Hear me, pow'rs divine ! Take aught else of mine, But my Chloris spare me! How do you like the foregoing? The Irish air, "Humours of Glen," is a great favourite of mine, and as, except the silly stuff in the "Poor Soldier," there are not any decent verses for it, I have written for it as follow. SONG. Tune "Humours of Glen." Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon, Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume, Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan, Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom; Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers, Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk unseen: lowly And thou'rt the angel that never can alter, No. LXXIII. MR THOMSON to MR BURNS. You must not think, my good sir, that I have any intention to enhance the value of my gift, when I say, in justice to the ingenious and worthy artist, that the design and execution or "the Cotter's Saturday Night" is, in my opinion, one of the happiest productions of Allan's pencil. I shall be grievously disappointed if you are not quite pleased with it. The figure intended for your portrait, I think strikingly like you, as far as I can remember your phiz. This should make the piece interesting to your family every way. Tell me whether Mrs Burns finds you out among the figures. I cannot express the feeling of admiration with which I have read your pathetic "Address to the Wood-lark," your elegant "Panegyric on Caledonia," and your affecting verses on wild" Chloris' illness." Every repeated perusal of these gives new delight. The other song to A-listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean." Laddie, lie near me," though not equal to these, is very pleasing. For there, lightly tripping amang the flowers, SONG. Tune-"Deil tak the wars. MARK yonder pomp of costly fashion, But never, never can come near the heart. But did you see my dearest Chloris, Lovely as yonder sweet opening flower is, O then the heart alarming, In Love's delightful fetters she chains the willing soul! Ambition would disown And feel thro' every vein Love's raptures roll. Well! this is not amiss. You see how I answer your orders: your tailor could not be more punctual. I am just now in a high fit of poetizing, provided that the strait-jacket of criticism don't cure me. If you can in a post or two administer a little of the intoxicating potion of your applause, it will raise your humble servant's phrenzy to any height you want. I am at this moment" holding high converse" with the Muses, and have not a word to throw away on such a prosaic dog as you are. No. LXXV. MR BURNS to MR THOMSON. May, 1794. TEN thousand thanks, for your elegant present; though I am ashamed of the value of it, being bestowed on a man who has not by any means merited such an instance of kindness. I have shown it to two or three judges of the first abilities here, and they all agree with me in classing it as a first-rate production. My phiz is "sae kenspeckle," that the very joiner's apprentice whom Mrs Burns employed to break up the parcel (I was out of town that day) knew it at once. My most grateful compliments to Allan, who has honoured my rustic muse so much with his masterly pencil. One strange coincidence is, that the little one who is making the felonious attempt on the cat's tail, is the most striking likeness of "illdeedie damn'd, wee, rumble-garie urchin" of mine, whom, from that propensity to witty wickedness and manfu' mischief, which even at twa days auld I foresaw would form the striking features of his disposition, I named Willie Nicol, after a certain friend of mine, who is one of the masters of a grammar-school in a city which shall be nameless. Give the inclosed epigram to my muchvalued friend Cunningham, and tell him that on Wednesday I go to visit a friend of his, to whom his friendly partiality in speaking of me, in a manner introduced me-I mean a well known military and literary character, Colonel Dirom. You do not tell me how you liked my two last songs. Are they condemned? No. LXXVI. MR THOMSON to MR BURNS. 13th May, 1795. Ir gives me great pleasure to find that you are all so well satisfied with Mr Allan's production. The chance resemblance of your little fellow, whose promising disposition appeared so very early, and suggested whom he should be named after, is curious enough. I am acquainted with that person, who is a prodigy of learning and genius, and a pleasant fellow, though no saint. You really make me blush when you tell me you have not merited the drawing from me. I do not think I can ever repay you, or sufficiently esteem and respect you for the liberal and kind manner in which you have entered into the spirit of my undertaking, which could not have been perfected without you: So I beg you would not make a fool of me again, by speaking of obligation. I like your two last songs very much, and am happy to find you are in such a high fit of poetizing. Long may it last. Clarke has made a fine pathetic air to Mallet's superlative ballad of William and Margaret, and is to give it to me, to be inrolled among the elect. No. LXXVII. MR BURNS to MR THOMSON. IN Whistle and I'll come to ye, my lad, the iteration of that line is tiresome to my ear. Here goes what I think is an improvement. O whistle and I'll come to ye, my lad; In fact, a fair dame at whose shrine I, the Priest of the Nine, offer up the incense of Parnassus; a dame whom the Graces have attired in witchcraft, and whom the Loves have armed with lightning, a Fair One, herself the heroine of the song, insists on the amendment; and dispute her commands if you dare ! SONG. Tune-" This is no my ain House." CHORUS. O this is no my ain lassie I see a form, I see a face, Ye weel may wi' the fairest place : It wants to me the witching grace, The kind love that's in her e'e. O this is no, &c She's bonnie, blooming, straight, and tall, A thief sae pawkie is my Jean, To steal a blink by a' unseen; But gleg as light are lovers' e'en. When kind love is in her e'e. O this is no, &c. It may escape the courtly sparks, Do you know that you have roused the torpidity of Clarke at last? He has requested me to write three or four songs for him, which he is to set to music himself. The inclosed sheet contains two songs for him, which please to present to my valued friend Cunningham. I inclose the sheet open, both for your inspection, and that you may copy the song, O bonnie was yon rosy brier. I do not know whether I am right; but that song pleases me, and as it is extremely probable that Clarke's newly roused celestial spark will soon be smothered in the fogs of indulgence, if you like the song, it may go as Scottish verses, to the air of, I wish my love was in the mire; and poor Erskine's English lines may follow. I inclose you For a' that and a' that, which was never in print: it is a much superior song to mine. I have been told that it was composed by a lady. To MR CUNNINGHAM. SCOTTISH SONG. Now spring has clad the grove in green, O why thus all alone are mine The trout within yon wimpling burn And safe beneath the shady thorn My life was ance that careless stream, But love, wi' unrelenting beam, The little flow'ret's peaceful lot, Was mine; till love has o'er me past, The waken'd lav'rock warbling springs, O' witching love, in luckless hour, O had my fate been Greenland's snows, Wi' man and nature leagued my foes, So Peggy ne'er I'd known! The wretch whase doom is, "hope nae mair," That tongue his woes can tell! Within whase bosom, save despair, Nae kinder spirits dwell. SCOTTISH SONG. O BONNIE was yon rosy brier, That blooms sae far frae haunt p' man; And bonnie she, and ah! how dear! It shaded frae the e'enin' sun. Yon rosebuds in the morning dew How pure, amang the leaves sae green; But purer was the lover's vow They witness'd in their shade yestreen. All in its rude and prickly bower, That crimson rose, how sweet and fair! But love is far a sweeter flower Amid life's thorny path o' care. The pathless wild, and wimpling burn, Written on the blank leaf of a copy of the last edition of my poems presented to the lady, whom in so many fictitious reveries of passion, but with the most ardent sentiments of real friendship, I have so often sung under the name of Chloris. prosaic line, Thy Jeany will venture wi'ye my lad. I must be permitted to say, that I do not think the latter either reads or sings so well as the former. I wish, therefore, you would in my name petition the charming Jeany, whoever she be, to let the line remain unaltered.* I should be happy to see Mr Clarke produce a few songs to be joined to your verses. Every body regrets his writing so very little, as every body acknowledges his ability to write well. Pray, was the resolution formed coolly before dinner, 'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend, or was it a midnight vow made over a bowl of Nor thou the gift refuse, Nor with unwilling ear attend The moralizing muse. Since thou, in all thy youth and charms, Must bid the world adieu, (A world 'gainst peace in constant arms) To join the friendly few. Since thy gay morn of life o'ercast, (And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast Since life's gay scenes must charm no more, Still nobler wealth hast thou in store, Thine is the self-approving glow, The joys refined of sense and taste Une bagatelle de l'amitie. No. LVIII. MR THOMSON to MR BURNS. MY DEAR SIR, Edinburgh, 3d Aug. 1795. THIS will be delivered to you by a Dr Brianton, who has read your works, and pants for the honour of your acquaintance. I do not know the gentleman, but his friend who applied to me for this introduction, being an excellent young man, I have no doubt he is worthy of all acceptation. My eyes have just been gladdened, and my mind feasted, with your last packet-full of pleasant things indeed. What an imagination is yours! It is superfluous to tell you that I am delighted with all the three songs, as well as your elegant and tender verses to Chloris. I am sorry you should be induced to alter O whistle and I'll come to ye, my lad, to the punch with the bard? I shall not fail to give Mr Cunningham what you have sent him. P. S. The lady's For a' that and a' that is sensible enough, but no more to be compared to your's than I to Hercules. No. LXXIX. MR BURNS to MR THOMSON. ENGLISH SONG. Tune-"Let me in this ae night." FORLORN, my love, no comfort near, Far, far from thee I wander here; Far, far from thee, the fate severe At which I most repine, love. CHORUS. O wert thou love, but near me, Around me scowls a wintry sky, Cold, alter'd friendship's cruel part, But dreary tho' the moments fleet, let me think we yet shall meet! That only ray of solace sweet Can on thy Chloris shine, love. written it within this hour: so much for the How do you like the foregoing? I have The Editor, who has heard the heroine of this song sing it herself in the very spirit of arch simplicity that it requires, thinks Mr Thomson's petition unreason able. If we mistake not, this is the same lady who produced the lines to the tune of Roy's Wife, p. 229. speed of my Pegasus; but what say you to his And how her new shoon fit her auld shachlet bottom? No. LXXX. MR BURNS to MR THOMSON. SCOTTISH BALLAD. Tune-"The Lothian Lassie." LAST May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen, And sair wi' his love he did deave me ; I said there was naething I hated like men, The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me, believe me, The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me. He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black e'en, A weel-stocked mailen, himsel' for the laird, But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers, But thought I might hae waur offers. But what wad ye think? in a fortnight or less, Guess ye how the jad I could bear her. But a' the neist week as I fretted wi' care, But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink, And vow'd I was his dear lassie. I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet, Gin she had recover'd her hearin, In the original MS. this line runs, "He up the Gateslack to my black cousin Bess:" Mr Thomson objected to this word, as well as to the word" Dalgarnock" in the next verse. Mr Burns replies as follows: "Gateslack is the name of a particular place, a kind of passage, up amang the Lawther hills, on the confines of this county." "Dalgarnock is also the name of a romantic spot near the Nith, where are still a ruined church and a burial-ground." However, let the first line run, "He up the lang loan," &c. feet, But heavens! how he fell a swearin, a swearin! But heavens! how he fell a swearin. He begged, for Gudesake! I wad be his wife, morrow, I think I maun wed him to-morrow. FRAGMENT. Tune-"The Caledonian Hunt's delight. Why, why tell thy lover, Bliss he never must enjoy; Why, why undeceive him, And give all his hopes the lie. O why, while fancy, raptured, slumbers, Wake thy lover from his dream. Such is the peculiarity of the rhythm of this air, that I find it impossible to make another stanza to suit it. I am at present quite occupied with the charming sensations of the toothache, so have not a word to spare. No. LXXXI. MR THOMSON to MR BURNS. MY DEAR SIR, 3d June, 1795. YOUR English verses to Let me in this ae night, are tender and beautiful; and your ballad to the "Lothian Lassie" is a master-piece for its humour and naiveté. The fragment for the Caledonian Hunt is quite suited to the original measure of the air, and, as it plagues you so, the fragment must content it. I would rather, as I said before, have had Bacchanalian words, had it so pleased the poet; but, nevertheless, for what we have received, Lord mak us thankful. No. LXXXII. MR THOMSON to MR BURNS. 5th February, 1796. O Robby Burns, are ye sleeping yet? Or are ye wauking, I would wit? It is always a pity to throw out any thing that gives THE pause you have made, my dear sir, is aw locality to our poet's verses. |