I had not an opportunity, till lately, of perusing it.* How sorry I am to find Burns mind diseased?" while he is delighting saying, "Canst thou not minister to a 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 Car AFTER So long a silence, it gave me peculiar pleasure to recognize your well-lini, who keeps all Paris in good humour. Alas! Sir, replied the patient, I am that unhappy Carlini ! 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 merit; and as you have the command of his manuscripts, I hope you will 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, Nor longer idly rave, Sir; See Poems, p. 95. WILT thou be my dearie? See Poems, p. 114. No. L. MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. Edinburgh, 17th April, 1794. MY DEAR SIR, 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 ad ded 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 imitation, but it is said to be Oswald'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? 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 OWING to the distress of our friend for the loss of his child, at the time of his receiv* A letter to Mr. Cunningham, No. CL. of the Ge ng your admirable but melancholy letter,!neral Correspondence. join'd, See Poems, p. 95. his hands. A friend of mine, who is po- | In sacred strains and tuneful numbers sitively 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 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 particuiar friend of mine, I have written the following song to it. BANKS OF CREE. HERE is the glen, and here the bower; See Poems, p. 95. No. LII. No. LIII. MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. MY DEAR SIR, I owe you an apology for having so of your last. I fear it will be as you say, long delayed to acknowledge the favour shall have no more songs from Pleyel till France and we are friends; but nevertheless, I am very desirous to be prepared with the poetry and as the season approaches in which your muse of Coila visits you, I trust I shall, as formerly, be frequently gratified with the result of your amorous and tender interviews! No. LIV. MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 30th August, 1794. THE last evening, as I was straying out, and thinking of, O'er the hills and far away, I spun the following stanzas for it; but whether my spinning will deserve to be laid up in store, like the precious thread MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. of the silk-worm, or brushed to the devil, 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 wo is me! That auspicious period pregnant with the happiness of milions." ****** like the vile manufacture of the spider, I leave, my dear Sir, to your usual candid criticism. I 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 wallings I have presented a copy of your songs of his love-lorn mistress. I must here to the daughter of a much-valued and make one sweet exception-Sweet Annie much-honoured friend of mine, Mr. Gra-frae the sea-beach came. Now for the song. ham, of Fintry. I wrote on the blank side of the title-page the following address to the young lady. HERE, where the Scottish muse immortal lives A portion of this letter has been left out for reasons that will easily be imagined. ON THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY. How can my poor heart be glad, I give you leave to abuse this song, but do it in the spirit of Christian meekness. No. LV. MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. Edinburgh, 16th September, 1794. MY DEAR SIR, You have anticipated my opinion of On the seas and far away; I do not think it one of your very happy productions, though it certainly contains stanzas that are worthy of all acceptation. The second is the least to my liking, particularly"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. 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, following 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 knowes, I shall give you my opinion of your other newly adopted songs my first scribbling fit. No. LVII Upon the whole, therefore, in my humble MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON opinion, the song would be better adapted to the tune, if it consisted only of the first and last verses with the choruses. For that reason I 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 yowes to the knowes, 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 * This Virgilian 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. September, 1794. Do you know a blackguard Trish song called Ŏnagh's Water-fall? The air 18 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'. SAE flaxen were her ringlets, 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 confessed his admiration I am sensible that my taste m 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 most exquisite enjoyment, where you and other judges would probably be showing disgust. For instance, I am just now making verses for Rothiemurchie'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. Rothiemurchie, 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.* TO DR. MAXWELL, ON MISS JESSY STAIG'S RECOVERY. Maxwell, if merit here you crave, That merit I deny : You save fair Jessy from the grave ? An angel could not dic. God grant you patience with this stupid epistle! No. LVIII. MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. I PERCEIVE the sprightly muse is now attendant upon her favourite poet, whose wood-notes wild are becoming 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 I have begun anew, Let me in this ae Cunningham a copy; he can more pownight. Do you think that we ought to erfully proclaim its merit. I am far from retain the old chorus? I think we must undervaluing your taste for the strathretain both the old chorus and the first spey music; on the contrary, I think it stanza of the old song. I do not al-highly animating and agreeable, and together like the third line of the first that some of the strathspeys, when grastanza, but cannot alter it to please myced with such verses as yours, will make self. I am just three stanzas deep in it. very pleasing songs in the same way that Would have the denoument to be sucrough Christians are tempered and softyou cessful or otherwise? should she "let ened by lovely woman; without whom, him in," or not? you know, they had been brutes. Did you not once propose The Sow's Tail to Geordie, as an air for your work? I am quite diverted 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 was the physician who seemingly saved her from the grave; and to him I address the following. 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 (Katherine) is not at all poetical. Retain Jeanie therefore, and make the other Jamie, or any other that sounds agreeably. Your Ca' the ewes 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 * In the original, follow here two stanzas of a song, appeared since the Duenna, possess much beginning "Lassie wi' the lint-white locks." poetical merit: there is little in the con |