ROBERT BURNS

Timaru Herald, Volume CXXXVII, Issue 19401, 27 January 1933, Page 3

ROBERT BURNS

ADDRESS BY MR A. M. PATERSON. Wednesday was Burns day, the 167th anniversity of the birth of Scotland’s national poet. At the celebration of the Ashburton Scottish Society, the address was given by Mr A. M. Paterson, of Timaru. Mr Paterson said that Scotland was proud of all her sons who had risen to greatness, and whose inventions, researches and scholarship had enriched life and added to human comfort and happiness, but the warmest place in her affections was reserved for the poet, Burns. Most of them knew Burxis as a poet and nothing more; but his contemporaries assured them that poetry was by no means his forte. Professor Robertson, for instance, said that whilst Burns’ poetry surprised him very much, his prose compositions surprised him still more, and that his conversation surprised him most of all. The Duchess of Gordon, who was the leading wit and conversationalist of London society, says:—“None outshone Burns in the charm and sorcery of fascinating conversation, in the spontaneous eloquence of social argument, or in the unstudied poignance of brilliant repartee.” All this showed that Burns was greater that they wot; nevertheless it was his poetry that raised lam to an abiding place among the immortals and endeared him to humanity. The secret which enabled Burns, the crofter’s son, to rise to one of the highest niches in the temple of fame, and take a place beside that miracle we call Shakespeare, lay in the fact that he was a universal lover. He loved all mankind, and had a good word even for Satan. He loved the beautiful, the grand, the great, the good, the heroic and the true, and disliked only the base and the false. He pitied the weak, sympathised with the poor, and sorrowed for all who were unsuccessfully struggling against pitiless adversity. He felt for the wounded hare hirpling past him in search for a quiet place to die in, and he soundly rated the idle barbarians who had nothing better to do than shoot down innocent creatures for amusement. A solitary mountain daisy, up-rooted by the plough, evoked from him a sermon on pity and common kinship, beginning: “Wee bonnie crimson-tippit flower, Thou’st met me in an evil hour, For, I maun crush amang the stoure, thy tender stem, To save thee noo is past my power, thou bonnie gem." The sunshine, the wild flowers, the fragrant woods, the winding rivers and wimplin’ burn readily stirred him to song. He was at home with Rab and Allan, who had come to pree the brew made from Willie’s peck o’ maut. He was the boon companion of men like Tam o’ Shanter; he was the leading spirit of all convivial gatherings, and he was the loved and admired of the Edinburgh literati. Being poor in worldly wealth, Burns felt himself no better than the humblest fh the land, but being rich in the treasures of the mind, he was conscious of being a king among men, though wearing hoddengrey and a Scotch bonnet, and living in a thatched "but an’ ben.” It was proverbial that greatness springs from lowly origins, and this was well exemplified in the case of Burns, who was born in a cottage whose roof collapsed at the moment of his birth. As a boy, Burns was a voracious reader, devouring every book that came his way. Early in life, he began work on his father’s farm, and soon became a noted ploughme n and expert with the scythe. His day began with the song of the lark, and ended with a psalm of thanksgiving, for Burns senior was a deeply religious man. But although the whole family toiled incessantly and hard, it was impossible for them to wring from their few acres of sour and hungry land enough to make ends meet comfortably. Apart from its poverty, Burns enjoyed the serenity, happiness, mutual help and friendliness of his early home life, and in after years, he pictured the conditions prevailing in it as a worthy human objective: “To mak’ a happy fireside clime, To weans and wife: That’s the pathos and sublime Of human life.” Burns honoured his parents, but grieved at their constant struggle with poverty. His spirit rebelled against the inequalitites of life, which condemned the ir ’.ny to virtual slavery in order that the few might enjoy unbroken idleness, comfort and luxury. Seeking an explanation of this obvious wrong, he wandered one evening along ;he winding banks of Ayr, and in spirit, he met a learned sage who told him ihat man’s inhumanity to man was the arch destroyer of human happiness. The sage went on: ‘The sun that over hangs yon moor. Outspreading far and wide, Where hundreds labour to support A haughty lordling’s pride: Ive seen that weary wintry sun, Twice forty times return, And every time has added proof, that Man was made to mourn.” Fsr a time Burns accepted this fatalist philosophy, but soon he awakened to tie fact that life had its compensations, that there is manna in every wilderness, and that the poor were really happier than the rich, and he wrote: “If happiness hath not her seat and centre in the breast. We may be wise and rich and great, but never truly blest. Nae treasures nor pleasures can mak’ us happy lang. The heartaye’s the part aye, that makes us richt or wrang.” Burns now became a w’orld reformer, inbued with a desire to have material ccnditions so modified that all might hive plenty, and all, rich as well as poor, might become really happy. But world reformers are never popular, and Bums was looked upon as a dangerous Iran because he would, if he could, b’ing peace and happiness into every home in the land. Most of the Scottsh nobility now frowned on him. but tlere was on exception in the person o: Miss Stewart, daughter of a small lindlord. who sympathised with Burns’ views, and admired his poetic genius, and Burns, with his characteristic gratitude, unconsciously immortalised Mils Stewart in one of his finest, and nov most popular songs: "Flow Gently Sweet Afton.” One of the greatest powers for good that was ever shed on Bums’ life, was that exerted by Mary Campbell, his one and only true love. Tb2 mellowing, religious influences of flis home life were nurtured and contimed by Highland Mary, to whom he be<ame betrothed. This new passion traisflgured him. and at this time he write some of his most exquisite love soigs. among them being “The Highlaid Lassie.” “Highland Mary.” “My Lo-e is Like a Red Red Rose," “Gae Bang to me a Pint o’ Wine." and the address, “To Mary in Heaven." When it is reflected that all these were writtei in reference to Highland Mary, they got some measure of the love he b<re her. But although he had planned will to make his Mary happy as his wfe, all his high hopes were dashed to the ground by Mary’s untimely death, aid he was plunged into a state of back despair. Recounting the happy tmes he had spent with his lost one. le wrote in the address to Mary in leaven: Still o’er those scenes my mem’ry ’A axes. And fondly broods with miser care:

Time but tbe impression stronger makes, As streams their channels deeper wear." And he closes with: My Mary, dear, departed shade, Where is thy place of blissful rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear’st thou the groans that rend his breast? After a time Burns transferred his affections to Jean Armour, one of the most attractive girls in the locality, and again he writes exquisitely, not only describing her charms and his own love for her, but in describing all the beauties of nature as well. Jean lived several miles away from him and to the west, so he made the westlar.l wind a connecting link between them and sings: “O’ a' the airts the win’ can blaw, I dearly lo’e the West, For there the bonnie lassie lives, The lassie I lo’e best. There wild woods grow and rivers flow. Wi’ mony a hill between. Baith day and night my fancy’s flight Is ever wi' my Jean.’’ Burns married Bonnie Jean against the wishes of her parents, consequently his married life became clouded and disrupted. The cause seems to have to have been that Burns w'as not considered good enough to be the husband of a small master builder’s daughter. Nevertheless, after a time of separation and estrangement, they lived happily to the end. It was during the time he w'as separated from his wife that Burns was lionised by the leaders of Edinburgh society. Although he W'as kindly treated and made much of, he was by no means happy in such an utterly artificial environment, and it w'as with a thankful heart that he encouraged Clarinda’s interest in him. Had it not been for this meeting with Clarinda, the world might have lost its sweetest and saddest parting song, "Ae Fond Kiss.” Parting from Clarinda for the last time, he wrote: "Had w’e never loved so kindly, Had we never loved so blindly. Never met or never parted. We had ne’er been broken-hearted. Ae fond kiss and then we sever, Ae farew'ell, alas, forever.’’ Returning from Edinburgh, a reconciliation with his wife took place and the old love was renewed. Through the influence of some of his admirers, he received appointment as an exciseman, a position w'hich entailed riding round the district two hundred miles weekly, wet or dry, summer and winter, and it was while carrying out the duties of this office that he contracted his last illness. Jessie Leuchars, sister of a fellow officer, nursed him to the end. So grateful W'as the poet for her ministrations that he poured out his heart in that beautiful song: "Oh Wert Thou in the Cauld Blast,” and in that song Jessie ] Leuchars will live for all time as the person privileged to close forever the eyes of the poet. ■on those earthly scenes he loved so well. "Burns’ universality makes his poems a treasure-house, in which all may find what, they want. Every wayfarer on the journey of life may pluck strength and courage from it as he passes. The sore, the weary, the w'ounded, will all find something to sooth and heal. For this great master is the universal Samaritan.” Burns’ judgment of his fellows is the judgment they pass on his frailties: "Then light, scan your fellow' man. Still gentler sister woman: For. if they gang a kennin’ wrang. To step aside is human. Then, at the balance, let’s be mute, Wc nevi ’ can adjust it. What’s done. w r e partly may compute. But know not what’s resistit.”