Stories of Achievement, Volume IV | Page 9

spiritual artillery, if haply any of it might be pointed against
profane rhymers. Unluckily for me, my wanderings led me on another
side, within point-blank shot of their heaviest metal. This is the
unfortunate story that gave rise to my printed poem, "The Lament."
This was a most melancholy affair, which I cannot yet bear to reflect on,
and had very nearly given me one or two of the principal qualifications
for a place among those who have lost the chart, and mistaken the
reckoning of rationality. I gave up my part of the farm to my brother; in
truth, it was only nominally mine; and made what little preparation was
in my power for Jamaica.
But before leaving my native country forever, I resolved to publish my
poems. I weighed my productions as impartially as was in my power; I
thought they had merit; and it was a delicious idea that I should be
called a clever fellow, even though it should never reach my ears--a
poor Negro driver--or perhaps a victim to that inhospitable clime, and
gone to the world of spirits! I can truly say that, poor and unknown as I
then was, I had pretty nearly as high an idea of myself and of my works
as I have at this moment, when the public has decided in their favour. It
ever was my opinion that the mistakes and blunders, both in a rational
and religious point of view, of which we see thousands daily guilty, are
owing to their ignorance of themselves. To know myself had been all
along my constant study. I weighed myself alone; I balanced myself
with others. I watched every means of information, to see how much
ground I occupied as a man and as a poet; I studied assiduously
Nature's design in my formation--where the lights and shades in my
character were intended. I was pretty confident my poems would meet
with some applause; but at the worst, the roar of the Atlantic would
deafen the voice of censure, and the novelty of West Indian scenes
make me forget neglect. I threw off six hundred copies, of which I had
got subscriptions for about three hundred and fifty. My vanity was
highly gratified by the reception I met with from the public; and
besides I pocketed, all expenses deducted, nearly twenty pounds. This
sum came very seasonably, as I was thinking of indenting myself for
want of money to procure my passage. As soon as I was master of nine
guineas, the price of wafting me to the torrid zone, I took a steerage
passage in the first ship that was to sail from the Clyde, for

Hungry ruin had me in the wind.
I had been for some days skulking from covert to covert, under all the
terrors of a jail; as some ill-advised people had uncoupled the merciless
pack of the law at my heels. I had taken the last farewell of my few
friends; my chest was on the road to Greenock; I had composed the last
song I should ever measure in Caledonia--"The Gloomy Night Is
Gathering Fast," when a letter from Dr. Blacklock to a friend of mine
overthrew all my schemes by opening new prospects to my poetic
ambition. The doctor belonged to a set of critics for whose applause I
had not dared to hope. His opinion, that I would meet with
encouragement in Edinburgh for a second edition, fired me so much,
that away I posted for that city, without a single acquaintance, or a
single letter of introduction. The baneful star that had so long shed its
blasting influence in my zenith for once made a revolution to the nadir;
and a kind Providence placed me under the patronage of one of the
noblest of men, the Earl of Glencairn. Oublie moi, grand Dieu, si
jamais je l'oublie [Forget me, Great God, if I ever forget him!].
I need relate no further. At Edinburgh I was in a new world; I mingled
among many classes of men, but all of them new to me, and I was all
attention to "catch" the characters and "the manners living as they rise."
Whether I have profited, time will show.
POETS ARE BORN--THEN MADE
[To Dr. Moore]
ELLISLAND, 4th January, 1789.
. . . The character and employment of a poet were formerly my pleasure,
but are now my pride. I know that a very great deal of my late éclat was
owing to the singularity of my situation and the honest prejudice of
Scotsmen; but still, as I said in the preface to my first edition, I do look
upon myself as having some pretensions from nature to the poetic
character. I have not a doubt but the knack, the aptitude, to learn the