received part of its effect, perhaps, from one's knowledge of his extraordinary talents; his eye alone, I think, indicated the poetical character and temperament; it was large, and of a dark cast, which glowed, (I say, literally, glowed) when he spoke with feeling and interest ;"—" his address to females was extremely deferential, and always with a turn either to the pathetic or humorous, which engaged their attention particularly. I have heard the late Duchess of Gordon remark_this;”*---and Allan Cunningham, speaking also from recollection, says, " he had a very manly countenance, and a very dark complexion; his habitual expression was intensely melancholy, but at the presence of those he loved or esteemed, his whole face beamed with affection and genius;"+ "his voice was very musical; and he excelled in dancing, and all athletic sports which required strength and agility.” Is it surprising that powers of fascination, which carried a Duchess "off her feet," should conquer * Lockhart's Life of Burns, p. 153. + Life of Burns, p. 268. the heart of a country lass of low degree? Bonnie Jean was too soft-hearted, or her lover too irresistible; and though Burns stepped forward to repair their transgression by a written acknowledgment of marriage, which, in Scotland, is sufficient to constitute a legal union, still his circumstances, and his character as a 66 wild lad," were such, that nothing could appease her father's indignation; and poor Jean, when humbled and weakened by the consequences of her fault and her sense of shame, was prevailed on to destroy the document of her lover's fidelity to his vows, and to reject him. 66 Burns was nearly heart-broken by this dereliction, and between grief and rage was driven to the verge of insanity. His first thought was to fly the country; the only alternative which presented itself, was America or a jail;" and such were the circumstances under which he wrote his "Lament," which, though not composed in his native dialect, is poured forth with all that energy and pathos which only truth could impart. No idly feigned poetic pains, My sad, love-lorn lamentings claim; No fabled tortures, quaint and tame : The promised father's tender name-- These were the pledges of my love! &c. This was about 1786: two years afterwards, when the publication of his poems had given him name and fame, Burns revisited the scenes which his Jeanie had endeared to him: thus he sings exultingly, I'll aye ca' in by yon town, And by yon garden-green, again; I'll aye ca' in by yon town, And see my bonnie Jean again! They met in secret; a reconciliation took place; and the consequences were, that bonnie Jean, being again exposed to the indignation of her family, was literally turned out of her father's house. When the news reached Burns he was lying ill; he was lame from the consequences of an accident, the moment he could stir, he flew to her, went through the ceremony of marriage with her in presence of competent witnesses, and a few months afterwards he brought her to his new farm at Elliesland, and established her under his roof as his wife, and the honoured mother of his children. It was during this second-hand honeymoon, happier and more endeared than many have proved in their first gloss, that Burns wrote several of the sweetest effusions ever inspired by his Jean; even in the days of their early wooing, and when their intercourse had all the difficulty, all the romance, all the mystery, a poetical lover could desire. Thus practically controverting his own opinion," that conjugal love does not make such a figure in poesy as that other love," &c.--for instance, we have that most beautiful song, composed when he left his Jean at Ayr (in the west of Scotland,) and had gone to prepare for her at Elliesland, near Dumfries.* *Life of Burns, p. 247. Of a' the airts the win' can blaw, I dearly love the west, For there the bonnie lassie lives, the lass that I love best! There wild woods grow and rivers row, and mony a hill between; But day and night, my fancy's flight is ever wi' iny Jean! I see her in the dewy flowers, I see her sweet and fair— I hear her in the tuneful birds, wi' music charm the air. There's not a bonnie flower that springs by fountain, shaw, or green- There's not a bonnie bird that sings, but minds me o' my Jean. O blaw ye westlin winds, blaw soft among the leafy trees! Wi' gentle gale, fra' muir and dale, bring hame the laden bees! And bring the lassie back to me, that's aye sae sweet and clean, Ae blink o' her wad banish care, sae lovely is my Jean! What sighs and vows, amang the knowes, hae past between us twa! How fain to meet! how wae to part!—that day she gaed awa! The powers above can only ken, to whom the heart is seen, That none can be sae dear to me, as my sweet lovely Jean! Nothing can be more lovely than the luxuriant, though rural imagery, the tone of placid but deep tenderness, which pervades this sweet song; and to feel all its harmony, it is not necessary to sing it-it is music in itself. |