Letter from Robert Burns to Robert Graham, 5 October 1791
To Robert Graham Esq: of Fintry - Late crippled of an arm, & now a leg, About to beg a Pass for leave to beg; Dull, listless, teased, dejected & deprest (Nature is adverse to a cripple's rest) Will generous Graham list to his Poet's wail? (It soothes poor Misery, hearkening ^to her tale) And hear him curse the light he first surveyed, And doubly curse the luckless Rhyming trade! - Thou, Nature, partial Nature I arraign; Of thy caprice maternal I complain The lion & the bull thy care have found, One shakes the forest & one spurns the ground: Thouh givest the afs his hide, the snail his shell; Th' envenomed wasp, victorious, guards his cell. - Thy minions, kings, defend, control, devour, In all th' omnipotence of rule & power.-
But Oh, thou bitter stepmother & hard, To thy poor, fenceless, naked child - the Bard! A thing unteachable in worldly skill, And half an idiot too, more helpless still. - No heels to bear him from the opening dun; No claws to dig his hated sight to hun: No horns, but those by luckless Hymen worn; And those, Alas! not Amalthea's horn: No nerves olfactory, Mammon's trusty cur, Clad in fat Dullness' comfortable fur. - In naked Feeling, & in aching Pride He bears th' unbroken blast from very side: Vampyre Booksellers drain him to the heart, And Viper Critics cureless venom dart. - Critics - appalled I venture on the name! Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame. - Bloody dissecters, worse than then Monroes; He hacks, to teach; they mangle, to expose. - His heart by wanton, causeless malice wrung; By blockheads daring into madness stung: His well-won bays, than life itself more dear, By miscreants torn who ne'er one shrig must wear; Foiled, bleeding, tortured, in th' unequal strife, The hapless Poet flounces on thro' life. - Till
Till fled each Muse hope that once his bosom fired, And fled each Muse that glorious once inspired: Low sunk in squalid, unprotected age, Dead, even resentment for his injured page, He heeds, or feels no more the rutheless Critic's rage! So, by some hedge, the generous steed deceased, For half-starved, snarling curs a dainty feast, By toil & famine wore to skin & bone, Lies, senseless of each tugging bitch's son - O Dulness! Portion of the truly blest ! Calm, sheltered haven of eternal rest! Thy sons ne'er madden in the fierce extremes Of fortune's polar frost, or torrid beans - If, mantling high, she fills the golden cup, With sober, selfish ease they sip it up; Conscious their high desert the bounteous meed they well deserve, They only wonder "Some folks" do not starve. - The grave, sage hern thus, easy, picks his frog, And things the mallard a sad, worthless dog. - When disappointment snaps the clue of hope, And thro' disastrous night they darkling grope; With deaf endurance sluggishly they bear, And just conclude that, "Fools are fortune's care" - So
So, heavy, passive to the tempest's shocks, Strong one the sign-post stands the stupid ox. - Not so the idle Muses' madcap train, Nor such the workings of their moon-struck brain; In equanimity they never dwell, By turns in soaring Heaven or vaulted hell. - I dread thee, Fate, relentless & severe! With all a Poet's, Husband's, Father's fear! Already one strong hold of hope is lost, Glencairn, the truly noble, lies in dust: O, hear my ardent, grateful, selfish prayer Fintry, my other stay; long bless & spare, Thro' a long life his hopes & wishes crown! And bright in cloudless skies his sun go down! May bliss Domestic smooth his private path, Give energy to life, & sooth his latest breath With many a filial tear, circling the bead of death! Robt Burns
![](https://ciim-data.nts.org.uk/media/iiif/3/pf%2F2%2F1%2F40%2F818%2FNTSBRNp06107.ptif/full/!640,640/0/default.jpg)
Key details
- Archive number
- NTS/02/25/BRN/01/64
- Alt. number
- 3.6095
- Date
- 5 October 1791
- On display
- No
- Creator
- Burns, Robert (Author)
- Recipient
- Graham, Robert
- Archive number
- NTS/02/25/BRN/01/64
- Alt. number
- 3.6095
- Date
- 5 October 1791
- On display
- No
- Creator
- Burns, Robert (Author)
- Recipient
- Graham, Robert
Description
Letter from Robert Burns to Robert Graham, dated, Ellisland, 5th October 1791.
Burns wrote this letter in verse to Robert Graham on 5 October 1791. The text is principally the poem. 86 lines.
Robert Burns was suffering from an injured leg and low spirits. He bemoans his lot to Graham, his main Patron now the Earl of Glencairn has died. With his marvellous mind for detail, Burns characterises his woes. He wishes he was dull and uninspired so he could then have a contented life.
In this first page Burns tell Graham of his recent injuries and asks him to soothe him by listening to his hard-luck story. While Nature looks after creatures in the wild, Burns complains that she does not look after him, a mere poet.
In this second page Burns again berates Nature for leaving him defenceless against his fate, with nowhere to hide. He wishes he was snug in dullness. He castigates his publisher Creech and he is appalled by the malice of critics.
In thie third page, Burns gives up and wishes for the peace of the grave. Again he longs for dullness and selfish ease, without a care in or for the world around him.
In this last page Burns turns to his own fervent cares, accepting the mad-cap turmoil of being a poet and worrying about his family responsibilities. He wishes Graham, his remaining Patron, a long and bright life.
Burns met Robert Graham at Athole House, Blair Atholl in 1787. They became friends and later, once Graham had become a Commissioner of the Scottish Board of Excise, Burns sought Graham's good offices to get himself a position with the Excise in Dumfries.
In this first page Burns tell Graham of his recent injuries and asks him to soothe him by listening to his hard-luck story. While Nature looks after creatures in the wild, Burns complains that she does not look after him, a mere poet.
In this second page Burns again berates Nature for leaving him defenceless against his fate, with nowhere to hide. He wishes he was snug in dullness. He castigates his publisher Creech and he is appalled by the malice of critics.
In thie third page, Burns gives up and wishes for the peace of the grave. Again he longs for dullness and selfish ease, without a care in or for the world around him.
In this last page Burns turns to his own fervent cares, accepting the mad-cap turmoil of being a poet and worrying about his family responsibilities. He wishes Graham, his remaining Patron, a long and bright life.
Burns met Robert Graham at Athole House, Blair Atholl in 1787. They became friends and later, once Graham had become a Commissioner of the Scottish Board of Excise, Burns sought Graham's good offices to get himself a position with the Excise in Dumfries.
Archive information
Place of creation
Themes
Hierarchy
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Letters from and to Robert Burns
(
a sub-fonds is a subdivision in the archival material)
- Letter from Robert Burns to Robert Graham, 5 October 1791