September, 1794. Do you know a blackguard Irish song, called Onagh's Water-fall? The air is charming, and I have often 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 favourite 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 mentioned, 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. SHE SAYS SHE LO'ES ME BEST OF A'. Tune-"Onagh's Water-fall." Twa laughing een o' bonnie blue. Wad make a wretch forget his woc; What pleasure, what treasure, Unto these rosy lips to grow; Such was my Chloris' bonnie face, When first her bonnie face I saw, And aye 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 graceful air; Ilk feature-auld Nature Declar'd that she could do nae mair: Hers are the willing chains o' love, By conquering beauty's sovereign law; And aye my Chloris' dearest charm, She says she lo'es me best of a’. Let others love the city, And gaudy show 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 Frederick of Prussia's taste in painting: we are told that he frequently admired what the connoisseurs decried, and always without any hypocrisy I am sensible that confessed his admiration. 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 reason why I should deny myself that pleasure? Many of our strathspeys, ancient and modern, give me the most exquisite enjoyment, where you and other judges would probably be showing disgust. For instance, I am just now making verses for " Rothiemurche's Rant," 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. "Rothiemurche," he says," is an air both original and beautiful ;" and on his recommendation 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 the "denouement" to be successful or otherwise ;-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 together. 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 • In the original follow here two stanzas of a song, beginning, "Lassie wi' the lint white locks;" which will be found at full length afterwards. was the physician who seemingly saved herbe to our favourite Scottish airs; the rest might from the grave, and to him I address the follow-be left with the London composer-Storace ing. TO DR MAXWELL, ON MISS JESSY STAIG'S RECOVERY. MAXWELL, if merit here you crave, You save fair Jessy from the grave! God grant you patience with this stupid epistle! for Drury Lane, or Shield for Covent garden; both of them very able and popular musicians. I believe that interest and manoeuvring are often necessary to have a drama brought on: so it may be with the 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 consideration.❤ No. LVIII. MR THOMSON to MR BURNS. No. LIX. MR THOMSON to MR BURNS. Edinburgh, 14th October, 1794. THE last eight days have been devoted to the have read, and sung, and fiddled, and considered, till I am half blind and wholly stupid. The few airs I have added, are enclosed. I PERCEIVE the sprightly muse is now attend-re-examination of the Scottish collections. I ant upon her favourite poet, whose "woodnotes wild" are become as enchanting as ever. "She says she lo'es me best of a'," is one of the pleasantest 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 animating 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 "Sow's tail," particularly as your proposed verses to it are so extremely promising. Geordie, as you observe, is a name only fit for burlesque composition. Mrs Thomson's name (Katharine) is not at all poetical. Retain Jeanie, therefore, and make the other Jamie, or any other that sounds agreeably. Peter Pindar has at length sent me all the 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 essay 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 shows clearly that Mr Tytler, in his ingenious dissertation, has adduced no sort of proof of the hypothesis he wished to establish; and that his classification of the airs, according to the eras when they were composed, is mere fancy and conjecture. On John Pinkerton, 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 Your "Ca' the yewes," is a precious little been sent a-packing to make room for Peter's! morceau. Indeed I am perfectly astonished Of you he speaks with some respect, but gives and charmed with the endless variety of your you a passing hit or two, for daring to dress up fancy. Here let me ask you, whether you a little some old foolish songs for the Museum. never seriously turned your thoughts upon His sets of the Scottish airs are taken, he says, dramatic writing. That is a field worthy of from the oldest collections and best author your genius, in which it might shine forth in ities: many of them, however, have such a all its splendour. One or two successful pieces strange aspect, and are so unlike the sets which upon the London stage would make your for- are sung by every person of taste, old or young. tune. The rage at present is for musical in town or country, that we can scarcely recog dramas; few or none of those which have ap-nise the features of our favourites. By going to peared since the" Duenna," possess much poetical merit: there is little in the conduct of the fable, or in the dialogue, to interest 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 the oldest collections 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 collected and printed : and as dif ferent persons sang the same air very differently, *Our bard had before received the same advice, and certainly took it so far into consideration, as to have cast about for a subject. SAW YE MY PHELY. (Quasi dicat Phillis.) according to their accurate or confused recol- of "When she can ben she bobbet," the follection of it, so even supposing the first collec-lowing stanzas of mine, altered a little from tors to have possessed the industry, the taste and what they were formerly when set to another discernment to choose the best they could hear, air, may perhaps do instead of worse stanzas. (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 composed. 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 compliment 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. LX. MR BURNS to MR THOMSON. MY DEAR FRIEND, 19th October, 1794. 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 as of mine. or two, so, please do not miss asking for him. One thing I hope he will do, persuade you to adopt my favourite, "Craigie-burn wood," in your selection: It is as great a favourite of his 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, a friend, or what you will, in the guileless simplicity of Platonic love. (Now don't put any of your squinting constructions on this, or have any clishmaclaiver about it among our acquaint. ances.) 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, ginhorse 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 in song; to be in some degree equal to your diviner airs-do you imagine I fast and pray for the divine emanation? Tout au contraire ! I have a glorious recipe; the very one that for bis own use was invented by the divinity of healing and poetry, when first he piped to the flocks of Admetus. I put myself in a regimen of admiring a fine woman; 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 Tune-" When she came ben she bobbet." O SAW ye my dear, my Phely? The Now for a few miscellaneous remarks. Posie" (in the Museum), is my composition : the air was taken down from Mrs Burns' voice.* It is well know in the West Country, but the old words are trash. By the bye, take a look at the tune again, and tell me if you do not think it is the original from which part, in particular, for the first two or three "Roslin Castle" is composed. The second bars, is exactly the old air. Lament" is mine; the music is by our "Strathallan's right-trusty and deservedly well-beloved, Allan Masterton. mine: I would give ten pounds it were. Donocht-head," is not It appeared first in the Edinburgh Herald; and came to the Editor of that paper with the Newcastle post-mark on it. "Whistle o'er other poems of which he speaks, had appeared in Johnson's Museum, and Mr T. had inquired whether they The Posie will be found afterwards. This and the were our bard's. highly praised by Burns. Here it is : + The reader will be curious to see this poem so KEEN blaws the wind o'er Donocht-head,* And dinna let your minstrel ta', "Full ninety winters hae I seen, mountain in the north the lave o't is mine; the music said to be by a John 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, Andrew and his cutty gun. The song to which this is set in the Museum, is mine; and was composed on Miss Euphemia Murray, of Lintrose, commonly and deservedly called, the Flower of Strathmore. How lang and dreary is the night. I met with some such words in a collection of songs somewhere, which I altered and enlarged; and to please you and to suit your favourite air, I have taken a stride or two across my room, and have arranged it anew, as you will find on the other page. Tune-"Cauld kail in Aberdeen." My Eppie's voice, O vow it's sweet, Even tho' she bans and scanids a wee; But when it's tun'd to sorrow's tale, O, haith, its doubly dear to me! Come in, auld carl, I'll steer my fire, I'll make it bleeze a bonnie flame: Your blood is thin, ye've tint the gate, Ye should na stray sae far frae hame. "Nae hame have I, the minstrel said, Sad party strife o'erturned my ha'; And, weeping at the eve o' life, I wauder thro' a wreath o' snaw." This affecting poem is apparently incomplete. The author need not be ashamed to own himself. It is worthy of Burns, or of Macneil. at the same time so charmingly, that I shall never bear to see any of her songs sent into the world, as naked as Mr What-d'ye-call-um has done in his London collection.* These English songs gravel me to death. I have not that command of the language that I have of my native tongue. I have been at Duncan Gray, to dress it in English, but all I can do is deplorably stupid. For instance. Tune-"Duncan Gray." LET not women e'er complain, Look abroad through Nature's range, Man should then a monster prove? Mark the winds, and mark the skies; Why then ask of sil'y man, To oppose great Nature's plan ? We'll be constant while we canYou can be no more you know. Since the above, I have been out in the country taking a dinner with a friend, where I met with the lady whom I mentioned in the second page of this odds-and-ends of a letter. As usual, I got into song; and returning home, I composed the following. THE LOVER'S MORNING SALUTE TO HIS MISTRESS. Tune-" Deil tak the wars." SLEEP ST thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature? Wild Nature's tenants, freely, gladly stray; Chants o'er the breathing flower: While the sun and thou arise to bless the day.t Nature gladdening and adorning; If you honour my verses by setting the air to them, I will vamp up the old song, and make it English enough to be understood. I enclose you a musical curiosity, an East Indian air, which you would swear was a Scottish one. I know the authenticity of it, as the gentleman who brought it over is a particular acquaintance of mine. Do preserve me the copy I send you, as it is the only one I have. Clarke has set a bass to it. and I intend put. ting it into the Musical Museum. Here follow the verses I intend for it. THE AULD MAN. BUT lately seen in gladsome green Thro' gentle showers the laughing flowers On winter blasts awa! But my white pow, nae kindly thowe Oh, age has weary days, And nights o' sleepless pain! Thou golden time o' youthfu' prime, Why comest thou not again! I would be obliged to you if you would procure me a sight of Ritson's collection of English songs, which you mention in your letter. I will thank you for another information, and that as speedily as you please: whether this miserable drawling hotch-potch epistle has not completely tired you of my correspondence. No. LXI. MR THOMSON to MR BURNS. Edinburgh, 27th October, 1794. I AM sensible, my dear friend, that a genuine poet can no more exist without his mistress *Variation. When frae my Chloris parted, Sad, cheerless, broken-hearted, [sky; Then night's gloomy shades, cloudy, dark, o'ercast my But when she charms my sight, In pride of beauty's light, When thro' my very heart Her beaming glories dart; Tis then, 'tis then I wake to life and Jev. than his meat. I wish I knew the adorable she, whose bright eyes and witching smiles have so often enraptured the Scottish bard! that I might drink her sweet health when the toast is going round. Craigie-burn wood, must certainly be adopted into my family, since she is the object of the song; but in the name of decency, I must beg a new chorus verse from you. O to be lying beyond thee, dearie, is perhaps a consummation to be wished, but will not do for singing in the company of ladies. The songs in your last will do you lasting credit, and suit the respective airs charmingly. I am perfectly of your opinion with respect to the additional airs. The idea of sending them into the world naked as they were born was ungenerous. They must all be clothed and made decent by our friend Clarke. I find I am anticipated by the friendly Cunningham, in sending you Ritson's Scottish col lection. Permit me, therefore, to present you with his English collection, which you will receive by the coach. I do not find his historical essay on Scottish song interesting. Your anecdotes and miscellaneous remarks will, I am sure, be much more so. Allan has just sketched a charming design from Maggie Lauder. She is dancing with such spirit as to electrify the piper, who seems almost dancing too, while he playing with the most exquisite glee. I am much inclined to get a small copy, and to have it engraved in the style of Ritson's prints. P. S.-Pray, what do your anecdotes say concerning Maggie Lauder? was she a real personage, and of what rank? You would surely spier for her if you ca'd at Anstruther town. No. LXII. MR BURNS to MR THOMSON. November, 1794. MANY thanks to you, my dear sir, for your present it is a book of the utmost importance to me. I have yesterday begun my anecdotes, &c. for your work. I intend drawing it up in the form of a letter to you, which will save me from the tedious dull business of systematic arrangement. Indeed, as all I have to say consists of unconnected remarks, anecdotes, scraps, old songs, &c. it would be impossible to give the work a beginning, a middle, and an end; which the critics insist to be absolutely necessary in a work. * In my last, I told you my objections to the song you had selected for My lodging is on the cold ground. On my visit the other day to my fair Chloris (that is the poetic * It does not appear whether Burn completed these anecdotes, &c. Something of the kind (probably the rude draughts) was found amongst his papers, and ap pears in p. xxxi. |