas our last!

Ayr gurgling kiss'd his pebbled sh.o.r.e, O'erhung with wild woods, thickening green; The fragrant birch, and hawthorn h.o.a.r, Twin'd amorous round the raptur'd scene.

The flowers sprang wanton to be prest, The birds sang love on ev'ry spray, Till too, too soon, the glowing west Proclaim'd the speed of winged day.

Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes, And fondly broods with miser care!

Time but the impression stronger makes, As streams their channels deeper wear.

My Mary, dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest?

Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

The group that follow are addressed either to unknown divinities or to girls who inspired only a pa.s.sing devotion. In the case of _Bonnie Lesley_, there was no question of a love-affair: the song is merely a compliment to a young lady he met and admired. _Auld Rob Morris_ is probably purely dramatic.

CA' THE YOWES

(Second Version)

Ca' the yowes to the knowes, [ewes, knolls]

Ca' them where the heather grows, Ca' them where the burnie rows, [brooklet rolls]

My bonnie dearie.

Hark! the mavis' evening sang [thrush's]

Sounding Clouden's woods amang; Then a-faulding let us gang, [a-folding, go]

My bonnie dearie.

We'll gae down by Clouden side, [go]

Thro' the hazels, spreading wide O'er the waves that sweetly glide To the moon sae clearly.

Yonder Clouden's silent towers, Where at moonshine's midnight hours, O'er the dewy bending flowers, Fairies dance sae cheery.

Ghaist nor bogle shall thou fear; [Ghost, goblin]

Thou'rt to Love and Heaven sae dear, Nocht of ill may come thee near, [Nought]

My bonnie dearie.