The Complete Works of Robert Burns
Chapter 200 : "Where ocean's unseen bound Leaves a drear world of waters round,"are t

"Where ocean's unseen bound Leaves a drear world of waters round,"

are truly beautiful. The simile of the hurricane is likewise fine; and, indeed, beautiful as the poem is, almost all the similes rise decidedly above it. From verse 31st to verse 50th is a pretty eulogy on Britain. Verse 36th, "That foul drama deep with wrong," is n.o.bly expressive. Verse 46th, I am afraid, is rather unworthy of the rest; "to dare to feel" is an idea that I do not altogether like. The contrast of valour and mercy, from the 36th verse to the 50th, is admirable.

Either my apprehension is dull, or there is something a little confused in the apostrophe to Mr. Pitt. Verse 55th is the antecedent to verses 57th and 58th, but in verse 58th the connexion seems ungrammatical:--

"Powers... ... ... .....

With no gradation mark'd their flight, But rose at once to glory's height."

Ris'n should be the word instead of rose. Try it in prose.

Powers,--their flight marked by no gradations, but [the same powers]

risen at once to the height of glory. Likewise, verse 53d, "For this,"

is evidently meant to lead on the sense of the verses 59th, 60th, 61st, and 62d: but let us try how the thread of connexion runs,--

"For this ... ... ... .

The deeds of mercy, that embrace A distant sphere, an alien race, Shall virtue's lips record and claim The fairest honours of thy name."

I beg pardon if I misapprehended the matter, but this appears to me the only imperfect pa.s.sage in the poem. The comparison of the sunbeam is fine.

The compliment to the Duke of Richmond is, I hope, as just as it is certainly elegant The thought,

"Virtue ... ... ... ... ...

Sends from her unsullied source, The gems of thought their purest force,"

is exceeding beautiful. The idea, from verse 81st to the 85th, that the "blest decree" is like the beams of morning ushering in the glorious day of liberty, ought not to pa.s.s unnoticed or unapplauded.

From verse 85th to verse 108th, is an animated contrast between the unfeeling selfishness of the oppressor on the one hand, and the misery of the captive on the other. Verse 88th might perhaps be amended thus: "Nor ever _quit_ her narrow maze." We are said to _pa.s.s_ a bound, but we _quit_, a maze. Verse 100th is exquisitely beautiful:--

"They, whom wasted blessings tire."

Verse 110th is I doubt a clas.h.i.+ng of metaphors: "to load a span" is, I am afraid, an unwarrantable expression. In verse 114th, "Cast the universe in shade," is a fine idea. From the 115th verse to the 142d is a striking description of the wrongs of the poor African. Verse 120th, "The load of unremitted pain," is a remarkable, strong expression. The address to the advocates for abolis.h.i.+ng the slave-trade, from verse 143d to verse 208th, is animated with the true life of genius. The picture of oppression:--

"While she links her impious chain, And calculates the price of pain; Weighs agony in sordid scales, And marks if death or life prevails,"--

is n.o.bly executed.

What a tender idea is in verse 108th! Indeed, that whole description of home may vie with Thomson's description of home, somewhere in the beginning of his Autumn. I do not remember to have seen a stronger expression of misery than is contained in these verses:--

"Condemned, severe extreme, to live When all is fled that life can give"

The comparison of our distant joys to distant objects is equally original and striking.

The character and manners of the dealer in the infernal traffic is a well done though a horrid picture. I am not sure how far introducing the sailor was right; for though the sailor's common characteristic is generosity, yet, in this case, he is certainly not only an unconcerned witness, but, in some degree, an efficient agent in the business.

Verse 224th is a nervous ... expressive--"The heart convulsive anguish breaks." The description of the captive wretch when he arrives in the West Indies, is carried on with equal spirit. The thought that the oppressor's sorrow on seeing the slave pine, is like the butcher's regret when his destined lamb dies a natural death, is exceedingly fine.

I am got so much into the cant of criticism, that I begin to be afraid lest I have nothing except the cant of it; and instead of elucidating my author, am only benighting myself. For this reason, I will not pretend to go through the whole poem. Some few remaining beautiful lines, however, I cannot pa.s.s over. Verse 280th is the strongest description of selfishness I ever saw. The comparison of verses 285th and 286th is new and fine; and the line, "Your arms to penury you lend," is excellent. In verse 317th, "like" should certainly be "as"

or "so;" for instance--

"His sway the hardened bosom leads To cruelty's remorseless deeds: As (or, so) the blue lightning when it springs With fury on its livid wings, Darts on the goal with rapid force, Nor heeds that ruin marks its course."

If you insert the word "like" where I have placed "as," you must alter "darts" to "darting," and "heeds" to "heeding" in order to make it grammar. A tempest is a favourite subject with the poets, but I do not remember anything even in Thomson's Winter superior to your verses from the 347th to the 351st. Indeed, the last simile, beginning with "Fancy may dress," &c., and ending with the 350th verse, is, in my opinion, the most beautiful pa.s.sage in the poem; it would do honour to the greatest names that ever graced our profession.

I will not beg your pardon, Madam, for these strictures, as my conscience tells me, that for once in my life I have acted up to the duties of a Christian, in doing as I would be done by.

R. B.

XCV.

TO MR. RICHARD BROWN,

IRVINE.

[Richard Brown was the "hapless son of misfortune," alluded to by Burns in his biographical letter to Dr. Moore: by fort.i.tude and prudence he retrieved his fortunes, and lived much respected in Greenock, to a good old age. He said Burns had little to learn in matters of levity, when he became acquainted with him.]

_Edinburgh, 30th Dec._ 1787.

MY DEAR SIR,

I have met with few things in life which have given me more pleasure than Fortune's kindness to you since those days in which we met in the vale of misery; as I can honestly say, that I never knew a man who more truly deserved it, or to whom my heart more truly wished it. I have been much indebted since that time to your story and sentiments for steeling my mind against evils, of which I have had a pretty decent share. My will-o'wisp fate you know: do you recollect a Sunday we spent together in Eglinton woods! You told me, on my repeating some verses to you, that you wondered I could resist the temptation of sending verses of such merit to a magazine. It was from this remark I derived that idea of my own pieces, which encouraged me to endeavour at the character of a poet. I am happy to hear that you will be two or three months at home. As soon as a bruised limb will permit me, I shall return to Ayrs.h.i.+re, and we shall meet; "and faith, I hope we'll not sit dumb, nor yet cast out!"

I have much to tell you "of men, their manners, and their ways,"

perhaps a little of the other s.e.x. Apropos, I beg to be remembered to Mrs. Brown. There I doubt not, my dear friend, but you have found substantial happiness. I expect to find you something of an altered but not a different man; the wild, bold, generous young fellow composed into the steady affectionate husband, and the fond careful parent. For me, I am just the same will-o'-wisp being I used to be.

About the first and fourth quarters of the moon, I generally set in for the trade wind of wisdom: but about the full and change, I am the luckless victim of mad tornadoes, which blow me into chaos. Almighty love still reigns and revels in my bosom; and I am at this moment ready to hang myself for a young Edinburgh widow, who has wit and wisdom more murderously fatal than the a.s.sa.s.sinating stiletto of the Sicilian banditti, or the poisoned arrow of the savage African. My highland dirk, that used to hang beside my crutches, I have gravely removed into a neighbouring closet, the key of which I cannot command in case of spring-tide paroxysms. You may guess of her wit by the following verses, which she sent me the other day:--

Talk not of love, it gives me pain, For love has been my foe; He bound me with an iron chain, And plunged me deep in woe!

But friends.h.i.+p's pure and lasting joys.

My heart was formed to prove,-- There, welcome, win, and wear the prize, But never talk of love!

Your friends.h.i.+p much can make me blest-- O why that bliss destroy?

Why urge the odious one request, You know I must deny?[180]

My best compliments to our friend Allan.

Adieu!

R. B.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 180: See song 186, in Johnson's Musical Museum. Burns altered the two last lines, and added a stanza: