In 1787, Robert Burns met Agnes (Nancy) McLehose through friends in Edinburgh. For both of them it was love at first sight. However, McLehose was married at the time, though separated. She still considered herself a married woman and would not let the relationship with Burns become more than platonic. McLehose is considered to be one of the few women who ever said "no" to Burns. In retaliation, or due to frustration, Burns did have a physical relationship with her maid which resulted in a son.
Burns and McLehose started exchanging letters under the assumed names of Sylvander and Clarinda; known as The Clarinda letters. McLehose eventually tried to renew things with her husband and moved to Jamaica in 1791 to live with him. Even though he was married to Jean Armour at the time and had been for three years, Burns was heartbroken. He also wrote several poems to McLehose, the best-known one being "Ae Fond Kiss" which was written after she broke off their relationship.
There is now a musical stage play about the relationship between Robert Burns and Nancy McLehose's relationship called Clarinda and as far back as 2002 there was talk of a major motion picture about the relationship.
Even though both were married at the time, their letters document the promise of a great romance that was unattainable to both. Below you will find three of the "Clarinda poems."
| Sylvander to Clarinda (1787) When dear Clarinda, matchless fair, First struck Sylvander's raptur'd view, He gaz'd, he listened to despair, Alas! 'twas all he dared to do. Love, from Clarinda's heavenly eyes, Transfixed his bosom thro' and thro'; But still in Friendships' guarded guise, For more the demon fear'd to do. That heart, already more than lost, The imp beleaguer'd all perdue; For frowning Honour kept his post- To meet that frown, he shrunk to do. His pangs the Bard refused to own, Tho' half he wish'd Clarinda knew; But Anguish wrung the unweeting groan- Who blames what frantic Pain must do? That heart, where motley follies blend, Was sternly still to Honour true: To prove Clarinda's fondest friend, Was what a lover sure might do. The Muse his ready quill employed, No nearer bliss he could pursue; That bliss Clarinda cold deny'd- "Send word by Charles how you do!" The chill behest disarm'd his muse, Till passion all impatient grew: He wrote, and hinted for excuse, 'Twas, 'cause "he'd nothing else to do." But by those hopes I have above! And by those faults I dearly rue! The deed, the boldest mark of love, For thee that deed I dare uo do! O could the Fates but name the price Would bless me with your charms and you! With frantic joy I'd pay it thrice, If human art and power could do! Then take, Clarinda, friendship's hand, (Friendship, at least, I may avow;) And lay no more your chill command, - I'll write whatever I've to do. | Clarinda, Mistress of My Soul (1788) Clarinda, mistres of my soul, The measur'd time is run! The wretch beneath the dreary pole So marks his latest sun. To what dark cave of frozen night Shall poor Sylvander hie; Depriv'd of thee, his life and light, The sun of all his joy? We part-but by these precious drops, That fill thy lovely eyes, No other light shall guide my steps, Till thy bright beams arise! She, the fair sun of all her sex, Has blest my glorious day; And shall a glimmering planet fix My worship to its ray?
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