It is interesting to note that while _The Brigs of Ayr_
is Burns's most successful attempt at the heroic couplet, and though
it contains verses that must have encouraged his ambition to be a
Scottish Pope, yet it is sprinkled with touches of natural observation
quite remote from the manner of that master. Compare, on the one hand,
such couplets as these:
Will your poor narrow foot-path of a street,
Where twa wheel-barrows tremble when they meet,--
and
And tho' wi' crazy eild I'm sair forfairn [old age, sorely worn-out]
I'll be a brig when ye're a shapeless cairn! [heap of stones]
and
Forms like some bedlam statuary's dream,
The craz'd creations of misguided whim;
and
As for your priesthood, I shall say but little,
Corbies and clergy are a shot right kittle; [Ravens, sort, ticklish]
couplets of which Pope need hardly have been ashamed, with such
touches of nature as these:
Except perhaps the robin's whistling glee,
Proud o' the height o some bit half-lang tree:
and
The silent moon shone high o'er tow'r and tree:
The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam,
Crept, gently crusting, owre the glittering stream.
These examples of his power of exact, vigorous, or delicate rendering
of familiar sights and sounds may be supplemented with a few from
other poems.
O sweet are Coila's haughs an' woods, [intervales]
When lintwhites chant amang the buds, [linnets]
And jinkin' hares, in amorous whids, [dodging, gambols]
Their loves enjoy,
While thro' the braes the cushat croods [coos]
Wi' wailfu' cry!
Ev'n winter bleak has charms to me
When winds rave thro' the naked tree;
Or frost on hills of Ochiltree
Are hoary gray;
Or blinding drifts wild-furious flee,
Dark'ning the day!
_Epistle to William Simpson.
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