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• 1 media/Cuillin-mountains-scotland-backside.jpg media/thevisionpart1.mp3 2017-12-13T17:24:28+00:00 "The Vision" 19 gallery 2018-01-23T14:36:49+00:00
  
  
  
  
  From a 1787 edition of Poems:
  
  The Vision.
   
  DUAN FIRST.
   
  The fun had clos’d the winter-day,
  The Curlers quat their roaring play,
  An’ hunger’d Maukin taen her way
  To kail-yards green,
  While faithless snaws ilk step betray
  Whare she has been.
   
  The Thresher’s weary flingin-tree,
  The lee-lang day had tir’d me; 
  And when the Day had clos’d his e’e,
  Far i’ the West,
  Ben i’ the Spence, right pensivelie,
  I gaed to rest.
   
  There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek,
  I sat and ey’d the spewing reek,
  That fill’d, wi’ hoaft-provoking smeek,
  The auld, clay biggin;
  And hear the restless rattons squeak
  About the riggin.
   
  All in this mottie, misty clime,
  I backward mus’d on wasted time,
  How I had spent my youthfu’ prime,
  An’ done nae-thing,
  But stringin blethers up in rhyme
  For fools to sing.
   
  Had I to guid advice but harkit,
  I might, by this, hae led a market,
  Or strutted 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, would be rhyme-proof
  Till my last breath—
   
  When click! the string the snick did draw;
  And jee! the door gaed to the wa’;
  And by my ingle-lowe I saw,
  Now bleezin bright,
  A tight, outlandish Hizzie, braw,
  Come full in sight.
   
  Ye need na 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 stepped 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 stop those reckless vows,
  Would 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 eye, ev’n turn’d on empty space,
  Beam’d keen with Honour.
   
  Down flow’d her robe, a tartan sheen,
  Till half a leg was scrimply seen;
  And such a leg! my bonie Jean
  Could only peer it;
  Sae straught, sae taper, tight and clean,
  Nane else came near it.
   
  Her Mantle large, of 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 to the skies were tost;
  Here, tumbling billows mark’d the coast,
  With 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’ his woods,
  On to the shore;
  And many a lesser torrent seuds,
  With 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 ev’ry nobler virtue bred,
  And polish’d grace.
   
  By stately tow’r, or palace fair,
  Or ruins pendent in the air,
  Bold stems of Heroes, here and there,
  I could discern;
  Some seem’d to muse, some seem’d to dare,
  With feature stern.
   
  My heart did glowing transport feel,
  To see a Race heroic wheel,
  And brandish round the deep-dy’d steel
  In sturdy blows;
  While back-recoiling seem’d to reel
  Their Suthron foes.
   
  His COUNTRY’S SAVIOUR, mark him well!
  Bold Richardton’s heroic swell;
  The Chief on Sark who glorious fell,
  In high command;
  And He whom ruthless Fates expel
  His native land.
   
  There, where a sceptr’d Pictish 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.
   
  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.
   
  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 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 heavenly-seeming Fair;
  A 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 give thee such reward
  ‘As we bestow.
   
  ‘Know, the great Genius of this Land
  ‘Has many a light, aerial band,
  ‘Who, all beneath his high command,
  ‘Harmoniously,
  ‘As Arts or Arms they understand,
  ‘Their labors ply.
   
  ‘They Scotia’s Race among 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.
   
  ‘’Mong swelling floods of reeking gore,
  ‘They ardent, kindling spirits pour;
  ‘Or, mid the venal Senate’s roar,
  ‘They, sightless, stand,
  ‘To mend the honest Patriot-lore,
  ‘And grace the hand.
   
  ‘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 Beattie sung
  ‘His “Minstrel lays;”
  ‘Or tore, with noble ardour stung,
  ‘The Sceptic’s bays.
   
  ‘To lower Orders are assign’d
  ‘The humbler ranks of Human-kind,
  ‘The rustic Bard, the lab’ring Hind,
  ‘The Artisan;
  ‘All chuse, 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 o’er the hill.
   
  ‘Some hint the Lover’s harmless wile;
  ‘Some grace the Maiden’s artless smile;
  ‘Some soothe the Lab’rer’s weary toil,
  ‘For humble gains,
  ‘And make 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 am I—Coila my name;
  ‘And this district as mine I claim,
  ‘Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fame,
  ‘Held ruling pow’r:
  ‘I mark’d thy embryo-tuneful 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-mantl’d Earth,
  ‘Warm cherish’d ev’ry flow’ret’s birth,
  ‘And joy and music pouring forth,
  ‘In ev’ry 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 youthful 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 thee 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 thy manners-painting strains,
  ‘The loves, the ways of simple swains,
  ‘Till now, o’er all my wide domains,
  ‘Thy fame extends;
  ‘And some, the pride of Coila’s plains,
  ‘Become thy friends.
   
  ‘Thou canst not learn, nor I can 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’—she 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.
   
  Commentary
  
  Published in the 1787 version of Poems, “The Vision” incorporates elements of Scottish folklore and tradition, which emphasizes Burns’ interest in cultivating the vernacular culture in which he was raised.
       Alterations between the 1787 version and the 2009 version are sparse and seemingly negligible until entire stanzas are removed. Before stanza 15, the only differences take the form of a few vowel changes here and there — which could be attributed to mistakes or the lack of completely standardized English when original copies were printed — as well as some differences in placement of the italics and capitalization — which, again, could be contributed to mistakes or unstandardized English at time of printing. For example, in the fifth stanza, the 1787 version uses the spelling “half-sarkit” whereas the 2009 version uses “half-sarket.” Additionally, in the same stanza, the 1787 edition does not capitalize or italicize “cash-account,” but the 2009 version does. A more substantial but still inconsequential change can be seen in the eleventh stanza; in the 1787 version, Burns’ uses “my bonie Jean” instead of “my BESS” as the 2009 version uses.
       However, upon starting stanza 16, the reader notices an immense change: The seven stanzas following stanza 15 are missing from the 2009 edition. It jumps from “Low, in a sandy valley spread, / An ancient BOROUGH rear’d her head; / Still, as in Scottish Story read, / She boasts a Race, / To ev’ry nobler virtue bred, / And polish’d grace” to “DUAN SECOND.” The stanzas that have been removed discuss war and famous Scottish figures among other things.
       One other stanza that has been removed from the 1787 stanza goes as follows: “‘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.”
       No stanzas were added in the 2009 edition of the poem. 
       After reading both texts, the reader can see potential autobiographical elements in "The Vision" similar to what is written in the "Dedication." For example, the speaker in "The Vision" is someone who had been "stringin blethers up in rhyme / For fools to sing" — so, ostensibly, a poet or songwriter, just like Burns. Explicitly, too, the Muse refers to him as "my own inspired Bard" (stanza 24). Additionally, in the second to last stanza, the Muse tells the speaker, "‘To give my counsels all in one, / ‘Thy tuneful flame still careful fan," essentially advising him to reject the oath he had been swearing in the beginning of the poem before she interrupted him — "That [he], henceforth, would be rhyme-proof / Till [his] last breath" (stanza 6) — and continue writing.
       When considering the above autobiographical element in combination with the figure of the Muse, it fosters discussion concerning the distinction between what is factual in seemingly fictional writing and what is actually fictitious — and the significance it possesses in interpreting a poet's writing. 
  
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  The first 16 photos featured in the gallery above were scanned from a 1787 copy of Burns' Poems. The following seven photos were scanned from a 2009 compilation of Burns' pieces titled The Best Laid Schemes: Selected Poetry and Prose of Robert Burns, edited by Robert Crawford and Christopher MacLachlan.