BURNS: THE MAN AND HIS WORK.

Otago Witness, Issue 2026, 22 December 1892, Page 5

BURNS: THE MAN AND HIS WORK.

Specially Written for the Witness Cliristmas

Number of IS9Z.

By J. ATHELET.

To fully understand a man's character we must transport ourselves to his age, and farther to bis rank or station of life. We cannot judge the warlike and coarse knights of the middle ages by our modern standards, nor condemn the excesses and manners cf last century too severely. These had a cartain amount of light, and are responsible /for its use or abuse ; we have more — therefore greater responsibility.

Those, then, who think hardly of Burns must remember, this, and look at him end fais life from the standpoint people of his day took. Brought up in an everlasting grind of labour, in a manner of life the barest and hardest, the wonder is not that he was a little ramshackle in his character, but that the sordid straggle did not swamp the heaven-lit fire of poesy. Even in his personal discomforts, howerer, his mind and sympathetic heart was ready to feel with those around. No ear was more wakeful than tbat of Burns' to every tone of Nature, her sigh, her muimur, her breathing <jf i ove — each passed over his mind like^ a skilled finger upon • a harp, and left him soothed, inflamed, enamourec 1 , or devout. Of himself he says : "To walk in the sheltered side of a wood or high plantation on a cloudy winter day, and hear the stormj wind howling among the trees. ... is my best season of devotion: my mind is ■wrapped up in a kind of enthusiasm to Him who 'walks on the ways of the wind'" Not even so little and insignificant an object as a " wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower," destroyed by his plough, or such a " wee, sleekis, cow'rtn', tim'rous beastie"as a field mouse, but bis pity went ont to them. His impulsive, reckless nature carried him to all manner of extremes. Touched by a sense of the injustice of the over-righteous, with the keen satire he possessed he concocted thatecathjng caricature, " The Holy Fair." From this incisive irony to. the height of simple and homely pathos of the "wee bit ingle blinking bennily" is a far cry. Yet it shows the poet's soul at different times. Who looking at the mere separate poems would think them as of the same author 1

Better than anyone aid Burns know the intensity of his nature, ana his constant ntudy was, he Bays, "to know myself." From others he claimed what is easy to give but difficult to obtain — 3ympathy. For himself and his kind he askud not tolerance and condoning of the faults, but compassion for the unfortunate who committed them.

Oh, ye wha we sac quid yersel', Sac pioua and sac holy, Ye've naught to do but mark and till Your neebour's fau'ts aud folly. He cries indignantly : Think; when your castigated fculse Gi'es now and thon a wallop, What raging must his veins convulst, That Btilleternal gallop ; "Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail, Right on ye scud your sea-way ; But in the teetho 1 baith to sail, It makes an unco lee-way. This tender side of his nature led him to even hope, as good people should not, tbat. even for — ■ . . . AuldNickie ßen, 0 gin ye'd tak.' a fought an' men, Ye aiblins micht— l dinna ken— •: Yet We a stake. ' ' ;;■- I'm wae to think upo' yon den, > • f* ! E'en for your sake. It has oft6n been wondered why Burns tvith all his wonderful genius did not write a long, sustained piece of pastoral word painting, as Cowper, Goldsmith, Crabbe, and others had done. The fire burnt too strongly and too fiercely to last. Its inspirations, were brilliant, yet self-consuming. Had Burns been more stable morally, besides examples of nearly every short form of rhyme — the description, the satire, . tbe epistle, the elegy, the love song, the war lay, and epigram— he would have leffc us some more leagthy poems. Yet had he been less ardent the collection of the most beautifnl love lyrics might have been watiting. •Burns' spirit cf jastics aad desire for freedom were ever put on the side of the oppressed, and had he, as he once-intended,' left for the West Indian plantations, probably bis poems against slavery would have surpassed all others who have written on ths subject. Tbe sympathies of poets were strongly moved by the French Revolution. Not a tingle poet of those days but had bis writings tinged by its. red glow. Burns, impulsive as in all, went beyond mere words. He wliile in Government employ bought four cannonadep, v>hich he sent with a letter of esteem to the French Convention.

The hcatt of Barns was always true. In his loves more than the sensual element entered. He revered virtue even when he failed to observe her maxims. "Even in the hour of social mirth," said be to a Mend, "my gaiety J3 the msdne^s of an intoxicated criminal und^r the bands of the executioner." Ia such times co preacher or evangelist could have been more pathetic or eloquent. Oce instance will perhap3 suffice. An old cror.y of his, Saunders Proudfoot, who participated in a merrymaking at Thornhill Fa^r with Barns, tells bow—' By_ degrees the hala o' the chaps tlippit awa' ace after anlufaer. Bafc he couldna' leave the bowl, and I was determined not to leave him ; sae ! we sat on an* eat on till after midnight, an' then were shown into a bedroom, an' our bowls an' glesses wi' us. I saw before this time Barus had gotten rather mair than enough, an' in crder to gar him gi' over I pretended to be drunk an' lay down on' ane o' the beds with my claes on. Burns seemed very ill pleased wheu I left him, an' looked round an' round as rather disappointed ; but he couldna orink by himself, an' if he took ac glesis after I left him that was al.a 1 . I watched him weel, an' he giew exceedingly impatient, an then throwing himself on his knees with his face leaning on his arms, whloh were across the chair, he began to pray, and by degrees be «ob in wen a fervent supplication for a bie trft?wg?w ß iQnß ft» fc ft ww mto't uww

dreadfu' to hear him. It made sic an impression on me that I crept quietly owre the bed oat of his' kenning, an' kneeled down by him. He confessed himsel' tbe chief of sinners, wi' tears o' agony and siccan fervour o* eloquence I never heaTd frae the lips o' man. It was awesome tae hear him. I was even greeting mysel', though it's no little that gars auld Sandy cry." The religion of his day was fiercer than of ours. Rigid, narrow, and wrathful, it combined the worst features of the faith, not always having the inward virtue to make up for its repulsive externals. In a nature like that of Burns' the religious life properly and fitly planted would havo taken deep and lasting root, but unfortunately being taught by the good people of a God who sends one to heaven and teu to hell all for His glory,

And no' for ony quid or ill They've done afore Him, hia natm'e revolted, and where 'no *lova was fear bad to bold. "I bate," he wrota, " the very idea of a controversial divinity ; I despise the superstition of a fanatic ; but 1 love the religion of a man. Whatever mitigates the woes or increases the happiness of others, this is my criterion of goodu6ss ; and whatever injures society at large or any individual in it, this is my measure of iniquity." We could form a good opinion of the mtn from his works. His mind was like an April day— sunshine and rain. There is not much range in his song a , which seem just to ripple off in wave 3o£ melody. •• All ray poetry," said he, "is the effect of easy composition, but laborious correction." Whon engaged in wedding fresh words to an old air, his method was to " consider the poetic santimsnt corresponding to my idea of the musical expression ; then chooee my theme ; begin one stanza ; when that is composed, generally the most difficult part of the business, I walk out, Bit down now and then, look out for objsct3 in nature round me that are in unison or harmony with the cogitations of my fancy and workings of my bosom, humming every now and then the air with the verse I bave framed; when I feel my muse beginnii-g to jada 1 retire to the solitary fireside of my study, and there commit my effasions to paper, swinging afc intervals on the bind legs of my elbow chair by way of calling forth my own critlCAl strictures as my pen goos on." The love poetry of Barns is for the most part simply doscre set to music, and the language of his desire ia well worthy its setting, though all his amatory compositions were not so pura in spirit as the utterance is melodious. There is ample room for the flail, and doubtless with longer life, in more thoughtful hour*, fche poet would have wielded it himself, with what advantage to the finer grain and to his own fame need not be said, for " Sweet this man could sing as morning lark, i And teach the noblest moval3 of the heart."

Burns had the seeds of a noble character. He knew the way to cultivate them, but he slept, and while he slept the enemy sowed tares, and good with the bad grew up together. A moderato income, leisure, and intelleotually cultivated friends might have altered the temper of the poet-gauger. Nevertheless he had a work to do, and he did it. Scottish nationality and healthy pride were fast sinking, and her sun of national song would have set for ever had not Barns stood forth a lyrical giant among the pigmies of whom there is no end.