TO MARY IN HEAVEN. This touching poem was written in October, 1789, on the third anniversary of Highland Mary's death. Burns spent the day in the harvest field, apparently in excellent spirits: "but as the twilight deepened," (I am quoting the account of Mrs. Burns, from Lockhart's Life of the poet,) "he appeared to grow 'very sad about something,' and at length wandered out into the barn-yard, to which his wife, in her anxiety for his health, followed him, entreating him, in vain, to observe that frost had set in, and to return to his fireside. On being again and again requested to do so, he always promised compliance, but still remained where he was, striding up and down slowly, and contemplating the sky, which was singularly clear and starry. At last Mrs. Burns found him stretched on a heap of straw, with his eyes fixed on a beautiful planet, that shone like another moon,' and prevailed on him to come in. He immediately, on entering the house, called for his desk, and wrote, exactly as they now stand, with all the ease of one copying from memory, these sublime and pathetic verses." Thou ling'ring star, with less'ning ray, Again thou usher'st in the day My Mary from my soul was torn. O 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? That sacred hour can I forget? Can I forget the hallowed grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met, Those records dear of transports past; Thy image at our last embrace, Ah! little thought we 't was our last! Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore, O'erhung with wild woods, thickening green; The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, Twined am'rous round the raptured scene; The flowers sprang wanton to be prest, The birds sang love on every spray; Proclaim'd the speed of wingéd day. Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes, As streams their channels deeper wear. 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? SONG. This passionate song, which Scott said was worth a thousand romances, was addressed to Mrs. M'Lehose, when she was on the eve of a voyage to the West Indies. It was written in December, 1791. Ae fond kiss, and then we sever! Ae fareweel, and then forever! Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, Who shall say that Fortune grieves him, I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, Had we never loved sae kindly, We had ne'er been broken hearted. Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest! Peace, Enjoyment, Love and Pleasure! Ae fond kiss, and then we sever! Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, BONNIE LESLEY. 66 The young lady in whose praise this song was written, was Miss Leslie Baillie, (afterwards Mrs. Cumming, of Logie,) a neighbour of Burns' friend, Mrs. Dunlop. "Mr. B., with his two daughters," he wrote to that lady, on the 22d of August, 1792, accompanied by Mr. H. of G., passing through Dumfries a few days ago, on their way to England, did me the honour of calling on me; on which I took my horse-though, God knows, I could ill spare the time-and accompanied them fourteen or fifteen miles, and dined and spent the day with them. 'Twas about nine, I think, when I left them, and, riding home, I composed the following ballad, of which you will probably think you have a dear bargain, as it will cost you another groat of postage. You must know there is an old ballad beginning with 'My bonnie Lizzie Baillie, I'll rowe thee in my plaidie,' etc. So I parodied it as follows, which is literally the first copy, unanointed, unannealed,' as Hamlet says." O saw ye bonnie Lesley, As she gaed o'er the Border? She's gane, like Alexander, To spread her conquests farther. To see her is to love her, And love but her forever; For nature made her what she is, And never made anither! |