A Night Out with Burns Read Online Free PDF Page B

airiness and Robert Wilson packs it with regret. Peter McCutcheon sings it as if through a fog of self-involvement and Carly Simon as if she were California dreaming. Davy Steele brings it home, investing the words with a simple belief and a show of love. But though Burns had many lasses, for me there can only be one – Mrs McGrath, a traditional Scottish singer, whose unaccompanied version is a wonderful feat of intimacy. She sings as if she intended the song for oneself alone.

    A Red Red Rose
    O my Luve’s like a red, red rose,
    That’s newly sprung in June;
    O my Luve’s like the melodie
    That’s sweetly play’d in tune.—

    As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
    So deep in luve am I;
    And I will love thee still, my Dear,
    Till a’ the seas gang dry.—

    Till a’ the seas gang dry, my Dear,
    And the rocks melt wi’ the sun:
    I will love thee still, my Dear,
    While the sands o’ life shall run.—

    And fare thee weel, my only Luve!
    And fare thee weel, a while!
    And I will come again, my Luve,
    Tho’ it were ten thousand mile!

    A s Burns lay dying at his house, the Mill Vennel at Dumfries, a girl who lived across the road would come each day to comfort him and assist his wife. Her name was Jessy Lewars and she played the harpsichord, causing Burns to ponder her sweetness and imagine himself in love with her.

    Oh Wert Thou in the Cauld Blast
    Oh wert thou in the cauld blast,
    On yonder lea, on yonder lea;
    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’.

    Or were I in the wildest waste,
    Sae black and bare, sae black and bare,
    The desart were a paradise,
    If thou wert there, if thou wert there.
    Or were I monarch o’ the globe,
    Wi’ thee to reign, wi’ thee to reign;
    The brightest jewel in my crown,
    Wad be my queen, wad be my queen.

    T he summer is gone and the lasses with it, but Burns was minded to dwell on the beauty and promise of the young. He is to me the poet of human growth. And here we have it: the pride felt by Mary Ann at the sight of her laddie is also a mark of trust in the power of regeneration. Leaves may fall, but only to compost the wide earth, and better days lie ahead. At Eglinton Park in Kilwinning I once found these words written on a sheet of paper and stuffed between a crack in the rocks.

    Lady Mary Ann
    O Lady Mary Ann looks o’er the castle-wa’,
    She saw three bonie boys playing at the ba’,
    The youngest he was the flower amang them a’,
    My bonie laddie’s young but he’s growin yet.—

    O Father, O Father, an ye think it fit,
    We’ll send him a year to the College yet,
    We’ll sew a green ribban round about his hat,
    And that will let them ken he’s to marry yet.—

    Lady Mary Ann was a flower in the dew,
    Sweet was its smell and bonie was its hue,
    And the langer it blossom’d, the sweeter it grew,
    For the lily in the bud will be bonier yet.—

    Young Charlie Cochran was the sprout of an aik,
    Bonie, and bloomin and straught was its make,
    The sun took delight to shine for its sake,
    And it will be the brag o’ the forest yet.—

    The Simmer is gane when the leaves they were green,
    And the days are awa that we hae seen,
    But far better days I trust will come again,
    For my bonie laddie’s young but he’s growin yet.—

    B urns had thirteen children and was able to cast the best of what he felt for their mothers – those lively sweetheart lasses – as beneficent light on the little ones, in every case honouring the joy of their conception. With the servant-girl Betsy Paton he had his first daughter, Betty, whom he welcomes into her role as the apple of her father’s eye.

    A Poet’s Welcome to His Love-Begotten Daughter; the First Instance that Entitled Him to