The Canongate Burns

by Robert Burns

  Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

  And auld lang syne! long ago

  Chorus

  5For auld lang syne, my jo, friend

  For auld lang syne,

  We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet

  For auld lang syne.

  And surely ye’ll be your pint stowp! pay for

  10 And surely I’ll be mine!

  And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,

  For auld lang syne.

  For auld lang syne, &c.

  We twa hae run about the braes, two, hillsides

  And pou’d the gowans fine; pulled, daisies

  15 But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fitt, many, foot

  Sin auld lang syne.

  For auld lang syne, &c.

  We twa hae paidl’d in the burn, two have paddled

  Frae morning sun till dine; from, dinner

  But seas between us braid hae roar’d, broad have

  20 Sin auld lang syne.

  For auld lang syne, &c.

  And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere! companion

  And gie’s a hand o’ thine! give me

  And we’ll tak a right gude-willie-waught, good-will drink

  For auld lang syne!

  For auld lang syne, &c.

  When first printed after the poet’s death, this was signed ‘Z’, a letter previously employed by Burns to indicate a lyric he had altered somewhat from the original text. Speculation has continued over this world-famous lyric, prompted by Burns himself when he informed Mrs Dunlop that he merely took it down from the singing of an old man (Letter 290). Burns, however, often pretended that his own songs were traditional works. If Kinsley is right to assert that there is ‘no good evidence on which to question Burns’s story that he got Auld Lang Syne from oral tradition’ (Vol. III, p. 1291), then Kinsley should probably have dropped it from the canon. There is, though, some evidence that Burns was familiar with one or two previous versions. Henley and Henderson quote a broadside ballad which reads ‘On old long syne, my jo, / That thou canst never once reflect / On old long syne’ (Vol. III, p. 408). A song of the same title, but a significantly different text, is printed by Ramsay in his Tea-Table Miscellany. They are considerably different from the final, reworked Burns text, which, in his first draft ll. 3–4 (II) ran ‘Let’s hae a waught o’ Malaga, For old long syne’. Daiches comments:

  That the song as we have it is essentially Burns’s cannot be doubted, though he never claimed authorship, and there is undoubtedly something preserved from an earlier version. We have only to set it beside the earlier extant poems of the same title to see the vast difference between Burns’s version…

  Its greatness lies in the linking of the central emotion to the

  idea of time and change through precise contrasts between past

  and present (p. 319).

  Cromek’s (1808) claim that the poet told Johnson verses three and four were exclusively his own, is almost certainly true. Thus, it is comprehensively reworked from its original sources and contains what Burns called ‘more of the fire of native genius in it, than in half a dozen of modern English Bacchanalians’ (Letter 290). Ironically, as the poet’s best known song, it was not published during his lifetime.

  Epitaph for J. H., Writer in Ayr

  First printed in Barke, 1955.

  Here lies a Scots mile of a chiel,

  If he’s in heaven, Lord, fill him weel!

  This was included in a letter sent to Mrs Dunlop, 7th December, 1788 (Letter 290). The poet only gives the initials ‘J. H.’ but most editors agree it is probably about John Hunter, Writer to the Signet, who later owned the estate of Doonholm, by Ayr.

  Versicles on Sign-Posts

  First printed by Alexander Smith, 1868.

  (A) He looked

  Just as your sign-post Lions do,

  With aspect fierce and quite as harmless too. —

  (B) Patient Stupidity

  So heavy, passive to the tempest’s shocks,

  Dull on the Sign-post stands the stupid Ox. —

  (C)

  His face with smile eternal drest

  Just like the Landlord to his guest,

  High as they hang with creaking din

  To index out the Country Inn. —

  (D)

  A head pure, sinless quite of brain and soul,

  The very image of a Barber’s Poll;

  Just shews a human face, and wears a wig,

  And looks when well friseur’d, amazing big. —

  These fragments were found in the poet’s SCB and appear to have formed part of many such verses, given that pages 23–6 of the book are ripped out. They were introduced as follows: ‘The everlasting surliness of a lion, Saracen’s head, &c. or the unchanging blandness of the Landlord welcoming a Traveller, on some Sign-Posts, would be no bad similies of the constant affected fierceness of a Bully, or the eternal simper of a Frenchman or a Fiddler.’

  Pegasus at Wanlockhead,

  or To Mr John Taylor

  First printed by Cunningham, 1834.

  With Pegasus upon a day

  Apollo, weary flying,

  (Thro’ frosty hills the journey lay)

  On foot the way was plying. —

  Poor, slip-shod, giddy Pegasus

  Was but a sorry walker,

  To Vulcan then Apollo goes

  To get a frosty calker. —

  Obliging Vulcan fell to wark, work

  Threw by his coat and bonnet;

  And did Sol’s business in a crack,

  Sol paid him with a sonnet. —

  Ye Vulcan’s sons of Wanlockhead,

  Pity my sad disaster,

  My Pegasus is poorly shod,

  I’ll pay you like my Master. —

  Ramage’s Inn, 3 o’clock Robt. Burns.

  This was written to thank Mr John Taylor of Wanlockhead who used his influence with the local blacksmith to enable Burns and his friend John Sloan to jump the blacksmith’s queue and have their horses’ shoes sharpened, to provide better grip on the icy roads. The travellers waited at Ramage’s Inn. This event occurred in the winter of 1788–9. Burns had named his new horse, Pegasus.

  A Sonnet upon Sonnets

  First printed by Henley and Henderson, 1897.

  Fourteen, a sonneteer thy praises sings;

  What magic myst’ries in that number lie!

  Your hen hath fourteen eggs beneath her wings

  That fourteen chickens to the roost may fly.

  Fourteen full pounds the jockey’s stone must be;

  His age fourteen — a horse’s prime is past.

  Fourteen long hours too oft the Bard must fast;

  Fourteen bright bumpers — bliss he ne’er must see!

  Before fourteen, a dozen yields the strife;

  Before fourteen — e’en thirteen’s strength is vain.

  Fourteen good years — a woman gives us life;

  Fourteen good men — we lose that life again.

  What lucubrations can be more upon it?

  Fourteen good measur’d verses make a sonnet.

  This was sold in manuscript during May 1861, but did not appear until 1897 after the private owner from Newcastle allowed Henley and Henderson to copy the original. It is probably in imitation of Lopez de Vega’s sonnet on sonnets, which was imitated by other writers, notably in Dodley’s Collection (1758). (See Kinsley, Vol. III, p. 1294).

  The Cares o’ Love

  First printed by Henley and Henderson, 1897.

  HE

  The cares o’ Love are sweeter far

  Than onie other pleasure; any

  And if sae dear its sorrows are so

  Enjoyment, what a treasure!

  SHE

  I fear to try, I dare na try not

  A passion sae ensnaring; so

  For light’s her heart and blythe’s her song

  That for nae man is caring. no

  This song fragment was sold in 1861 by Puttock and Simpson in Londo
n and purchased by the same Newcastle buyer who allowed the publication of the previous poem, Sonnet upon Sonnets.

  Louis, What Reck I by Thee

  First printed in S.M.M, December 1796.

  Louis, what reck I by thee,

  Or Geordie on his ocean:

  Dyvor, beggar louns to me,

  I reign in Jeanie’s bosom.

  Let her crown my love her law,

  And in her breast enthrone me:

  Kings and nations, swith awa!

  Reif randies, I disown ye.

  This is signed ‘R’ in the Scots Musical Museum in 1796, to indicate the lyrics are by Burns. It appears to be a fragment of a song he never fully completed, dedicated to Jean Armour when she became Mrs Burns. Henley and Henderson display an astounding historical ignorance by remarking on the reference to King Louis of France, that the song must have been written ‘before the revolution of 1795’ (Vol. III, p. 410). The revolution occurred in 1789 and in January 1793 the King and Queen of France were executed. It was probably written in early 1789 when Jean came to live at Ellisland farm, by Dumfries.

  Sketch. New Year’s Day:

  To Mrs Dunlop.

  First printed by Currie, 1800.

  This day, Time winds th’ exhausted chain,

  To run the twelvemonth’s length again: —

  I see the old, bald-pated fellow,

  With ardent eyes, complexion sallow,

  5Adjust the unimpair’d machine

  To wheel the equal, dull routine.

  The absent lover, minor heir,

  In vain assail him with their prayer,

  Deaf as my friend, he sees them press,

  10Nor makes the hour one moment less.

  Will you (the Major ’s with the hounds,

  The happy tenants share his rounds;

  Coila’s fair Rachel’s care to day,1

  And blooming Keith’s engaged with Gray;)

  15From housewife cares a minute borrow —

  — That grandchild’s cap will do to-morrow —

  And join with me a moralizing,

  This day ’s propitious to be wise in.

  First, what did yesternight deliver?

  20‘Another year has gone for ever.’

  And what is this day’s strong suggestion?

  ‘The passing moment ’s all we rest on!’

  Rest on — for what? what do we here?

  Or why regard the passing year?

  25Will Time, amus’d with proverb’d lore,

  Add to our date one minute more?

  A few days may — a few years must —

  Repose us in the silent dust:

  Then is it wise to damp our bliss?

  30Yes — all such reasonings are amiss!

  The voice of Nature loudly cries,

  And many a message from the skies,

  That something in us never dies:

  That on this frail, uncertain state,

  35Hang matters of eternal weight:

  That future life in worlds unknown

  Must take its hue from this alone;

  Whether as heavenly glory bright,

  Or dark as Misery’s woeful night —

  40Since then, my honor’d, first of friends,

  On this poor being all depends;

  Let us th’ important now employ,

  And live as those who never die.

  Tho’ you, with days and honours crown’d,

  45Witness that filial circle round,

  (A sight life’s sorrows to repulse,

  A sight pale Envy to convulse)

  Others now claim your chief regard;

  Yourself, you wait your bright reward. —

  This tender, intimate little poem was composed on 1st January, 1789 and dedicated to Mrs Dunlop (Frances Anne Wallace by her own name, eldest daughter of Sir Thomas Wallace of Craigie, who claimed descent from Sir William). Propitious for New Year’s Day, it dwells on time, death and immortality as it affected ‘my honor’s first of friends’ Mrs Dunlop and her family circle. The obvious intimacy of tone is a reflection of their relationship up until Burns’s political sentiments became vividly apparent when Britain went to war with France and the poet continued to hold radical sentiments, specifically expressed to Mrs Dunlop in a letter of 12th January, 1795 when he dismissed the execution of the King (a ‘perjured Blockhead’) and Queen of France (‘an unprincipled Prostitute’) as an unimporant event on a historical scale, when the future of Europe was at stake (Letter 649). Mother-Confessor and avid fan of Burns from when she first read the Kilmarnock edition, Mrs Dunlop thought herself Burns’s first literary critic and guardian, but the social division between them opened to a chasm with his political outburst, particularly given the fact her sons were engaged in war against the French.

  Mrs Dunlop died in May 1815. Her portrait in the family home at Lochryan House, Cairnryan, shows her as a youthful beauty. L. 9 refers to her partial, but temporary deafness. The old Major (l. 11) is Andrew Dunlop. Rachel and Miss Keith (ll. 15–16) refer to Mrs Dunlop’s daughters. The copy of Thomas Gray’s poetry (l. 14) was a present from Burns. The Burns–Dunlop correspondence was printed in 1896 by William Wallace, her descendant.

  1 This young lady was drawing a picture of Coila from The Vision. R.B. (See Letter 524).

  Robin Shure in Hairst

  Tune: Rob Shear’d in Hairst

  First printed in S.M.M., 1803.

  I gaed up to Dunse, went

  To warp a wab o’ plaiden; weave, web, plaid

  At his daddie’s yett, gate

  Wha met me but Robin. who

  Chorus

  5Robin shure in hairst, sheared, harvest

  I shure wi’ him;

  Fient a heuk had I, not a sickle

  Yet I stack by him. stuck

  Was na Robin bauld, not, bold

  10 Tho’ I was a cottar,

  Play’d me sic a trick such

  An’ me the Eller’s dochter! Elder’s daughter

  Robin shure &c.

  Robin promis’d me

  A’ my winter vittle; food

  15Fient haet he had but three not a thing

  Goos feathers and a whittle. Quills, knife

  Robin shure &c.

  This is a traditional song reworked by Burns. Commonly, he employs a woman’s viewpoint. Ironically, however, it is the imagined voice of the lower-class woman (Letter 252) impregnated and betrayed by his then lawyer friend, Robert Ainslie. Even more ironically, Burns was simultaneously using Ainslie as a go-between to the similarly pregnant May Cameron: ‘Please call at the Jas Hogg mentioned, and send for the wench and giver her ten or twelve shillings, but don’t for Heaven’s sake meddle with her as a Piece. – I insist on this, on your honor; and advise her out to some country friends. – You may not like the business, but I tax your friendship thus far. Call immediately, [for God (deleted)] or at least as soon as it is dark, for God’s sake, lest the poor soul be starving.’ (Letter 246) He sent the song to Robert Ainslie, stating ‘I have brushed up the following favourite old Song a little, with a view to your worship. – I have only altered a word here and there; but if you like … we shall think of a Stanza or two to add to it’ (Letter 295). Ainslie was born at Berrywell, near Duns (l. 1). The mention of ‘goos feathers’, meaning quills, and a ‘whittle’, meaning a knife, refers to the implements used by a lawyer. Ainslie was a law student when Burns met him.

  Caledonia

  Tune: Caledonian Hunt’s Delight.

  First printed in Currie, 1800.

  There was on a time, but old Time was then young,

  That brave Caledonia, the chief of her line,

  From some of your northern deities sprung,

  (Who knows not that brave Caledonia’s divine)

  5 From Tweed to the Orcades was her domain, Orkney

  To hunt, or to pasture, or do what she would;

  Her heav’nly relations there fixè d her reign,

  And pledged her their godheads to warrant it
good. —

  A lambkin in peace, but a lion in war,

  10 The pride of her kindred the Heroine grew;

  Her grandsire, old Odin, triumphantly swore,

  ‘Whoe’er shall provoke thee, th’ encounter shall rue!’

  With tillage or pasture at times she would sport,

  To feed her fair flocks by her green-rustling corn;

  15 But chiefly the woods were her fav’rite resort,

  Her darling amusement the hounds and the horn. —

  Long quiet she reign’d, till thitherward steers

  A flight of bold eagles from Adria’s strand;

  Repeated, successive, for many long years,

  20 They darken’d the air and they plunder’d the land.

  Their pounces were murder, and horror their cry,

  They’d ravag’d and ruin’d a world beside;

  She took to her hills and her arrows let fly,

  The daring invaders they fled or they di’d. —

  25 The Cameleon Savage disturb’d her repose

  With tumult, disquiet, rebellion, and strife;

  Provok’d beyond bearing, at last she arose,

  And robbed him at once of his hopes and his life.

  The Anglian Lion, the terror of France,

  30 Oft prowling ensanguin’d the Tweed’s silver flood;

  But taught by the bright Caledonian lance,

  He learned to fear in his own native wood. —

  The fell Harpy-Raven took wing from the North,