The Beauties of Burn's Poems/The Vision

by Robert Burns (1759-1796)

For other versions of this work, see The Vision.

THE VISION.

DUAN FIRST^[1]

The Sun had clos'd the winter-day,
The curlers quat their roaring play,
And hunger'd Maukin taen her way
To kail-yards green,
While faithless snaws ilk stap betray
Whar she has been.

The Thresher's weary flinging-tree
The lee-lang day had tired me;
And whan the day had clos'd his ee,
Far i' the west,
Ben i' the spence, right pensylie,
I gaed to rest.

There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek,
I sat, and e'ed the spewin reek,
That fill'd wi' hoast-provoking smeek
The auld clay-biggin;
And heard the restless rattons squeek
About the riggin.

A' in this motty, misty clime,
I backwards mus'd on wastet time,
How I had spent my youthfu' prime,
And done naething,
But stringing blethers up in rime,
For fools to sing.

Had I to gude advice but harkit,
I might by this hae led a market,
Or struttet in a bank, and clarkit.
My cash-account;
While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit,
Is a th' amount.

I started, mutt'ring, blockhead! coof!
And heav'd on high my waukit loof,
To swear by a' yon starry roof,
Or some rash aith,
That I, henceforth wad be rhyme-proof
To my last breath—

When click! the string the sneck did draw,
And jee the door gaed to the wa';
And by my ingle-lowe I saw,
Now bleezing bright,
A tight outlandish hizzie, braw,
Come full in sight.

Ye needna doubt I held my whisht;
The infant aith, half-form'd, was crusht;
I glowr'd as eerie's I'd been dusht
In some wild glen:
When sweet, like modest Worth, she blusht,
And stappet ben.

Green slender leaf-clad holly boughs,
Were twisted gracefu' round her brows;
I took her for some Scottish Muse,
By that same token;
And come to stap these reckless vows
Wad soon been broken.

A hair-brain'd sentimental trace
Was strongly marked in her face;
A wildly-witty, rustic grace,
Shone full upon her:
Her ee, ev'n turn'd on empty space,
Beam'd keen wi' honour.

Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen,
Till hauf a leg was scrimply seen;
And sic a leg! my bonny Jean
Could only peer it;
Sae straight, sae taper, tight, and clean,
Nane else can near it.

Her mantle large, o' greenish hue,
My gazing wonder chiefly drew;
Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw
A lustre grand!
And seem'd, to my astonish'd view,
A well-known land.

Here rivers in the sea were lost,
There mountains in the skies were tost;
Here tumbling billows mark'd the coast
Wi' surging foam;
There distant shone Art's lofty boast,
The lordly dome.

Here Doon pour'd down his far fetch'd floods;
There well-fed Irwine stately thuds!
Auld hermit Ayr staw thro' the woods,
On to the shore;
And mony a lesser torrent scuds,
Wi' seeming roar!

Low in a sandy valley spread,
An ancient Borough rear'd her head,
Still, as in Scottish story read,
She boasts a race
To every nobler virtue bred,
And polish'd grace.

By stately tow'r, or palace fair,
Or ruins pendant in the air,
Bold stems of heroes, here and there,
I cou'd discern;
Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dare
Wi' feature stern.

My heart did glowin transport feel,
To see a Race^[2] heroic wheel,
And brandish round the deep-dy'd stech
In sturdy blows,
While back recoiling seem'd to reel
Their southern foes.

His Country's Saviour^[3], mark him well:
Bold Richarton's^[4] heroic swell;
The chief on Sark^[5], who glorious fell,
In high command:
And He wham ruthless Fates expel
His native land.

There where a scepter'd Pictish^[6] shade
Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid,
I mark'd a martial race pourtray'd
In colours strong:
Bold, soldier-featur'd, undismay'd
They strode along.

^[7]Thro' many a wild, romantic grove,
Near many a hermit-fancy'd cove,
(Fit haunts for Friendship, or for Love,
In musing mood),
An aged Judge, I saw him rove,
Dispensing good.

^[8]With deep-struck reverential awe,
The learned Sire and Son I saw,
To Nature's God, and Nature's law
They gave their lore;
This, all its source and end to draw;
That, to adore.

Brydon's brave Ward^[9] I well could spy,
Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye,
Who call'd on Fame, low standing by,
To hand him on,
Where many a Patriot-name on high
And Hero shone.

DUAN SECOND.

With musing deep, astonish'd stare,
I view'd the heav'nly-seeming Fair!
And whisp'ring throb did witness bear
Of kindred sweet,
When with an elder sister's air
She did me greet.

All hail! my own inspired Bard;
In me thy native Muse regard;
Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard,
Thus poorly low!
I come to gie thee such reward
As we bestow.

Know, the great Genius of this Land
Has many a light, ærial band,
Who, all beneath his high command,
Harmoniously,
As Arts or Arms they understand,
Their labours ply,

They Scotia's Race amang them share;
Some fire the Soldier on to dare;
Some rouse the Patriot up to bare
Corruption's heart;
Some teach the Bard a darling care,
The tuneful art.

'Mongst swelling floods of reeking gore,
They ardent, kindling spirits pour;
Or 'mid the venal Senate's roar,
They slightless stand,
To mend the honest Patriot-lore,
And grace the land.

And when the Bard, or hoary sage,
Charm or instruct the future age,
They bind the wild poetic rage
In energy,
Or point the inconclusive page
Full on the eye.

Hence Fullarton, the brave and young;
Hence Dempster's zeal-inspired tongue;
Hence sweet, harmonious Beatie sung
His Minstrel-Lays,
Or tore, with noble ardour stung,
The Sceptic's bays.

The lower orders are assign'd
The humbler ranks of Human-kind,
The rustic Bard, the lab'ring Hind,
The Artisan;
All choose, as various they're inclin'd
The various man.

When yellow waves the heavy grain,
The threat'ning storm some strongly rein:
Some teach to meliorate the plain,
With tillage-skill;
And some instruct the Shepherd-train,
Blythe owre the hill.

Some hint the Lover's harmless wile;
Some grace the Maiden's artless smile:
Some soothe the Lab'rers weary toil
For humble gains,
And mak his cottage-scenes beguile
His cares and pains.

Some, bounded to a district space,
Explore at large Man's infant race,
To mark the embryotic trace
Of rustic Bard:
And careful note each op'ning grace,
A guide and guard.

Of these I am—Coila my name;
And these districts as mine I claim,
Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fame,
Held ruling pow'r;
I mark'd thy embryo tunefu' flame,
Thy natal hour.

With future hope I oft would gaze,
Fond, on thy little early ways,
Thy rudely-caroll'd chiming phrase,
In uncouth rhymes,
Fir'd at the simple, artless lays
Of other times.

I saw thee seek the sounding shore,
Delighted with the dashing roar!
Or when the North his fleecy store
Drove thro' the sky,
I saw grim Nature's visage hoar
Struck thy young eye,

Or when the deep green-mantled Earth
Warm cherish'd every flow'ret's birth,
And joy and music pouring forth
In every grove,
I saw thee eye the gen'ral mirth
With boundless love.

When ripen'd fields, and azure skies,
Call'd forth the Reaper's rustling noise,
I saw thee leave their ev'ning joys,
And lonely stalk,
To vent thy bosom's swelling rise
In pensive walk.

When youtfu' Love, warm-blushing strong,
Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along,
Those accents, grateful to thy tongue,
Th' adored name,
I taught thee how to pour in song,
To soothe thy flame.

I saw thy pulse's maddening play,
Wild send the pleasure's devious way,
Misled by Fancy's meteor ray,
By passion driven;
But yet the light that led astray,
Was light from Heaven.

I taught the manners-painting strains,
The Loves, the ways of simple swains,
Till now, owre all my wide domains,
Thy fame extends:
And some, the pride of Coila's plains,
Become thy friends.

Thou canst not learn, nor can I show,
To paint with Thomson's landscape glow;
Or wake the bosom-melting throe
With Shenstone's art;
Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow
Warm on the heart.

Yet all beneath th' unrivall'd Rose,
The lowly Daisy sweetly blows;
Tho' large the forest's Monarch throws
His army shade,
Yet green the juicy Hawthorn grows,
Adown the glade.

Then never murmur nor repine;
Strive in thy humble sphere to shine;
And trust me, not Potosi's mine,
Nor King's regard,
Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine,
A rustic Bard.

To give my counsels all in one,
Thy tuneful flame still careful fan:
Preserve the dignity of Man
With soul erect,
And trust the universal Plan
Will all protect.

And wear thou this, the solemn said,
And bound the holly round my head:
The polish'd leaves, and berries red,
Did rustling play
And, like a passing thought, she fled
In light away.

1. Duan, a term of Ossian's for the different divisions of a digressive Poem. See his Cath-Loda, Vol. 2. of M'Pherson's Translation.
2. The Wallaces.
3. William Wallace.
4. Adam Wallace of Richardton, cousin to the immortal Preserver of Scottish Independence.
5. Wallace, Laird of Craigie, who was second in command under Douglas, Earl of Ormond, at the famous battle on the banks of Sark, fought Anno 1448. That glorious victory was principally owing to the judicious conduct and intrepid valour of the gallant Laird of Craigie, who died of his wounds after the action.
6. Coilus, King of the Picts, from whom the district of Kyle is said to have taken its name, lies buried, as tradition says, near the family-seat of the Montgomeries, of Coilfield, where his burial-place is still shown.
7. Barskimming, the seat of the Lord-Justice-Clerk.
8. Catrine, the seat of the late Doctor, and also Professor Stewart.
9. Colonel Fullarton.