Joanna 13aillie

(1762-1851)

Walter Scott called Joanna Baillie "the best dramatic writer" in Britain "since the days of Shakespeare and Massinger." 1 Between r8oo and r826 all of the leading theaters in England, Ireland, Scotland, and the United States produced plays by Baillie, sometimes with great success, with the most widely acclaimed actors playing the leads-among them Edmund Kean, Sarah Siddons, William Charles Macready, Helen Faucit, Ellen Terry, and John Philip Kemble. Her songs in Scots dialect, such as "Woo'd and Mar­ ried and A,'" "The Maid of Llanwellyn," "Saw Ye Johnny Comin?" and "The Gowan Glitters on the Sward," continue to be sung to this day. Baillie was born in Bothwell, Lanarkshire, Scotland, on rr September 1762, the child of Dorothea Hunter and the Reverend James Baillie; her twin sis­ ter died within hours of birth. Joanna was a year younger than her brother, Matthew, and two years younger than her sister Agnes, who was her mentor and companion throughout her life. In 1769 her father was appointed minis­ ter of the collegiate church at Hamilton, a town of six thousand, to which the family then moved. Baillie's father was an unpleasant man who discouraged the expression of emotion, and his daughter grew up starved for affection. He also proved a neglectful teacher, imparting to Joanna a firm knowledge of ethics and the Bible but little instruction in reading and writing. In fact, she was unable to read well until she was ten years old, when she was sent to a boarding school in Glasgow; there she became a prankster and a leader. She studied history, writing, geography, drawing, music, and mathematics. She often acted out dramatic scenes of her own invention alone on the roof of the house; her classmates helped perform some of these early dramas, while Joanna designed costumes and served as stage manager. These happy boarding school days came to an end, however, in 1778, when

I. Scott to Miss Smith, 4 March r8o8, Familiar Letters ef Sir Walter Scott, vol. r (Boston, r894), 99.

21 22 Joanna Baillie her father died, leaving his family unprovided for. Her mother's brother, William Hunter, a famous London physician, took over support of the family and became the girls' surrogate father. They moved to his estate in Scot­ land, where Joanna took long walks in the countryside, reading the works of Shakespeare and other writers. When William Hunter died in 1783, Joanna and her mother and sister moved to London to keep house for her brother. In 1790 Joanna Baillie published, with Joseph Johnson, Poems; Wherein it is Attempted to Describe Certain Views ef Nature and ef Rustic Manners. The book was barely noticed in the reviews. During this time, Baillie probably met a number of writers and artists in the Joseph Johnson circle. When Matthew married Sophia Denman in 1791, Dorothea Baillie and her daughters moved to Hampstead, where they were to spend the rest of their lives. Hampstead proved a particularly congenial environment for the young poet and budding playwright. In 1798 she published anonymously A Series ef Plays: in Which It is Attempted to Delineate the Stronger Passions ef the Mind. Each Passion being the Subject ef a Tragedy and a Comedy, preceded by an elo­ quent, revolutionary, and immensely influential "Introductory Discourse," from which Wordsworth silently borrowed two years later in his preface to the second edition of his Lyrical Ballads. Her aim, as stated in the "Introduc­ tory Discourse," was a "series of tragedies, of simpler construction, less em­ bellished with poetical decorations, less constrained by that lofty seriousness which has so generally been considered as necessary for the support of tragick dignity, and in which the chief object should be to delineate the progress of the higher passions in the human breast." She strove, she said, to excite the sympathetic imagination and to foster identification with her characters, for "in examining others we know ourselves." Thus, she preferred to portray the ordinary life of ordinary characters speaking more natural language, for, as she observed, "let one simple trait of the human heart, one expression of passion genuine and true to nature, be introduced [into a work full of poetic diction] and it will stand forth alone in the boldness of reality, whilst the false and unnatural around it, fade away upon every side, like the rising exhala­ tions of the morning." Basil and De Monfort, two of the three plays contained in this volume, were among the masterpieces of Baillie's dramatic career. The book created a sensation and was widely and enthusiastically re­ viewed. Mary Berry stayed up all night reading it and wrote in her diary, "The first question upon everybody's lips is, 'Have you read the series of plays?' Everybody talks in the raptures (I always thought they deserved) of the trage­ dies and of the introduction as of a new and admirable piece of criticism." 2

2. Mary Berry, Extracts ef the Journals and Correspondence ef Miss Berry From the Year 1783 to i852, ed. Lady Theresa Lewis, 3 vols. (London, 1865), 2:88. Joanna Baillie

Baillie guarded the secret of her authorship carefully, sitting demurely silent, for example, while Anna Letitia Barbauld's circle of literary friends discussed the book. Some suspected Walter Scott. Others argued for Ann Radcliffe or Anne Hunter. Hester Lynch Piozzi insisted that the author must be a woman "because both the heroines are Dames Passees, and a man has no notion of mentioning a female after she is five and twenty." 3 Mary Berry noted that "no man could or would draw such noble, such dignified representations of the female mind as the Countess Albini and Jane de Mountfort [sic]. They often make us clever, captivating, heroic, but never rationally superior." 4 The third edition, published in 1800, removed all doubt, bearing the author's name boldly on the title page. In 1836 the Quarterly Review recalled "the curi­ osity excited in the literary circle ... the incredulity, with which the first rumour that these vigorous and original compositions came from a female hand, was received; and the astonishment, when, after all the ladies who then enjoyed any literary celebrity had been tried and found totally wanting in the splendid faculties developed in those dramas, they were acknowledged by a gentle, quiet and retiring young woman, whose most intimate friends, we believe, had never suspected her extraordinary powers." 5 Another com­ mentator described Baillie as "a small, prim, and Quaker-like looking person, in plain attire, with gentle, unobtrusive manners, and devoid of affectation; rather silent, and more inclined to listen than to talk. There was no tinge of the blue-stocking in her style of conversation, no assumption of conscious importance in her demeanor, and less of literary display than in any author or authoress I had ever been in company with. It was difficult to persuade your­ self that the little, insignificant, and rather commonplace-looking individual before you, could have conceived and embodied with such potent energy, the deadly hatred of De Monfort, or the fiery love of Basil." 6 When De Monfort opened at Drury Lane on 29 April 1800, Sarah Siddons and John Philip Kemble played the leads. A critic for the Dublin University Magazine noted some years later that "the critics announced the approach of a new era in dramatic literature, and the talents of great actors, then in the zenith, left no doubt that the conceptions of the author would be fully realized. The excitement was great, and the disappointment commensurate. The audience yawned in spite of themselves, in spite of the exquisite poetry, the vigorous passion, and the transcendent acting." 7 The performance was,

3. Hester Lynch Thrale Piozzi, The Intimate Letters of Hester Piozzi and Penelope Pennington, 1788-1821, ed. 0. G. Knapp, 3 vols. (London, r914), 2:r73. 4. Berry, Extracts of the journals and Correspondence, 2:90. 5. Quarterly Review 55 (February r836): 487-513. 6. Dublin University Magazine 37 (April r85r): 529. 7. Ibid., 530. Joanna Baillie

nevertheless, repeated eight times. And the demand for the printed plays continued strong. A revised fourth edition came out in 1802, with a fifth following in 1806. Baillie earned three hundred pounds for a second volume, which appeared in 1802, containing three more plays, including Ethwald and The Election. Although she was in demand in the world of letters, she spent much of the day caring for her mother, now aged and blind. In 1804 she brought out a volume entitled Miscellaneous Plays, which went into a second edition the following year. In 1808, the year her mother died, she cemented what would become a long and intimate friendship with Walter Scott. She and her sister Agnes were his guests in Edinburgh during March and April of that year. Shortly thereafter, Scott arranged for Baillie's new play, The Family Legend, to be produced in Edinburgh, penning the prologue himself. The novelist Henry Mackenzie wrote the epilogue.8 Baillie was Scott's guest at Abbotsford in 1817; he describes her then as carrying "her literary reputation as freely and easily as the milk-maid in my country does the leg/en, which she carries on her head, and walks as gracefully with it as a duchess." 9 Admirers of Baillie's works included Maria Edgeworth, Sarah Siddons, William Words­ worth, Anna Jameson, William Ellery Channing, Annabella Milbanke (Lady Byron), Ann Grant of Laggan, Felicia Hemans, Lucy Aikin, Anna Letitia Barbauld, Harriet Martineau, George Ticknor, and Lord Byron, who wrote: "Nothing could do me more honour than the acquaintance of that Lady­ who does not possess a more enthusiastic admirer than myself-she is our only dramatist since Otway & Southerne-I don't except Home." 10 However, Francis Jeffrey, editor of the Edinburgh Review, took issue with the prevailing opinion of Baillie's Plays on the Passions and attacked them in a lead article in July 1803. Even so, he concluded the review by observing that her talents "are superior to those of any of her contemporaries among the English writers of tragedy"; in an l8II article, he classed her with those he considered the greatest poets of the period-Wordsworth, Southey, and Coleridge.11 Longmans is said to have paid Baillie one thousand pounds for her Met-

8. John Gibson Lockhart, Memoirs of the Life ef Sir Walter Scott, 5 vols. (Boston, 1901), 2 :152. 9. Ibid., 4:3. IO. Lord Byron to Annabella Milbanke, 6 September 1813, "Alas! the Love ef Women!" vol. 3 of Byron's Letters and journals, ed. Leslie A. Marchand (Cambridge, Mass., 1974), 109. Later, Byron said in a letter to John Murray, "When Voltaire was asked why no woman has ever written a tolerable tragedy? 'Ah (said the Patriarch) the composition of a tragedy requires testicles.' - If this be true Lord knows what Joanna Baillie does-I suppose she borrows them" (2 April 1817, "So Late into the Night," vol. 5 of Byron's Lettw and journals, ed. Leslie A. Marchand [London, 1976], 203). rr. Edinburgh Review 2 (July 1803): 272, 19 (February 1812): 283. Joanna Baillie 25 rical Legends of Exalted Characters (1821), half of which she gave to charity, as was her habit. Her most ambitious act of literary philanthropy was A Col­ lection of Poems, Chiefly Manuscript, and from Living Authors, an edited work to benefit a financially troubled friend that appeared in 1823.12 The subscription list reads like a roster of the British literary world, and the volume includes selections from Hemans, Wordsworth, Barbauld, Scott, Campbell, Crabbe, Lady Dacre, Charles Brinsley Sheridan, Anne Grant of Laggan, Elizabeth Benger, Catherine Fanshawe (anonymously), Margaret Holford, Sir George Beaumont, Robert Southey, Anna Maria Porter, Samuel Rogers, and Baillie herself, who contributed "Address to a Steam-Vessel," printed below. In 1826 Baillie published two new plays, The Bride and The Martyr. Though it has often been said that Baillie's work came to be forgotten in the 1830s, her reputation was, in fact, growing in the United States during that period, perhaps in part spurred on by Edmund Kean's Philadelphia and New York productions of De Monfort in the early and mid-182os. Carey and Lea of Philadelphia brought out The Complete Works ofJoanna Baillie in 1832. In 1836 Longmans published a volume of twelve new plays by Baillie, most written many years earlier. The reviewer for Fraser's Magazine wrote,

Had we heard that a MS. play of Shakespeare's, or an early, but missing, novel of Scott's, had been discovered, and was already in the press, the information could not have been more welcome .... It awakened that long dormant eager­ ness of curiosity with which we used to look forward to the publication of her volumes, in those remote days when Wordsworth was yet unknown, and the first faint beams of the genius of Walter Scott had only shewn themselves in a few and scattered miscellaneous poems .... The new work has surpassed all that we had expected, or could have ventured to hope for .... To meet with anything in dramatic literature equal to [many of these] we must pass over all that has been written, except by Joanna Baillie herself, during the space of the last two hundred years, and revert to the golden days of Elizabeth and James I.13 In 1840 Baillie published a volume of Fugitive Verses from earlier years. Though she asked Mary Berry in 1844, "On what spot of the earth lives that bookseller who would now publish at his own risk any part of my works?" 14 she lived to see Longmans bring out a collected edition of her Dramatic and Poetical Works. She died shortly afterwards, on 23 February 1851, at the age of

12. The friend was Mrs. Stirling, a widowed former schoolmate of Baillie's, who was having difficulty supporting her daughters. See "Unpublished Letters ofJoanna Baillie to a Dumfries­ shire Laird," ed. Mrs. E. Shirley, Dumfriesshire and Galloway Natural History and Antiquarian Society: Transactions and journal ef Proceedings 18 (1934): ro-27. lJ. Fraser's Magazine 13 (February 1836): 236. 14. Berry, Extracts of the journal and Correspondence, 3 :489. 26 Joanna Baillie eighty-eight, having retired the day before in her usual state of good health. She was buried in the parish churchyard at Hampstead in the same grave as her sister Agnes, beside her close friend Lucy Aikin. In that same year the poet and critic D. M. Moir reminded his readers that the "new code of poetry" brought out by Wordsworth and Coleridge in the Lyrical Ballads did not dif­ fer widely from the theories of Joanna Baillie, and for that reason, "it must be admitted, from published proof, that [Baillie] thus forstalled-or at least divided-the claim to originality indoctrinated in the theory and practice ofWordsworth." 15 Despite such harkenings back to the historical record, the Wordsworth myth was even then fast overwhelming the memory ofJoanna Baillie's genuinely revolutionary contribution to English letters.

MAJOR WORKS: Poems; Wherein it is Attempted to Describe Certain Views of Nature and of Rustic Manners (London, 1790); A Series of Plays: in Which It is Attempted to Delineate the Stronger Passions of the Mind. Each Passion being the Subject of a Tragedy and a Comedy, 3 vols. (London, 1798-1812); Miscellaneous Plays (London, 1804); The Family Legend: A Tragedy (Edinburgh and London, 1810); Metrical Legends of Exalted Characters (London, 1821); Dramas, 3 vols. (London, 1836); Fugitive Verses (London, 1840); Ahalya Baee: A Poem (London, 1849); The Dramatic and Poetical Works ofJoanna Baillie, complete in one volume (London, 1851).

TEXTS USED: "Wind" and "Thunder" first appeared in Poems; Wherein it is Attempted ·to Describe Certain Views of Nature and of Rustic Manners. The text of "Wind" is taken from this book, and "Thunder" is taken from Fugitive Verses. "The Kitten" appeared in The Edinburgh Annual Register for 1808; my copy text is from Fugitive Verses. The text of "Up! Quit Thy Bower!" is taken from "The Beacon" in vol. 3 of A Series of Plays. Baillie's version of "Woo'd and Married and N." was first published in George Thomson's Original Scottish Airs for the Voice (London, 1822); my copy text is from Fugitive Verses. The text of "Address to a Steam-Vessel" is from A Collection of Poems, Chiefly Manuscript, and from Living Authors, ed. Joanna Baillie (London, 1823). "Song" first appeared in The Bride, A Drama (London, 1826); my copy text is from Dramas. "The Sun Is Down" appeared in "The Phantom: A Musical Drama," in Dramas, from which the copy text is taken. The texts of "Lines to a Teapot" and "The Maid of Llanwellyn" both come from Fugitive Verses.

15. Sketches of the Poetical Literature of the Past Half-Century (Edinburgh and London, 1851), 256. Joanna Baillie 27

Wind

Pow'r uncontrollable, who hold'st thy sway In the unbounded air, whose trackless way Is in the firmament, unknown of sight, Who bend'st the sheeted heavens in thy might, And lift'st the ocean from its lowest bed To join in middle space the conflict dread; Who o'er the peopled earth in ruin scours, And buffets the firm rock that proudly low'rs, Thy signs are in the heav'ns. The upper clouds Draw shapeless o'er the sky their misty shrowds; IO Whilst darker fragments rove in lower bands, And mournful purple cloaths the distant lands. In gather'd tribes, upon the hanging peak The sea-fowl scream, ill-omen'd creatures shriek: Unwonted sounds groan on the distant wave, And murmurs deep break from the downward cave. Unlook'd-for gusts the quiet forests shake, And speak thy coming-awful Pow'r, awake!

Like burst of mighty waters wakes the blast, In wide and boundless sweep: thro' regions vast 20 The floods of air in loosen'd fury drive, And meeting currents strong, and fiercely strive. First wildly raving on the mountain's brow 'Tis heard afar, till o'er the plains below With even rushing force it bears along, And gradual swelling, louder, full, and strong, Breaks wide in scatter'd bellowing thro' the air. Now is it hush'd to calm, now rous'd to war, Whilst in the pauses of the nearer blast, The farther gusts howl from the distant waste. 30 Now rushing furious by with loosen'd sweep, Now rolling grandly on, solemn and deep, Its bursting strength the full embodied sound In wide and shallow brawlings scatters round; Then wild in eddies shrill, with rage distraught, And force exhausted, whistles into naught. 28 Joanna Baillie

With growing might, arising in its room, From far, like waves of ocean onward come Succeeding gusts, and spend their wasteful ire, 40 Then slow, in grumbled mutterings retire: And solemn stillness overawes the land, Save where the tempest growls along the distant strand. But great in doubled strength, afar and wide, Returning battle wakes on ev'ry side; And rolling on with full and threat'ning sound, In wildly mingled fury closes round. With bellowings loud, and hollow deep'ning swell, Reiterated hiss, and whistlings shrill, Fierce wars the varied storm, with fury tore, 50 Till all is overwhelm'd in one tremendous roar.

The vexed forest, tossing wide, Uprooted strews its fairest pride; The lofty pine in twain is broke, And crushing falls the knotted oak. The huge rock trembles in its might; The proud tow'r tumbles from its height; Uncover'd stands the social home; High rocks aloft the city dome; Whilst bursting bar, and flapping gate, 60 And crashing roof, and clatt'ring grate, And hurling wall, and falling spire, Mingle in jarring din and ruin dire. Wild ruin scours the works of men; Their motly fragments strew the plain. E'en in the desert's pathless waste, Uncouth destruction marks the blast: And hollow caves whose secret pride, Grotesque and grand, was never ey'd By mortal man, abide its drift, 70 Of many a goodly pillar reft. Fierce whirling mounts the desert sand, And threats aloft the peopl'd land. The great expanded ocean, heaving wide, Rolls to the farthest bound its lashing tide; Whilst in the middle deep afar are seen, Joanna Baillie 29

All stately from the sunken gulfs between, The tow'ring waves, which bend with hoary brow, Then dash impetuous to the deep below. With broader sweepy base, in gather'd might Majestic, swelling to stupendous height, 80 The mountain billow lifts its awful head, And, curving, breaks aloft with roarings dread. Sublimer still the mighty waters rise, And mingle in the strife of nether skies. All wildness and uproar, above, beneath, A world immense of danger, dread, and death.

In dumb despair the sailor stands, The frantic merchant wrings his hands, Advent'rous hope clings to the yard, And sinking wretches shriek unheard: 90 Whilst on the land, the matron ill at rest, Thinks of the distant main, and heaves her heavy breast. The peasants leave their ruin'd home, And o'er the fields distracted roam: Insensible the 'numbed infant sleeps, And helpless bending age, weak and unshelter'd weeps. Low shrinking fear, in place of state, Skulks in the dwellings of the great. The rich man marks with careful eye, Each wasteful gust that whistles by; roo And ill men scar'd with fancied screams Sit list'ning to the creaking beams. At break of ev'ry rising squall On storm-beat' roof, or ancient wall, Full many a glance of fearful eye Is upward cast, till from on high, From cracking joist, and gaping rent, And falling fragments warning sent, Loud wakes around the wild affray, 'Tis all confusion and dismay. uo

Now powerful but inconstant in its course, The tempest varies with uncertain force. Like doleful wailings on the lonely waste, Joanna Baillie

Solemn and dreary sounds the weaning blast. Exhausted gusts recoiling growl away, And, wak'd anew, return with feebler sway; Save where between the ridgy mountains pent, The fierce imprison'd current strives for vent, With hollow howl, and lamentation deep, 120 Then rushes o'er the plain with partial sweep. A parting gust o'erscours the weary land, And lowly growls along the distant strand: Light thro' the wood the shiv'ring branches play, And on the ocean far it slowly dies away. (1790)

Thunder

Spirit of strength! to whom in wrath 'tis given, To mar the earth and shake its vasty dome, Behold the sombre robes whose gathering folds, Thy secret majesty conceal. Their skirts Spread on mid air move slow and silently, O'er noon-day's beam thy sultry shroud is cast, Advancing clouds from every point of heaven, Like hosts of gathering foes in pitchy volumes, Grandly dilated, clothe the fields of air, IO And brood aloft o'er the empurpled earth. Spirit of strength! it is thy awful hour; The wind of every hill is laid to rest, And far o'er sea and land deep silence reigns.

Wild creatures of the forest homeward hie, And in their dens with fear unwonted cower; Pride in the lordly palace is put down, While in his humble cot the poor man sits With all his family round him hushed and still, In awful expectation. On his way 20 The traveller stands aghast and looks to heaven. On the horizon's verge thy lightning gleams, Joanna Baillie

And the first utterance of thy deep voice Is heard in reverence and holy fear.

From nearer clouds bright burst more vivid gleams, As instantly in closing darkness lost; Pale sheeted flashes cross the wide expanse While over boggy moor or swampy plain, A streaming cataract of flame appears, To meet a nether fire from earth cast up, Commingling terribly; appalling gloom 30 Succeeds, and lo! the rifted centre pours A general blaze, and from the war of clouds, Red, writhing falls the embodied bolt of heaven. Then swells the rolling peal, full, deep'ning, grand, And in its strength lifts the tremendous roar, With mingled discord, rattling, hissing, growling; Crashing like rocky fragments downward hurled, Like the upbreaking of a ruined world, In awful majesty the explosion bursts Wide and astounding o'er the trembling land. Mountain, and cliff, repeat the dread turmoil, And all to man's distinctive senses known, Is lost in the immensity of sound. Peal after peal, succeeds with waning strength, And hushed and deep each solemn pause between.

Upon the lofty mountain's side The kindled forest blazes wide; Huge fragments of the rugged steep Are tumbled to the lashing deep; Firm rooted in his cloven rock, 50 Crashing falls the stubborn oak. The lightning keen in wasteful ire Darts fiercely on the pointed spire, Rending in twain the iron-knit stone, And stately towers to earth are thrown. No human strength may brave the storm, Nor shelter skreen the shrinking form, Nor castle wall its fury stay, Nor massy gate impede its way: 32 Joanna Baillie

60 It visits those of low estate, It shakes the dwellings of the great, It looks athwart the vaulted tomb, And glares upon the prison's gloom. Then dungeons black in unknown light, Flash hideous on the wretches' sight, And strangely groans the downward cell, Where silence deep is wont to dwell.

Now eyes, to heaven up-cast, adore, Knees bend that never bent before, 70 The stoutest hearts begin to fail, And many a manly face is pale; Benumbing fear awhile up-binds, The palsied action of their minds, Till waked to dreadful sense they lift their eyes, And round the stricken corse shrill shrieks of horror rise.

Now rattling hailstones, bounding as they fall To earth, spread motley winter o'er the plain, Receding peals sound fainter on the ear, And roll their distant grumbling far away: 80 The lightning doth in paler flashes gleam, And through the rent cloud, silvered with his rays, The sun on all this wild affray looks down, As, high enthroned above all mortal ken, A higher Power beholds the strife of men. Joanna Baillie 33

The Kitten

Wanton droll, whose harmless play Beguiles the rustic's closing day, When, drawn the evening fire about, Sit aged crone and thoughtless lout, And child upon his three-foot stool, Waiting till his supper cool, And maid, whose cheek outblooms the rose, As bright the blazing faggot glows, Who, bending to the friendly light, Plies her task with busy slight; IO Come, shew thy tricks and sportive graces, Thus circled round with merry faces.

Backward coiled and crouching low, With glaring eyeballs watch thy foe, The housewife's spindle whirling round, Or thread or straw that on the ground Its shadow throws, by urchin sly Held out to lure thy roving eye; Then stealing onward, fiercely spring Upon the tempting faithless thing. 20 Now, wheeling round with bootless skill, Thy ho-peep tail provokes thee still, As still beyond thy curving side Its jetty tip is seen to glide; Till from thy centre starting far, Thou sidelong veer'st with rump in air Erected stiff, and gait awry, Like madam in her tantrums high; Though ne'er a madam of them all, Whose silken kirtle sweeps the hall, 30 More varied trick and whim displays To catch the admiring stranger's gaze.

Doth power in measured verses dwell, All thy vagaries wild to tell? Ah no!-the start, the jet, the bound, 34 Joanna Baillie

The giddy scamper round and round, With leap and toss and high curvet, And many a whirling somerset, (Permitted by the modern muse 40 Expression technical to use) These mock the deftest rhymester's skill, But poor in art though rich in will.

The featest tumbler, stage bedight, To thee is but a clumsy wight, Who every limb and sinew strains To do what costs thee little pains; For which, I trow, the gaping crowd Requite him oft with plaudits loud.

But, stopped the while thy wanton play, 50 Applauses too thy pains repay: For then, beneath some urchin's hand With modest pride thou takest thy stand, While many a stroke of kindness glides Along thy back and tabby sides. Dilated swells thy glossy fur, And loudly croons thy busy pur, As, timing well the equal sound, Thy clutching feet bepat the ground, And all their harmless claws disclose 60 Like prickles of an early rose, While softly from thy whiskered cheek Thy half-closed eyes peer, mild and meek.

But not alone by cottage fire Do rustics rude thy feats admire. The learned sage, whose thoughts explore The widest range of human lore, Or with unfettered fancy fly Through airy heights of poesy, Pausing smiles with altered air 70 To see thee climb his elbow-chair, Or, struggling on the mat below, Hold warfare with his slippered toe. Joanna Baillie 35

The widowed dame or lonely maid, Who, in the still but cheerless shade Of home unsocial, spends her age And rarely turns a lettered page, Upon her hearth for thee lets fall The rounded cork or paper ball, Nor chides thee on thy wicked watch, The ends of ravelled skein to catch, 80 But lets thee have thy wayward will, Perplexing oft her better skill.

Even he, whose mind of gloomy bent, In lonely tower or prison pent, Reviews the coil of former days, And loathes the world and all its ways, What time the lamp's unsteady gleam Hath roused him from his moody dream, Feels, as thou gambol'st round his seat, His heart of pride less fiercely beat, 90 And smiles, a link in thee to find, That joins it still to living kind.

Whence hast thou then, thou witless puss! The magic power to charm us thus? Is it that in thy glaring eye And rapid movements, we descry­ Whilst we at ease, secure from ill, The chimney corner snugly fill- A lion darting on his prey, A tiger at his ruthless play? IOO Or is it that in thee we trace With all thy varied wanton grace, An emblem, viewed with kindred eye, Of tricky, restless infancy? Ah! many a lightly sportive child, Who hath like thee our wits beguiled, To dull and sober manhood grown, With strange recoil our hearts disown. Joanna Baillie

And so, poor kit! must thou endure, IIO When thou becomest a cat demure, Full many a cuff and angry word, Chased roughly from the tempting board. But yet, for that thou hast, I ween, So oft our favoured play-mate been, Soft be the change which thou shalt prove! When time hath spoiled thee of our love, Still be thou deemed by housewife fat A comely, careful, mousing cat, Whose dish is, for the public good, 120 Replenished oft with savoury food. Nor, when thy span of life is past, Be thou to pond or dung-hill cast, But, gently borne on goodman's spade, Beneath the decent sod be laid; And children shew with glistening eyes The place where poor old pussy lies. (1808)

Up! Quit Thy Bower!

Up! quit thy bower, late wears the hour; Long have the rooks caw'd round thy tower; On flower and tree, loud hums the bee; The wilding kid sports merrily: A day so bright, so fresh, so clear, Shineth when good fortune's near.

Up! Lady fair, and braid thy hair, And rouze thee in the breezy air; The lulling stream, that sooth'd thy dream, IO Is dancing in the sunny beam; And hours so sweet, so bright, so gay, Will waft good fortune on its way. . Joanna Baillie 37

Up! time will tell; the friar's bell Its service-sound hath chimed well; The aged crone keeps house alone, And reapers to the fields are gone; The active day so boon and bright, May bring good fortune ere the night. (1812)

Woo' d and Married and P.:

Version Taken from an Old Song of That Name

The bride she is winsome and bonny, Her hair it is snooded sae sleek, And faithfu' and kind is her Johnny, Yet fast fa' the tears on her cheek. New pearlins are cause of her sorrow, New pearlins and plenishing too, The bride that has a' to borrow, Has e'en right mickle ado. Woo'd and married and a'! Woo'd and married and a'! IO Is na' she very weel aff To be woo'd and married and a'?

Her mither then hastily spak, "The lassie is glakit wi' pride; In my pouch I had never a plack On the day when I was a bride. E'en tak' to your wheel, and be clever, And draw out your thread in the sun;

2 snooded] Tied with a ribbon. II aff] Off. 5 pearlins] Lace. r 4 glakitJ Giddy, foolish. 6 plenishing] House furnishings. 15 plack] Small Scottish coin. 8 mickle] Much. Joanna Baillie

The gear that is gifted, it never 20 Will last like the gear that is won. Woo'd and married and a'! Wi' havins and tocher sae sma'! I think ye are very weel aff, To be woo'd and married at aT'

"Toot, toot!" quo' her grey-headed faither, "She's less o' a bride than a bairn, She's ta'en like a cout frae the heather, Wi' sense and discretion to learn. Half husband, I trow, and half daddy, 30 As humour inconstantly leans, The chiel maun be patient and steady, That yokes wi' a mate in her teens. A kerchief sae douce and sae neat, O'er her locks that the winds used to blaw! I'm baith like to laugh and to greet, When I think o' her married at a'!"

Then out spak' the wily bridegroom, Weel waled were his wordies, I ween, 'Tm rich, though my coffer be toom, 40 Wi' the blinks o' your bonny blue een. I'm prouder o' thee by my side, Though thy ruffles or ribbons be few, Than Kate o' the Croft were my bride, Wi' purfles and pearlins enow. Dear, and dearest of any! Ye're woo'd and buikit and a'! And do ye think scorn o' your Johnny, And grieve to be married at a'?"

19 gear] Money, booty. 35 greet] Weep. 22 tocher] Dowry. 38 waled] Chosen. 25 quo'] Said. 38 ween] Fear. 26 bairn] Child. 39 toom] Empty. 2 7 cout] Colt. 40 blinks] Glances. 29 trow] Believe. 40 een] Eyes. 31 chiel maun] Fellow must. 44 purfles] embroidery 33 douce] Sober, grave, unfrivolous. enow] enough 45 ony] any 46 buikit] booked (in the marriage registry} Joanna Baillie 39

She turned, and she blushed, and sl?-e smiled, And she looket sae bashfully down; 50 The pride o' her heart was beguiled, And she played wi' the sleeves o' her gown; She twirled the tag o' her lace, And she nippet her boddice sae blue, Sine blinket sae sweet in his face, And aff like a maukin she flew. Woo'd and married and a'! Wi' Johnny to roose her and a'! She thinks hersel very weel aff, To be woo'd and married at a'. 60 (1822)

Address to a Steam-Vessel*

Freighted with passengers of every sort, A motley throng, thou leav'st the busy port. Thy long and ample deck, where scatter'd lie, Baskets, and cloaks, and shawls of scarlet dye; Where dogs and children through the crowd are straying, And, on his bench apart, the fiddler playing, While matron dames to tressel'd seats repair, - Seems, on the gleamy waves, a floating fair.

Its dark form on the sky's pale azure cast, Towers from this clust'ring group thy pillar'd mast. IO The dense smoke issuing from its narrow vent Is to the air in curly volumes sent, Which, coiling and uncoiling on the wind, Trails like a writhing serpent far behind. Beneath, as each merg'd wheel its motion plies,

54 nippet] bit 56 maukin] hare 55 Sine blinket] afterwards glanced 58 roose] praise 40 Joanna Baillie

On either side the white-churn'd waters rise, And, newly parted from the noisy fray, Track with light ridgy foam thy recent way, Then far diverged, in many a welted line 20 Of lustre, on the distant surface shine.

Thou hold'st thy course in independent pride; No leave ask' st thou of either wind or tide. To whate'er point the breeze, inconstant, veer, Still doth thy careless helmsman onward steer; As if the stroke of some magician's wand Had lent thee power the ocean to command. What is this power which thus within thee lurks, And, all unseen, like a mask'd giant works? Ev'n that which gentle dames, at morning's tea, 30 From silver urn ascending, daily see With tressy wreathings playing in the air, Like the loos'd ringlets of a lady's hair; Or rising from the enamell'd cup beneath, With the soft fragrance of an infant's breath: That which within the peasant's humble cot Comes from th' uncover'd mouth of sav'ry pot, As his kind mate prepares his noonday fare, Which cur, and cat, and rosy urchins share: That which, all silver'd with the moon's pale beam, Precedes the mighty Geyser's up-cast stream, What time, with bellowing din exploded forth, It decks the midnight of the frozen north, Whilst travellers from their skin-spread couches rise To gaze upon the sight with wond'ring eyes.

Thou hast to those "in populous city pent" Glimpses of wild and beauteous nature lent; A bright remembrance ne'er to be destroyed, Which proves to them a treasure, long enjoyed, And for this scope to beings erst confin'd, 50 I fain would hail thee with a grateful mind. They who had nought of verdant freshness seen

45 "in populous city pent"] Paradise Lost 9.445. Joanna Baillie

But suburb orchards choked with colworts green, Now, seated at their ease may glide along, Lochlomond's fair and fairy isles among; Where bushy promontories fondly peep, At their own beauty in the nether deep, O'er drooping birch and berried row'n that lave Their vagrant branches in the glassy wave: They, who on higher objects scarce have counted Than church's spire with gilded vane surmounted, 60 May view, within their near, distinctive ken, The rocky summits of the lofty Ben; Or see his purpled shoulders darkly lower Through the dim drapery of a summer shower. Where, spread in broad and fair expanse, the Clyde Mingles his waters with the briny tide, Along the lesser Cumra's rocky shore, With moss and crusted lichens flecker'd o'er, Ev'n he, who hath but warr'd with thieving cat, Or from his cupboard chaced a hungry rat, 70 The city cobbler,-scares the wild sea-mew In its mid-flight with loud and shrill halloo; Or valiantly with fearful threat'ning shakes His lank and greasy head at Kittywakes. The eyes that have no fairer outline seen Than chirnney'd walls with slated roofs between, Which hard and harshly edge the smokey sky, May Aron's softly-vision'd peaks descry, Coping with graceful state her steepy sides,

52 colworts] Co/ewort was originally used to describe any cabbage-type plant (genus Bras­ sica). Later it came to be used especially for those varieties, such as kale, that do not heart or for others before they heart or are full-grown. 54 Lochlomond's] Loch Lomond is the largest body of inland water in Britain, located north of Glasgow. 62 lofty Ben] Ben Lomond, a mountain to the east of Loch Lomond. 65 the Clyde] The river Clyde rises in the southern uplands of Scotland. In the eighteenth century the Clyde enabled Glasgow to engage in trade with the Americas. 67 the lesser Curnra's] Probably Little Cumbrae, an island in the mouth of the Clyde, offering magnificent views. 74 Kittywakes] The common or vulgar name of a water-bird frequenting that coast. Baillie. 78 Aron's] The island of Arran, located just south of Little Cumbrae in the Clyde, is a popular holiday resort famous for its spectacular views, which take in Scotland, Ireland, and England. 42 Joanna Baillie --- 80 O'er which the cloud's broad shadow swiftly glides, And interlacing slopes that gently merge Into the pearly mist of ocean's verge. Eyes which admir'd that work of sordid skill, The storied structure of a cotton-mill, May, wond'ring, now behold the unnumber'd host Of marshall'd pillars on fair Ireland's coast, Phalanx on phalanx rang'd with sidelong bend, Or broken ranks that to the main descend, Like Pharaoh's army, on the Red-sea shore, 90 Which deep and deeper went to rise no more.

Yet ne'ertheless, whate'er we owe to thee, Rover at will on river, lake, and sea, As profit's bait or pleasure's lure engage, Thou offspring of that philosophic sage, Watt, who in heraldry of science ranks With those to whom men owe high meed of thanks, And shall not be forgotten, ev'n when Fame Graves on her annals Davy's splendid name!- Dearer to fancy, to the eye more fair IOO Are the light skiffs, that to the breezy air, Unfurl their swelling sails of snowy hue Upon the moving lap of ocean blue: As the proud swan on summer lake displays, With plumage bright'ning in the morning rays, Her fair pavilion of erected wings, - They change, and veer, and turn like living things.

So fairly rigg'd, with shrouding, sails, and mast, To brave with manly skill the winter blast Of every clime,-in vessels rigg'd like these Did great Columbus cross the western seas,

84 cotton-mill] The manufacture of cotton fabric started in Belfast after Robert Joy, owner of a paper mill, visited Scotland and learned of modern spinning techniques and technologies. The first cotton mills in Belfast were established in poorhouses and relied on child labor. 95 Watt] James Watt (1736-r8r9), a Scottish engineer, invented an improved steam engine. 98 Davy's] Sir Humphry Davy (r778-r829), an English chemist, invented a safety lamp for miners, discovered sodium and potassium, and helped to develop the modern scientific method. He was one of the most famous scientists of his time and a popular lecturer. Joanna Baillie 43

And to the stinted thoughts of man reveal' d What yet the course of ages had conceal'd. In such as these, on high adventure bent, Round the vast world Magellan's comrades went. To such as these are hardy seamen found As with the ties of kindred feeling bound, Boasting, as cans of cheering grog they sip, The varied fortunes of "our gallant ship." The offspring these of bold sagacious man Ere yet the reign of letter'd lore began. 120

In very truth, compar'd to these thou art A daily lab'rer, a mechanic swart, In working weeds array'd of homely grey, Opposed to gentle nymph or lady gay, To whose free robes the graceful right is given To play and dally with the winds of heaven. Beholding thee, the great of other days And modern men with all their alter' d ways, Across my mind with hasty transit gleam, Like fleeting shadows of a fev'rish dream: 130 Fitful I gaze with adverse humours teased, Half sad, half proud, half angry, and half pleased. (1823)

* The steam vessel was a relatively recent innovation when Baillie published this poem, and some of the earliest experiments with it were conducted in Scotland, on the bodies of water the poet mentions here. In 1736 Jonathan Hulls obtained a patent in England for a steam vessel, and then the duke of Bridgewater experimented with using steamboats to tow barges. In 1781 the marquis of Jouffroy built a 140- foot steamboat at Lyons and plied the river Saone. In 1788 in Scotland, hundreds of spectators watched a steam vessel built by Taylor and Miller move at the rate of five miles per hour. At the end of 1789 a similar boat built by William Symington for Taylor and Miller, though on a much larger scale, was shown to move at seven miles per hour, which was widely reported in the Edinburgh newspapers. Another boat, the Charlotte Dundas, in March 1803 towed two seventy-ton boats against a heavy wind a distance of nineteen miles, to Port Dundas, Glasgow. The Comet, with a four­ horsepower engine, navigated the Clyde in 1812 and overcame the popular fear that

122 swart) Dark, dusky, swarthy. 44 Joanna Baillie

the engine might burst. In r8r3 three steamers were plying the Clyde between Glas­ gow and Greenock (part of the voyage described in Baillie's poem). And by r8r6, steamboats were to be seen on many rivers throughout Britain.

Song

The gliding fish that takes his play In shady nook of streamlet cool, Thinks not how waters pass away, And summer dries the pool.

The bird beneath his leafy dome, Who trills his carol, loud and clear, Thinks not how soon his verdant home The lightning's breath may sear.

Shall I within my bridegroom's bower, IO With braids of budding roses twined, Look forward to a coming hour When he may prove unkind?

The bee reigns in his waxen cell, The chieftain in his stately hold, To-morrow's earthquake,-who can tell? May both in ruin fold. (1826)

The Sun Is Down

The sun is down, and time gone by, The stars are twinkling in the sky, Nor torch nor taper longer may Eke out a blythe but stinted day; The hours have pass'd with stealthy flight, We needs must part: good night, good night! Joanna Baillie 45

The bride unto her bower is sent, And ribald song and jesting spent; The lover's whisper'd words and few Have bade the bashful maid adieu; IO The dancing floor is silent quite, No foot bounds there: good night, good night!

The lady in her curtain'd bed, The herdsman in his wattled shed, The clansmen in the heather'd hall, Sweet sleep be with you, one and all! We part in hopes of days as bright As this gone by: good night, good night!

Sweet sleep be with us, one and all! And if upon its stillness fall 20 The visions of a busy brain, We'll have our pleasure o'er again, To warm the heart, to charm the sight, Gay dreams to all! good night, good night! (1836)

Lines to a Teapot

On thy carved sides, where many a vivid dye In easy progress leads the wandering eye, A distant nation's manners we behold, To the quick fancy whimsically told.

The small-eyed beauty with her Mandarin, Who o'er the rail of garden arbour lean, In listless ease; and rocks of arid brown, On whose sharp crags, in gay profusion blown, The ample loose-leaved rose appears to grace The skilful culture of the wonderous place; IO The little verdant plat, where with his mate The golden pheasant holds his gorgeous state, With gaily crested pate and twisted neck, 46 Joanna Baillie

Turned jantily his glossy wings to peck; The smooth-streaked water of a paly gray, O'er which the checkered bridge lends ready way, While, by its margin moored, the little boat Doth with its oars and netted awning float: A scene in short all soft delights to take in, 20 A paradise for grave Grandee of Pekin. With straight small spout, that from thy body fair, Diverges with a smart vivacious air, And round, arched handle with gold tracery bound, And dome-shaped lid with bud or button crowned, Thou standest complete, fair subject of my rhymes, A goodly vessel of the olden times.

But far less pleasure yields this fair display Than that enjoyed upon thy natal day, When round the potter's wheel, their chins upraising, 30 An urchin group in silent wonder gazing, Stood and beheld, as, touched with magic skill, The whirling clay swift fashioned to his will, - Saw mazy motion stopped, and then the toy Complete before their eyes, and grinned for joy; Clapping their naked sides with blythe halloo, And curtailed words of praise, like ting, tung, too! The brown-skinned artist, with his unclothed waist And girded loins, who, slow and patient, traced, Beneath his humble shed, this fair array 40 Of pictured forms upon thy surface gay, I will not stop infancy's sight to place, But speed me on my way with quickened pace. Packed in a chest with others of thy kind, The sport of waves and every shifting wind, The Ocean thou hast crossed, and thou mayest claim The passing of the Line to swell thy fame, With as good observation of the thing As some of those who in a hammock swing.

46 the Line] The equator. Joanna Baillie 4 7

And now thou'rt seen in Britain's polished land, Held up to public view in waving hand 50 Of boastful auctioneer, whilst dames of pride In morning farthingals, scarce two yards wide, With collared lap-dogs snarling in their arms, Contend in rival keenness for thy charms. And certes well they might, for there they found thee With all thy train of vassal cups around thee, A prize which thoughts by day, and dreams by night, Could dwell on for a week with fresh delight.

Our pleased imagination now pourtrays The glory of thy high official days, 60 When thou on board of rich japan wert set, Round whose supporting table gaily met At close of eve, the young, the learned, the fair, And even philosophy and wit were there. Midst basons, cream-pots, cups and saucers small, Thou stood'st the ruling chieftain of them all; And even the kettle of Potosi's ore, Whose ample cell supplied thy liquid store, Beneath whose base the sapphire flame was burning, Above whose lid the wreathy smoke was turning, 70 Though richly chased and burnished it might be, Was yet, confessed, subordinate to thee. But O! when beauty's hand thy weight sustained, The climax of thy glory was attained! Back from her elevated elbow fell Its three-tired ruffie, and displayed the swell And gentle rounding of her lily arm, The eyes of wistful sage or beau to charm - A sight at other times but dimly seen Through veiling folds of point or colberteen. So With pleasing toil, red glowed her dimpled cheek,

52 farthingals] Hooped petticoats. 67 Potosi's ore] Potosi is the name of both a city and a region in south-central Bolivia; dur­ ing the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries the region was one of the world's leading sources of silver. 80 colberteen] An open lace with a square ground, worn in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. 48 Joanna Baillie

Bright glanced her eyes beneath her forehead sleek, And as she poured the beverage, through the room Was spread its fleeting, delicate perfume. Then did bright wit and cheerful fancy play With all the passing topics of the day. So delicate, so varied and so free Was the heart's pastime, then inspired by thee, That goblet, bowl or flask could boast no power 90 Of high excitement, in their reigning hour, Compared to thine;-red wildfire of the fen, To summer moonshine of some fairy glen.

But now the honours of thy course are past, For what of earthly happiness may last! Although in modern drawing-room, a board May fragrant tea from menial hands afford, Which, poured in dull obscurity hath been, From pot of vulgar ware, in nook unseen, And pass in hasty rounds our eyes before, roo Thou in thy graceful state art seen no more. And what the changeful fleeting crowd, who sip The unhonoured beverage with contemptuous lip, Enjoy amidst the tangled, giddy maze, Their languid eye-their listless air betrays. What though at times we see a youthful fair By white clothed board her watery drug prepare, At further corner of a noisy room, Where only casual stragglers deign to come, Like tavern's busy bar-maid; still I say, no The honours of thy course are passed away.

Again hath auctioneer thy value praised, Again have rival bidders on thee gazed, But not the gay, the young, the fair, I trow! No; sober connoisseurs, with wrinkled brow And spectacles on nose, thy parts inspect, And by grave rules approve thee or reject. For all the bliss which china charms afford, My lady now has ceded to her lord. Joanna Baillie 49

And wisely too does she forego the prize, Since modern pin-money will scarce suffice 120 For all the trimmings, fl.ounces, beads and lace, The thousand needful things that needs must grace Her daily changed attire. -And now on shelf Of china closet placed, a cheerless elf, Like moody statesman in his rural den, From power dismissed-like prosperous citizen, From shop or change set free-untoward bliss! Thou rest'st in most ignoble uselessness.

The Maid of Llanwellyn *

Song, Written for a Welch Melody

I've no sheep on the mountain, nor boat on the lake, Nor coin in my coffer to keep me awake, Nor corn in my garner, nor fruit on my tree, Yet the Maid of Llanwellyn smiles sweetly on me.

Softly tapping at eve to her window I came, And loud bayed the watch-dog, loud scolded the dame; For shame, silly Lightfoot! what is it to thee, Though the Maid of Llanwellyn smiles sweetly on me?

The farmer rides proudly to market or fair, The clerk at the alehouse still claims the great chair, IO But, of all our proud fellows, the proudest I'll be, While the Maid of Llanwellyn smiles sweetly on me.

r20 pin-money] An allowance allotted to a woman for her personal expenses, such as clothing and incidentals. The term came to mean a trivial sum of money. 3 garnerJ Storehouse for grain. Joanna Baillie

For blythe as the urchin at holyday play, And meek as a matron in mantle of gray, And trim as a lady of gentle degree, Is the Maid of Llanwellyn, who smiles upon me. (1840)

*The names of many Welsh towns begin with Lian, but the name Llanwellyn does not correspond to any locale on a modern map. It may be a fictional place, or perhaps it existed as a small crossroads.