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1' W

THE WORKS

OF

ROBERT BURNS,

WITH

AN ACCOUNT OF HIS LIFE, &c. &c.

By JAMES CURRIE, M.D. RR.S.

THE EIGHTH EDITION,

IN FOUR VOLUMES.

WITH MANY ADDITIONS,

COMMUNICATED BY HIS BROTHEIJ,

Mk. GILBERT BURNS.

VOL. IV.

LONDON.

1820.

THE WORKS

OF

ROBERT BURNS;

WITH

AN ACCOUNT OF HIS LIFE,

AND

A CRITICISM ON HIS WRITINGS,

TO WHICH ARE PREFIXED, SOME OBSERVATIONS ON THE CHARACTER AND CONDITION OF

THE SCOTTISH PEASANTRY. By JAMES CURRIE, M. D. F. R. S.

IN FOUR VOLUMES. VOL. IV.

THE EIGHTH EDITION.

TO WHICH ARE NOW ADDED, SOME FURTHER PARTICULARS OF

THE AUTHOR'S LIFE,

NEW NOTES, ILLUSTRATIVE OF HIS POEMS AND LETTERS,

AND MANY OTHER ADDITIONS,

By GILBERT BURNS.

LONDON:

PRINTED FOR T. CADELL AND W. DAVIES, STRAND; AND A. CONSTABLE AND CO., MANNERS AND MILLER, FAIRBAIRN AND ANDERSON, A. BLACK, W. AND C. TAIT, AT EDINBURGH; AND G. CLARK, AT ABER- DEEN.

1820.

J. M'Cicery, Printer,

lilackUorse-Court, LodJoh.

VOL. IV. CORRESPONDENCE

WITH

Mr. GEORGE THOMSON,

INCLUDING

POETRY,

HITHERTO UNPUBLISHED OR UNCOLLECTED.

( ix ) CONTENTS OF VOL IV.

Correspondence between Mr. Thomson and Mr. Barns,

No. Page

I. Mr. Thomson to Mr. Burns, (1792) De- siring the Bard to furnish verses for some of the Scottish airs, and to revise former songs, 1

II. Mr. B. to Mr. T. Promising assistance, . 3

III. Mr. T. to Mr. B. sending some tunes, . . 6

IV. Mr. B. to Mr. T. with "The Lea Rig," and

" Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary" . 8 V. Mr. B. to Mr. T. zoith " My wife's a ztinsome

wee thing,'' and " O saw ye bonnie Lesley," 14 VI. Mr. B. to Mr. T. with " Highland Mary;' 17 VII. Mr. T. to Mr. B, Thanks, and critical ob- servations, 20

VIII. Mr. B. to Mr. T. with an additional stanza

to " The Lea Rig," 24

IX. Mr. B. to Mr. T. zoith " Juld Rob Morris,"

and " Duncan Gray," 26

X. Mr. B. to Mr. T. zeith " O Poortith caiild,"

^c. arid " Galla Water," 30

XI. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Jan. 1793. Desiring anecdotes on the origin of particular songs. Tytler of Woodhouselee — Pleyel — sends P. Pindar's " Lord Gregory." — Postscript

from the Hon. A. Erskine, S3

XII. Mr. B. to Mr. T. Has Mr. Ty tier's anec- dotes, and means to give his oz&n — sends his own " Lord Gregory," 38

VOL, IV. C

CONTENTS.

No. Puge

Xrir. Mr. B. to Mr. T. zcith " Mary Modson," 42 XiV. Mr. B. to Mr. T. with " Wandering

Willie;' 44

XV. Mr. B. to Mr. T. zcith '' Open the door

to me, Oh!" 46

XV r. Mr. B. to Mr. T. zcith " Jessie" ... 47 XVII. Mr. T. to Mr. B. with a list of songs,

and " Wandering Willie" altered, . . 48 XVIII. Mr. B. to Mr. T. " When wild war's deadly blast was blown," and " Meg o'

the Mill," 52

XIX. Mr. B. to Mr. T. Voice of Coila- Cri- ticism— Origin of '■^ The Lass o^ Patie's

Mill," 56

XX. Mr. T. to Mr. B 62

XXI. Mr. B. to JVIr. T. Simplicity requisite in a so?ig — 0}ie poet should not mangle the

zcoiks of another, '63

XXII. Mr. B. to Mr. T. " Farewell thou stream that winding fows" — Wishes that the national music may preserve its native features, 68

XX I II. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Thanks and observa-

tions, 69

XXIV. Mr. B. to Mr. T. with " Blithe hae I

^ been on yon hill," 71

XXV. Mr. B. to JMr. T. with " O Logan sweetly

didst thou glide." " O gin my love were yon red rose," &)C 74

XXVI. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Enclosing a note—

Thanks, 78

XXVI 1. Mr. B. to Mr. T. zcith " There was a

lass and she was fair " . . . • . 81

CONTENTS. XI

No. Page

XXVIir. Mr. B. to Mr. T. Hurt at the idea of pecuniary recompense — Remarks

on songs, 84

XXIX. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Musical expression, 87 XXX. Mr. B. to Mr. T. For Mr. Clarke, 88 XXXI. Mr. B. to Mr. T. with " Phillis the

fair," 89

XXXIl. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Mr. Allan— Drawitig from " John Anderson my jo," 92

XXXIII. Mr. B. to Mr. T. with " Had I a

cave," &jc. — Some airs common to Scotland and Ireland, .... 94

XXX IV. Mr. B. to Mr. T. with " By Allan

stream I chanced to rove," . . . 96

XXXV. Mr. B. to Mr. T. zeith " Whistle and

I'll come to you my lad," and " Awa

wi your belles and your beauties," 99

XXXVI. Mr. B. to Mr. T. with " Come let me

take thee to my breast," . . , .103

XXXVII. Mr. B. to Mr. T. « Daintie Davie," 105

XXXVIII. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Delighted with

the 'productions of Burns's muse, . 107

XXXIX. Mr. B. to Mr. T. with " Bruce to his

troops at Bannock-burn," . . . 109

XL. Mr. B. to Mr. T. with " Behold the

hour, the boat arrive," . . . . 1J2

XLI. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Observations on

^' Bruce to his troops," . . . .114

XLI I. Mr. B. to Mr. T. Remarks on songs

in Mr. T.'s list — His ozcn method of

forming a song — " Thou has left me

ever, Jamie" — " Where are the Joys c 2

Xll CONTENTS.

No. Page

I hae met in the morning*' — " Auld lang syne" 117

XLllI. Mr. B. to Mr. T. Kith a variation of

" Bajinock-hurn" 127

XLIV. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Thanks and observa- tions, 129

XLV. Mr. B. to Mr. T. On " Bannock- burn" — sends " Fair Jenny" . . .131

X LVI. Mr. B. to Mr. T. zoith " Deluded swain,

the pleasure" — Remarks, .... 135

XLVII. Mr. B. to Mr. T. zmth " Thine am I, my faithful fair" — " O condescend, dear charming maid" — " The Nightin- gale"— " Laura," — (the three last by G. Turnbull) 139

XLVIII. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Apprehensions —

Thanks, 145

XLIX. Mr. B. to Mr. T. with " Husband, hus- band, cease your strife," and, " Wilt thou be my dearie," 146

L. Mr. T. to Mr. B. 1794. Melancholy comparison betzceen Burns and Car- Uni — Mr. Allan has begun a sketch from the Cotter's Saturday night, . 149

LI. Mr. B. to Mr. T. Praise of Mr. Allan

—" Banks of Cree," 151

LI I. Mr. B. to Mr. T. Pleyel in France— " Here, zvhere the Scottish Muse im- mortal lives," presented to Miss Gra- ham, of Fintry, zcith a copy of Mr. Thomson's collection, 153

CONTENTS. Xlll

No. Page LIII. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Does not expect to hear from Pleyel soon, hut desires to be pre- pared with the poetry, 155

LIV. Mr. B. to Mr. T. with " On the seas and

far away," . . .156

LV. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Criticism, . . . .159 LVI. Mr. B. to Mr. T. with " Ca the y owes to

the knowes" 160

LVII. Mr. B. to Mr. T. with " She says she lo'es me best of a'," — " O let me in," S^c. —

Stanza to Dr. Maxwell, l63

LVJH, Mr. T. to Mr. B. Advising him to write

a Musical Drama, l68

LIX. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Has been examining Scottish collections — Ritson — Difficult to obtain ancient melodies in their original

state, 170

LX. Mr. B. to Mr. T. Recipe for producing a love-song — '' Sazc ye my Phely" — Re- marks and anecdotes — " How lono; and dreary is the night" — " Let not woman e'er complain" — " The Lcver^s morning salute to his mistress" — " The Auld Man" — " Keen blazes the wind o'er Do-

7iocht-head,'" i?i a note, 173

LXI. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Wishes he knew the in- spiring Fair One — Ritson's historical essay not interesting — Allati — Maggie Lazoder, 1 B6 LXIl. Mr. B. to Mr. T. Has begun his Anec- dotes, S^c. — " My Chloris, mark how green the groves" — Love — " It zcas the charming month of May" — " Lassie zei' the lint-white locks" — History of the

XIV CONTENTS.

No. Pftge

Air — " Ye batiks and braes o bonnie Doou' — James Millar — Clarke — The black keys — Instance of the difficulty of tracing the origin of ancient airs, 188

LXIII. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Kith three copies of

the Scottish Airs, lyQ

LXIV. Mr. B. to Mr. T. rcith " O Philly, happy be that day' — Starting note — " Contented zci little, and cantie wi' mair' — " Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy" — (The reply, " Stay my JVillie — yet believe me," in a note) —

Stock and horn, 201

LXV. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Praise— Desires more songs of the humorous cast — Means to have a picture from " The Soldier s return," 211

LXVI. Mr. B. to Mr. T. zcith '' My Nanies

awa," 214

LXVII. Mr. B. to Mr. T. (1795) zcith'' For a' that an a that," and " Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie-burn," . . . .216 LXVIII. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Thanks, . . . . 220

LXIX. Mr. B. to Mr. T. " O Lassie, art thou

sleeping yet," and the Ansreer, . ,221 LXX. Mr. B. to Mr. T. " Praise of Eccle-

fechan," 224

LXXI. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Thanks, .... 226

LXX 1 1. Mr. B. to Mr. T. " Address to the Wood-lark"-" On Chloris beina, ill"— " Their groves o' szceet myrtle, 8^c." — " 'Tzras na her bonnie blue e'e,"^c. . 227

No.

Lxxiir.

LXXIV.

LXXV.

LXXVI. LXXVII.

LXXVIII.

LXXIX.

LXXX.

LXXXI. LXXXII.

LXXXIII.

LXXXIV.

CONTENTS. XY

Page Mr. T. to Mr. B. with Jllcnis de- sign from " The Cotter's Saturday

Night," 231

Mr. B. to Mr. T. zvith " How cruel are the parents" and " Mark yon- der pomp of costly fashion," . . Q,SS Mr. B. to Mr. T. Thanks for Allan's

designs, 135

Mr. B. to Mr. T. Compliment, . . 237 Mr. B. to Mr. T. zaith an improve- ment in " Whistle and I'll come to yon, my lad" — " O this is no my ain lassie" — " Now spring has clad the grove in green" — " O bonnie was yon rosy brier" — -" 'Tis friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend," . 238 Mr. T. to Mr. B. Introducing Dr.

Brianton, 245

Mr. B. to Mr. T. " Forlorn, my love,

no comfort near," 247

Mr. B. to Mr. T. " Last May a braw zoooer cam down the lang glen" — " Why, why tell thy lover," a frag- ment, 249

Mr. T. to Mr. B 253

Mr. T. to Mr. B. (1796) after an

awful pause, 254

Mr. B. to Mr. T. Thanks for P. Pindar, 8^c. — " Hey for a lass wi'

a tocher," 255

Mr. T. to Mr. B. Allan has de- signed some plates for an octavo edition, 257

XVI

CONTENTS.

No. Page

LXXXV. Mr. B. to Mr. T. Affikted hy sick- ness, but pleased with Mr. Allan's

etchings y 259

LXXXVI. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Sympathy— en- couragement, 261

LX XXVII. Mr. B. to Mr. T. with " Here's a

health to ane I lo'e dear," . . . 262 LXXXVIir. Mr. B. to Mr. T. Introducing Mr. Lezcars — Has taken a fancy to ie- view his songs — hopes to recover, . 264 LXXXIX. Mr. B. to Mr. T. Dreading the horrors of a jail, solicits the ad- vance of Jive pounds, and encloses " Fairest maid on Devon banks," 265 XC. Mr. T. to Mr. B. Sympathy—Ad- vises a volume of poetry to be pub- lished by subscription — Pope pub- lished the Iliad so, ....

NOTE respecting the Scots Musical Museum, . . 270

Pages 27 1 to 407| contain

SONGS which have appeared in " The Scot's Musical Museum," &c.

GLOSSARY,

415

( xvii )

INDEX TO THE POETRY,

ACCORDING TO THE TITLES,

IN VOL. IV.

SONGS.

Page

Addrkss to a Lady 393

Aftou "Water 331

A Mother's Lament 338

A red, red rose 343

Auld lang syne 124

Auld Rob Morris 26

Banks of Cree 152

Banks o' Doon 3:25

Banks of Nith 301

Bannock-burn 127

Bess and her spinning-wheel 317

Birks of Aberfeldy 271

Bonnie Bell 333

Braes o' Ballochmyle 294

Bruce to his Troops at Bannock-burn 110

A Variation of the same . , . 127

Caledonia 386

Country Lassie 319

Dainty Davie 105

Dumfries Volunteers 394

Duncan Gray 27

Fair Eliza 321

Fair

XVIU INDEX.

Page

Fair Jenny 134

Farewell to Ayrshire 406

Farewell to the Brethren of St. James's Lodge, T.ubolton . . 373

The Fete Champetre 402

For a' that an' a' that 217

For tiie sake o' Somebody 336

Galla Water 32

Gloomy December 328

Green grow the rashes 363

Hey for a lass wi' a tocher 256

Highland IMaiy 17

I love my Jean 294

Jessie 47

John Barleycorn 344

Laura 143

Lord Gregory 40

Mary Morison 42

Meg o' the Mill 53

My Nanie's awa 214

My Nanie, O 360

My tocher's the jewel 309

O for ane and twenty Tani! 315

On the Seas and far away 157

On Chloris being ill 228

Phillis the fair 90

Saw ye my Pliely ? 175

She says she lo'es me best of a' . 554

Sic a wife as Willie had 3gg

Strathallan's Lament 274

Tarn Glen 305

Tiie Auld Man 184

The blue-eyed Lassie 299

The Dumfries Volunteers 394

The gallant \Veaver 334

The Lea Rig 9

The same, continued 05

The Lover's morning salute to his Mistress 182

The Nightingale 142

The Posie 323

Tlie Whistle 33q

The

INDEX. XIX

Page

The Young Highland Rover 276

Then Guidwife count the Lawin 311

Wandering Willie 44

The same, altered 50

POEMS.

On the Death of Sir James Hunter Blair 408

On the Battle of Sheriff. Muir 411

INDEX

( XX )

INDEX TO THE POETRY,

IN THE ALPHABETICAL ORDER OF THE FIRST LINES.

Page

AniEu! a heart- warm, fond adieu ! 373

Adown winding Nitli I did wander 101

Again rejoicing nature sees 366

A rose-bud by my early walk 283

Ab ope, Lord Gregory, thy door ! 41

An' O for anc and twenty Tam ! 315

Ance mair I hail tbee, thou gloomy December ! 328

Anna, thy charms my bosom fire! 379

As down the burn they took their way 117

Awa wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms 256

Behind yon bills where Lugar flows 360

Behold the hour, the boat arrive 113

Blithe, blithe and merry was slie 281

Blithe hae I been on yon hill 73

Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing 314

But lately seen in gladsome green I81

By Allan-stream I chanc'd to rove .......... 97

Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy ? . 208

Ca' the yowes to the knowcs 161

Clarinda, mistress of my soul 289

Come let me take thee to my breast lOj,

Contented wi' little and cantie wi' mair 206

Deluded swain, the pleasure 136

Does haughty Gaul invasion threat? 394

Duncan Grey cam here to woo 27

Fairest maid on Devon banks 2fi6

Farewell

INI>EX. XXI

Page

Farewell thou stream tliat winding flows 196

Fate gave the word, the arrow sped 338

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes 331

Forlorn, my love, no comfort near 247

From thee, Eliza, I must go 371

Gane is the day and mirk's the night, 311

Had I a cave on some wild distant shore 94

Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie 44

The same, altered 50

Here is the glen, and here the bower 152

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear 262

Here where the Scottish Muse immortal lives 154

How can my poor haart be glad . l57

How cruel are the parents 233

How lang and dreary is the night 179

Husband, husband, cease your strife 146

I gaed a waefu' gate, yestreen . . 299

In simmer when the hay was mawn 319

I sing of a Whistle, a whistle of worth 381

Is there, for honest poverty '' 217

It was the charming month of May . 192

It was upon a Lammas uight 354

Jockey's ta'en the parting kiss 398

John Anderson my jo, John 303

Keen blaws the wind o'er Donotht-head 176

Ken ye ought o' Captain Grose? 400

Lassie wi' the lint-white locks 193

Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen 249

I«t mc wander where I will 143

Let not woman e'er complain 180

Long, long the night 228

Loud blaw the frosty breezes 276

Louis what reck I by thee 335

Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion 234

Maxwell, if merit here you crave 167

Musing on the roaring ocean £80

My Chloris, mark how green the groves 189

My heart is a breaking, dear Tittie 305

My heart is sair I dare na tell 336

My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form 399

Nae

XXII INDEX.

Page

Nae gentle dames, tlio' e'er sae fair 390

No Cliurcliman am I for to rail and to write 376

Now in lier green mantle blithe nature arrays 214

Now simmer blinks on flowery braes 271

Now spring lias clad tiie grove in green 241

Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers 105

Now westlin winds, and slaugbt'ring guns 357

O bonnie was yon rosy brier 243

O cam you here the tight to shun 411

O condescend, dear, charming maid 141

O gin my love were yon red rose 76

O ken ye what INIeg o' the Mill has gotten 55

O Lassie, art thou sleeping yet 221

O leeze me on my spinning wheel 317

O leeze me on my wee thing 22

O Logan, sweetly didSt thou glide 75

O Luve will venture in where it daur ca weel be seen .... 323

O Mary, at thy window be 42

O May, thy morn was ne'er so sweet 339

O mirk, mirk is this midnight hour 40

O nieikle thinks my luve^' my beauty 309

(J my hive's like a red, red rose 343

O Poortith cauld, and restless love 30

O Philly, happy be that day 202

O saw ye bonny Lesley 15

O saw ye my dear, my Pliely? 175

O stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay 227

O tell na me o' wind and rain 222

O this is no my ain lassie 239

O Tibbie, I hae seen the day 287

() wat ye wha's iu yon town 340

O wlia will to St. Stephen's house , , 402

O wlia is she that lo'es me 395

O were I on Parnassus' hill! 292

O were my love yon lilac fair 77

O whistle and I'll come to you »iy lad 99

A Variation in the Chorus 238

O Willie brew'd a peck o' maut 297

Oh open the door, some pity to shew 46

Oh wert thou in the cauld blast 393

Of

INDEX. XXIU

Page

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw 29-1

Raving winds around her blowing 278

Sae flaxen were her ringlets 161

Scenes of woe, and scenes of pleasure 406

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled 110

She is a winsome wee thing 15

She's fair and fause that causes my smart 330

Should auld acquaintance be forgot 124

Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou fairest creature 182

Stay, my charmer, can you leave me? 273

Stay, my Willie — yet believe me 209

Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie-burn 219

The Catrine woods were yellow seen 295

The day returns, my bosom burns 290

The gloomy night is gath'ring fast 368

The hunter lo'es the morning sun 25

The lamp of day with ill-presaging glare 408

The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill 291

The lovely lass o' Inverness 337

The smiling spring comes in rejoicing 333

The Thames flows proudly to the sea 301

Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign land» reckon .... 229

There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen 26

There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes 32

There's nought but care on ev'ry han' 363

There was a lass and she was fair 81

There was once a day, but old Time then was young .... 386

ITiere was three kings into the east 344

They snool me sair, and baud nie down 315

Thickest night o'erhang my dwelling! 274

Thine am I, my faithful fair 139

Thou has left me ever, Jamie 122

Thou sweetest minstrel of the grove 142

'Tis fiiendship's pledge my youug, fair friend 243

'Twas nae her bonnie blue e'e was my ruin 230

True hearted was he the sad swain 0' the Yarrow 47

Turn again thou fair Eliza 321

What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie 312

When o'er the hill the eastern star 9

When wild war's deadly blast was blawn . . 52

Where

XXIV INDEX.

Page

Where are the joys I liae met in the itioniing 123

The same, with an additional stanza i . . . 134

When Guilford good oin- pilot stood 349

Where braving angry winter's storms 285

Where Cart rins rowin to the sea 334

While larks witli little wing 90

Why, why tell thy lover 252

Willie Wa»tle dwalt on Tweed 326

Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary ? 13

Wilt thou be my dearie ? 148

Tlie same 329

Ye banks, and braes, and streams around 17

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon 325

Yestreen I got a pint of wine 62

CORRESPONDENCE

No. 1. Mr. THOMSON to Mr. BURNS.

Edinburgh, September, 1792. SIR,

For some years past, 1 have, with a friend or two, employed many leisure hours in selecting and collating the most favorite of our national melodies for publication. We have engaged Pleyel, the most agreeable composer living, to put accompaniments to these, and also to compose an instrumental prelude and conclusion to each air, the better to fit them for concerts, both public and private. To ren- der this work perfect, we are desirous to have the poetry improved, wherever it seems un- VOL. IV. B worthy

worthy of the music ; and that it is so in many instances, is allowed by every one conversant with our musical collections. The editors of these seem in general to have depended on the music proving an excuse for the verses ; and hence, some charming melodies are united to mere nonsense and doggrel, while others are accommodated with rhymes so loose and in- delicate, as cannot be sung in decent company. To remove this reproach would be an easy task to the author of the Cotters Saturday Night; and, for the honour of Caledonia, I would fain hope he may be induced to take up the pen. If so, we shall be enabled to present the Public with a collection, infinitely more interesting than any that has yet appeared, and acceptable to all persons of taste, whether they wish for correct melodies, delicate accompaniments, or charac- teristic verses. — We will esteem your poetical assistance a particular favor, besides paying any reasonableprice you shall please to demand for it. Profit is quite a secondary consideration with us, and we are resolved to spare neither pains nor expense on the publication. Tell me frankly then, whether you will devote your leisure to writing twenty or twenty-five songs, suited to the particular melodies which I am prepared to send you. A few songs, exceptionable only in some of their verses, I will likewise submit to your consideration; leaving it to you, either

to

to mend these, or make new songs in their stead. It is superfluous to assure you that T have no intention to displace any of the sterling old songs; those only will be removed, which ap- pear quite silly or absolutely indecent. Even these shall be all examined by Mr. Burns, and if he is of opinion that any of them are deserving of the music, in such cases no divorce shall take place.

Relying on the letter accompanying this, to be forgiven, for the liberty I have taken in ad- dressing you, 1 am, with great esteem, Sir, your most obedient humble servant,

G. THOMSON.

No. II. Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

Dumfries, Wth Sept. 17.92. SIR,

I HAVE just this moment got your let- ter. As the request you make to me will po- sitively add to my enjoyments in complying with it, I shall enter into your undertaking with

B 2 all

4

all the small portion of abilities I have, strained to their utmost exertion by the impulse of en- thusiasm. Only, don't hurry me : " Deil tak the hindmost" is by no means the cri de guerre of my muse. Will you, as I am inferior to none of you in enthusiastic attachment to the poetry and music of old Caledonia, and, since you request it, have cheerfully promised my mite of assistance — will you let me have a list of your airs with the first line of the printed verses you intend for them, that I may have an oppor- tunity of suggesting any alteration that may occur to me. You know 'tis in the way of my trade; still leaving you, gentlemen, the un- doubted right of publishers, to approve, or reject, at your pleasure, for your own publication. Apropos, if you are for English verses, there is, on my part, an end of the matter. Whether in the simplicity of the ballad, or the pathos of the song, I can only hope to please myself in being allowed at least a sprinkling of our na- tive tongue. English verses, particularly the works of Scotsmen, that have merit, are cer- tainly very eligible. Tweedside ! — Ah I the poor shepherds inournful fate ! — Ah ! Chloris, could I 7101V hut sit, &c. you cannot mend : But such insipid stuff as 7\> Fanni/Jair could I impart, &c. usually set to The Mill, Mill O, is a disgrace to the collections in which it has already ap- peared, and would doubly disgrace a collection

that

that will have the very superior merit of yours. But more of this in the farther prosecution of the business, if I am called on for my strictures and amendments — I say amendments; for I will not alter except where I myself at least think that I amend.

As to any remuneration, you may think my songs either above or below price; for they shall absolutely be the one or the other. In the honest enthusiasm with which 1 embark in your undertaking, to talk of money, wages, fee, hire, &c. would be downright prostitution of soul! A proof of each of the songs that T compose or amend, I shall receive as a favor. In the rustic phrase of the season, " Gude speed the wark !"

I am, Sir, your very humble servant,

R. BURNS.

P. S. I have some particular reasons for wishing my interference to be known as little as possible.

No.

6

No. III. Mr. THOMSON to Mr. BURNS.

Edmburgh, 13th Oct. 1792. DEAR SIR,

I rp:ceived with much satisfaction your pleasant and obliging letter, and I return my warmest acknowledgments for the enthusiasm with which you have entered into our under- taking. We have now no doubt of being able to produce a collection, highly deserving of pub- lic attention, in all respects.

I agree with you in thinking English verses, that have merit, very eligible, wherever new verses are necessary ; because the English be- comes every year, more and more, the language of Scotland ; but if you mean that no English verses, except those by Scottish authors, ought to be admitted, I am half inclined to differ from you. I should consider it unpardonable to sacrifice one good song in the Scottish dialect, to make room for English verses ; but, if we can select a few excellent ones suited to the unprovided or ill provided airs, would it not be the very bigotry of literary patriotism to reject

such

such, merely because the authors were born south of the Tweed ? Our sweet air My Nanie O, which in the collections is joined to the poorest stuff that Allan Ramsay ever wrote, beginning. While some for pleasure paivn their health, answers so finely to Dr. Percy's beau- tiful song, O Nancy ivilt thou go with me, that one would think he wrote it on purpose for the air. However, it is not at all our wish to con- fine you to English verses : you shall freely be allowed a sprinkling of your native tongue, as you elegantly express it ; and, moreover, we will patiently wait your own time. One thing only I beg, which is, that however gay and sportive the muse may be, she may always be decent. Let her not write what beauty would blush to speak, nor wound that charm- ing delicacy, which forms the most precious dowry of our daughters. I do not conceive the song to be the most proper vehicle for witty and brilliant conceits : simplicity, I believe, should be its prominent feature ; but, in some of our songs, the writers have confounded sim- plicity with coarseness and vulgarity; although between the one and the other, as Dr. Beattie well observes, there is as great a difference as between a plain suit of clothes and a bundle of rags. The humorous ballad, or pathetic complaint, is best suited to our artless melodies ; and more interesting indeed in all songs than

the

8

the most pointed wit, dazzling descriptions, and riowery fancies.

Witli these trite observations, I send you ele- ven of the songs, for which it is my wish to substi- tute others of your writing. I shall soon trans- mit the rest, and, at the same time, a prospectus of the whole collection : and you may believe we will receive any hints that you are so kind as to give for improving the work, with the greatest pleasure and thankfulness.

I remain, dear Sir, &c.

No. IV. Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

MY DEAR SIR,

Let me tell you, that you are too fasti- dious in your ideas of songs and ballads. I own that your criticisms are just; the songs you specify in your list have all but o7ie the faults you remark in them ; but who shall mend the matter? Who shall rise up and say — Go to, I will make a better ? For instance, on reading over The Lea-rig, I immediately set about

trying

trying my band on it, and, after all, [ could make nothing* more of it than the following, which, Heaven knows, is poor enough.

When o'er the hill the eastern star,

Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo; And owsen frae the furrow'd field,

Return sae dowf and Meary O ; Down by the burn, where scented birks*

Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo, I '11 meet thee on the lea-rig.

My ain kind dearie O.

In mirk est glen, at midnight hour,

I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie O ; If thro' that glen I gaed to thee.

My ain kind dearie O. Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild,f

And I were ne'er sae wearie O, I'd meet thee on the lea-rig,

My ain kind dearie O.

Your

* For " scented birks," in some copies, " birken buds."

E.

t In the copy transmitted to Mr, Thomson, instead of wild, was inserted ivet. But in one of the manuscripts, pro- bably written afterwards, wet was changed into wild; evidently a great improvement. The lovers might meet on the lea-rig

" although

10

Your observation as to the aptitude of Dr. Percy's ballad to the air, Nanie O, is just. It is besides, perhaps, the most beautiful ballad in the English language. But let me remark to you, that in the sentiment and style of our Scottish airs, there is a pastoral simplicity, a something that one may call the Doric style and dialect of vocal music, to which a dash of our native tongue and manners is particularly, nay peculiarly, apposite. For this reason, and, upon my honor, for this reason alone, I am of opinion (but, as I told you before, my opinion is yours, freely yours, to approve or reject, as you please) that my ballad of Nanie O might perhaps do for one set of verses to the tune.

Now

" although the night were ne'er so uild," that is, although the summer-wind blew, the sky loured, and the thunder mur- mured : such circumstances might render their meeting still more interesting. But if the night were actually Avet, why should they meet on the lea-rig? On a wet night, the ima- gination cannot contemplate their situation there with any complacency — TibuUus, and after him Hammond, has con- ceived a happier situation for lovers on a wet night. Pro- bably Burns had in his mind the verse of an old Scottish song, in which icet and weary are naturally enough conjoined.

" When my ploughman comes hame at ev'n,

" He 's often wet and weary : " Cast off the wet, put on the dry,

*' And gae to bed my deary." E.

11

Now don't let it enter into your head, that you are under any necessity of taking my verses. I have long ago made up my mind as to my own reputation in the business of authorship ; and have nothing to be pleased or offended at, in your adoption or rejection, of my verses. Though you should reject one half of what 1 give you, I shall be pleased with your adopting the other half, and shall continue to serve you with the same assiduity.

In the printed copy of my Na7iie O, the name of the river is horridly prosaic. I will alter it,

" Behind yon hills where Lugar flows."

Girvan is the name of the river that suits the idea of the stanza best, but Lugar is the most agreeable modulation of syllables.

I will soon give you a great many more re- marks on this business; but I have just now an opportunity of conveying you this scrawl, free of postage, an expense that it is ill able to pay : so, with my best compliments to honest Allan, Good be wi' ye, &c.

Friday Night.

Saturday

12

Saturday Morning.

As I find I have still an hour to spare this morning before my conveyance goes away, I will give you Nanie O at length.

Your remarks on Ewe-hvghts, 3Iarion, are just; still it has obtained a place among our more classical Scottish songs ; and what with many beauties in its composition, and more prejudices in its favor, you will not find it easy to supplant it.

In my very early years, when I was thinking of going to the West-Indies, I took the follow- ing farewell of a dear girl. It is quite trifling, and has nothing of the merits of Eice-hughts ; but it will fill up this page. You must know, that all my earlier love-songs were the breathings of ardent passion, and though it might have been easy in after-times to have given them a polish, yet that polish, to me, whose they were, and who perhaps alone cared for them, would have defaced the legend of my heart, which was so faithfully inscribed on them. Their uncouth simplicity was, as they say of wines, their race.

Wil:

13

Will ye go to the indies, my Mary, And leave auld Scotia's shore?

Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, Across th' Atlantic's roar?

0 sweet grows the lime and the orange, And the apple on the pine ;

But a' the charms o' the Indies Can never equal thine.

1 hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary, I hae sworn by the Heavens to be true ;

And sae may the Heavens forget me, When 1 forget my vow !

O plight me your faith, my Mary, And plight me your lily white hand ;

O plight me your faith, my Mary, Before I leave Scotia's strand.

We hae plighted our troth, my Mary,

In mutual affection to join, And curst be the cause that shall part us !

The hour and the moment o' time!*

Galla Water, and Auld Rob Morris, I think,

will

* This song Mr. Thomson has not adopted in his collec- tion. It deserves however to be preserved. E.

14

will most probably be the next subject of my musings. However, even on my verses, speak out your criticisms with equal frankness. My wish is, not to stand aloof, the uncomplying bigot of opinidtrete, but cordially to join issue with you in the furtherance of the work.

No. V.

Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

November 8th, 1792.

If you mean, my dear Sir, that all the songs in your collection shall be poetry of the first merit, I am afraid you will find more diffi- culty in the undertaking than you are aware of. There is a peculiar rhythmus in many of our airs, and a necessity of adapting syllables to the emphasis, or what I would call the feature- notes of the tune, that cramp the poet, and lay him under almost insuperable difficulties. For instance, in the air, 31i/ wife's a ivanton ivee thing, if a few lines smooth and pretty can be adapted to it, it is all you can expect. The

following

15

following were made extempore to it, and though on farther study, I might give you something more profound, yet it might not suit the light-horse gallop of the air so well as this random clink.

MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING.

She is a winsome wee thing, She is a handsome wee thing, She is a bonnie wee thing, This sweet wee wife o' mine.

I never saw a fairer,

I never lo'ed a dearer ;

And niest my heart I '11 wear her,

For fear my jewel tine.

She is a winsome wee thing, She is a handsome wee thing, She is a bonnie wee thing, This sweet wee wife o' mine.

The warld's wrack we share o't, The wars tie and the care o't ; Wi'her I'll blythly bear it, And think my lot divine.

I have

16

I have just been looking over the Colliers honny Dochter ; and if the following rhapsody, which I composed the other day, on a charm- ing Ayrshire girl. Miss , as she passed

through this place to England, will suit your taste better than the Collier Lassie^ fall on and welcome.

O saw ye bonnie Lesley

As she gaed o'er the border ?

She's gane, like Alexander,

To spread her conquests farther.

To see her is to love her,

And love but her for ever ; For Nature made her what she is,

And ne'er made sic anither !

Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, Thy subjects we, before thee :

Thou art divine, fair Lesley, The hearts o' men adore thee.

The Deil he could na scaith thee, Or aught that wad belang thee;

He 'd look into thy bonnie face, And say, " I canna wrang thee.'*

The powers aboon will tent thee ;

Misfortune sha' na steer thee. Thou 'rt like themselves so lovely,

That ill they '11 ne'er let near thee.

Return

17

Return again, fair Lesley,

Return to Caledonie! That we may brag, we hae a lass

There's nane again sae bonnie.

1 have hitherto deferred the sublimer, more pathetic airs, until more leisure, as they will take, and deserve, a greater effort. However, they are all put into your hands, as clay into the hands of the potter, to make one vessel to honour, and another to dishonour. Farewell, &c.

No. VI.

Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

HIGHLAND MARV.

Tune — " Katharine Ogie."

Ye banks, and braes, and streams around,

The castle o' Montgomery, Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,

Your waters never drumlie!

VOL. IV. c There

18

There simmer first unfald her robe$,

And there the langest tarry; For there I took the last fareweel

O' my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloom'd the gay, green birk,

How rich the hawthorn's blossom ! As underneath their fragrant shade,

I clasp'd her to my bosom ! The golden hours, on angel wings,

Flew o'er me and my dearie ; For dear to me, as light and life,

Was my sweet Highland Mary.

Wi' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace,

Our parting was fu' tender; And, pledging aft to meet again,

We tore oursels asunder; But Oh ! fell death's untimely frost,

That nipt my i3ower sae early ; Now green 's the sod, and cauld 's the clay,

That wrajis my Highland Mary !

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,

I aft hae kissed sae fondly ! And closd for ay the sparkling glance,

That dwelt on me sae kindly ! And mouldering now in silent dust,

That heart that lo'ed me dearly ! I

But still within my bosom's core.

Shall live my Highland Mary.

14th

19

l^th November, 1792. MY DEAR SIR,

I AGREE with you that the song, Katha- rine Ogie, is very poor stuff, and unworthy, altogether unworthy, of so beautiful an air. I tried to mend it ; but the aukward sound, Ogie recurring so often in the rhyme, spoils every attempt at introducing sentiment into the piece. The foregoing song pleases myself; I think it is in my happiest manner : you will see at first glance that it suits the air. The subject of the song is one of the most interesting passages of my youthfid days; and, I own that 1 should be much flattered to see the verses set to an air, ■which would insnre celebrity. Perhaps, after all, 'tis the still glowing prejudice of my heart, that throws a borrowed lustre over the merits of the composition.

I have partly taken your idea of Auld Rob Morris. I have adopted the two first verses, and am going on with the song on a new plan, which promises pretty well. I take up one or another, just as the bee of the moment buzzes in my bonnet-lug; and do you, sans ceremoiiiey make what use you chuse of the productions. Adieu! &c.

c 2 No.

20

No. VII.

Mr. THOMSON to Mr. BURNS.

Edinburgh, Nov. 1792. DEAR SIR,

I WAS JList going to write to you, that on meeting with your Nanie, I had fallen vio- lently in love with her. 1 thank you, therefore, for sending the charming rustic to me, in the dress you wish her to appear before the public. She does you great credit, and will soon be admitted into the best company.

I regret that your song for the Lea-rig is so. short; the air is easy, soon sung, and very pleasing : so that, if the singer stops at the end of two stanzas, it is a pleasure lost, ere it is well possessed.

Although a dash of our native tongue and manners is doubtless peculiarly congenial and appropriate to our melodies, yet I shall be able to present a considerable number of the very Flowers of English Song, well adapted to those melodies, which, in England at least, will be

the

21

the means of recommending them to still greater attention than they have procured there. But you will observe, my plan is, that every air shall in the first place have verses wholly by Scottish poets ; and that those of English writers shall follow as additional songs for the choice of the singer.

What you say of the Eive-huglits is just; I admire it, and never meant to supplant it. All 1 requested was, that you would try your hand on some of the inferior stanzas, which are ap- parently no part of the original song ; but this I do not urge, because the song is of sufficient length, though those inferior stanzas be omitted, as they will be by the singer of taste. You must not think I expect all the songs to be of superlative merit ; that were an unreasonable expectation. I am sensible that no poet can sit down doggedly to pen verses, and succeed well at all times,

I am highly pleased with your humorous and amorous rhapsody on JBonnie Leslie: it is a thousand times better than the Colliers Lassie. " The deil he ^cou'd na scaith thee," &c. is an eccentric and happy thought. Do you not think, however, that the names of such old heroes as Alexander, sound rather queer, un- less in pompous or mere burlesque verse?

Instead

22

Instead of the line, " And never made anither," 1 would humbly suggest, " And ne'er made sic anither ;" and I would fain have you substitute some other line for " Return to Caledonie," in the last verse, because I think this alteration of the orthography, and of the sound of Cale- donia, disfigures the word, and renders it Hu- dibrastic.

Of the other song. 3If/ wife 's a winsome tvee thing, I think the first eight lines very good : but I do not admire the other eight, because four of them are a bare repetition of the first verses. I have been trying to spin a stanza, but could make nothing better than the follow- ing: do you mend it, or, as Yorick did with the love-letter, whip it up in your own way.

O leeze me on my wee thing. My bonnie blithsome wee thing; Sae lang's I hae my wee thing, I'll think my lot divine.

Tho' warld's care we share o't, And may see meikle mair o't, Wi' her I'll blithly bear it, And ne'er a word repine.

You

23

You perceive, my dear Sir, I avail myself of the liberty, which you condescend to allow me, by speaking freely what I think. Be assured, it is not my disposition to pick out the faults of any poem or picture I see : my first and chief object is to discover and be delighted with the beauties of the piece. If I sit down to examine critically, and at leisure, what, perhaps, you have written in haste, I may happen to observe careless lines, the reperusal of which might lead you to improve them. The wren will often see what has been overlooked by the eagle.

I remain yours faithfully, &c.

P. S. Your verses upon Highland Mary are just come to hand: they breathe the genuine spirit of poetry, and, like the music, will last for ever. Such verses, united to such an air, with the delicate harmony of Pleyel superadded, might form a treat worthy of being presented to Apollo himself. I have heard the sad story of your Mary : you always seem inspired when you write of her.

No.

24

No. VIH. Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

Dumfries, \st Dec. 179*2,

Your alterations of my Nanie O are perfectly right. So are those of My wife's a wanton ivee thins;. Your alteration of the second stanza is a positive improvement. Now, my dear Sir, with the freedom which charac- terises our correspondence, 1 must not, cannot alter Bonnie Leslie. You are riij;ht, the word " Alexander," makes the line a little uncouth, but [ think the thought is pretty. Of Alexan- der, beyond all other heroes, it may be said, in the sublime language of Scripture, that " he went forth conquering and to conquer."

" For nature made her zchat she is,

" And never made anither." (such a person as she is.)

This is, in my opinion, more poetical than " Neer made sic anither." However, it is im- material ; make it either way.* " Caledonie,"

I agree

* Mr. Thomson has decided on Ne'er made sic anither. E.

25

I agree with you, is not so good a word as could be wished, though it is sanctioned in three or four instances by Allan Ramsay ; but I cannot help it. In short, that species of stanza is the most difficult that I have ever tried.

The Lea-rig is as follows. (Here the Poet gives the two first stanzas as before, p. 9, ivith the following iji addition.)

The hunter lo'es the morning sun,

To rouse the mountain deer, my jo ; At noon the fisher seeks the glen.

Along the burn to steer, my jo ; Gie me the hour o' gloamin grey.

It maks my heart sae cheery, O, To meet thee on the lea-rig,

My ain kind dearie, O.

I am interrupted. Yours, &c.

No.

26

No. IX.

Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

AULD ROB MORRIS.*

There's aiild Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, He'sthekingo'guid fellows and waleofauld men; He has gowd in his coffers, he hasowsenand kine, And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine.

She 's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May ; She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay; As blythe and as artless as the lambs on the lea, And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e.

But Oh ! she 's an heiress, an Id Robin 's a laird, And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and

yard; A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed, Thewoundslmust hide that will soon bemy dead.

The

* The two first lines are taken from an old ballad — the rest is wholly original. E.

27

The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane ; The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane : I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist, And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast.

0 had she but been of a lower degree.

1 then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon me ! O, how past descriving had then been my bliss. As now my distraction no words can express!

DUNCAN GRAY.

Duncan Gray cam here to woo,

Ha, ha, the ivooing ot. On blythe yule night Vrhen we were fu',

Ha, ha, the wooing ot. Maggie coost her head fu' high, Look'd asklent and unco skeigh, Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh ;

Ha, ha, the wooing o't,

Duncan

28

Duncan fleecli'd, and Duncan pray'd ;

Ha, ha, SjC. Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig,*

Ha, ha, SfC. Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, Grat his een baith bleer't and blin', Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn ;

Ha, ha, 6fc.

Time and chance are but a tide,

Ha, ha, S^c. Slighted love is sair to bide,

Ha, ha, S^c. Shall I, like a fool, quoth he, For a haughty hizzie die? She may gae to — France for me !

Ha, ha, ^T.

How it comes let Doctors tell.

Ha, ha, ^^c. Meg grew sick — as he grew heal,

Ha, ha, <SfC. Something in her bosom wrings, For relief a sigh she brings ; And O, her een, they spak sic things !

Ha, ha, ^c.

Duncan

A well-known rock in the frith of Clyde. E.

29

Duncan was a lad o' grace,

Ha, ha, Sfc. Maggie's was a piteous case,

Ha, ha, Sfc. Duncan could na be her death, Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath ; Now they 're crouse and canty baith.

Ha, ha, the wooing ot*

4th December, 1792.

The foregoing I submit, my dear Sir, to your better judgment. Acquit them or con- demn them as seemeth good in your sight. Duncan Gray is that kind of light-horse gallop of an air, which precludes sentiment. The ludicrous is its ruling feature.

JNo.

* This has nothing in common with the old licentious bal- lad of Duncan Gray, but the first line, and part of the third. — The rest is wholly original. E.

30

No. X. Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

SONG.

Tune — " I HAD A Horse."

O pooRTiTH cauld, and restless lave,

Ye wreck my peace between ye ; Yet poortith a' I could forgive,

An' 'twere na' for my Jeanie. O why should fate sic pleasure have,

Life's dearest bands untwining? Or why sae sweet a flower as love.

Depend on Fortune's shining ?

This warld's wealth when I think on. It's pride, and a' the lave o't;

Fie, fie on silly coward man. That he should be the slave o't. O why, ^c.

Her

31

Her een sae bonnie blue betray, How she repays my passion ;

But prudence is her o'erword ay, She talks of rank and fashion. O IV hy, ^c.

O wha can prudence think upon.

And sic a lassie by him ? O wha can prudence think upon,

And sae in love as I am? O why, 6fc,

How blest the humble cotter's fate!*

He woos his simple dearie ; The silly bogles, wealth and state,

Can never make them eerie. O why should fate sic pleasure have,

Life's dearest bands untwining ! Or why sae sweet a flower as love.

Depend on Fortune's shining ?

GALLA

" The wild- wood Indian's fate" in the original MS. E,

32

GALLA WATER.

There's braw braw lads, on Yarrow braes, That wander thro' the blooming heather ;

But Yarrow braes, nor Ettric shaws, Can match the lads o' Galla Water.

But there is ane, a secret ane, Aboon them a' I loe him better;

And 1 '11 be his, and he '11 be mine, The bonnie lad o' Galla Water.

Altho' his daddie was nae laird, And tho' I hae nae meikle tocher ;

Yet rich in kindest, truest love,

We'll tent our flocks by Galla Water.

It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth, That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure ;

The bands and bliss o' mutual love, O that's the chiefest warld's treasure !

Jan.

33

Jan. 1793.

Many returns of the season to you, my dear Sir. How comes on your publication? will these two foregoing be of any service to you? 1 should like to know what songs you print to each tune, besides the verses to which it is set. In short, I would wish to give you my opinion on all the poetry you publish. You know, it is my trade ; and a man in the way of his trade may suggest useful hints, that escape men of much superior parts and endowments in other things.

If you meet with my dear, and much-valued C greet him, in my name, with the compli- ments of the season,

Yours, &c.

No. XI. Mr. THOMSON to Mr. BURNS.

Edinburgh, Jan. 20, 1793.

1 ou make me happy, my dear Sir, and

thousands will be happy to see the charming

, VOL. IV. D songs

34

songs you have sent me. Many merry returns of the season to you, and may you long con- tinue among the sons and daughters of Cale- donia, to delight them and to honour yourself.

The four last songs with which you favoured me, for Auhl Rob Mmris, Duncan Gray^ Galla Water, and Caiild Kail, are admirable. Dun- can is indeed a lad of grace, and his humour will endear him to every body.

The distracted lover in Auld Rob, and the happy shepherdess in Galla Water, exhibit an excellent contrast: they speak from genuine feeling, and powerfully touch the heart.

The number of songs which 1 had originally in view was limited, but [ now resolve to in- clude every Scotch air and song worth singing; leaving none behind but mere gleanings, to which the publishers of omnegatherum are wel- come. I would rather be the editor of a collection from which nothing could be taken away, than of one to which nothing could be added. We intend presenting the subscribers with two beautiful stroke engravings; the one characteristic of the plaintive, and the other of the lively songs; and 1 have Dr. Beattie's promise of an essay upon the subject of our national music, if his health will permit him to

wTite

36

write it. As a number of our songs have doubt- less been called forth by particular events, or by the charms of peerless damsels, there must be many curious anecdotes relating to them.

The late Mr. Tytler of Woodhouselee, I believe, knew more of this than any body, for he joined to the pursuits of an antiquary, a taste for poetry, besides being a man of the world, and possessing an enthusiasm for music beyond most of his contemporaries. He was quite pleased with this plan of mine, for 1 may say it has been solely managed by me, and we had several long conversations about it, when it was in embryo. If I could simply mention the name of the heroine of each song, and the incident which occasioned the verses, it would be gratifying. Pray will you send me any in- formation of this sort, as well with regard to your own songs, as the old ones ?

To all the favourite songs of the plaintive or pastoral kind, will be joined the delicate ac- companiments, &c. of Pleyel. To those of the comic and humorous class, I think accom- paniments scarcely necessary ; they are chiefly fitted for the conviviality of the festive board, and a tuneful voice, with a proper delivery of the words, renders them perfect. Never- theless, to these 1 propose adding bass accom- D 2 paniments,

36

paniments, because then they are fitted either for singing, or for instrumental performance, when there happens to be no singer. I mean to employ our right trusty friend Mr. Clarke to set the bass to these, which he assures me he will do con amove, and with much greater attention than he ever bestowed on any thing of the kind. But for this last class of airs I will not attempt to find more than one set of verses.

That eccentric bard, Peter Pindar, has started I know not how many difficulties, about writing for the airs I sent to him, because of the peculiarity of their measure, and the tram- mels they impose on his flying Pegasus. I subjoin for your perusal the only one I have yet got from him, being for the fine air " Lord Gregory." The Scots verses printed with that air, are taken from the middle of an old ballad, called, The Loss of Lochroyan, which I do not admire. I have set down the air therefore as a creditor of yours. Many of the Jacobite songs are replete with wit and humour ; might not the best of these be included in our volume of comic songs?

POSTSCRIPT,

37

POSTSCRIPT,

From the Hon. A. ERSKINE.

Mr. Thomson has been so obliging as to give me a perusal of your songs. Highland Mary is most inchantingly pathetic, and Dun- can Gray possesses native genuine humour: " spak o' lowpin o'er a linn," is a line of itself that should make you immortal. I sometimes hear of you from our mutual friend C. who is a most excellent fellow, and possesses above all men I know, the charm of a most obliging disposition. You kindly promised me, about a year ago, a collection of your unpublished productions, religious and amorous; 1 know from experience how irksome it is to copy. If you will get any trusty person in Dumfries to write them over fair, I will give Peter Hill whatever money he asks for his trouble ; and I certainly shall not betray your confidence.

I am your hearty admirer,

ANDREW ERSKINE.

No

S8

No. XII. Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

26th January, 1793.

I APPROVE greatly, my dear Sir, of your plans. Dr. Beattie's essay will of itself be a treasure. On my part I mean to draw up an appendix to the Doctor's essay, containing my stock of anecdotes, &c. of our Scots songs. All the late Mr. Tytler's anecdotes, I have by me, taken down in the course of my acquain- tance with him from his own mouth. I am such an enthusiast, that in the course of my several peregrinations through Scotland, I made a pilgrimage to the individual spot from which every song took its rise, Lochaber, and the J^raes of JBallenden, excepted. So far as the locality, either from the title of the air, or the tenor of the song, could be ascertained, I have paid my devotions at the particular shrine of every Scots muse.

I do not doubt but you might make a very valuable collection of Jacobite songs, but would it give no offence ? In the mean time, do not

you

89

you think that some of them, particularly The sotvs tail to Geot'die, as an air, with other vvords, might be well worth a place in your collection of lively songs ?

If it were possible to procure song:s of merit, it would be proper to have one set of Scots words to every air, and that the set of words to which the notes ought to be set. There is a naivete, a pastoral simplicity, in a slight intermixture of Scots words and phraseology, which is more in unison (at least to my taste, and I will add to every genuine Caledonian taste) with the simple pathos, or rustic spright- liness of our native music, than any English verses whatever.

The very name of Peter Pindar is an acqui- sition to your work. His Gregory is beautiful. I have tried to give you a set of stanzas in Scots, on the same subject, which are at your service. Not that I intend to enter the lists with Peter; that would be presumption in- deed. My song, though much inferior in poetic merit has, I think, more of the ballad

s:

implicity in it.

LORD

40

LORD GREGORY

O MiKK, mirk is this midnight hour,

And loud the tempest's roar ; A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tow'r,

Lord Gregory, ope thy door.

An exile frae her father's ha\

And a' for loving thee; At least some piti/ on me shaw,

If love it may na be.

Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove,

By bonnie Irvvine-side, Where first I own'd that virgin-love

I lang, lang had denied ?

How aften didst thou pledge and vow

Thou wad for ay be mine ; And my fond heart, itsel sae true.

It ne'er mistrusted thine.

Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory,

And flinty is thy breast: Thou dart of heaven that flashest by,

O wilt thou give me rest !

i

Ye

41

Ye mustering thunders from above

Your willing victim see ! But spare, and pardon my fause love,

His vvrangs to heaven and me !*

My

* The Song of Dr. Walcott ou the same subject is as follows :

Ah ope, Lord Gregory, thy door,

A midnight wanderer sighs, Hard rush the rains, the tempests roar,

And lightnings cleave the skies.

Who comes with woe at this drear night —

A pilgrim of the gloom ? If she whose love did once delight,

My cot shall yield her room.

Alas ! thou heard'st a pilgrim mourn,

That once was priz'd by thee : Think of the ring by yonder burn

Thou gav'st to love and me.

But should'st thou not poor Marian know, I'll turn my feet and part; *

And think the storms that round me blow, Far kinder than thy heart.

It is but doing justice to Dr. Walcott to mention, that his song is the original. Mr, Burns saw it, liked it, and imme- diately wrote the other on the same subject, which is derived from an old Scottish ballad of uncertain origin. E.

42

My most respectful compliments to the honourable gentleman, who favoured me with a postscript in your last. He shall hear from and receive his MSS. soon.

No. XIII. Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

IMh March, 1793.

MARY MORISON.

Tune — " Bide ye yet."

O Mary, at thy window be,

It is the wish'd, the trysted hour! Those smiles and glances let me see,

That make the miser's treasure poor: How blithly wad I bide tlie stoure,

A weary slave frae sun to sun ; Could I the rich reward secure,

The lovely Mary Morison.

Yestreen

43

Yestreen when to the trembling string,

The dance gaed thro' the hghted ha', To thee my fancy took its wing,

I sat, but neither heard or saw : Tho' this was fair, and that was braw.

And yon the toast of a' the town, I sigh'd, and said amang them a',

** Ye are na Mary Morison."

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,

Wha for thy sake wad gladly die? Or canst thou break that heart of his,

Whase only faut is loving thee? If love for love thou wilt na gie.

At least be pity to me sho^yn ; A thought ungentle canna be

The thought o' Mary Morison.

MY DEAR SIR,

The song prefixed is one of ray juvenile works. I leave it in your hands. I do not think it very remarkable, either for its merits or demerits. It is impossible (at least 1 feel it so in my stinted powers) to be always original, entertaining, and witty.

What

44

What is become of the list, &c. of your songs ? I shall be out of all temper with you by and by. 1 have always looked on myself as the prince of indolent correspondents, and valued myself ac- cordingly ; and I will not, cannot bear rival- ship from you, nor any body else.

No. XIV. Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

March, 1793.

WANDERING WILLIE.

Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie, Now tired with wandering, hand awa hame;

Come to my bosom my ae only dearie,

And tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same.

Loud blew the cauld winter winds at our part- in <r •

It was nae the blast brought the tear in my e'e : Now welcome the simmer, and welcome my Willie, The simmer to nature, my Willie to iije.

Ye

I

45

Ye hurricanes, rest in the cave o' your slumbers!

O how your wild horrors a lover alarms ! Awaken ye breezes, row gently ye billows,

And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms.

But if he 's forgotten his faithfullest Nanie, O still flow between us, thou wide roaring main;

May I never see it, may I never trow it, But dying believe that my Willie's my ain !

1 leave it to you, my dear Sir, to determine whether the above, or the old Thro' the lang muir, be the best.

46

No. XV. Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

Open the door to me, Oh !

WITH ALTERATIONS.

Oh, open the door, some pity to shew.

Oh, open the door to me, Oh !* Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true,

Oh, open the door to me, Oh !

Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek, But caulder thy love for me, Oh !

The frost that freezes the life at my heart, Is nought to my pains frae thee. Oh !

The wan moon is setting behind the white wave, And time is setting with me, Oh !

False friends, false love, farewell ! for mair I'll ne'er trouble them, nor thee. Oh !

She

* This second line was originally.

If love it may na be, Oh. E.

47

She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide';

She sees his pale corse on the plain, Oh ! My true love she cried, and sank down by his side.

Never to rise again, Oh !

T do not know whether this song be really mended.

No. XVI.

Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON. JESSIE.

Tune — " Bonnie Dundee."

True hearted was he, the sad swain o* the Yarrow, And fair are the maids on the banks o* the Ayr, But by the sweet side o' the Nith's winding river,

Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair : To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over;

To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain ; Grace, beauty, and elegance, fetter her lover. And maidenly modesty fixes the chain.

O fresh

48

O, fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning.

And sweet is the lily at evening close ; But in the fair presence o' lovely young Jessie,

Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose. Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring ;

Enthron'd in her een he delivers his law : And still to her charms she alone is a stranger!

Her modest demeanor 's the jewel of a'.

I

No. XVII.

Mr. THOMSON to Mr. BURNS.

""■""""~ I

I WILL not recognise the title you give yourself " the Prince of indolent correspon- dents ;" but if the adjective were taken away, I think the title would then fit you exactly. It gives me pleasure to find you can furnish anec- dotes

* The justly praised fair one of this song was Miss Jessie Staig, Dumfries, afterward Mrs. Miller; but who died ia early life. ^ G. B.

49

dotes with respect to most of the songs: these w ill be a literary curiosity.

I now send you my list of the songs, which I believe will be found nearly complete. I have put down the first lines of all the English songs, which I propose giving in addition to the Scotch verses. If any others occur to you, better adapted to the character of the airs, pray mention them, when you favour me with your strictures upon every thing else relating to the work.

Pleyel has lately sent me a number of the songs, with his symphonies and accompani- ments added to them, f wish you were here, that I might serve up some of them to you with your own verses, by way of dessert after dinner. There is so much delightful fancy in the symphonies, and such a delicate simplicity in the accompaniments : they are indeed beyond all praise.

I am very much pleased with the several last productions of your muse : your Lord Gregory, in my estimation, is more interesting than Peter's, beautiful as his is ! Your Here awa Willie must undergo some alterations to suit the air. Mr. Erskine and I have been

VOL. IV. E

50

conning it over ; he will suggest what is neces- sary to make them a fit match.*

The

* WANDERING WILLIE.

As altered by Mr. Erskine and Mr. Thomson.

Here avva, there awa, wandering Willie,

Hei'e awa, there aica, haud awa hame; Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie,

Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same.

Winter-winds blew loud and caul at our parting.

Fears for my Willie brought tears in my e'<?, Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie,

As simmer to nature, so Willie to me.

Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave o' your slumbers. How your dread howliny a lover alarms !

Blorv soft ye breezes ! roll gently ye billows ! And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms.

Bid oh if he's faithless and minds na his Nanie, Flow still between us thou dark-heaving main I

May I never see it, may I never trow it.

While dying I think that my Willie's my ain.

Our poet, with his usual judgment, adopted some of these alterations, and rejected others. The last edition is as fol- lows :

Here

51

The gentleman I have mentioned, whose fine taste you are no stranger to, is so well pleased both with the musical and poetical part of our work, that he has volunteered his assistance, and has already written four songs for it, which, by his own desire, I send for your perusal,

E 2 No.

Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie,

Here awa, there awa, hand awa hame ; Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie.

Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same.

Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our 'edrting, Fears for my Willie brought tears in my e'e,

Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie, The simmer to nature, my Willie to me.

Hest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers, ■

How your dread howling a lover alarms !

Wauken ye breezes, row gently ye billows.

And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms.

But oh, if he 's faithless, and minds na his Nanie, Flow still between us thou wide-roaring main ;

May I never see it, may I never trow it, But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain.

Several of the alterations seem to be of little importance in themselves, and were adopted, it may be ])resumed, for the sake of suiting the words better to the music. The Homeric epithet for the sea, dark-heaving, suggested by

Mr

52

No. XVIIl. Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

When wild war's deadly blast was hlawm Air — " The mill mill O."

When wild war's deadly blast was blawn,

And gentle peace returning, Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless,

And mony a widow mourning.*

I left

Mr. Erskine, is in itself more beautiful, as well perhaps as more sublime than wide-roaring, which he has retained; but as it is only applicable to a placid state of the sea, or at most to the swell left on its surface after the storm is over, it gives a picture of that element not so well adapted to the ideas of eternal separation which the fair mourner is supposed to imprecate. From the original song of Here awa Willie, Burns has borrowed nothing but the second line and part of the first. The superior excellence of this beau- tiful poem will, it b hoped, justify the different editions of it which we have given. E.

* Variation, lines 3rd and 4th:

And eyes again with pleasure beam'd. That had been blear 'd with mourning.

See No. XXIV.

53

I left the lines and tented field, Where lang I'd been a lodger.

My humble knapsack a' my wealth, A poor and honest sodger.

A leal, light heart was in my breast,

My hand iinstain'd wi' plunder; And for fair Scotia, hame again,

I cheery on did wander. I thought upon the banks o' Coil,

I thought upon my Nancy, I thought upon the witching smile

That caught my youthful fancy.

At length I reach'd the bonny glen,

Where early life I sported ; I pass'd the mill, and trysting thorn,

Where Nancy aft 1 courted : Wha spied I but my ain dear maid,

Down by her mother's dwelling ! And turn'd me round to hide the flood

That in my een was swelling.

Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, sweet lass, Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom, O ! happy, happy may he be.

That 's dearest to thy bosom :

My

54

My purse is light, I 've far to gang, And fain wad be thy lodger ;

I 've serv'd my king and country lang, Take pity on a sodger.

Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me,

And lovelier was than ever; Quo' she, a sodger ance I lo'ed,

Forget him shall 1 never : Our humble cot, and hamely fare,

Ye freely shall partake it, That gallant badge, the dear cockade.

Ye 're welcome for the sake o't.

She gaz'd — she reddend like a rose —

Syne pale like ony lily ; She sank within my arms, and cried.

Art thou my ain dear Willie? By him who made yon sun and sky —

By whom true love 's regarded, I am the man ; and thus may still

True lovers be rewarded.

The wars are o'er, and I 'm come hame, And find thee still true-hearted;

Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love, And mair we'se ne'er be parted.

Quo'

55

Quo' she, my gramlsire left me gowd,

A mail en plenish'd fairly ; And come, my faithful sodger lad,

Thou'rt welcome to it dearly!

For gold the merchant ploughs the main,

The farmer ploughs the manor ; But glory is the sodger's prize,

The sodger's wealth is honor; The brave poor sodger ne'er despise,

Nor count him as a stranger, Remember he 's his country's stay

In day and hour of danger.

MEG O' THE MILL.

Alt' ** O BONNIE LASS WILL YOU LIE IN A

BARRACK."

O KEN ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten? An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten? She has gotten a coof wi' a claute o' siller. And broken the heart o' the barley Miller.

The

56

The Miller was strappiii, the Miller was ruddy ; A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady : The Laird was a widdiefu', bleerit knurl ; She s left the guid-fellow and ta'en the churl.

The Miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving ; The Laird d id address her wi' matter m air moving, A fine pacing-horse wi' a clear chained bridle, A whip by her side, and a bonnie side-saddle.

O wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing 5 And wae on the love that is fixed on a mailen! A tocher 's nae w ord in a true lover's parle, Butj gie me my love, and a fig for the warl !

No. XIX.

Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

Ith April, 1793.

Thank you, my dear Sir, for your packet. You cannot imagine how much this business of composing for your publication has added to my enjoyments. What with my early

attachment

57

attachment to ballads, your book, &c. b allad making is now as completely my hobby-horse, as ever fortification was Uncle Toby's ; so I '11 e'en canter it away till I come to the limit of my race, (God grant that 1 may take the right side of the winning post !) and then cheerfully looking back on the honest folks with whom I have been happy, I shall say, or sing, " Sae merry as we a' hae been," and raising my last looks to the whole human race, the last words of the voice of Coila^ shall be " Good night and joy be wi' you a'!" So much for my last words : now for a few present remarks, as they have occurred at random on looking over your list.

The first lines of The last time I came o'er the moor, and several other lines in it are beau- tiful ; but in my opinion — pardon me, revered shade of Ramsay ! the song is unworthy of the divine air. I shall try to make or mend. For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove, is a charming song; but Logan burn and Logan hraes, are sweetly susceptible of rural imagery : I '11 try

that

* Burns here calls himself the Voice of Coda, in imita- tion of Ossian, who denominates himself the Voice ofCona. Sae merry as ice a' hae been ; and Good night and joy be wi' you a', are the names of two Scottish tunes. E.

58

that likewise, and, if I succeed, the other song' may class among the English ones, I remem- ber the two last lines of a verse in some of the old songs of Logmi Water (for I know a good many different ones) which 1 think pretty :

" Now my dear lad maun face his faes, " Far, far frae me and Logan braes."

My Patie is a lover gay, is unequal. *' His mind is never muddy," is a muddy expression indeed. «

" Then I'll resign and marry Pate, " And syne my cockernony."

This is surely far unworthy of Ramsay, or your book. My song. Rigs of Barley, to the same tune, does not altogether please me, but if I can mend it and thresh a few loose senti- ments out of it, I will submit it to your con- sideration. The lass o Patie s mill is one of Ramsay's best songs ; but there is one loose sentiment in it which my much-valued friend Mr. Erskine will take into his critical considera- tion. In Sir J. Sinclair's Statistical volumes, are two claims, one, I think, from Aberdeen- . shire, and the other from Ayrshire, for the honour of this song. The following anecdote, which 1 had from the present Sir William

Cunningham,

59

Cunningham, of Robertland, who had it of the late John, Earl of Loudon, 1 can, on such authorities, believe.

Allan Ramsay was residing at Loudon castle with the then Earl, father to Earl John ; and one forenoon, riding, or walking out to- gether, his Lordship and Allan passed a sweet, romantic spot on Irwine Water, still called, " Patie's Mill," where a bonie lass was '* tedding hay, bare headed, on the green.". My Lord ob- served to Allan, that it would be a fine theme for a song. Ramsay took the hint, and, lin- gering behind, he composed the first sketch of it, which he produced at dinner.

One day I heard Mary say, is a fine song ; but, for consistency's sake, alter the name " Ado- nis." Were there ever such banns published as a purpose of marriage between Adimis and Mary ? 1 agree with you that ray song, There 's nought hut care on every hand, is much superior to Poortith cauld. The original song The Milly mill O, though excellent, is, on account of delicacy, inadmissible ; still I like the title, and think a Scottish song would suit the notes best ; and let your chosen song, which is very pretty, follow, as an English set. The Banks of the Dee, is, you know, literally, Langoleey

to

60

to slow time. The song is well enough, but has some false imagery in it, for instance,

" And sweetly the nightingale sung from the tree.''

In the first place, the nightingale sings in a low bush, but never from a tree ; and in the second place, there never was a nightingale seen, or heard, on the banks of the Dee, or on the banks of any other river in Scotland. Ex- otic rural imagery is always comparatively flat. If I could hit on another stanza, equal to The small ^ birds rejoice, &c. I do myself honestly avow that I think it a superior song.* John Anderson my jo — the song to this tune in Johnson's Museum, is my composition, and I think it not my worst : If it suit you, take it and welcome. Your collection of sentimental and pathetic songs, is, in my opinion, very complete; but not so your comic ones. Where are Tullochgorum, Lumps o' puddin, Tihhie Fowler, and several others, which, in my humble judgment, are well worthy of preserva- tion?

* It will be found in the course of this correspondence that the Bard produced a second stanza of The Chevalier's Lament, (to which he here alludes) worthy of the first. E.

61

tion? There is also one sentimental song of mine in the Museum, which never was known out of the immediate neighbourhood, until I got it taken down from a country girl's singing. It is called Cragiehurn Wood; and, in the opinion of Mr. Clarke, is one of the sweetest Scottish songs. He is quite an enthusiast about it; and I would take his taste in Scot- tish music, against the taste of most connois- seurs.

You are quite right in inserting the last five in your list, though they are certainly Irish. Shepherds I have lost my love! is to me a heavenly air — what would you think of a set of Scottish verses to it ? I have made one to it a good while ago, which I think * ^ * * * ###^###*# i^y^ |j^ j^y original

state is not quite a lady's song. I inclose an altered, not amended copy for you, if you chuse to set the tune to it, and let the Irish verses follow.*

Mr.

* Mr. Thomson, it appears, did not approve of this song, even in its altered state. It does not appear in the correspondence ; but it is probably one to be found in his MSS. beginning,

" Yestreen

62

Mr. Erskiue's songs are all pretty, but his Lone Vale is divine.

Yours, &c.

Let me know just how you like these random hints.

No. XX. Mr. THOMSON to Mr. BURNS.

Edinburgh, April, 1793.

I REJOICE to find, my dear Sir, that ballad-making continues to be your hobby- horse.—

*' Yestreen I got a pint of wine, " A place where body saw na !

" Yestreen lay on this breast of mine, " The gowden locks of Anna."

It is highly characteristic of our Bard, but the strain of sentiment does not correspond with the air to which he pro- poses it should be aUied. E.

i

63

horse. — Great pity 'twould be were it other- wise. ] hope you will amble it away for many a year, and " witch the world with your horse- manship."

I know there are a good many lively songs of merit that I have not put down in the list sent you ; but I have them all in my eye. My Patie is a lover gay, though a little unequal, is a natural and very pleasing song, and I humbly think we ought not to displace or alter it, except the last stanza.*

No. XXI.

Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

April, 1793.

I HAVE yours, my dear Sir, this mo- ment. I shall answer it and your former letter,

in

* The original letter from Mr. Thomson contains many observations on the Scottish songs, and on the manner of adapting the words to the music, which, at his desire, are suppressed. The subsequent letter of Mr. Burns refers to several of these observations. E.

64

ill my desultory way of saying whatever comes uppermost.

The business of many of our tunes wanting at the beginning what fiddlers call, a starting- note, is often a rub to us poor rhymers.

*' There \s braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes, " That wander thro' the blooming heather,"

You may alter to

" Braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes, " Ye wander, &c."

My song. Here awa, there awa, as amended by Mr. Erskine, I entirely approve of, and re- turn you.*'

Give me leave to criticise your taste in the only thing in which it is, in my opinion, repre- hensible. You know I ought to know some- thing of my own trade. Of pathos, sentiment, and point, you are a complete judge ; but there is a quality more necessary than either, in a song, and which is the very essence of a ballad,

I mean

* The reader has akeady seen that Burns did iiot finaUy adopt all of Mr. Erskine's alterations. E.

6b

I mean simplicity : now, if I mistake not, this last feature you are a little apt to sacrifice to

the foregoing.

Ramsay, as every other poet, has not been always equally happy in his pieces : still I can- not approve of taking such liberties with an author as Mr. W. proposes doing with The last time I came oer the moor. Let a poet, if he chuses, take up the idea of another, and work it into a piece of his own ; but to mangle the works of the poor bard whose tuneful tongue is now mute for ever, in the dark and narrow house ; by heaven 'twould be sacrilege ! I grant that Mr. W.'s version is an improvement ; but, I know Mr. W. well, and esteem him much ; let him mend the song, as the Highlander mended his gun : he gave it a new stock, a new lock, and a new barrel,

I do not, by this, object to leaving out im- proper stanzas, where that can be done without spoiling the whole. One stanza in The lass o' Paties milly must be left out : the song will be nothing worse for it. I am not sure if we can take the same liberty with Corn rigs are honnie. Perhaps it might want the last stanza, and be the better for it. Cauld hail in Aberdeen, you must leave with me yet a while. 1 have vowed to. have a song to that air, on the lady whom I

VOL. IV. F attempted

66

attempted to celebrate in the verses Poortith cauld and restless love. At any rate, my other song, Green grow the rashes, will never suit. That song is current in Scotland under the old title, and to the merry old tune of that name ; which of course would mar the progress of your song to celebrity. Your book will be the standard of Scots songs for the future : let this idea ever keep your judgment on the alarm.

I send a song, on a celebrated toast in this country, to suit Bonnie Dundee. I send you also a ballad to the Mill mill O.*

The last time I came o'er the moor^ I would fain attempt to make a Scots song for, and let Ramsay's be the English set. You shall hear from me soon. When you go to London on this business, can you come by Dumfries ? I have still several MSS. Scots airs by me which I have pickt up, mostly from the singing of country lasses. They please me vastly ; but

your

* The song to the tune of Bonnie Dundee, is that in No. XVI. The ballad to the Mill mill O is that beginning,

" \^Tien wild war's deadly blasts are blawn."

E.

67

your learned lugs* would perhaps be displeased with the very feature for which J like them. I call them simple; you would pronounce them silly. Do you know a tine air, called Jackie Humes Lament ? I have a song of considerable merit to that air. 1 '11 inclose you both the song and tune, as I had them ready to send to Johnson's Museum. f I send you likewise, to me, a beautiful little air, which I had taken down from viva voce.^

Adieu !

P 2 No

Ears.

E.

t The song here mentioned is that given in No. XVIH, O ken ye uluit Meg o' the Milt has gotten? This song ia surely Mr. Burns's own writing, though he does not gene- tally praise his own songs so much.

Note by Mr. Thomson.

X The air here mentioned is that for which he wrote the ballad of Bonnie Jean, to be found p. 81. E.

08

No. XXII. Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

April, 1793. MY DEAR SIR,

1 HAD scarcely put my last letter into the post office, when I took up the subject of The last time I came oer the moor, and ere I slept drew the outlines of the foregoing.* How far 1 have succeeded, I leave on this, as on every other occasion, to you to decide. 1 own my vanity is flattered, when you give my songs a place in your elegant and superb work ; but to be of service to the work is my first wish. As I have often told you, I do not in a single instance wish you, out of compliment to me, to insert any thing of mine. One hint let me give you — what- ever Mr. Pleyel does, let him not alter one iota of the original Scottish airs ; I mean in the song^ department; but let our national music preserve its native features. They are, I own, frequently wild and irreducible to the more modern rules ; but on that very eccentricity, perhaps, depend* a great part of their effect.

No.

* The song alluded to here, will be found in a subsequent part of this volume. E.

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No. XXIII.

Mr. THOMSON to Mr. BURNS.

Edinburgh, 26th April, 1793.

I HEARTILY thank you, my dear Sir, for your last two letters, and the songs which ac- companied them. I am always both instructed and entertained by your observations ; and the frankness with which you speak out your mind, is to me highly agreeable. It is very possible I may not have the true idea of simplicity in composition. I confess there are several songs, of Allan Ramsay's for example, that I think silly enough, which another person more con- versant than I have been with country people, would, perhaps, call simple and natural. But the lowest scenes of simple nature will not please generally, if copied precisely as they are. The poet, like the painter, must select what will form an agreeable as well as a natural picture. On this subject it were easy to enlarge; but at present suffice it to say, that I consider sim- plicity

70

plicity, rightly understood, as a most essential quality in composition, and the groundwork of beauty in all the arts. 1 will gladly appro- priate your most interesting new ballad When ivild 2cars deadly blast, &c. to the Mill mill O, as well as the two other songs to their respective airs ; but the third and fourth lines of the first verse must undergo some little alteration in or- der to suit the music. Pleyel does not alter a single note of the songs. That would be absurd indeed ! With the airs which he introduces into the sonatas, I allow him to take such liberties as he pleases, but that has nothing to do with the songs.

P. S. I wish you would do as you proposed with your Higs of JBarley. If the loose sen- timents are threshed out of it, I will find an air for it ; but as to this there is no hurry.

INo.

71

No. XXIV.

Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

June, 1793.

When I tell you, my dear Sir, that a friend of mine, in whom I am much interested, has fallen a sacrifice to these accursed times, you will easily allow that it might unhinge me for doing any good among ballads. My own loss, as to pecuniary matters is trifling; but the total ruin of a much loved friend, is a loss indeed. Pardon my seeming inattention to your last com- mands.

I cannot alter the disputed lines, in the Mill mill O* What you think a defect, I esteem as

a positive

* The lines were the third and fourth. See p. 52.

*' Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless, " And mony a widow mourning."

As our poet had maintained a long silence, and the first num- ber

72l

a positive beauty: so you see how doctors dif- fer. I .shall now, with as much alacrity as I can muster, go on with your commands.

You know Fraser, the hautboy-player in Edinburgh — he is here, instructing a band of music for a fencible corps quartered in this country. Among many of his airs that please me, there is one, well known as a reel, by the name of The Quakers Wife ; and which 1 re- member a grand aunt of mine used to sing, by the name of Liggeram Cosh, my bomiie tvee lass. Mr. Fraser plays it slow, and with an expression that quite charms me. I became such an en- thusiast about it, that I made a song for it, which I here subjoin ; and inclose Fraser's set of the tune. If they hit your fancy, they are at your service ; if not, return me the tune, and I will put it in Johnson's Museum. I think the song is not in my worst manner.

T'une

ber of Mr. Thomson's 3Iusical Work was in the press, this gentleman ventured, by Mr. Erskine's advice, to substitute for them in that publication,

" And eyes again with pleasure beamed, " That had been bleared with mourning."

Though better suited to the music, these lines are inferior to the original. This is the only alteration adopted by Mr. Thomson, which Burns did not approve, or at least assent to.

E.

73

Tune — " LiGGERAM Cosh."

Blythe liae I been on yon hill,

As the lambs before me ; Careless ilka thought and free,

As the breeze flew o'er me : Now nae langer sport and play,

Mirth or sang can please me; Lesley is sae fair and coy.

Care and anguish seize me.

Heavy, heavy, is the task,

Hopeless love declaring: Trembling, I dow nocht but glowr,

Sighing, dumb, despairing! If she winna ease the thraws,

In my bosom swelling ; Underneath the grass-green sod,

Soon maun be my dwelling.

I ^should wish to hear how this pleases you.

No.

74

No. XXV.

Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

June 2oth, 1793.

Have you ever, my dear Sir, felt your . bosom ready to burst with indignation on reading of those mighty villains who divide kingdom against kingdom, desolate provinces, and lay nations waste, out of the wantonness of ambi- tion, or often from still more ignoble passions ? In a mood of this kind to-day, 1 recollected the air of JLogan Water ; and it occurred to me that its querulous melody probably had its origin from the plaintive indignation of some swelling, suffering heart, fired at the tyrannic strides of some public destroyer ; and over- whelm'd with private distress, the consequence of a country's ruin. If I have done any thing at all like justice to my feelings, the following song, composed in three-quarters of an hour's meditation in my elbow-chair, ought to have some merit.

Tune

M

75

Tune — ** Logan Water."

O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide,' That day I was my Willie's bride ; And years sinsyne hae o'er us run, Like Logan to the simmer sun. But now thy flow'ry banks appear Like drnmlie winter, dark and drear, While my dear lad maun face his faes, Far, far frae me and Logan braes.

Again the merry month o' May,

Has made our hills and valleys gay ;

The birds rejoice in leafy bowers.

The bees hum round the breathing flowers :

Blythe, morning lifts his rosy eye,

And evening's tears are tears of joy :

My soul, delightless, a' surveys,

While Willie 's far frae Logan braes.

Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, Amang her nestlings sits the thrush ; Her faithfu' mate will share her toil, Or wi' his song her cares beguile : But I, wi' my sweet nurslings here, Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer, Pass widow d nights and joyless days. While Willie 's far frae Logan braes.

O wae

76

O wae upon you, men o' state, That brethren rouse to deadly hate ! As ye make mony a fond heart mourn, Sae may it on your heads return ! How can your flinty hearts enjoy The widow's tears, the orphan's cry ?* But soon may peace bring happy days And Willie, hame to Logan braes !

Do you know the following beautiful little fragment, in Witherspoon's collection of Scots songs ?

Air — " HuGHiE Graham."

" O GIN my love were yon red rose, " That grows upon the castle wa';

" And 1 mysel' a drap o' dew, " Into her bonnie breast to fa'!

" Oh !

* Originally,

" Ye mind na, 'mid your cruel joys,

" The widow's tears, the orphan's cries."

E.

n

** Oh, there beyond expression blest, ** 1 'd feast on beauty a' the night ;

** Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest, « Till fley'd awa by Phoebus' light."

This thought is inexpressibly beautiful; and quite, so far as I know, original. It is too short for a song, else I would forswear you altogether, unless you gave it a place. 1 have often tried to eke a stanza to it, but in vain. After balancing myself for a musing five minutes, on the hind- legs of my elbow-chair, I produced the following.

The verses are far inferior to the foregoing, I frankly confess ; but if worthy of insertion at all, they might be first in place ; as every poet, who knows any thing of his trade, will husband his best thoughts for a concluding stroke.

O were my love yon lilac fair,

Wi' purple blossoms to the spring ;

And I, a bird to shelter there. When wearied on my little wing :

How I wad mourn, when it was torn By autumn wild, and winter rude!

But I wad sing on wanton wing.

When youthfu' May its bloom renewed.

No.

78

No. XXVI.

Mr. THOMSON to Mr. BURNS.

Monday, \st July, 1793.

I AM extremely sorry, my good Sir, that any thing should happen to unhinge you. The times are terribly out of tune, and when harmony will be restored, heaven knows.

The first book of songs, just published, will be dispatched to you along with this. Let me be favoured with your opinion of it, frankly and freely.

I shall certainly give a place to the song you have written for the Quakers Wife; it is quite enchanting. Pray will you return the list of songs, with such airs added to it as you think ought to be included. The business now rests

entirely

79

entirely on myself, the gentlemen who originally agreed to join the speculation, having requested to be off. No matter, a loser I cannot be. The superior excellence of the work will create a general demand for it, as soon as it is properly known. And, were the sale even slower than it promises to be, 1 should be somewhat compensated for my labour, by the pleasure I shall receive from the music. I can- not express how much I am obliged to you for the exquisite new songs you are sending me ; but thanks, my friend, are a poor return for what you have done : as I shall be benefited by the publication, you must suffer me to inclose a small mark of my gratitude,* and to repeat it afterwards when I find it convenient. Do not return it, for by heaven if you do, our corres- pondence is at an end : and though this would be no loss to you, it would mar the publication, which, under your auspices, cannot fail to be respectable and interesting,

Wednesday

80

Wednesdaif Morning.

I THANK you for your delicate additional ■verses to the old fragment, and for your excel- lent song to Logan Water: Thomson's truly elegant one will follow for the English singer. Your apostrophe to statesmen is admirable, but 1 am not sure if it is quite suitable to the supposed gentle character of the fair mourner who speaks it.

No.

81

No. XXVII. Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

July 2nd, 1793. MY DEAR SIR,

I HAVE just finished the following bal- lad, and, as I do think it in my best style, I send it you. Mr. Clarke, who wrote down the air from Mrs. Burns's wood-note wild, is very fond of it ; and has given it a celebrity by teaching it to some young ladies of the first fashion here. \i you do not like the air enough to give it a place in your collection, please return it. The song you may keep, as I remember it.

There was a lass, and she was fair, At kirk and market to be seen,

When a' the fairest maids were met. The fairest maid was bonnie Jean.

VOL. IV. G And

And ay she wrought her mammie's wark.

And ay she sang sae merrilie: The blithest bird upon the bush

Had ne'er a lighter heart than she.

But hawks will rob the tender joys That bless the little lintwhite's nest;

And frost will blight the fairest flowers, And love will break the soundest rest.

Young Robie was the brawest lad, The flower and pride of a' the glen ;

And he had owsen, sheep, and kye, And wanton naigies nine or ten.

He gaed wi' Jenny to the tryste, He danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down ;

And, lang ere witless Jeanie wist,

Her heart was tint, her peace was stown.

As in the bosom o' the stream.

The moon-beam dwells at dewy e'en ;

So trembling, pure, was tentler love Within the breast o' bonnie Jean.*

And

- In the original MS, our poet asks Mr. Thomson if this staaza is not original ? M.

83

And now she works her mammie's wark, And ay she sighs wi' care and pain ;

Yet wist na what her ail might be, Or what wad niak her weel again.

But did na Jeanie's heart loup light, And did na joy blink in her e'e,

As Robie tanld a tale o' love Ae e'enin on the lily lea ?

The sun was sinking in the west, The birds sang sweet in ilka grove ;

His cheek to hers he fondly prest, And whisper'd thus his tale o' love :

O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear;

O canst thou think to fancy me ! Or wilt thou leave thy manimie's,cot,

And learn to tent the farms wi' me?

At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge, Or naething else to trouble thee ;

But stray amang the heather-bells, And tent the waving corn wi' me.

Now what could artless Jeanie do ?

She had nae will to say him na : At length she blush'd a sweet consent,

And love was ay between them twa.

G 2 I have

84

I liave some thoughts of inserting in your in- dex, or in my notes, the names of the fair-ones, the themes of my songs. I do not mean the name at full ; but dashes or asterisms, so as ingenuity may find them out.

The heroine of the foregoing is Miss M., daughter to Mr. M. of D., one of your sub- scribers. I have not painted her in the rank which she holds in life, but in the dress and character of a cottager.

No. XXVIII. Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

July, 1793.

I ASSURE you, my dear Sir, that yoU' truly hurt me with your pecuniary parcel. It degrades me in my own eyes. However, to return it would savour of affectation ; but, as to any more traffic of that debtor and creditor kind ; 1 swear, by that Honour which crowns the upright statue of Robert Burns's Inte- grity— on the least motion of it, I will indig- nantly spurn the by-past transaction, and from that moment commence entire stranger to you !

Burns's

85

BuRNs's character for generosity of sentiment and independence of mind, will, I trust, long outlive any of his wants, which the cold un- feeling ore can supply : at least, I will take care that such a character he shall deserve. .

Thank j'^ou for my copy of your publication. Never did my eyes behold, in any musical work, such elegance and correctness. Your preface, too, is admirably written : only your partiality to me has made you say too much : however, it will bind me down to double every effort in the future progress of the work. The following are a few remarks on the songs in the list you sent me. I never copj'^ what I write to you, so I may be often tautological, or per- haps contradictory.

The flowers o the forest^ is charming as a poem ; and should be, and must be, set to the notes, but, though out of your rule, the thre^ stanzas beginning,

" I hae seen the smiling o' fortune beguiling,"

are worthy of a place, were it but to immortal- ize the author of them, who is an old lady of my acquaintance, and at this moment living in Edinburgh. She is a Mrs. Cockburn ; I forget

of

m

of what place ; but from Roxburghshire. What a charming apostrophe is

" O fickle fortune, why this cruel sporting, " Why, why torment us — poor sons of a dayT

The old ballad, / ivish I were ivhere Helen lies, is silly, to contemptibility.* My alteration of it, iu Johnson's, is not much better. Mr. Pinkerton, iu his, what he calls, ancient ballads (many of them notorious, though beautiful enough, forgeries) has the best set. It is full of his own interpolations, but no matter.

In my next I will suggest to your considera- tion, a few songs which may have escaped your hurried notice. In the mean time allow me to congratulate yon now, as a brother of the quill. You have committed your character and fame ; which will now be tried, for ages to come, by the illustrious jury of the Sons and Daughters of Taste — all whom poesy can please, or music charm.

Being

* There is a copy of this ballad given in the account of the Parish of Kirkpatrick-Fleeming (which contains the tomb of fair Helen Irvine) in the statistics of Sir John Sinclair, vol. XIII. p. 275, to which this character is certainly not ap- plicable. E.

87

Being a bard of nature, 1 have some preten- sions to second sight ; and I am warranted by the spirit to foretel and affirm, that your great- grand-chikl will hold up your volumes, and say with honest pride, " This so much admired selection was the work of my ancestor."

No. XXIX.

Mr. THOMSON to Mr. BURNS.

Edinburgh, \st Aug. 1793. PEAR SIR,

I HAD the pleasure of receiving your last two letters, and am happy to find you are quite pleased with the appearance of the first book. When you come to hear the songs sung and accompanied, you will be charmed with them.

The honnie brucket Lassie, certainly deserves better verses, and I hope you will match her. Cauld hail in Aberdeen, Let me in this ae night, and several of the livelier airs, wait the muse's leisure: these are peculiarly worthy of her choice gifts : besides, yau '11 notice, that in airs of this

sort

88

sort, the singer can always do greater justice to the poet, than in the slower airs of 2^he hush ahoon Traquair, Lord Gregory, and the like ; for in the manner the latter are frequently sung, you must be contented with the sound without the sense. Indeed both the airs and words are disguised by the very slow, languid, psalm- singing style in M'hich they are too often per- formed : they lose animation and expression altogether, and instead of speaking to the mind, or touching the heart, they cloy upon the ear, and set us a yawning!

Your ballad, There was a lasSy and she was fair, is simple and beautiful, and shall un- doubtedly grace my collection.

No. XXX. Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

August, 1793. MY DEAR THOMSON,

I HOLD the pen for our friend Clarke, who, at present, is studymg the music of the

spheres

89

spheres at my elbow. The Georgium Sidus, he thinks, is rather out of tune ; so, until he rec- tify that matter, he cannot stoop to terrestrial affairs.

He sends you six of the Rondeau subjects, and if more are wanted he says you shall have them.

Confound your long stairs !

S. CLARKE,

No. XXXI. Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

August, 1793.

Your objection, my dear Sir, to the passages in my song of Logan Water, is right in one instance; but it is difficult to mend it: if 1 can [ will. The other passage you object to, does not appear in the same light to me.

I have

90

I have tried my hand on Robin Adair, and, you will probably think, with little success; but it is such a cursed, cramp, out-of-the-way measure, that I despair of doing any thing bet-

ter to it.

PHILLIS THE FAIR.

Time — *' Robin Adair."

While larks with little wing,

Fann'd the pure air. Tasting the breathing spring,

Forth I did fare : Gay the sun's golden eye, Peep'd o'er the mountains high ; Such thy morn ! did 1 cry,

Phil lis the fair.

In each bird's careless song,

Glad, I did share; While yon wild flowers among.

Chance led me there: Sweet to the opening day. Rosebuds bent the dewy spray ; ^uch thy bloom! did 1 say,

Phillis the fair.

Down

91

Down in a shady walk,

Doves cooing were, I mark'd the cruel hawk

Caught in a snare : So kind may fortune be. Such make his destiny ! He who would injure thee,

Phillis the fair.

So much for namby-pamby. 1 may, after all, try my hand on it in Scots verse. TheVe I always find myself most at home.

I have just put the last hand to the song 1 meant for Cauld Kail in Aberdeen. If it suits you to insert it, 1 shall be pleased, as the heroine is a favorite of mine: if not, I shall also be pleased; because I wish, and will be glad, to see you act decidedly on the business.* 'Tis a tribute as a man of taste, and as an editor, which you owe yourself

No.

The song herewith sent, is that in p. 30 of this volume.

E.

92

No. XXXII. Mr. THOMSON to Mr. BURNS.

August, 1793, MY GOOD SIR,

I CONSIDER it one of the most agreeable circumstances attending this publication of mine, that it has procured me so many of your much valued epistles. Pray make my acknowledg- ments to St. Stephen for the tunes : tell him I admit the justness of his complaint on my stair- case, conveyed in his laconic postscript to your jeu cFesprit; which I perused more than once, without discovering exactly whether your dis- cussion was music, astronomy, or politics: though a sagacious friend acquainted with the convivial habits of the poet and the musician, offered me a bet of two to one, you were just drowning care together; that an empty bowl was the only thing that would deeply affect you, and the only matter you could then study how to remedy !

I shall be glad to see you give Rohin Adair

a Scottish

93

a Scottish dress. Peter is furnishing him with an English suit for a change, and you are well matched together. Robin's air is excellent, though he certainly has an out-of-the-way mea- sure as ever poor Parnassian wight was plagued with. I wish you would invoke the muse for a single elegant stanza to be substituted for the concluding objectionable verses of Down the IBurn Davie, so that this most exquisite song may no longer be excluded from good company.

Mr. Allan has made an inimitable drawing from your John Anderson my Jo, which I am to have engraved as a frontispiece to the humorous class of songs ; you will be quite charmed with it, I promise you. The old couple are seated by the fireside. Mrs. Anderson, in great good humour is clapping John's shoulders, while he smiles and looks at her with such glee, as to shew that he fully recollects the pleasant days and nights when they vfexe first acquent. The drawing would do honour to the pencil of Teniers.

No.

94

No. XXXIII. Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

AiigHst, 1793.

That crinkum-crankum tune, Robin Adair, has run so in my head, and 1 succeeded so ill in my last attempt, that I have ventured, iu this morning's walk, one essay more. You, my dear Sir, will remember an unfortunate part of our worthy friend C.'s story, which hap- pened about three years ago. That struck my fancy, and I endeavoured to do the idea justice, as follows.

SONG.

Had [ a cave on some wild, distant shore. Where the winds howl to the waves' dashing- roar : There would I weep my woes. There seek my lost repose. Till grief my eyes should close, Ne'er to wake more.

Falsest

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Falsest of womankind, canst thou declare, All thy fond plighted vows—fleeting as air !

To thy new lover hie,

Laugh o'er thy perjury.

Then in thy bosom try, What peace is there !

By the way, J have met with a Musical High- lander, in Breadal bane's Fencibles, which are quartered here, who assures me that he well re- members his mother's singing Gaelic songs to both Robin Adair and Gramachree. They certainly have more of the Scotch than Irish taste in them.

This man comes from the vicinity of Inver- ness ; so it could not be any intercourse with Ireland that could bring them ; — except, what [ shrewdly suspect to be the case, the wander- ing minstrels, harpers, and pipers, used to go frequently errant through the wilds both of Scotland and Ireland, and so some favorite airs might be common to both — A case in point — They have lately, in Ireland, published an Irish air, as they say, called Caun du delish. The fact is, in a publication of Corri's a great while ago, you will find the same air, called a High- land

96

land one, with a Gadic song set to it. Its name there, 1 think, is Oran Gaoil, and a fine air it is. Do ask honest Allan, or the Rev. Gaelic Parson, about these matters.

No. XXXIV. Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

August, 1793. MY DEAR SIR,

Let me in this ae night, I will reconsider. I am glad that you are pleased with my song, Had I a cave, &c. as I liked it myself.

I walked out yesterday evening, with a volume of the Museum in my hand ; when, turning up Allan Water, '* What numbers shall the muse repeat, &c." as the words appeared to me rather unworthy of so fine an air; and recollecting, that it is on your list, I sat, and raved, under the shade of an old thorn, 'till I wrote one to suit the measure. 1 may be wrong ; but I think it not in my worst style. Ton must know, that in Ramsay's Tea-table, where the modern song

first

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first appeared, the ancient name of the tune, Allan says, is Allan Water or My love Annie 's very bonnie. This last has certainly been a line of the original song ; so I took up the idea, and, as you will see, have introduced the line in its place, which, I presume, it formerly occupied ; though I likewise give you a chusing line^ if it should not hit the cut of your fancy.

By Allan-stream I chanc'd to rove,

While Phoibus sank beyond Benleddi ;* The winds were whispering thro' the grove.

The yellow corn was waving ready : I listen'd to a lover's sang,

And thought on youthfu' pleasures mony; And ay the wild-wood echoes rang —

O dearly do I lo'e thee, Annie !|

O happy be the woodbine bower,

Nae nightly bogle make it eerie; Nor ever sorrow stain the hour.

The place and time I met my dearie !

VOL. IV. H Her

* A mountain west of Strath- Allan, 3,009 feet high.

R. B.

t Or, " O my love Annie 's very bonnie." R. B.

,98

Her liead upon my throbbing breast,

She, sinking, said, " I'm thine forever!"

While mony a kiss the seal imprest, The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever.

The haunt o' spring's the primrose brae,

The simmer joys the flocks to follow; How cheery, thro' her shortening day.

Is autumn, in her weeds o' yellow ! But can they melt the glowing heart,

Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure, Or thro' each nerve the rapture dart.

Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure?

Bravo ! say I: it is a good song. Should you think so too (not else) you can set the music to it, and let the other follow as English verses.

Autumn is my propitious season, 1 make more verses in it, than all the year else.

God bless you !

No.

99

No. XXXV. Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

August, 1793.

Is Whistle, and Til come to you, my lad, one of your airs ? I admire it much ; and yes-ter- day I set the following verses to it. Urban], whom 1 have met with here, begged them of me, as he admires the air much ; but, as I understand that he looks with rather an evil eye on your work, I did not chuse to comply, flowever, if the song does not suit your taste, 1 may pos- sibly send it him. The set of the air which I had in my eye, is in Johnson's Museum.

O WHISTLE, and I'll come to you, my lad,* O whistle, and I 11 come to you, my lad :

H 2 Tho'

* In some of the MSS. the first four lines run thus,

O whistle, and I'll come to thee, my jo, O whistle, and I'll come to thee, my jo; Tho' father and mother and a' should say no, O whistle, and I'll come to thee, my jt>- See also No. LXXVII.

100

Tho' father and mither and a' should gae mad, O whistle, and 1 11 come to you, my lad.

But warily tent, when you come to court me, And come na unless the back-yett be a-jee ; Syne up the back-stile and let nae body see. And come as ye were na comin to me. And come, &c.

O ivhisile, ^c.

At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me, Gang by me as tho' that ye car'd na a flie ; But steal me a blink o' your bonnie black e'e, Yet look as ye were na lookin at me. Yet look, &c.

O ivhistle, Sfc.

Ay vow and protest that ye care na for me. And whyles ye may lightly my beauty a wee ; But court nae anither, tho' jokin ye be. For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me. For fear, &c.

O ivhistle^ Sfc.

Another fa\orite air of mine, is. The muckin o' Geordies byre. When sung slow with expres- sion, I have wished that it had had better poetry: that, I have endeavoured to supply, as follows:

A down

101

Adown winding Nith 1 did wander,

To mark the sweet flowers as they spring ;

Adown winding Nith I did wander, Of Phillis to muse and to sins:.

•&•

CHORUS.

Awa wi your belles and your beauties, Tliey never wi her can compare :

Whaever has met wi my Phillis^ Has met wi' the queen o' the fair.

The daisy amus'd my fond fancy. So artless, so simple, so wild ;

Thou emblem, said I, o' my Phillis, For she is simplicity's child. Awa, Sfc.

The rose-bud's the blush o' my charmer. Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prest :

How fair and how pure is the lily, But fairer and purer her breast. Awa, SfC.

Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour, They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie :

Her breath is the breath o' the woodbine, Its dew-drop o' diamond, her eye. Away Sfc.

Her

102

Her voice is the song of the morning That wakes thro' the green-spreading grove,

"When Phffibus peeps over the mountains, On music, and pleasure, and love. Awa, (^c.

But beauty how frail and how fleeting, The bloom of a fine summer's day !

While worth in the mind o' my Phillis Will flourish without a decay.* Awa, <^'c.

Mr. Clarke begs you to give Miss Phillis a corner in your book, as she is a particular flame of his. She is a Miss P. M., sister to Sonnie Jean. They are both pupils of his. You shall hear from me, the very first grist 1 get from my rhyming mill.

No.

* This song, certainly beautiful, would appear to more advantage without the chorus : as is indeed the case with several other sonars of our author. E.

103

No. XXXVI.

Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

Augtist, 1793.

That tune, Ccmld Kail, is such a favo- rite of yours, that I once more roved out yes- terday for a gloamin-shot at the muses;* when the muse that presides o'er the shores of Nith, or rather my old inspiring dearest nymph, Coila, whispered me the following. 1 have two reasons for thinking that it was my early, sweet simple inspirer that was by my elbow, " smooth gliding without step,*' and pouring the song on my glowing fancy. In the first place, since I left Coda's native haunts, not a fragment of a poet has arisen to cheer her solitary musings, by catching inspiration from her; so 1 more than suspect that she has followed me hither, or at least makes me occasional visits: secondly, the last stanza of this song I send you, is the \ery

words

* Gloamin — twilight, probably from glooming. A beau- tiful poetical word which ought to be adopted ia England. A gloarain-shotj a twilight-interview. E.

104

words that Coila taught me many years ago, and which I set to an old Scots reel in Johnson's Museum.

Air—" Cauld Kail."

Come, let me take thee to my breast,

And pledge we ne'er shall sunder; And I shall spurn as vilest dust

The warld's wealth and grandeur; And do I hear my Jeanie own,

That equal transports move her? I ask for dearest life alone,

That I may live to love her.

Thus in my arms, wi' a' thy charmvS,

1 clasp my countless treasure; I '11 seek nae mair o' heaven to share,

Than sic a moment's pleasure : And by thy een, sae bonnie blue,

1 swear I 'm thine for ever ! And on thy lips I seal my vow,

And break it shall I never.

If you think the above will suit your idea of your favorite air, I shall be highly pleased.

The

105

The last time I came o'er the moor, I cannot meddle with, as to mending it; and the musi- cal world have been so long accustomed to Ramsay's words, that a different song, though positively superior, would not be so well re- ceived. I [am not fond of chorusses to songs, so 1 have not made one for the foregoing.

No. XXXVII. Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

Angust, 1793.

DAINTY DAVIE.

Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers, To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers ; And now comes in my happy hours, To wander wi' my Davie.

CHORUS.

Meet me on the warlock knowe. Dainty Davie, dainti/ Davie,

There 1 11 spend the day ivi you. My ain dear dainty Davie.

The

106

The crystal waters round us fa'. The merry birds are lovers a', The scented breezes round us blaw, A wandering wi' my Davie. 3l€et me, ^^c.

When purple morning starts the hare, To steal upon her early fare, Then thro' the dews I will repair, To meet my faithfu' Davie. Meet me, 6fc.

When day, expiring in the west. The curtain draws o' nature's rest, I flee to his arms I lo e best, And that's my ain dear Davie.

CHORUS.

Meet me on the warlock hnowe, JBonnie Davie, dainty Davie,

There HI spend the day ici you, My ain dear dainty Davie*

So

* Dainty Davie is the title of an old Scotch song, from •yvhich Burns has taken nothing but the title and the mea- sure. E.

107

So much for Davie. The chorus, you know, is to the low part of the tune. See Clarke's set of it in the Museum.

N. B. In the Museum they have drawled out the tune to twelve lines of poetry, which is * # * * nonsense. Four lines of song;, and four of chorus, is the way.

No. XXXVIII.

Mr. THOMSON to Mr. BURNS.

Edinburgh, 1st Sept. 1793.

MY DEAR SIR,

Since writing you last, I have received half a dozen songs, with which I am delighted beyond expression. The humour and fancy of Whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad, will render it nearly as great a favourite as Duncan Gray. Come, let me take thee to my breast — A down

ivinding

108

winding NitJi, and By Allan stream, &c. are full of imagination and feeling, and sweetly suit the airs for which they are intended. Had la cave on some wild distant shore, is a striking and affecting composition. Our friend, to whose story it refers, read it with a swelling heart, 1 assure you. The union we are now forming, I think, can never be broken ; these songs of yours will descend with the music to the latest pos- terity, and will be fondly cherished so long as genius, taste, and sensibility exist in our island.

While the muse seems so propitious, I think it right to inclose a list of all the favours I have to ask of her, no fewer than twenty and three ! I have burdened the pleasant Peter with as many as it is probable he will attend to : most of the remaining airs would puzzle the English poet not a little ; they are of that peculiar mea- sure and rhythm, that they must be familiar to him who writes for them.

No.

109

No. XXXIX.

Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

Sept. 1793.

1 ou may readily trust, my dear Sir, that any exertion in my power, is heartily at your service. But one thing 1 must hint to you ; the very name of Peter Pindar is of great service to your publication, so get a verse from him now and then ; though I have no objection, as •well as I can, to bear the burden of the business.

You know that my pretensions to musical taste, are merely a few of nature's instincts, un- taught and untutored by art. For this reason, many musical compositions, particularly where much of the merit lies in counterpoint ; however they may transport and ravish the ears of you connoisseurs, affect my simple lug no otherwise than merely as melodious din. On the other hand, by way of amends, 1 am delighted with many little melodies, which the learned musician despises as silly and insipid. I do not know whether the old air Heif tuttie laitie may rank

among^

no

among this number; but well I know that, with Eraser's hautboy, it has often filled my eyes with tears. There is a tradition, which I have met with in many places of Scotland, that it was Robert Bruce's march at the battle of Bannock-burn. This thought in my solitary wanderings, warmed me to a pitch of enthusiasm on the theme of Liberty and Independence, which I threw into a kind of Scottish ode, fitted to the air that one might suppose to be the gallant Royal Scot's address to his heroic followers on that eventful morning.*

Bruce to his Troops on the eve of the Battle of BANNOCK-BURN.

TO ITS AIN TUNE.

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has afteii led; Welcome to your gory bed, Or to victorie.

Now 's

* This noble strain was conceived by our poet during a storm among the wilds of Glen-Ken, in Galloway. A more finished copy will be found after-wards. £.

Ill

Now's the day, and now's the hour ; See the front o' battle lour ; See approach proud Edward's power- Chains and slaverie !

Wha will be a traitor-knave? Wha can fill a coward's grave? Wha sae base as be a slave? Let him turn and flee !

Wha for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Free-man stand, or Free-man fa', Let him follow me !

By oppression's woes and pains ! By your sons in servile chains ! We will drain our dearest veins, But they shall be free !

Lay the proud usurpers low ! Tyrants fall in every foe ! Liberty 's in every blow ! Let us DO, or die !

So may God ever defend the cause of Truth and Liberty, as he did that day ! — Amen.

P. S.

11*2

P. S. I shewed the air to Urbaui, who was highly pleased with it, and begged me to make soft verses for it, but I had no idea of giving myself any trouble on the subject, till the acci- dental recollection of that glorious struggle for freedom, associated with the glowing ideas of some other struggles of the same nature, not quite so ancient, roused my rhyming mania. Clarke's set of the tune, with his bass, you will find in the Museum ; though 1 am afraid that the air is not what will entitle it to a place in your elegant selection.

No, XL. Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

Sept. 1793.

I DARE say, my dear Sir, that you will begin to think my correspondence is persecu- tion. No matter, 1 can't help it; a ballad is my hobby-horse; which, though otherwise a simple sort of harmless idiotical beast enough, has yet this blessed headstrong property, that when once it has fairly made off with a hapless wight, it gets so enamoured with the tinkle-

gingle.

113

gingle, tinkle-gingle of its own bells, that it is sure to niri poor pilgarlick, the bedlam jockey, quite beyond any useful point or post in the common race of man.

The following song I have composed for Oran-gaoil, the Highland air that you tell me in your last, you have resolved to give a place to in your book. I have this moment finished the song; so you have it glowing from the mint. If it suit you, well ! — If not, 'tis also well I

Tune — " Oran-gaoil."

Behold the hour, the boat arrive ;

Thou goest, thou darling of my heart ! Sever'd from thee can I survive ?

But fate has will'd, and we must part. I'll often greet this surging swell,

Yon distant isle will often hail : " E'en here, I took the last farew^ell ;

" There, latest mark'd her vanish'd sail."

VOL. IV. I Along

114

Along the solitary shore,

While flitting sea-fowl round me cry, Across the rolling, dashing roar,

I '11 westward turn my wistful eye : Happy, thou Indian grove, I '11 say,

Where now my Nancy's path may be ! While thro' thy sweets she loves to stray,

O tell me, does she muse on me !

No. XLI.

Mr. THOMSON to Mr. BURNS.

Edinburgh, 5th Sept. 1793.

I BELIEVE it is generally allowed that the greatest modesty is the sure attendant of the greatest merit. While you are sending me verses that even Shakspeare might be proud to own, you speak of them as if they were ordinary pro- ductions ! Your heroic ode is to me the noblest composition of the kind in the Scottish language.

I happened

115

1 happened to dine yesterday with a party of your friends, to whom I read it. They were all charmed with it, intreated me to find out a suitable air for it, and reprobated the idea of giving it a tune so totally devoid o interest or grandeur as Hey tuttie taitie. Assuredly your partiality for this tune must arise from the ideas associated in your mind by the tradition con- cerning it ; for I never heard any person, and I have conversed again and again with the great- est enthusiasts for Scottish airs — I say, I never heard any one speak of it as worthy of notice.

I have been running over the whole hundred airs, of which I lately sent you the list ; and I think Lewie Gordonis most happily adapted to your ode; at least with a very slight variation of the fourth line, which I shall presently sub- mit to you. There is in Lewie Gordon more of the grand than the plaintive, particularly when it is sung with a degree of spirit, which your "words would oblige the singer to give it. I would have no scruple about sul^stituting your ode in the room of Lewie Gordon, which has neither the interest, the grandeur, nor the poetry that characterize your verses. Now the variation I have to suggest upon the last line of each verse, the only line too short for the air, is as follows :

Verse Ist, Or to glorious victorie.

I 2 Verse

116

Verse 2nd, Chains — chains, and slaverie.

3;t/, Let him, let him turn and flie.

4th, Let him hravely follow me.

bth. But they shall, they shall be free.

Qth, Let us, let us do, or die !

If you connect each line with its own verse, I do not think you will find that either the sentiment or the expression loses any of its energy. The only line which I dislike in the whole of the song is, " Welcome to your gory bed." Would not another word be preferable to ivelcome ? In your next I will expect to be informed whether you agree to what I have proposed. The little alterations I submit with the greatest deference.

The beauty of the verses you have made for Oran-gaoil will insure celebrity to the air.

No.

117

No. XLIJ.

Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

September, 1793.

1 HAVE received your list, my dear Sir, and here go my observations on it.*

Doivn the burn Davie. I liave this moment tried an alteration, leaving out the last half of the third stanza, and the first half of the last stanza, thus :

As down the burn they took their way,

And thro' the flowery dale ; His cheek to hers he aft did lay,

And love was ay the tale.

With

* Mr. Thomson's list of songs for his publication. In his remarks, the bard proceeds in order, and goes through the whole ; but on many of them he merely signifies his appro- bation. All his remarks of any importance are presented to the reader. £.

118

With " Mary, when shall we return,

" Sic pleasure to renew?" Quoth Mary, " Love, I like the burn,

" And ay shall follow you."*

Thro the wood, laddie — I am decidedly of opinion, that both in this, and There'll never he peace till Jamie comes liame, the second or high part of the tune being a repetition of the first part an octave higher, is only for instru- mental music, and would be much better omitted in singing.

Cotvden-hiowes. Remember in your index, that the song in pure English to this tune, be- ginning,

" When summer comes, the swains on Tweed."

is the production of Crawford. Robert was his Christian name.

JLaddie lie near me, must lie hy me for some time. I do not know the air ; and until I am complete master of a tune, in my own singing,

(such

* This alteration Mr. Thomson has adopted, (or at least intended to adopt) instead of the last stanza of the original song, which is objectionable in point of delicacy. E.

119

(such as it is) 1 can never compose for it. My way is : I consider the poetic sentiment corres- pondent to my idea of the musical expression; then chuse my theme ; begin one stanza! when that is composed, which is generally the most difficult part of the business, I walk out, sit down now and then, look out for objects in nature round me, that are in unison or harmony with the cogitations of my fancy, and workings of my bosom; humming every now and then the air, with the verses I have framed. When I feel my muse beginning to jade, I retire to the solitary fire-side of my study, and there commit my effusions to paper; swinging at intervals on the hind-legs of my elbow-chair, by way of calling forth my own critical strictures, as my pen goes on. Seriously, this, at home, is almost invariably my way.

What cursed egotism !

Gill Morice, I am for leaving out. It is a plaguy length ! the air itself is never sung; and its place can well be supplied by one or two songs for fine airs that are not in your list. For instance, Cragieburn Wood, and Roys Wife. The first, beside its intrinsic merit, has novelty ; and the last has high merit as well as great ce- lebrity. I have the original words of a song for the last air, in the hand-writing of the lady who

composed

120

composed it: and they are superior to any edi- tion of the song which the public has yet seen.*

Highland-laddie. The old set will please a mere Scotch ear best ; and the new an Italian- ized one. There is a third, and what Oswald calls, the old Highland-laddie, which pleases me more than either of them, it is sometimes called Ginglan Johnnie ; it being the air of an old humourous tawdry song of that name. You will find it in the Museum, I hae heen at Crookieden, &c. I would advise you in this musical quandary, to offer up your prayers to the muses for inspiring direction; and in the mean time, waiting for this direction, bestow a libation to Bacchus; and there is no doubt but you will hit on a judicious choice. Prohatum est.

Auld Sir Simon, I must bes: vou to leave out, and put in its place The Quakers Wife.

JBlythe hae I been o'er the hill, is one of the finest songs ever I made in my life; and besides, is composed on a young ladj% positively the most beautiful, lovely woman in the world. As

I purpose

* This song, so much admired by our bard, will be found in a future part of the volume, No. LXIV. E..

121

1 purpose giving you the names and designa- tions of all my heroines, to appear in some future edition of your work, perhaps half a century hence, you must certainly include the honniest lass in a' the warld in your collection.

Daintie Davie, 1 have heard sung, nineteen thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine times, and always with the chorus to the low part of the tune; and nothing has surprised me so much, as your opinion on this subject. If it will not suit, as 1 proposed, we will lay two of the stanzas together, and then make the chorus follow.

Fee him Father — I inclose you Eraser's set of this tune when he plays it slow ; in fact he makes it the language of despair. I shall here give you two stanzas in that style ; merely to try if it will be any improvement. Were it pos- sible, in singing, to give it half the pathos which Fraser gives it in playing, it would make an admirably pathetic song. I do not give these verses for any merit they have. I composed them at the time in which Patie Allans mither died, that tvas, about the back o' midnight ; and by the lee-side of a bowl of punch, which had overset every mortal in company, except the hautbois and the muse.

Thou

Jockie

* Hie Scottish (the Editor uses the word substantively, as the English) employ the abbreviation 77/ for I shall as well as In-ill; and it is for I sha Hit is used here. In Annandale as in the northern counties of England, for / shall, they use Fsc. E.

t This is the whole of the song. Tlie bard never proceeded farther. Note by Mr. Thomson,

122

Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, Thou hast left

me ever. Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, Thou hast left |

me ever. Aften hast thou vow'tl that death, Only should

us sever. Now thou's left thy lass for ay — I maun see thee

never, Jamie, I '11 see thee never.*

Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, Thou hast me

forsaken. Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, Thou hast me

forsaken. Thou canst love anither jo. While my heart is

breaking : Soon my weary e'en I'll close — Never mair to

waken, Jamie, Ne'er mair to waken.f

i

123

Jockie and Jenny I would discard, and in its place would put There's nae luck about the house, which has a very pleasant air ; and which is positively the finest love-ballad in that style in the Scottish, or perhaps in any other language. When she came ben she bobbet, as an air, is more beautiful than either, and in the andante way would unite with a charming- sentimental bal- lad.

Saw ye my Father? is one of my greatest favourites. The evening before last 1 wandered out, and began a tender song; in what I think is its native style. I must premise, that the old way, and the way to give most effect, is to have no starting note, as the fiddlers call it, but to burst at once into the pathos. Every country girl sings — Saw ye my father? &c.

My song is but just begun; and I should, like, before I proceed, to know your opinion of it. I have sprinkled it with the Scottish dialect, but it may be easily turned into correct JEnglish.*

Todlin hame. Urbani mentioned an idea of

his

* This song appears afterwards. It begins, ** Where are the joys I hae met in the morning." E.

124

his, which has long been mine ; that this air is highly susceptible of pathos : accordingly, you will soon hear him at your concert, try it to a song of mine in the Museum ; Ye banks and braes o bonnie Doon. One song more and I have done ; Auld lang syne. The air is but mediocre; but the following song, the old song of the olden times, and which has never been in print, nor even in manuscript, until I took it down from an old man's singing ; is enough to recommend any air.

AULD LANG SYNE.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to min' ?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days o' lang syne ?

CHORUS.

For auld lang syne, my dear.

For auld lang syne. We 7/ tak a cup o' kindness yet,

For auld lang syne.

We

126

We twa hae run about the braes,

And pu't the gowans fine ; But we've wandered mony a weary foot,

Sin auld lang syne. For auld, ^-c.

We twa hae paidl't i' the burn,

Frae mornin sun till dine : But seas between us braid hae roar'd,

Sin auld lang syne. For auld, Sfc.

And here 's a hand, my trusty fiere,

And gie 's a hand o' thine ; And we '11 tak a right guid willie-waught,

For auld lang syne. For auld, Sfc.

And surely ye '11 be your pint-stowp,

And surely I '11 be mine ; And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,

For auld lang syne.* For auld, Sfc.

Now,

* This song, of the olden time, is excelleut. It is worthy of our bard. E.

126

Now, I suppose, I have tired your patience fairly. You must, after all is over, have a num- ber of ballads, properly so called. Gill Morice, Tranent 31uir, M'Pherson's Farewell, ]3attleof Sheriff ]\hiir, or We ran and they ran, (1 know the author of this charming ballad, and his his- tory) Hardiknute, Barbara Allan, (I can furnish a finer set of this tune than any that has yet appeared ;) and besides do you know that I really have the old tune to which The Cherry and the Slae w2iS sung; and which is mentioned as a well known air in Scotland's Complaint, a book published before poor Mary's days. It was then called. The banks o' Helicon; an old poem which Pinkerton has brought to light. You will see all this in Ty tier's history of Scot- tish music. The tune, to a learned ear, may have no great merit ; but it is a great curiosity. I have a good many original things of this kind.

No.

127

No. XLIIL

xMr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

September, 1793.

I AM happy, my dear Sir, that my ode pleases you so much. Your idea, *' honour's bed," is, though a beautiful, a hackneyed idea; so, if you please, we will let the line stand as it is. I have altered the song as follows:

BANNOCK-BURN.

Robert Sruce's Address to his Army.

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led ; Welcome to your gory bed, Or to glorious victorie.

Now 's the day, and now 's the hour ; See the front o' battle lower ; See approach proud Edward's power — Edward! chains and slaverie !

Wha

128

Wha will be a traitor-knave? Wlia can fill a coward's grave? Wha sae base as be a slave? Traitor! coward! turn and flee!

Wha for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Free-man stand, or free-man fa', Caledonian ! on wi' me !

By oppression's woes and pains ! By your sons in servile chains ! We will drain our dearest veins, But they shall be — shall be free!

Lay the proud usurpers low ! Tyrants fall in every foe ! Liberty 's in every blow ! Forward ! let us do, or die !

N. B. I have borrowed the last stanza from the common stall edition of Wallace.

*' A false usurper sinks in every foe, " And liberty returns with every blow:"

A couplet

129

A couplet worthy of Homer. Yesterday you liad enough of my correspondence. The post goes, and my head aches miserably. One com- fort! I suffer so much, just now, in this world, for last night's joviality, that I shall escape scot-free for it in the world to come. Amen !

No. XLIV.

Mr. THOMSON to Mr. BURNS.

Vlili Sept. 1793.

A THOUSAND thanks to you, my dear Sir, for your observations on the list of my songs. I am happy to find your ideas so much in unison with my own respecting the generality of the airs, as well as the verses. About some of them we differ, but there is no disputing about hobby-horses. I shall not fail to profit by the remarks you make; and to reconsider the whole with attention.

Dainty Davie must be sung, two stanzas to- gether, and then the chorus ; 'tis the proper way. VOL. IV. K I agree

130

1 agree with you, that there may be something of pathos, or tenderness at least, in the air of Fee Mm, Father, when performed with feeling : but a tender cast may be given almost to any lively air, if you sing it very slowly, expressively, and with serious words. I am, however, clearly and invariably for retaining the cheerful tunes joined to their own humorous verses, wherever the verses are passable. But the sweet song for Fee him, Father, which you began about the back of midnight, 1 will publish as an additional one. Mr. James Balfour, the king of good fel- lows, and the best singer of the lively Scottish ballads, that ever existed, has charmed thou- sands of companies with Fee him, Father, and with Todlin hame also, to the old words, which never should be disunited from either of these airs. Some Bacchanals I would wish to discard. Fy let's a to the bridal, for instance, is so coaise and vulgar, that 1 think it fit only to be sung in a company of drunken colliers; and Saw ye my Father appears to me both indelicate and silly.

One word more with regard to your heroic ode. I think, with great deference to the poet, that a prudent general would avoid saying any thing to his soldiers which might tend to make death more frightful than it is. Gory presents a disagreeable image to the mind ; and to tell them,

" Welcome

131

" Welcome to your gory bed," seems rather a discouraging address, notwithstanding the al- ternative which follows. I have shewn the song to three friends of excellent taste, and each of them objected to this line, which emboldens me to use the freedom of bringing it again under your notice. I would suggest,

" Now prepare for honour's bed, " Or for glorious victorie."

No. XLV. Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

September, 1793.

^' Who shall decide when doctors dis- agree?" My ode pleases me so much that I cannot alter it. Your proposed alterations would, in my opinion, make it tame. I am exceedingly obliged to you for putting me on reconsidering it ; as I think I have much im- proved it. Instead of " soger ! hero !" 1 will have it " Caledonian! on wi' me!"

K 2 I have

13'i

I have scrutinized it, over and over; and to he world some way or other it shall go as it is. At the same time it will not in the least hurt me, should you leave it out altogether, and adhere to your first intention of adopting Lo- gan's verses.*

I have

* Mr. Thomson has very properly adopted this song (if it may be so called) as the bard presented it to him. He has attached it to the air of Lewie Gordon, and perhaps among: the existing airs he could not find a better ; but the poetry is suited to a much higher strain of music, and may employ the genius of some Scottish Handel, if any such should in future arise. The reader will have observed, that Burns adopted the alterations proposed by his friend and correspondent in former instances, with great readiness ; perhaps indeed, on all indifferent occasions. In the present instance, however, he rejected them, though repeatedly urged with determined resolution . With every respect for the j udgment of Mr. Thom- son and his friends, we may be satisfied that he did so. He who in preparing for an engagement attempts to withdraw his imagination from images of death, will probably have but imperfect success, and is not fitted to stand in the ranks of battle, where the liberties of a kingdom are at issue. Of such men the conquerors at Bannock-burn were not com.- posed. Bruce's troops were inured to war, and familiar with all its sufferings and dangers. On the eve of that memorable day, their spirits were without doubt wound up to a pitch of enthusiasm, suited to the occasion ; a pitch of enthusiasm, at which danger becomes attractive, and the most terrific form* of death are no longer terrible. Such a strain of sentiment,

this

135

I have finished my song to Saw ye my Father; and in English, as you will see. That there is a syllable too much for the expression of the air,

it

this heroic " welcome" may be supposed well calculated to elevate — to raise their hearts high above fear, and to nerve their arms to the utmost pitch of mortal exertion. These ob- servations might be illustrated and supported, by a reference, to the martial poetry of all nations, from the spirit-stirring strains of Tyrtaeus to the war-song of General Wolfe. Mr. Thomson's observation, that " Welcome to your gory bed, is a discouraging address," seems not sufiiciently considered. Perhaps, indeed, it may be admitted, that the term gory is somewhat objectionable, not on account of its presenting a frightful, but a disagreeable image to the mind. But a great poet, uttering his conceptions on an interesting occasion, seeks always to present a picture that is vivid, and is uni- formly disposed to sacrifice the delicacies of taste on the altar of the imagination. And it is the privilege of superior genius, by producing a new association, to elevate expressions that were originally low, and thus to triumph over the deficiencies of language. In how many instances might this be exempli- fied from the works of our immortal Shakspeare.

*' Who wovXd. fardels bear, " To groan and sweat under a weary life ; — " When he himself might his quietus make " With a bare hodkinf

It were easy to enlarge, but to suggest s«ich reflections is probably sufficient. E.

134

it is true ; but, allow me to say, that the mere dividing of a dotted crotchet into a crotchet and a quaver, is not a great matter: however, in that, I have no pretensions to cope in judg- ment with you. Of the poetry I speak with confidence; but the music is a business where I hint my ideas with the utmost diffidence.

The old verses have merit, though unequal, and are popular: my advice is to set the air to the old words, and let mine follow as English verses. Here they are —

FAIR JENNY

Seep. 123. Tune — " Saw ye my Father?"

Where are the joys I have met in the morning, That danc'd to the lark's early song?

Where is the peace that awaited my wand'ring, At evening the wild woods among?

No more a-winding the course of yon river. And marking sweet flow'rets so fair :

No more I trace the light footsteps of pleasure. But sorrow and sad sighing care.

Is

135

Is it that summer's forsaken our valleys,

And grim, surly winter is near? No, no, the bees humming round the gay roses,

Proclaim it the pride of the year.

Fain would I hide, what I fear to discover, Yet long, long too well have 1 known,

All that has caused this wreck in my bosom. Is Jenny, fair Jenny alone.

Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal, ]\or hope dare a comfort bestow :

Come then, enamour'd and fond of my anguish, JEnjoyment I'll seek in my woe.

Adieu, my dear Sir! The post goes, so I shall defer some other remarks until more leisure.

No. XLVI. Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

September, 1793.

I HAVE been turning over some volumes of songs, to find verses whose measures would

suit

136

suit the airs for which you have allotted me to find English songs.

For Muirland Willie you have, in Ramsay's Tea-table, an excellent song, beginning, *' Ah why those tears in Nelly's eyes?" As for The Colliers Dochter, take the following old Bac- chanal,

Deluded swain, the pleasure The fickle Fair can give thee,

Is but a fairy treasure,

Thy hopes will soon deceive thee.

The billows on the ocean, The breezes idly roaming,

The clouds' uncertain motion. They are but types of woman.

O ! art thou not ashamed,

To doat upon a feature? If man thou wouldst be named,

Despise the silly creature.

Go, find an honest fellow ;

Good claret set before thee: Hold on till thou art mellow,

And then to bed in glory.

The

137

The faulty line in Logan-Water, I mend thus :

*' How can your flinty hearts enjoy, *' The widow's tears, the orphan's cry?"

The song, otherwise, will pass. As to M*Gregoira Hua-Ruth, you will see a song of mine to it, with a set of the air superior to yours in the Museum. Vol. ii. p. 181. The song begins :

*' Raving winds around her blowing." *

Your Irish airs are pretty, but they are down- right Irish. If they were like the Sanks of Jiaitnu, for instance, though really Irish, yet in the Scottish taste, you might adopt them. Since you are so fond of Irish music, what say you to twenty-five of them in an additional number? We could easily find this quantity of charming airs; I will take care that you shall not want songs; and I assure you that you would find it the most saleable of the whole. If you do not approve of Roys Wife, for the music's sake, we shali not insert it. Deil tak the wars, is a charming song; so is, Saw ye my Peggy? There's nae luck about the housCy well deserves

a place.

* This will be found in the latter part of this volume. E.

138

a place. I cannot say that. O'er the hills and far aiva, strikes me as equal to your selection. This is no my ain house, is a great favorite air of mine ; and if you will send me your set of it, 1 will task my muse to her highest effort. What is your opinion of, / hae laid a herrin in satvt? I like it much. Your Jacobite airs are pretty ; and there are many others of the same kind, pretty ; but you have not room for them. You cannot, I think, insert, Fie let us a to the bridal, to any other words than its own.

What pleases me as simple and naive, dis- gusts you as ludicrous and low. For this reason, Fie gie me my coggie. Sirs, Fie let us a to the bridal, with several others of that cast, are, to me, highly pleasing; while. Saw ye my Father, or saw ye my 3Iother? delights me with its descriptive simple pathos. Thus my song. Ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten ? pleases myself so much, that I cannot try my hand at another song to the air ; so I shall not attempt it. I know you will laugh at all this ; but, *' Ilka man wears his belt his ain gait."

No.

139

No. XLVIT. Mr, burns to Mr. THOMSON.

October, 1793.

Your last letter, my dear Thomson, was indeed laden with heavy news. Alas, poor Erskine !* The recollection that he was a co- adjutor in your publication, has, 'till now, scared me from writing to you, or turning my thoughts on composing for you.

I am pleased that you are reconciled to the air of the Quakers Wife; though, by the by, an old Highland gentleman and a deep anti- quarian, tells me it is a Gaelic air, and known by the name of Leiger m' choss. The following verses, 1 hope, will please you as an English aong to the air : —

Thine am I, my faithful fair,

Thine, my lovely Nancy ; Ev'ry pulse along my veins,

Ev'ry roving fancy.

To

* The honourable A. Erskine, brother to Lord Kelly, whose melancholy death Mr. Thomson had communicated in an excellent letter which he has suppressed. E.

140

To thy bosom lay my heart, There to throb and languish :

Tho' despair had wrung its core, That would heal its anguish.

Take away these rosy lips, Rich with balmy treasure:

Turn away thine eyes of love. Lest I die with pleasure.

What is life when wanting love?

Night without a morning : Love 's the cloudless summer sun,

Nature gay adorning.

Your objection to the English song I pro- posed for John Anderson my jo, is certainly just. The following is by an old acquaintance of mine, and I think has merit. The song was never in print, which [ think is so much in your favor. The more original good poetry your collection contains, it certainly has so much the more merit.

SONG,

141

SONG,

By Gavin Turnbull.

0 CONDESCEND, dear, charming maid, My wretched state to view ;

A tender swain to love betray 'd, And sad despair, by you.

While here, all melancholy,

My passion I deplore, Yet, urg'd by stern resistless fate,

[ love thee more and more.

1 heard of love, and with disdain, The urchin's power denied ;

I laugh 'd at every lover's pain.

And mock'd them when they sigh'd

But now my state is alter'd !

Those happy days are o'er ; For all thy unrelenting hate,

I love thee more and more.

O yield, illustrious beauty, yield,

No longer let me mourn ; And, tho' victorious in the field,

Thy captive do not scorn.

Let

142

Let generous pity warm thee, Mj^ wonted peace restore ;

And gratefnl, I shall bless thee still. And love thee more and more.

The following address of Turnbull's to the nightingale, will suit as an English song to the air, There ivas a lass and she icasfair. By the by, Turnbull has a great many songs in MS. which I can command, if you like his manner. Possibly, as he is an old friend of mine, I may be prejudiced in his favor; but I like some of his pieces very much.

THE NIGHTINGALE, By G. Turnbull.

Thou sweetest minstrel of the grove, That ever tried the plaintive strain,

Awake thy tender tale of love,

And soothe a poor forsaken swain.

For, tho' the muses deign to aid,

And teach him smoothly to complain ;

Yet Delia, charming, cruel maid, Is deaf to her forsaken swain.

All

143

All day, with fashion's gaudy sons, In sport she wanders o'er the plain ;

Their tales approves, and still she shuns The notes of her forsaken swain.

When evening shades obscure the sky, And bring the solemn hours again,

Begin, sweet bird, thy melody. And sooth a poor forsaken swain.

I shall just transcribe another of Turnbull's, which would go charmingly to Leivie Gordon.

LAURA.

By G. Turnbull.

Let me wander where I will, By shady wood, or winding rill ; Where the sweetest May-born flowers Paint the meadows, deck the bowers ; Where the linnet's early song Echoes sweet the woods among : Let me wander where I will, Laura haunts my fancy still.

If

144

If at rosy dawn I chuse To indulge the smiling muse ; If I court some cool retreat, To avoid the noon-tide heat ; If beneath the moon's pale ray, Thro' unfrequented wilds I stray; Let me wander where 1 will, Laura haunts my fancy still.

When at night the drowsy god Waves his sleep-compelling rod. And to fancy's wakeful eyes Bids celestial visions rise ; While with boundless joy I rove Thro' the fairy land of love : Let me wander where I will, Laura haunts my fancy still.

The rest of your letter I shall answer at some other opportunity.

No.

145

No. XLVin. Mr. THOMSON to Mr. BURNS.

Ith November, 1793. MY GOOD SIR,

After so long a silence it gave me peculiar pleasure to recognise your well-known hand, for I had begun to be apprehensive that all was not well with you. I am happy to find, however, that your silence did not proceed from that cause, and that you have got among the ballads once more.

I have to thank you for your English song to Leiger m c/ioss, which I think extremely good, although the colouring is warm. Your friend Mr. Turnbull's songs have doubtless consider- able merit ; and as you have the command of bis manuscripts, 1 hope you may find out some that will answer as English songs, to the airs yet unprovided.

VOL. IV. L No.

146

No. XLIX.

Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

Decetnber, 1793.

Tell me, how you like the following verses to the tune of Jo Janet.

Husband, husband, cease your strife,

Nor longer idly rave, sir ; Tho' I am your wedded wife,

Yet I am not your slave, sir.

" One of two must still obey,

" Nancy, Nancy; " Is it man, or woman, say,

" My spouse, Nancy ?"

If 'tis still the lordly word,

Service and obedience ; 1 '11 desert my sov'reign lord,

And so, good b'ye allegiance !

Sad

147

" Sad will I be, so bereft,

*' Nancy, Nancy, " Yet I '11 try to make a shift,

" My spouse, Nancy."

IVIy poor heart then break it must,

My last hour f 'm near it : When you lay me in the dust,

Think, think, how you will bear it.

*' 1 will hope and trust in heaven,

*' Nancy, Nancy : " Strength to bear it will be given,

" My spouse, Nancy."

Well, sir, from the silent dead, Still I '11 try to daunt you;

Ever round your midnight bed Horrid sprites shall haunt you.

*' I '11 wed another, like my dear

" Nancy, Nancy; " Then all hell will fly for fear,

" My spouse, Nancy."

L 2 Air

148

Air — " The Sutor's Dochter."

Wilt thou be my dearie ?

When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart,

Wilt thou let me cheer thee?

By the treasure of my soul,

That 's the love I bear thee !

I swear and vow that only thou

Shall ever be my dearie.

Only thou, I swear and tow,

Shall ever be my dearie.

Lassie, say thou lo'es nie; Or if thou wilt na be my ain. Say na thou 'It refuse me : If it winna, canna be. Thou, for thine may choose me, Let me, lassie, quickly die, Trusting that thou lo'es me. Lassie, let me quickly die, Trusting that thou lo'es me.

No.

149

No. L. Mr. THOMSON to Mr. BURNS.

Edinburgh, VJth April, 1794, MY DEAR SIR,

Owing to the distress of our friend for the loss of his child, at the time of his receiving your admirable but melancholy letter, I had not an opportunity 'till lately of perusing it.* How sorry I am to find Burns saying, " canst thou not minister to a mind diseased ?" while he is delighting others from one end of the island to the other. Like the hypochondriac who went to consult a physician upon his case — Go, says the doctor, and see the famous Carlini, who keeps all Paris in good humour. Alas! Sir, replied the patient, I am that unhappy Carlini !

Your plan for our meeting together pleases

me

A letter to Mr. Cunningham, to be found in vol. ii.

E.

150

me greatly, and I trust that by some means or other it will soon take place; but your Bac- chanalian challenge almost frightens me, for I am a miserable weak drinker !

Allan is much gratified by your good opinion of his talents. He has just begun a sketch from your Cotter's Saturday Night, and if it pleases himself in the design, he will probably etch or engrave it. In subjects of the pastoral and humorous kind, he is perhaps unrivalled by any artist living. He fails a little in giving beauty and grace to his females, and his colouring is sombre, otherwise his paintings and drawings would be in greater request.

I like the music of the Sutors Dochter, and will consider whether it shall be added to the last volume ; your verses to it are pretty ; but your humorous English song to suit, Jo Janet, is inimitable. W'hat think you of the air. Within a mile of Edmhiirgh. It has always struck me as a modern English imitation, but it is said to be Oswald's, and is so much liked, that I be- lieve I must include it. The verses are little better than namhy immhy. Do you consider it worth a stanza or two ?

No. I

i

151

No. LI. Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

May, 1794. MY DEAR SIR,

I RETURN you the plates, with which I am highly pleased ; 1 would humbly propose, instead of the younker knitting stockings, to put a stock and horn into his hands. A friend of mine, who is positively the ablest judge on the subject I have ever met with, and, though an unknown, is yet a superior artist with the JBurin, is quite charmed with Allan's manner. 1 got him a peep of the Gentle Shepherd ; and he pronounces Allan a most original artist of great excellence.

For ray part, I look on Mr. Allan's choosing my favorite poem for his subject, to be one of the highest compliments I have ever received.

I am

152

I am quite vexed at Pleyel's being cooped up in France, as it will put an entire stop to our work. Now, and for six or seven months, I shall he quite in song, as you shall see by and by. I got an air, pretty enough, composed by Lady Elizabeth Heron, of Heron, which she calls The banks of Cree. Cree is a beautiful romantic stream : and as her Ladyship is a particular friend of mine, I have written the fol- lowing song to it.

BANKS OF CREE.

Here is the glen, and here the bower, All underneath the birchen shade ;

The village-bell has told the hour, O what can stay my lovely maid?

'Tis not Maria's whispering call ;

'Tis but the balmy-breathing gale, Mixt with some warblers dying fall

The dewy star of eve to hail.

It is Maria's voice I hear !

So calls the wood lark in the grove. His little, faithful mate to cheer,

At once 'tis music— and 'tis love.

And

153

And art thou come ! and art thou true !

O welcome, dear to love and me ! And let us all our vows renew,

Along the flowery banks of Cree.

No. LIE.

Mr. burns to Mr. TPIOMSON.

July, 1794.

Is there no news yet of Pleyel ? Or is your work to be at a dead stop, until the allies set our modern Orpheus at liberty from the savage thraldom of democratic discords? Alas the day ! And woe is me ! That auspicious period, pregnant with the happiness of mil-

I * ■iU .4£. .U. -IL ■U- ■tf- Cf- -Ig-

I I rf^ v^ tj ^„^,^^J^ ^ "ff "TP TT "fv* Tl*

I have presented a copy of your songs to the daughter of a much-valued, and much-honoured

friend

* A portion of this letter has been left out, for reasons that will be easily imagined. E.

J 54

friend of mine, Mr. Graham of Fintry. \ wrote, on the blank side of the title-page, the following address to the young lady.

Here, where the Scottish muse immortal lives, In sacred strains and tuneful numbers join'd,

Accept the gift ; tho' humble he who gives, Rich is the tribute of the grateful mind.

So may no ruffian* feeling in thy breast, Discordant jar thy bosom-chords among;

But peace attune thy gentle soul to rest. Or love ecstatic wake his seraph song.

Or pity's notes, in luxury of tears.

As modest want the tale of woe reveals ;

While conscious virtue all the strain endears, And heaven-born piety her sanction seals.

* It were to have been wished, that instead of ruffian feeling f the bard had used a less rugged epithet, e. g. ruder.

E.

No.

155

No. LIII. Mr. THOMSON to Mr. BURNS.

Edinburgh, \Qth August, 1794. MY DEAR SIR,

I OWE you an apology for having so long delayed to acknowledge the favour of your last. I fear it will be as you say, I shall have no more songs from Pleyel 'till France and we are friends; but, nevertheless, 1 am very de. sirous to be prepared with the poetry, and as the season approaches in which your muse of Coila visits you, 1 trust I shall, as formerly, be frequently gratified with the result of your amo- rous and tender interviews !

No.

156

No. LIV. Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

30^^ August, 1794.

The last evening, as I was straying out, and thinking of, O'er the hills and far away^ 1 spun the following stanza for it; but whether my spinning will deserve to be laid up in store, like the precious thread of the silk- worm, or brushed to the devil like the vile manufacture of the spider, I leave, my dear Sir, to your usual candid criticism. 1 was pleased with several lines in it, at first : but I own that now, it appears rather a flimsy business.

This is just a hasty sketch, until I see whether it be worth a critique. We have many sailor songs, but as far as I at present recollect, they are mostly the effusions of the jovial sailor, not the wailings of his love-lorn mistress. I must here make one sweet exception — Sweet Annie frae the Sea-beach came. Now^ for the song.

ON

157

ON THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY.

Tune — " O'er the hills, &c."

How can my poor heart be glad, When absent from my sailor lad ? How can 1 the thought forego, He 's on the seas to meet the foe ? Let me wander, let me rove, Still my heart is with my love ; Nightly dreams, and thoughts by day Are with him that 's far away.

CHORUS.

On the seas and far away^ On stormy seas and far away ; Nightly dreams and thoughts by day Are ay with him that 'sfar away.

When in summer's noon I faint, As weary flocks around me pant, Haply in this scorching sun My sailor 's thund'ring at his gun: Bullets, spare my only joy ! Bullets, spare my darling boy !

Fate

158

Fate do with me what you may, Spare but him that 's far away ! On the seas, SfC,

At the starless midnight hour, When winter rules with boundless power ; As the storms the forest tear, And thunders rend the howling air, Listening to the doubling roar, Surging on the rocky shore, All 1 can — I weep and pray, For his weal that 's far away. On the seas, Sfc.

Peace, thy olive wand extend, And bid wild war his ravage end, Man with brother man to meet, And as a brother kindly greet : Then may heaven with prosp'rous gales, Fill my sailor's welcome sails. To my arms their charge convey, My dear lad that 's far away. On the seas, Sfc.

J give you leave to abuse this song, but do it in the spirit of Christian meekness.

No.

159

No. LV. Mr. THOMSON to Mr. BURNS.

Edinburgh, 16th Sept. 1794. MY DEAR SIR,

I ou have anticipated my opinion of, On the seas and far away ; T do not think it one of your very happy productions, though it cer- tainly contains stanzas that are worthy of all acceptation.

The second is the least to my liking, particu- larly, " Bullets, spare my only joy." Confound the bullets. It might, perhaps, be objected to the third verse, " At the starless midnight hour," that it has too much grandeur of imagery, and that greater simplicity of thought would have better suited the character of a sailor's sweetheart. The tune, it must be remembered, is of the brisk, cheerful kind. Upon the whole, therefore, in my humble opinion, the song would be better adapted to the tune, if it consisted only of the first and last verses, with the chorusses.

No.

160

No. LVI.

Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

Sept. 1794.

I SHALL withdraw my, On the seas and far away, altogether: it is unequal, and un- worthy the work. Making a poem is like begetting a son : you cannot know whether you have a wise man or a fool, until you produce him to the world to try him.

For that reason 1 send you the offspring of my brain, abortions and all ; and as such, pray look over them and forgive them, and burn them.* I am flattered at your adopting, Ca

the

* This Vir^lian order of the poet, should, I think, be disobeyed with respect to the song in question, the second stanza excepted. Note by Mr. Thomson.

Doctors differ. The objection to the second stanza does not strike the Editor. E.

161

the yoii^s to the knoives, as it was owing to me that ever it saw the light. About seven years ago I was well acquainted with a worthy little fellow of a clergyman, a Mr. Clunie, who sung it charmingly ; and, at my request, Mr. Clarke took it down from his singing. When I gave it to Johnson, I added some stanzas to the song, and mended others, but still it will not do for you. In a solitary stroll, which I took to-day, I tried my hand on a few pastoral lines, follow- ing up the idea of the chorus, which I would preserve. Here it is, with all its crudities and imperfections on its head.

CHORUS.

Ca' the yowes to the knoives, Co£ them whare the heather growes, Cd them whare the hurnie roives. My bonnie dearie.

Hark, the mavis' evening sang Sounding Clouden's woods amang f Then a faulding let us gang, My bonnie dearie. Ca' the, 6fc. VOL. IV. M We'll

* The river Clouden, or Cluden, a tributary stream to the Nith. E.

162

We'll gae down by Clouden side, Thro' the hazels spreading wide, O'er the waves that sweetly glide To the moon sae clearly. Ca' the, 6fc.

Yonder Clouden's silent towers, Where at moonshine midnight hours, O'er the dewy bending flowers, Fairies dance sae cheery. Co! the, SfC,

Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear ; Thou 'rt to love and heaven sae dear, Nocht of ill may come thee near. My bonnie dearie. Ca' the, Sfc.

Fair and lovely as thou art, Thou hast stown my very heart ; 1 can die — but canna part. My bonnie dearie. Ca the, ^c.

I shall give you my opinion of your other newly adopted songs, my first scribbling fit.

No.

163

No. LVII.

Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

September, 1794.

Do you know a blackguard Irish song, called Onaglts Water-fail? The ah* is charming, and I havexiften regretted the want of decent verses to it. It is too much, at least for my humble rustic muse, to expect that every effort of hers shall have merit : still I think that it is better to have mediocre verses to a favorite air, than none at all. On this principle I have all along proceeded in the Scots Musical Museum ; and as that publication is at its last volume, I intend the following song, to the air above men- tioned, for that work.

If it does not suit you as an editor, you may be pleased to have verses to it that you can sing before ladies.

M 2 SHE

164

SHE SAYS SHE LOES ME BEST OF A'.

Tune — •' Onaoh's Water-fall.**

Sae flaxen were her ringlets,

Her eyebrows of a darker hue, Bewitchiugly o'er-arching

Twa laughing een o' bonnie blue. Her smiling sae wyling,

Wad make a wretch forget his woe ; What pleasui'e, what treasure.

Unto these rosy lips to grow: Such was my Chloris' bonnie face.

When first her bonnie face I saw, And ay my Chloris' dearest charm,

She says she lo'es me best of a'.

Like harmony her motion ;

Her pretty ancle is a spy Betraying fair proportion,

Wad make a saint forget the sky. Sae warming, sae charming,

Her faultless form and gracefu' air ; Ilk feature— auld nature

Declar'd that she could do nae mair:

Hers

165

Her's are the willing chains o' love, By conquering beauty's sovereign law ;

And ay my Chloris' dearest charm, She says she lo'es me best of a'.

Let others love the city,

And gaudy shew at sunny noon ; Gie me the lonely valley.

The dewy eve, and rising moon Fair beaming, and streaming,

Her silver light the boughs amang ; While falling, recalling,

The amorous thrush concludes his sang There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove

By wimpling burn and leafy shaw, And hear my vows o' truth and love,

And say thou lo'es me best of a'.

Not to compare small things with great, my taste in music is like the mighty Frederic of Prussia's taste in painting : we are told that he frequently admired what the connoisseurs de- cried, and always, without any hypocrisy, con- fessed his admiration. I am sensible that my taste in music must be inelegant and vulgar, because people of undisputed and cultivated taste can find no merit in my favourite tunes. Still, because I am cheaply pleased, is that

any

166

any reason why I should deny myself that pleasure? Many of our strathspeys, ancient and modern, give me most exquisite enjoyment, where you and other judges would probably be shewing disgust. For instance, I am just now making verses for Roihemurches Ranty an air which puts me in raptures ; and, in fact, unless I be pleased with the tune, I never can make verses to it. Here I have Clarke on my side, who is a judge that I will pit against any of you. Rothemurche, he says, is an air both original and beautiful ; and on his recommenda- tion I have taken the first part of the tune for a chorus, and the fourth, or last part, for the song. I am but two stanzas deep in the work, and possibly you may think, and justly, that the poetry is as little worth your attention as the music*

I have begun anew, Let me in this ae night. Do you think that we ought to retain the old chorus? I think we must retain both the old chorus and the first stanza of the old song. I do not altogether like the third line of the first stanza, but cannot alter it to please myself. I am just three stanzas deep in it. Would you

have

* In the original follow here two stanzas of a song, be- ginning, " Lassie wi' the lintwhite locks ;" which will be found at full length afterwards, p. 193. E.

16t

have the denouement to be successful or other- wise ? Should she " let him in" or not?

Did you not once propose The Sow's Tail to Geordie, as an air for your work ? I am quite delighted with it; but I acknowledge that is no mark of its real excellence. I once set about verses for it, which I meant to be in the alternate way of a lover and his mistress chanting to- gether. I have not the pleasure of knowing Mrs. Thomson's Christian name, and yours I am afraid is rather burlesque for sentiment, else I had meant to have made you the hero and heroine of the little piece.

How do you like the following epigram, which I wrote the other day, on a lovely young girl's recovery from a fever ? Doctor Maxwell was the physician who seemingly saved her from the grave; and to him J address the following.

To Dr. Maxwell, on Miss Jessy Staig's recovery.

Maxwell, if merit here you crave,

That merit I deny ; You save fair Jessie from the grave ? —

An angel could not die.

God grant you patience with this stupid epistle !

No.

168

No. LVIII. Mr. THOMSON to Mr. BURNS.

I PERCEIVE the sprightly muse is now- attendant upon her favourite poet, whose wood- notes icild are become as enchanting as ever. She says she lo'es me best of a, is one of the pleasant- est table songs I have seen, and henceforth shall be mine when the song is going round. I'll give Cunningham a copy; he can more powerfully proclaim its merit. I am far from undervaluing your taste for the strathspey music ; on the contrary, I think it highly ani- mating and agreeable, and that some of the strathspeys, when graced with such verses as yours, will make very pleasing songs, in the same way that rough Christians are tempered and softened by lovely woman, without whom, you know, they had been brutes.

I am clear for having the Sozvs Tail, particu- larly as your proposed verses to it are so ex- tremely promising. Geordie, as you observe, is a name only fit for burlesque composition. Mrs. Thomson's name (Katharine) is not at all

poetical.

I

169

poetical. Retain Jeanie, therefore, and make the other Jamie, or any other that sounds agree- ably.

Your CcC the etves, is a precious little morceau. Indeed I am perfectly astonished and charmed with the endless variety of your fancy. Here let me ask you, whether you never seriously turned your thoughts upon dramatic writing? That is a field worthy of your genius, in which it might shine forth in all its splendor. One or two successful pieces upon the London stage would make your fortune. The rage at present is for musical dramas : few or none of those which have appeared since the Duenna, possess much poetical merit : there is little in the con- duct of the fable, or in the dialogue, to inte- rest the audience. They are chiefly vehicles for music and pageantry. I think you might produce a comic opera in three acts, which would live by the poetry, at the same time that it would be proper to take every assistance from her tuneful sister. Part of the songs, of course, would be to our favourite Scottish airs ; the rest might be left to the London composer — Storace for Drury-lane, or Shield for Covent-garden ; both of them very able and popular musicians. 1 believe that interest and manoeuvring are often necessary to have a drama brought on : so it may be with the

namby-

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namby-pamby tribe of flowery scribblers ; but were you to address Mr. Sheridan himself, by letter, and send him a dramatic piece, I am persuaded he would, for the honour of genius, give it a fair and candid trial. Excuse me for obtruding these hints upon your considera- tion.*

No. LIX. Mr. THOMSON to Mr. BURNS.

Edinburgh, 14th October, 1794.

The last eight days have been devoted to the re-examination of the Scottish collections. I have read, and sung, and fiddled, and con- sidered, 'till I am half blind, and wholly stupid. The few airs I have added, are inclosed.

Peter Pindar has, at length, sent me all the

songs

* Our bard had before received the same advice, and cer- tainly took it so far into consideration, as to have cast about for a subject. E.

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songs I expected from him, which are, in general, elegant and beautiful. Have you heard of a London collection of Scottish airs and songs, just published by Mr. Ritson, an Englishman? I shall send you a copy. His introductory es- say on the subject is curious, and evinces great reading and research, but does not decide the question as to the origin of our melodies ; though he shews clearly that Mr. Tytler, in his ingenious dissertation, has adduced no sort of proof of the hypothesis he wished to esta- blish ; and that his classification of the airs according to the aeras when they were composed, is mere fancy and conjecture. On John Pinker- ton, Esq. he has no mercy; but consigns him to damnation! He snarls at my publication, on the score of Pindar being engaged to write songs for it; uncandidly and unjustly leaving it to be inferred, that the songs of Scottish writers had been sent a packing to make room for Peter's ! Of you he speaks with some res- pect, but gives you a passing hit or two, for daring to dress up a little, some old foolish songs for the Museum. His sets of the Scottish airs are taken, he says, from the oldest collec- tions and best authorities : many of them, how- ever, have such a strange aspect, and are so unlike the sets 'which are sung by every person of taste, old or young, in town or country, that we can scarcely recognize the features of

our

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our favourites. By going to the oldest collec- tions of our music, it does not follow that we find the melodies in their original state. These melodies had been preserved, we know not how long, by oral communication, before being col- lected and printed : and as different persons sing the same air very differently, according to their accurate, or confused recollection of it, so, even supposing the first collectors to have pos- sessed the industry, the taste and discernment, to choose the best they could hear, (which is far from certain,) still it must evidently be a chance, whether the collections exhibit any of the melodies in the state they were first com- posed. In selecting the melodies for my own collection, I have been as much guided by the living, as by the dead. Where these differed, I preferred the sets that appeared to me the most simple and beautiful, and the most generally approved : and, without meaning any compli- ment to my own capability of choosing, or speaking of the pains I have taken, I flatter myself that my sets will be found equally freed from vulgar errors on the one hand, and affected graces on the other.

No.

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No. LX.

Mr. burns to Mr. THOMSON.

\mi October, 1794. MY DEAR FRIEND,

By this morning's post I have your list^ and, in general, I highly approve of it. I shall, at more leisure, give you a critique on the whole. Clarke goes to your town, by to-day's fly, and I wish you would call on him and take his opinion in general : you know his taste is a standard. He will return here again in a week or two ; so, please do not miss asking for him. One thing I hope he will do, persuade you to adopt my favorite, Cragie-burn Wood,' in your selection : It is as great a favorite of his as of mine. The lady on whom it was made, is one of the finest women in Scotland ; and, in fact, (entre nous) is in a manner to me, what Sterne's Eliza was to him — a mistress, or friend, or what you will, in the guileless simplicity of Pla- tonic

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tonic love. (Now don't put any of your squint- ing constructions on this, or liave any clishma- claiver about it among our acquaintances.) I assure you that to my lovely friend you are indebted for many of your best songs of mine. Do you think that the sober, gin-horse routine of existence, could inspire a man with life, and love, and joy— could fire him with enthusiasm, or melt him with pathos equal to the genius of your book ? — no ! no ! — Whenever I want to be more than ordinary m song ; to be in some de- gree equal to your diviner airs ; do you imagine I fast and pray for the celestial emanation? Tout au contraire ! 1 have a glorious recipe ; the very one that for his own use was invented by the divinity of healing and poetry, when erst he piped to the flocks of Admetus. J put my- self in a regimen of admiring a fine woman; and in proportion to the adorability of her charms, in proportion you are delighted with my verses. The lightning of her eye is the godhead of Parnassus, and the witchery of her smile, the divinity of Helicon !

To descend to business ; if you like my idea of, Whe7i she cam hen she bohbit, the following stanzas of mine, altered a little from what they were formerly, when set to another air, may, perhaps, do instead of worse stanzas.

SAW

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SAW YE MY PHELY.

(Quasi dicat Phillis.)

Tune — " When she cam ben she bobbit."

O SAW ye my dear, my Phely ? O saw ye my dear, my Phely ? She's down i' the grove, she's wi' a new love, She winna come hame to her Willy.

What says she, my dearest, my Phely ? What says she, my dearest, my Phely? She lets thee to wit that she has thee forgot. And for ever disowns thee, her Willy.

O had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely! O had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely! As light as the air, and fause as thou's fair, Thou's broken the heart o' thy Willy.

Now for a few miscellaneous remarks. The Posie, (in the Museum) is my composition ; the

air

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air was takeu down from Mrs. Burns's voice.* It is well known in the West Country, but the old words are trash. By the by, take a look at the tune again, and tell me if you do not think it is the original from which Roslin Castle is composed. The second part, in particular, for the first two or three bars, is exactly the old air. Strathalla7is Lament is mine : the music is by our right trusty and deservedly well- beloved, Allan Masterton. Donocht-Head is not mine : 1 would give ten pounds it were. It appeared first in the Edinburgh Herald; and came to the editor of that paper with the New- castle post-mark on it.f Whistle o'er the lave o't is mine: the music said to be by a John

Bruce,

* The Posie will be found afterwards. This, and the other poems of which he speaks, had appeared in Johnson's Mu- seum, and Mr. T. had inquired whether they were our bard's. E.

t The reader will be curious to see this poem, so highly praised by Burns. Here it is :

Keen blaws the wind o'er Donocht-Head,t The snaw drives snelly thro' the dale,

The Gaber-lunzie tirls my sneck. And shivering tells his waefu' tale.

" Cauld

X A mountain in the North. E.

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Bruce, a celebrated violin player, in Dumfries, about the beginning of this century. This I know, Bruce, who was an honest man, though a red-wud Highlandman, constantly claimed it; and by all the old musical people here, is believed to be the author of it.

Andretv and his cutty gun. The song to which VOL. IV. N this

" Cauld is the night, O let me in,

" And dinna let your minstrel fa', " And dinna let his winding sheet

" Be naething but a wreath o' snaw.

" Full ninety winters hae I seen,

" And pip'd where gor-cocks whirring flew, " And mony a day I've danc'd, I ween,

" To lilts which from my drone I blew." My Eppie waked, and soon she cry'd,

* Get up, guidman, and let him in ; * For weel ye ken the winter night

' Was short when he began his din.'

My Eppie's voice, O wow it's sweet.

Even tho' she bans and scaulds a wee ; But when it's tuned to sorrow's tale,

O, haith, it's doubly dear to me ! Come in, auld carl, I'll steer my fire,

I'll make it bleeze a bonnie flame ; Your bluid is thin, ye 've tint the gate,

Ye should na stray sae far frae hame.

" Nae

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this is set, in the <