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Robert Fergusson
1750-74
No sculptur'd Marble here nor pompous
lay
No storied Urn nor animated Bust
This simple stone
directs Pale Scotia's way
To pour her Sorrows o'er her
Poets Dust
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Robert Fergusson is buried in the
Canongate Kirk cemetery, Edinburgh, Scotland. (Outside the
cemetery gates stands a statue of Fergusson sculpted by
David Annand.)
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Robert Fergusson's Grave (Photo by Freddie Phillips)
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Fergusson was born in Edinburgh in 1750 - the third
of four children. He was educated at high schools in Dundee
and Edinburgh before completing his education at St Andrew's
University.
His first poems were published in 1771 in
Walter Ruddiman's Weekly Review. Origianlly he wrote in
English but by 1772 he had started to use the Scottsh
dialect in the standard Habbie verse form - a form which
would later be copied and made famous by
Robert Burns. (It is now known as the Burns stanza.)
Fergusson's promising poetic career was soon ended
however when he sustained a head injury - possibly from a
fall down some stairs - and became bed-ridden. He was then
transferred to Bedlam against his will and he died there on
October 17, 1774 at the age of 24.
Burns was happy to
acknowledge his debt to Fergusson and contacted the
Edinburgh magistrates offering to pay for a memorial stone.
Burns also composed a three verse epitaph - the first stanza
of which was carved on the headstone. (Fergusson was
originally buried in an unmarked grave.) The new headstone
was erected in 1787.
Later, Robert Louis Stevenson
agreed to renovate the headstone - but his own premature
death prevented him from making good his promise - though
there is a plaque at the foot of Fergusson's grave recording
his intention: 'This stone, originally erected by Robert
Burns, has been repaired at the charges of Robert Louis
Stevenson and is by him re-dedicated to the memory of Robert
Fergusson as a gift of one Edinburgh lad to another.'
In a letter to Alexander Balloch Grosart - Stevenson
writes touchingly about both Fergusson and Burns: 'We are
three Robins (Roberts), who have touched the Scots lyre in
this last century. Well the one is the world's, he did it
and the other, ah, what bonds we have! Born in the same
city, both sickly both pestered - one nearly to madness and
one to the madhouse, both seeing the stars and the moon and
wearing shoe-leather on the same ancient stones.'
Today, Fergusson is held in high regard in Scottish literary
circles.
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Ye wha are fain to hae your name
Wrote in the bonny book of fame,
Let merit nae pretension
claim
To laurel'd wreath
But hap ye weel, baith back
and wame,
In gude Brad Claith.
From Brad
Claith |
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