Mary took his hand in hers, and with infinite tenderness murmured fondly, “An’ ye’ll find the banks an’ braes of bonnie Doon holding out their arms to welcome ye back to your native heath once more, laddie.”
“Let us hope he’ll shine to better advantage there,” sneered Sir William. A nervous little titter broke the tense silence.
Robert turned on him, goaded to sudden fury. “Ye bird o’ ill omen!” he panted hoarsely, “I have never injured ye; I have brought money into your empty pockets. But ye will repent bitterly for swearing away my life as ye have this day, for e’en though I leave Edinburgh in shame and disgrace, ’tis not for ay. Nay! I thank God my works will live after me, that my name will yet become immortal.” His words rang out wildly and with impassioned intensity.
Lady Glencairn laughed mockingly, and, turning to some of her friends standing near, she made some low-toned remark, evidently a sarcastic witticism at the expense of the speaker, which elicited a burst of hollow laughter from her listeners, who, while they wished to remain in the favor of the leader of Edinburgh society, stood in wholesome awe of the blunt speech, the scornful wit of the brilliant poet on trial before them.
“Ye vain boaster!” scoffed Sir William loudly, “you’ll be forgot within a week,” and he laughed derisively.
“Ye may scoff, ye may laugh,” retorted Robert hotly. “Ye may call me egoist if ye like, but I know what I have done for my country—I have attuned my wild artless notes to sing her praises, joys, and sorrows, and I know those songs will live forever in the heart of every true Scotsman.” Suddenly, like a ray of sunshine which dispels the morning mist, his dark haughty face took upon itself a noble, thoughtful, rapt expression—his wildly flashing eyes softened—his furrowed brow smoothed, and, fixing his luminous eyes upon the disdainful face of his hostess, he continued with melancholy pathos and prophetic solemnity, “Ah, my lady, ye have trampled my good name low in the dust to-day, but my prophetic spirit tells me the day is coming, even though ye an’ all my traducers here be dead, rotted and forgot, when one name will be remembered, cherished and proclaimed above all others of Scotland, aye, the world, and that name, my lords and ladies, will not be of any rich titled somebody! Nay, ’twill be that of the plowman-poet of Ayrshire, Robert Burns.”
CHAPTER XIX
The situation in which Robert now found himself was calculated to awaken reflection. The time had come, so he gloomily told his friend, Will Nichol, the morning after the garden party at Lord Glencairn’s, for him to abandon the gayety and dissipation of which he had been too much enamored; and all that day he pondered seriously, if gloomily, on the past, and formed virtuous resolutions respecting the future. He had weeks ago made up his mind to settle himself for life in the occupation of agriculture, and now that Edinburgh had tired of his peculiarities, and the novelty of his appearance had become an old story for them, there was nothing left for him to do but to start in on his new life as soon as possible. To further that end he called upon Sir William that day and demanded a settlement. When he left the office he found himself master of nearly £500. With the money in his pocket he again called on Will Nichols and requested him to assist him in the selection of a farm. With his advice and assistance he soon decided to lease the farm of Ellisland, on the banks of the River Nith, just above Dumfries. When he had in this manner arranged his plans for the future his generous heart, which was sore and bleeding from the many wounds it had recently received, wounds which seemed to the suffering man that would never heal in this life, turned in pity and remorse to the mother of his child—a thrill of yearning stirred him strangely as he thought of the little one—his son—a warm feeling of love welled up in his heart as he softly repeated the words; and listening to no consideration but those of honor and duty, and a strange feeling of growing affection, which made him pause in wonder, he sought out Jean at the Inn, having learned that she was still in town, contrary to Lady Glencairn’s assertion, which he had believed; and there, with his friends surrounding them, they were joined in a public declaration of marriage, thus legalizing their union and rendering it permanent for life.