While with boundless joy I rove The rest of your letter I shall answer at some other opportunity. No. XLVIII Mr. THOMSON to Mr. BURNS. My good sir, 7th Nov. 1793. 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' choss, which I think extremely good, although the colouring is warm. Your friend Mr. Turnbull's songs have doubtless considerable me rit; and as you have the command of his manuscripts, I hope you may find out some that will answer as English songs, to the airs yet unprovided. No. XLIX. Mr. BURNS to Mr. THOMSON. December, 1793. Tell me how you like the following verses to the tune of Jo Janet. Husband, husband, cease your strife, Yet I am not your slave, sir. "One of two must still obey, Is it man or woman, say, If 'tis still the lordly word, I'll desert my sov'reign lord, "Sad will I be, so bereft, Nancy, Nancy, Yet I'll try to make a shift, My spouse Nancy." My poor heart then break it must, Think, think how you will bear it: "I will hope and trust in heaven, Strength to bear it will be given, Well, sir, from the silent dead, "I'll wed another, like my dear, Nancy, Nancy; Then all hell will fly for fear, My spouse Nancy." Air-"The Sutor's Dochter." Wilt thou be my dearie? When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart, I swear and vow that only thou Only thou, I swear and vow, Shall ever be my dearie. Lassie, say thou lo'es me; Thou for thine may chuse me, No. L.. Mr. THOMSON to Mr. BURNS. My dear sir, Edinburgh, 17th April, 1794. 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 * A letter to Mr. Cunningham, to be found in General Correspondence. 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 greatly, and I trust that by some means or other it will soon take place; but your Bacchanalian 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 Sutor's 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. What think you of the air, Within a mile of Edinburgh? It has always struck me as a modern English imitation, but it is said to be Os wald's, and is so much liked, that I believe I must include it. The verses are little better than namby pamby. Do you consider it worth a stanza or two? No. LI. Mr. BURNS to Mr. THOMSON. My dear sir, May, 1794. I return you the plates, with which I am highly pleased; I 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 burin, is quite charmed with Allan's manner. I got him a peep of the Gentle Shepherd; and he pronounces Allan a most original artist of great excellence. For my part, I look on Mr. Allan's chusing my favourite poem for his subject, to be one of the highest compliments I have ever received. 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 be quite in song, as you shall see by and bye. 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 following song to it. BANKS OF CREE. Here is the glen, and here the bower, 'Tis not Maria's whispering call; It is Maria's voice I hear! So calls the woodlark in the grove, And art thou come? and art thou true? And let us all our vows renew, |