by Robert Burns
My Nanie’s Awa –
Tune: There’ll never be Peace –
First printed in Thomson, 1799.
NOW in her green mantle blythe Nature arrays,
And listens the lambkins that bleat o’er the braes, lambs, hillslopes
While birds warble welcomes in ilka green shaw; each, wood
But to me it’s delightless — my Nanie’s awa. — away/dead
5 The snawdrap and primrose our woodlands adorn, snowdrop
And violets bathe in the weet o’ the morn; wet/dew
They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw, so, blow
They mind me o’ Nanie — and Nanie’s awa. —
Thou lavrock that springs frae the dews of the lawn lark
10 The shepherd to warn o’ the grey-breaking dawn,
And thou mellow mavis that hails the night-fa’, thrush, -fall
Give over for pity — my Nanie’s awa. —
Come Autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and grey, so
And soothe me wi’ tydins o’ Nature’s decay: tidings
15 The dark, dreary Winter, and wild-driving snaw snow
Alane can delight me — now Nanie’s awa. — alone
This beautiful lyric with its interaction of mood and season was sent to Thomson on 9th December, 1794. Kinsley shows some literary influence on the song from a work by Hook (1768), ‘My Laddie is Gane’ (Vol. iii, p. 1463), but it is hardly noticeable.
Dumfries Epigrams
This Collection of epigrams is only known in the transcript of John Syme, the poet’s Dumfries friend and Distributor of Stamps for the area. They give us some inkling of not only the intimacy of Burns and Syme but of their shared political dissent. They are in the Hornel Collection.
Untitled
First printed in The Burns Chronicle, 1932.
C [opelan] d faithful likeness, friend Painter, would’st seize?
Keep out Worth, Wit and Wisdom: Put in what you please.
The subject of this is unknown. Assuming it is on a portrait of a local aristocrat, Mackay guesses, probably correctly, that it is written about William Copeland of Collieston, whose ‘whiskers’ are mentioned in the Second Heron Ballad.
Extempore
On Miss E. I ——, A lady of a figure indicating Amazonian
strength.
First printed in The Burns Chronicle, 1932.
SHOULD he escape the slaughter of thine Eyes,
Within thy strong Embrace he struggling dies.
Again the subject is uncertain, although it may be written on Elizabeth Inglis, daughter of the Rev. William Inglis, Loreburn church, Dumfries.
To a Club in Dumfries
who styled themselves the Dumfries Loyal Natives and exhibited violent party work and intemperate Loyalty –
10th June 1794
First printed in The Burns Chronicle, 1932.
PRAY, who are these Natives the Rabble so ven’rate?
They’re our true ancient Natives, and they breed undegen’rate.
The ignorant savage that weather’d the storm
When the man and the Brute differed but in form.
For commentary on the loyalist group, the Dumfries Loyal Natives, see notes to the earlier work Ye True Loyal Natives. The poet’s known radical sentiments made him prickly to comments or jibes from loyalists in Dumfries, who often tried to provoke him to comment on the political situation. On at least one recorded occasion this almost led to him being challenged to a pistol duel with a Captain Dods (Letter 631) for toasting, ‘May our success in the present war be equal to the justice of our cause’. Other toasts have been recorded such as ‘May the last King be hung in the guts of the last Priest’. Indeed, it appears that another complete song satirising the ‘Dumfries Loyal Natives’ was discovered and sold in manuscript in 1861, but has never been recovered. In his printed sales catalogue of the greatest auction of Burns manuscripts to occur, Edward C. Bigmore records the first line of a song ‘Here are we Loyal Natives’ and describes it as ‘Song in 8 verses. 2 pages folio, written in pencil and inked over in another hand, with two other Songs, all believed to be UNPUBLISHED’ (p. 8).
On an old Acquaintance who seemed to pass the Bard without notice
First printed in The Burns Chronicle, 1932.
DOST hang thy head, Billy, asham’d that thou knowest me?
’Tis paying in kind a just debt that thou owest me.
DOST blush, my dear Billy, asham’d of thyself,
A Fool and a Cuckold together?
The fault is not thine, insignificant elf,
Thou wast not consulted in either.
It is not known who ‘Billy’ refers to in these lines. Given the inevitably fragmentary knowledge about the poet’s acquaintances during his years in Dumfries conjecture is futile. They reinforce the poet’s own negative description of fragmented friendships in From Esopus to Maria: ‘The shrinking bard adown the alley skulks’, that he was being shunned by many people in Dumfries society.
Immediate Extempore
on Being Told by W. L. of the Customs Dublin that
Commissar Goldie Did Not seem Disposed to Push the
Bottle
First printed in The Burns Chronicle, 1932.
FRIEND Commissar, since we’re met and are happy,
Pray why should we part without having more nappy!
Bring in t’other bottle, for faith I am dry —
Thy drink thou can’t part with and neither can I. —
Commissar Goldie, a legal official, was president of the Dumfries Loyal Natives.
On Mr. Burke
By an Opponent and a Friend to Mr. Hastings
First printed in The Burns Chronicle, 1932.
OFT I have wonder’d that on Irish ground
No poisonous Reptile ever has been found:
Revealed the secret stands of great Nature’s work:
She preserved her poison to create a Burke!
Edmund Burke (1729–97), author of the famed and notorious Reflections on the French Revolution, became a leading member of the Tories under William Pitt, having abandoned his original Whig politics. Characteristically, Kinsley makes no comment on by far the most important of the Dumfries epigrams. Overtly (in an assumed voice) it is about Burke’s obsessive pursuit of Warren Hastings concerning his fiscal corruption of the East India Company. Reflections had, however, appeared in 1790 and it is hard not to believe that Burns was using the Hastings affair to assault the, for him, serpen-tine apostate. The Dagger is certainly the wittiest, perhaps the best, of the flood of anti-Burke poetry that Reflections provoked.
On John M’Murdo and Baillie Swan
First printed in The Burns Chronicle, 1932.
At the Election of Magistrates for Dumfries, 1794, John M’Murdo, Esq., was chosen Provost & a Mr Swan one of the Baillies; and at the entertainment usually given on the occasions, Burns, seeing the Provost’s Supporters on the Bench, took his pencil & wrote the following:
Baillie Swan, Baillie Swan,
Let you do what you can,
God ha’ mercy on honest Dumfries:
But e’er the year ’s done,
Good Lord! Provost John
Will find that his Swans are but Geese.
The above introductory note is inscribed on the manuscript transcript, recording accurately that in September 1794 at the election of Magistrates for Dumfries, John M’Murdo was selected as Provost and James Swan, one of the Baillies. Witnessing their success, Burns wrote the above. Swan was elected a merchant councillor on 22nd September, 1794 and after his father’s death was admitted a burgess and freeman of the town, then baillie on 29th September, 1794. He was re-elected to this post in September 1795, then ‘retained on Council’ in October 1796, but was voted off the council in 1797 (See The Burns Chronicle, 1932, ‘Burns Epigrams’, by Frederic Kent, pp. 19–23).
On Chloris
Requesting Me to Give Her a Sprig of a Sloe-Thorn in Full Blossom –
First printed
in The Edinburgh Advertiser, 8th August, 1800.
From the white-blossom’d sloe, my dear Chloris requested
A sprig, her fair breast to adorn:
No, by Heavens! I exclaim’d, let me perish for ever,
Ere I plant in that bosom a thorn!
This is another anecdotal verse on Jean Lorimer (Chloris). The lines were collected by Stewart in 1802 from the Edinburgh newspaper. It has been rightly noted that these lines were erroneously attributed to Charles Dibdin, an English contemporary of the poet who, after the poet’s death and the publication of these lines, took the original and turned them into a longer lyric (See Kinsley Vol. III, p. 1464, and Mackay, p. 534).
Craigieburn Wood
Tune: Craigieburn Wood
First printed in Thomson, 1799.
Sweet fa’s the eve on Craigieburn, falls
And blythe awakes the morrow,
But a’ the pride o’ Spring’s return
Can yield me nocht but sorrow. — nothing
5 I see the flowers and spreading trees,
I hear the wild birds singing;
But what a weary wight can please,
And Care his bosom is wringing. —
Fain, fain would I my griefs impart,
10 Yet dare na for your anger; not
But secret love will break my heart,
If I conceal it langer. longer
If thou refuse to pity me;
If thou shalt love anither; another
15 When yon green leaves fade frae the tree, from
Around my grave they’ll wither. —
This was the poet’s second attempt at writing this lyric, given that the original composition of October 1794 was deemed by Thomson to have sexual overtones in the chorus. Burns took the opportunity to rework his original and sent the above to Thomson on 15th January, 1795. The Henley and Henderson and Mackay editions spoil the final rhyme by substituting the English ‘another’ (rather than the Scots anither) which does not rhyme with ‘wither’.
The Tree of Liberty
First printed in Chambers, 1838.
HEARD ye o’ the Tree o’ France,
I watna, what ’s the name o’t; don’t know
Around it a’ the patriots dance —
Weel Europe kens the fame o’t. well, knows
5 It stands where ance the Bastile stood, once
A prison built by kings, man,
When Superstition’s hellish brood
Kept France in leading-strings, man.
Upo’ this tree there grows sic fruit, upon, such
10 Its virtues a’ can tell, man; all
It raises man aboon the brute, above
It mak’s him ken himsel, man. know
Gif ance the peasant taste a bit, if once
He’s greater than a lord, man,
15 And wi’ the beggar shares a mite
O’ a’ he can afford, man.
This fruit is worth a’ Afric’s wealth,
To comfort us ’twas sent, man:
To gie the sweetest blush o’ health, give
20 And mak’ us a’ content, man.
It clears the een, it cheers the heart, eyes
Mak’s high and low guid friends, man; good
And he wha acts the traitor’s part, who
It to perdition sends, man.
25 My blessings aye attend the chiel always, fellow/man
Wha pitied Gallia’s slaves, man, who, France’s
And staw a branch, spite o’ the Deil, stole
Frae yont the western waves, man. from beyond
Fair Virtue water’d it wi’ care,
30 And now she sees wi’ pride, man,
How weel it buds and blossoms there, well
Its branches spreading wide, man.
But vicious folk aye hate to see always
The works o’ Virtue thrive, man;
35 The courtly vermin ’s bann’d the tree,
And grat to see it thrive, man; wept
King Loui’ thought to cut it down,
When it was unco sma’, man; very small
For this the watchman crack’d his crown,
40 Cut aff his head and a’, man. off
A wicked crew syne, on a time, once
Did tak’ a solemn aith, man, take, oath
It ne’er should flourish to its prime,
I wat they pledg’d their faith, man. bet
45 Awa they gaed wi’ mock parade, away, went
Like beagles hunting game, man,
But soon grew weary o’ the trade,
And wish’d they’d been at hame, man. home
Fair Freedom, standing by the tree,
50 Her sons did loudly ca’, man; call
She sang a sang o’ Liberty, song
Which pleas’d them ane and a’, man. one, all
By her inspir’d, the new-born race
Soon drew the avenging steel, man;
55 The hirelings ran — her foes gied chase, gave
And bang’d the despot weel, man. well
Let Britain boast her hardy oak,
Her poplar, and her pine, man,
Auld Britain ance could crack her joke, old, once
60 And o’er her neighbours shine, man.
But seek the forest round and round,
And soon ’twill be agreed, man,
That sic a tree can not be found such
’Twixt London and the Tweed, man.
65 Without this tree, alake this life alas
Is but a vale o’ woe, man;
A scene o’ sorrow mix’d wi’ strife,
Nae real joys we know, man. no
We labour soon, we labour late,
70 To feed the titled knave, man;
And a’ the comfort we ’re to get,
Is that ayont the grave, man. beyond
Wi’ plenty o’ sic trees, I trow, such, pledge/trust
The warld would live in peace, man; world
75 The sword would help to mak’ a plough,
The din o’ war wad cease, man. would
Like brethren in a common cause,
We’d on each other smile, man;
And equal rights and equal laws
80 Wad gladden every isle, man. would
Wae worth the loon wha wadna eat woe befall, fool who would not
Sic halesome, dainty cheer, man; such wholesome
I’d gie the shoon frae aff my feet, give, shoes from off
To taste sic fruit, I swear, man. such
85 Syne let us pray, Auld England may so, old
Sure plant this far-famed tree, man;
And blythe we’ll sing, and hail the day
That gives us Liberty, man.
The Tree of Liberty appeared in 1838 with Dr Chambers’ edition. In headnotes to the poem Chambers argues:
It is far from likely that the whole democratic effusions of Burns have come down to us. For many years, that kind of authorship was attended with so much reproach, that men of humanity studied to conceal rather than to expose the evidence by which it could be proved against him [Burns]. And even after the poor bard’s death, the interests of his young family demanded … that nothing should be brought forward which was calculated to excite a political jealousy regarding him. Hence, for many years there was a mystery observed on this subject. During that time, of course, many manuscripts might perish …
Dr Chambers was not likely to have been fooled by a forged manuscript, nor invent seeing one that did not exist. His work, still relied upon heavily by modern biographers, is generally robust, despite being top heavy with anecdotal reminiscence from anyone who knew Burns, a friend of Burns or the poet’s family. There are no grounds to suspect that the manuscripts seen by Chambers was a forgery. It is thus peculiar that there should still be an ongoing debate over the authenticity of this political song, while many other songs without manuscript are readily accepted. The manuscript vanished or was destroyed during the nineteenth century.
Chambers esti
mated wrongly in 1838 when he remarked, ‘As things now stand … there can be no great objection to the publication of any piece of the kind which may have chanced to be preserved’ (p. 87). The grounds upon which the provenance of the song have been questioned, at least originally, are not scholarly. Scott Douglas blasted its sentiments, arguing that they:
… are so crude and unreasonable, that we would rejoice to be informed, some of these days, that the Mosesfield manuscript, on being more closely examined, turns out to be not Burns’ penmanship after all! (Vol. II, p. 404).
This comment proves the manuscript still extant in 1877. Almost twenty years later, Henderson and Henley swept the poem aside by stating it was ‘trash’ Burns did not write but gave no textually analytic defence of their case.
It is quite probable that the hysterical reaction to this song stems from the line about the King of France being exectuted, ‘Cut aff his heid an’ a’, man’. That Burns could be so casual about Louis’ head being chopped off is clear from his letter to Mrs Dunlop in January 1795:
Entre nous, you know my Politics; & I cannot approve of the honest Doctor’s whining over the deserved fate of a certain pair of Personages. – What is there in the delivering over a perjured Blockhead & an unprincipled Prostitute into the hands of the hangman, that it should arrest for a moment, attention, in an eventful hour, when, as my friend Roscoe in Liverpool glor-iously expresses it —