Beattie's Minstrel.
The same deference, it is said, was paid him at home. Indeed, he was the pet of the family, and all vied to make Michael comfortable and happy, a homage to genius and worth infinitely more precious than the plaudits of the world.
While attending school, he formed some interesting friendships, particularly with William Arnot, a peculiarly amiable young man, who died in early life, and to whom Bruce makes a touching reference in "Lochleven." Through the son he became acquainted with the father, a wise and liberal man, who greatly assisted Michael in his studies, and gave him the free use of his library. It is to him the following description refers.
"How blest the man, who, in these peaceful plains,
Ploughs his paternal field; far from the noise,
The care and bustle of a busy world!
All in the sacred, sweet, sequestered vale
Of solitude, the secret primrose path
Of rural life he dwells; and with him dwells
Peace and content, twins of the sylvan shade,
And all the graces of the golden age.
Such is Agricola, the wise, the good;
By nature formed for the calm retreat,
The silent path of life. Learned, but not fraught
With self-importance, as the starched fool
Who challenges respect by solemn face,
By studied accent, and high-sounding phrase,
Enamored of the shade, but not morose,
Politeness, raised in courts by frigid rules
With him spontaneous grows. Not books alone,
But man his study, and the better part;
To tread the ways of virtue, and to act
The various scenes of life with God's applause.
Deep in the bottom of the flowery vale,
With blooming sallows, and the leafy twine
Of verdant alders fenced, his dwelling stands
Complete in rural elegance. The door
By which the poor or pilgrim never passed
Still open, speaks the master's bounteous heart.
Then, O how sweet! amid the fragrant shrubs,
At evening cool to sit; while, on their boughs
The nested songsters twitter o'er their young;
And the hoarse low of folded cattle breaks
The silence, wafted o'er the sleeping lakes,
Whose waters glow beneath the purple tinge
Of western cloud; while converse sweet deceives
The stealing foot of time!"
He found an opportunity of acquiring the Latin language and preparing for college, with a Mr. Dun, who, for the sake of his son, formed a class of boys, of which Michael was decidedly the best scholar, as all acknowledged.
But he was of a slender make, and gave early indications of pulmonary consumption. In his personal appearance he is said to have resembled Shelley; having yellowish curling hair, a long neck and narrow chest, skin white and shining, and his cheeks "tinged with red rather than ruddy." He was "early smitten with the love of song," and began occasionally to write verses. Possessed of a fine musical ear, he was impatient to get hold of all sorts of old ballads and songs; and while the other children of the village or school were amusing themselves with play, or spending their money on trash, he was poring with delighted eyes over "Chevy Chase," or "The Flowers of the Forest." When he had made himself familiar with the music and sentiments of these ballads, he would endeavor "to supply his lack of novelty with verses of his own." It is in this way, probably, that his fine ballad of "Sir James the Ross," and some of his pastorals originated.
After he had left school, and saw no way of pursuing his studies, a relative left him the sum of two hundred merks Scots, about sixty dollars, when it was resolved forthwith that Michael should repair to Edinburgh University. Mr. Arnot encouraged him in this enterprise, and promised some assistance, in the shape of provisions and so forth. Accordingly he set out for the metropolis, and entered college. But he was often subjected to severe privations. Some of his fellow students who suspected his poverty were willing to share their meals with him, but he could not bear the thought of being fed out of pity, and whenever he imagined the invitation to proceed from this feeling he uniformly declined it. He was high-spirited; and yet he was truly pious. Indeed, he had devoted himself to Heaven in his boyhood, and never swerved from the high principles of Christian integrity.
At college Bruce became acquainted with several young men who subsequently acquired distinction. Dr. Lawson and the Rev. John Logan were his fellow students and warmly attached friends. His relations with Logan subsequently became involved, much to the discredit of the latter, who is suspected of having dealt ungenerously with his friend's poems, which, after the death of Bruce, were committed to his care. He is charged particularly with purloining the "Ode to the Cuckoo," and publishing it as his own. Logan was a singular man—an orator of a high order, an accomplished scholar, and an elegant poet. Some of his poems, particularly his "Visit to the Country in Autumn," "The Braes of Yarrow," "The Lament of Nature," and other odes and hymns, are beautiful and finished productions. Some of his discourses, preached at Leith, though not profound, are eloquent and effective. But he was imperfectly imbued with the high principles which he endeavored to recommend to others, and he has greatly tarnished his fair fame by the use which he is supposed to have made of the labors of Bruce. It is probable, however, that the "Ode to the Cuckoo" was only drafted by Bruce, and subsequently polished into its present state of perfection by the classic pen of Logan.
The companion to whom, of all others, Bruce became the most attached at college, was Mr. William Dryburgh, from Dysart. Like Bruce, he was possessed of piety and genius, and like him, too, suffered from pulmonary disease, and died in early life. Both had a presentiment that they were destined to a premature grave. And this, with their bright hope of a blessed immortality, was the frequent subject of their conversations. Dryburgh died in his eighteenth year, and Bruce followed him in less than a year after. How keenly he felt this separation may be gathered from the following letter to a friend, written on receiving the intelligence of Dryburgh's death:—
"I have not many friends, but I love them well. Death has been among the few I have. Poor Dryburgh!—but he is happy. I expected to have been his companion through life, and that we should have stepped into the grave together; but Heaven has seen meet to dispose of him otherwise. What think you of this world? I think it very little worth. You and I have not a great deal to make us fond of it; and yet I would not exchange my condition with any unfeeling fool in the universe, if I were to have his dull hard heart into the bargain. Farewell, my rival in immortal hope! My companion, I trust, for eternity! Though far distant, I take thee to my heart; souls suffer no separation from the obstruction of matter, or distance of place. Oceans may roll between us, and climates interpose in vain—the whole material creation is no bar to the winged mind. Farewell! through boundless ages, fare thee well! May'st thou shine when the sun is darkened. May'st thou live and triumph when time expires! It is at least possible that we meet no more in this foreign land, in this gloomy apartment of the universe of God. But there is a better world in which we may meet to part no more. Adieu."