BURNS THE MAN

Southland Times, Issue 22240, 3 February 1934, Page 11

BURNS THE MAN

A FULL LENGTH PORTRAIT. LECTURE TO ST. ANDREWS SOCIETY. The highlight of the recent anniversary function of the St. Andrews Scottish Society when the birth of the immortal Robert Burns was commemorated was undoubtedly the inspiring address, declared on all sides to have been one of the finest ever delivered to the society, given by the Rev. Hugh Graham, of Mosgiel, who chose as his subject, “The Humanity of Burns.” The lecturer dealt in a most interesting manner with a side of the poet’s character seldom touched upon and his address, the main portion of which is below, was listened to with the closest attention by the packed audience in Smith’s Hall. At its conclusion, Mr Graham was accorded a hearty vote of thanks for his lecture.

“On this twenty-fifth of January the minds and hearts of Scottish people the world over are swept with a wave of feeling,” began Mr Graham. “We remember the lad that was bom in Kyle, and we are justly proud of his achievement —the achievement of one of Scotia’s sons of toil. I recall the fact that Robert Burns, in his lifetime, loved to call himself ‘Rab the Ranter.’ There is no doubt that our National Bard, as a writer, was occasionally a Ranter. There is still less doubt that there has been a vast amount of rant about Burns. Mr Hugh McDiarmid in His book entitled ‘A Drunk Man looks at the Thistle’ waxes sarcastic about the ‘Croose London Scotties wi’ their braw shirt fronts and a’ their fancy greens voicin’

Burns’ sentiments o’ universal love .... altho, no wan in fifty kens a word. Bums wrote. It eets my dander up,’ he writes, ‘to see the stai' o’ Robbie Burns banged like a saxpence.’ “I trust the few words I have to say on the Humanity of Bums will be something more than rant, for I can say simply, but sincerely, I love Bums. There are some men that we may respect, others that we may admire—some that we may calmly weigh in the balance of ‘the nicely calculated less or more.’ But once in a while there comes into your life one about whom you do not reason or debate. Such a man is Robert Burns. Magically he holds you, heart and mind, spirit and imagination. Laughing with his joys, suffering with his sorrows, you say simply, ‘I love that man.’ The love of Bums was not invented by Bums’ Clubs—it existed long before their time. Scotland loves Bums more than it has loved any other man, and to-day, in Scotland, Bums is a warm living force—a part of daily life. “It has been acutely said that ‘Lowland Scotland as a distinct nationality came in with two warriors and went out with two bards.’ William Wallace and Robert Bruce made her history by winning her independence. Robert Bums and Walter Scott sang her songs and told her story. In Sir Walter we have indeed the Lay of her Last Minstrel, but in Bums we have her supreme bard. In the long run there are DEVOTED TO VERSEA monthly magazine devoted wholly to New Zealand verse strikes one as a courageous undertaking, but if it can obtain the support of the writers there is no reason why its life should not be long and useful. But do people in this country like verse? Booksellers will tell you that apart from the occasions of customary gifts the sales of poetryare not large, and these sales stick closely to the standard names. There is very little" excitement about the new poets. That may be excused by the modern, poet’s lacking in time and substance; but no confidence can be put in this plea. In the Old Country Bridges “Testament of Beauty” caused a stir and had a big audience, in spite of its small, thin-faced type; but in New Zealand few people, were even aware of the existence of the Poet Laureate’s last major work. In places you will find a show of interest in poetry, a remnant of school day drill or some haunting idea that an acquaintance with some of the old poets is the easiest evidence of culture; but that does not embrace the lesser lights of verse. When the New Zealand versifiers appear in Christmas numbers and occasionally in the newspapers they catch the news-seeking eye of a few readers, but only a few. They sing to themselves really, for I suppose the interest in New Zealand verse is sustained chiefly by those who write New Zealand verse. Are their songs worth attention? Most assuredly. The tendency to exaggerate its importance has died down as a result of cooling draughts of criticism from the Old World where obvious kindness has cut deeper than any unkind axe could do, and the New Zealand verse-writer is doing better work because he is not inflated by windy praise. Also the cliques are not so powerful. This new vehicle to carry verse to the public is a modest affair and it has started without the aid of any of the names best known in the world of New Zealand verse; but that is not discouraging because, as far as I can see, the production costs are not heavy, and at the small price charged each copy should pay for itself. The editor offers no reward beyond publication to the poet, but in these days that should be an encouragement to the young writer, and a danger to the editor, because New Zealand Verse will need to have room and courage for discrimination if it is going to deserve support. “New Zealand Verse” (The Handcraft Press, Oamaru). THE RISE OF SLANG. There is almost a hierarchy of slang, as Greenough and Killredge implicatively show when they say that “to mortgage one’s reputation” is as essentially a slang phrase as “to be kneked out” in an examination [? exam] but there is a considerable difference in the vulgarity of the expressions. “To come a cropper” may be said to stand midway between the two. “At fault” (from a dog that loses the scent) is a dignified idiom. This last example illustrates a very frequent and important characteristic of slang; the tendency of slang words to rise in the world (ennobling, it may be called), for “at fault,” has, within thirty years become standard English. This ascent is recognized by most writers on English. ... In Weekley’s Etymological Dictionary, many slang words and phrases ignored by previous lexicographers are historically explained, for the excellent reason that “in the past the slang of one generation has often become the literary language of the next,” and the manners which distinguish contemporary life suggest that this will be still more frequently the case in the future.—Eric Partridge in “Slang: To-day and Yesterday” (Routledge). LONDON’S TASTE. The following books were in demand in London at the end of November: — Fiction: John Masefield’s “Bird of Dawning” (Heinemann); J. D. Beresford’s “The Camberwell Mystery” (Heinemann); Colin Ward’s “House Party Murder” (Collins); Graham Seton’s “Viper of Luxor” (Hutchinson). Miscellaneous: Lytton Strachey’s “Characters and Commentaries” (Chatto and Windus); Beverley Nichols’s “A Thatched Roof’ (Cape); Michael Sadlier’s “Blessington-d’Orsay” (Constable); Arthur Bryant’s “Samuel Pepys” (Cambridge University Press).

two factors on which the value of any poet depends—the nature of his insight and the power of his expression. Burns’ insight was that of genius and his expression covered a thousand phases of passion. Indeed, his work reflects the universal experience of humanity. Sometimes he is tender and caressing; sometimes rushing like a torrent. Pathos, remorse, gaiety, mirth, irony—all found supreme utterance in the auld Scotch songs of Robert, Burns. Joseph Conrad has said that the chief aim of the literary artist is to make his readers see. Burns does more than makes us see. He makes us feel, he makes us think, he makes us enjoy living. To but few poets is it ever given to do more. Burns and humanity are synonymous for humanity is defined as the quality of being human and the quality or condition of being humane—i.e. the kindly feelings, dispositions and sympathies of man, a disposition to treat all creatures with kindness. And surely that was the disposition of our Bard! It is well illustrated by Mr H. V. Morton in his famous book, ‘ln Search of Scotland.’ He pictures Jock, a road-worker, at the Globe Inn, Dumfries. ‘He wasna fou’ but just had plenty,’ and he is entertaining his cronies with his favourite song of Burns:

‘As fair art thou, my bonnie lass So deep in love am I etc.’ Shouts of laughter from his friends followed Jock’s song, and cries of ‘Sit doon Jock’ ... ‘if a’ the seas gang dry, it’ll no interfere wi’ ye—so dirrna fash yersel.’ ’ Jock was unconcious of their friendly insults. He went on—in soft, sentimental tones —with a wave of his hand:

‘And fare-thee-weel, my only luve! And fare-thee-weel a while!

And I will come again, my luve Tho’ ’twere ten thousand mile.’ Then finishing his song he turned to Mr Morton with a wag of his forefinger and he said: ‘That’s Rabbie Bur-r-ns—for ye! Ye may gang awa’ hame tae England and say that ye hae heard a Scotsman recitin’ his native poetry. ~ And ye may tell all the Sassenachs ye meet wi’ that there’s no such verse in all the wide world. . . Do you ken that? Mr Morton hurriedly agreed. ‘Well gie us yer hond?’ said Jock. Who does not know the firm, hearty handshake which is so indicative of true friendship? ‘So here’s a hand my trusty friend And gie’s a hand o’ thine!’ With Mr Morton’s hand in his, Jock became confidential. Tightening . his grip he said: ‘We’re all human beings are we not? Noo, I’m askin’ ye, are we, or are we not?’ ‘We are,’ replied Mr Morton. Jock drew himself up and brought his hand down on the table. ‘And so was Rabbie Bur-r-ns!’he said. It was magnificently final. ... It was the last word of an orator. . . He had nothing to add. It was the humanity of Bums that appealed to Jock. ‘Did ye ever see the like of Bum. for a knowledge of nature? He knew every bird that flies, and ever floo’er that grows he put in his wur-rks a’ the things he saw wi’ his ain een, and a’ the things that happened tae him. Man, its a’ sae true, a’ sae true! Bums The Man. “Let us think for a moment or two of Bums himself—next, of the period in which he lived, and lastly of his immortal songs and poems. Gray, the schoolmaster, gives us this picture of Robert Burns. ‘His complexion was fresh and clear, his eye brilliant, his whole frame vigorous and elastic, and his imagination was ever on the wing. He had always a strong appetite for sociability, an aversion to solitude, and wherever he visited—whether with the fashionable and gifted (as during his two memorable winters in Edinboro’), or with the humble poor, he was ever a welcome guest. His moods were as changeable as the skies of his native Ayrshire, but even in the hours of blackest depression , . . his sense of humour and ability to laugh—together with his keen delight in the company of his fellows—saved him from despair. He gives us a personal sketch of himself in one of his songs—in order, he said, “that the portrait of my face and the picture of my mind, may go down the stream of time together ‘Contented wi’ little, and cantie wi’ mair, Whene’er I forgather wi’ sorrow and

care, I gie them a skelp as they’re creeping alang, Wi’ a cog o’ guid swats, and an auld Scottish sang. I whiles claw the elbow o’ troublesome thought; But man is a sodger, and life is a f aught; My mirth and guid humour are coin in my pouch, And my freedom’s my lairdship nae monarch dare touch A towmond o’ trouble, should that be my fa’, A night o’ guid-fellowship sowthers it a’: .... Come ease and come travail; come pleasure or pain; Mv warst word is—‘Welcome, and welcome again!’

“The prophecy of the old gipsy woman—who sat crooning by his ingle on the night of his birth—was fulfilled to the letter,” Mr Graham continued. “He had misfortunes great and sma’ but aye a heart aboon them a’. The blast o’ Januar win’ that blew hersel in on Robin—continued to blow on him almost continuously throughout the 37 years of his life. In one of his last and sweetest songs he sang again of the stormy wind:

Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast On yonder lee, on yonder lee, My plaidie to the angry airt, I’d shelter thee, I’d shelter thee: Or did Misfortune’s bitter storms Around thee blaw, around thee blaw Thy bield should be my bosom To share it a’, to share it a’. From that cauld blast he himself never found shelter. Physically and spiritually it skirled around him to the very last till travelling days were done. The Gift of Understanding. “To understand Bums and his message for humanity we must, first try to understand the period in which he lived. Our Bard lived—some would say existed—in 18th century Scotland,' and his lot was cast with the labourers. But we remember that all classes in that day—the gentry and the peasants alike—suffered from abject poverty. Poverty is the first and biggest fact in our Scottish history, and from that poverty the Scottish race learned certain qualities which only come from a hard school. Burns knew all about the struggle to make a home. The homes our forefathers made for themselves were hard-won and, therefore, deeply loved. For love of home has always been a notable Scottish quality, as Bums testified when he writes ‘To mak’ a happy fire-side clime for weans and wife, thet is the pathos and sublime of human life’—or when he gives us his immortal picture of the family circle in the Cotter’s Saturday Night. Permit a brief quotation: ‘His wee bit ingle, blinkin’ bonilie, His clean hearth-stone, his thriftywife’s smile. The lisping infant prattling on his knee, Does a’ his weary carking cares beguile, An’ makes him quite forget his labours and his toil. ‘Wi’ joy unfeigned brothers and sisters meet, An’ each for others weel-fare kindly speirs; The social hours, swift-winged, unnoticed fleet; Each tells the unco that he sees or hears;

The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years; Anticipation forward points the view. The mother wi’ her needle, an’ her shears, Gars auld claes look amaist as weel’s the new; The father mixes a’ wi’ admonition due.

But now the supper crowns their simple board. The hail-some parritch, chief o’ Scotia’s food; f, The cheerfu’ supper done,’ etc, etc . .. “You will recall that during Burns’ life-time Europe was rocked to its very foundations by the French Revolution. In the early days of the tremendous upheaval all that was Liberal in British thought looked hopefully towards France. Bums himself thought of the Revolution as the birth pangs of a new era of Liberty and Justice. To the straightforward mind of Burns the slogan Liberty, Equality, Fraternity meant just what those words implied: Liberty—for a man to be a man; Equality for sense and worth to bear the free; Fraternity in the sense that man to man the world o’er shall brothers be. He expressed his innermost feeling in these lines: ‘For thus the Royal mandate ran, when first the human race began.’ ‘The social, friendly honest man Whate’er he be. ’Tis he fulfils great Nature’s plan, And none but he.’ “His strong sense of the worth of man, as man, made him the spokesman for Scotland’s labouring folk, and he rightly poured scorn and contempt on rank or wealth, unaccompanied by personal merit. He found patronage sair to bide. ‘Ye see yon birkie ca’ed a lord’ etc. Generous to Appreciation.

“Those who reprove Bums for social bitterness, speak in unpardonable ignorance both of our poet and of human nature. I emphasize the humanity of Burns. Wherever the gold was to be discovered beneath any particular guinea stamp—no one found it quicker than ‘Our Rabbie’ and no one was more generous in appreciation. Bums never hat,ed the rich—if he ever hated them —merely because of their riches, but he saw with clear eye that riches may harden the heart, and that the yellow dirt may soil a man’s soul. Burns had no quarrel with the rich. If wealth was used properly all was good and well, and he believed in giving honour where honour was due. For the charming young Lord Daer, for example, he had ever a friendly smile. He writes of him thus: ‘Nae honest, worthy man need care To meet wi’ noble youthful Daer For he but meets a brother.’ “His just tribute to the Earl of Glencairn, for his worth and brotherly kindness, is another case in point. Our Bard spoke of his patron as ‘a man whose worth and brotherly kindness to me I shall remember when time shall be no more.’ When he came to write Glencaim’s epitaph, his grief was moving and sincere: ‘The bridegroom may forget the bride Was made his wedded wife yestreen: The monarch may forget his crown That on his head an hour has been; The mother may forget the child That smiles sae sweetly on her knee But I’ll remember thee, Glencairn, And a’ that thou hast done for me.’ A Fascinating Personality. “Burns came into contact, as I have reminded you, with all kinds and conditions of men and women. He had an irresistible power of attraction and, without regard for social tradition, men of all ranks sought his company. Plowmen and innkeepers found him congenial; university professors were glad to have him in their homes, lairds and lords welcomed him. . . as a friend. Women were ‘swept off their feet,’ as the Duchess of Gordon put it, by the fascination of his personality. They loved him sometimes more than they knew and we all know how Burns loved the lasses in return.

We may deplore the unfortunate love affairs of Burns but we should remember that he was capable, too, of serious friendship with the other sex—friendship on which no shadow of a stain has ever been cast—as, for example, his friendship with Mrs Dunlop. Bums, by temperament, was a lover, his nature made it easy for him to fall in love. He loved mankind. He loved woman-kind. And we owe to this temperament those immortal love, songs which will sweeten and gladden the life of humanity for all time. They are as many-sided as life itself. Who can ever forget ‘Of a’ the airts the win’ can blaw’; ‘Ye Banks and Braes’; ‘Sweet Afton’; ‘The Lass o’ Ballochmyle’; ‘Ae Fond Kiss’ and many others—which are sung with equal heartiness in all parts of the globe, and which his countrymen carry to the end’of the earth as a bird carries seed! Beyond a doubt it is his love-songs which have won the widest and most deserved popularity. (I am told that they have been translated into Japanese and that the Japanese sing them no’ sae bad!) The Songs of Humanity. “Burns loved his native land for a man who cannot love his own country cannot love humanity. His love of Scotland, which burned like a flame of fire, shone brightest in his songs. The songs of Burns are the songs of humanity—the most genuinely popular songs in the whole world. There is hardly an emotion in all the rich variety of human experience that does not instantly call up a line, or a melody of Bums—rollicking laughter, aching sorrow, manly pride, the love of a lad for a lass, —the call of children, home and kindred—loneliness, compassion, and, above all, true friendship e.g. honest laughter, holding both its sides—frolics through Duncan Gray (Ha! Ha! the wooing ot); pride and independence can hardly be thought of without some line from ‘A Man’s a Man for a’ that.’ “The gentle contentment of happy married life has, for tens of thousands, its supremest expression in ‘John, Anderson, my Jo? ‘There’s nocht sae queer as folk,’ and, to Bums, the queerness of folk was a continual source of amusement and delight. It takes an over-flowing heart to give the lips full speech, and the poetry of Bums came from his heart—not from mere booklearning. Here was what he said: ‘Gie me a spark o’ Nature’s fire! That’s a’ the learning I desire. Then tho’ I drudge through dub and mire And plough or cart, My Muse tho’ homely in attire May touch the heart.’

And it has touched the heart. The heart of humanity!—for all his poems and songs are founded on the solid rock of common-sense. It is not denied that in off-duty hours, Bums frequented the taverns of the town. In his day those taverns were the social clubs of the poor men. But Bums was not a drunkard. Never did he allow dissipation to interfere with his work, on the farm, or his duties in the Excise.

‘We’ll tak’ a cup of kindness yet For Auld Lang Syne.’

It was not the cup, but the kindness that Bums sought. Burns was no mere sentimentalist. He had a sense of rugged reality, clear as the sky, and solid as the good, brown earth. He pointed out that ‘Facts are chills wha’ winna ding.’ Through poem after poem, and epistle after epistle, runs this strong chord of sterling sense—strong and unyielding. To the ordinary man Bums stands for many things, but I have tried to show you that, most of all, he stands, for humanity. He understood full well the dreams and longings and aspirations of humble men and women—even as he appreciated the beautiful in Nature.”