duct 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 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. I believe that interest and monoeuvring 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. LIX. on the score of Pindar being engaged to write some 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 respect, 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 collections and best authorities: many of them, however, 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 favourites By going to 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 different persons sing the same air very differently, according to their accurate or confused recollections of it, so even supposing the first collectors to have possessed the industry, the taste, and discernment to choose the best they could MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. hear (which is far from certain,) still it 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 considered, till I am half blind and wholly stupid. The few airs I have added are enclosed. 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; 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. though he shows clearly that Mr. Tytler, MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 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, * Our bard had before received the same advice, and certainly took it so far into consideration, as to have cast about for a subject. E. MY DEAR FRIEND, 19th October, 1794. list, and, in general, I highly approve of By this morning's post I have your it. I shall, at more leisure give you a critique on the whole. Clarke goes to your own town by to-day's fly, and I wish you would call on him and take his opi nion in general: you know his taste is a standard. He will return here again in | 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. Strathallen's Lament is mine; the music is by our right trusty and deservedly well-beloved Allan Masterton. Donocht-Head is not mine; I would give ten pounds it were. 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 the lave o't is mine; the music is said to be by 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 redwud Highlandman, constantly claimed it; and by all the oldest musical people here, is believed, to be the author of it a week or two; so, please do not miss asking for hin. One thing I hope he will do, persuade you to adopt my favourite Cragie-burn-wood, in your selection; it is as great a favourite 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 Platonic love. (Now don't put any of your squinting constructions on this or have any clish-maclaver 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, 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 that I fast and pray for the celestial emanation? Tout au contrarie! I 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. I put myself in a regimen of admiring a fine woman; and in proportion to the adorability of her charms, in the 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 When she cam ben she bobbit, 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 YE MY PHELY. O, saw ye my dear, my Phely? Now for a few miscellaneons remarks. The Posie wil be found in the Poems, p. 113. This, and the other poems of which he speaks, had appeared in Johnson's Museum, and Mr. T. had inquired whether they were our bard's Andrew and his cutty Gun The song to which this is set in the Museum is mine, and was composed on Miss Euphe The reader will be curious to soe this poem, so highly praised by Burns. Here it is. Keen blaws the wind o'er Donocht-Head,† The snaw drives snelly thro' the dale; And dinna let your minstrel fa'; Be naething but a wreath o' snaw. And piped where gor-cocks whirring flew ; To lilts which from my drone I blew." I'll make it bleeze a bonnie flame; I wander thro' a wreath o' snaw." This affecting poem is apparently incomplete. Th author need not be ashamed to own himself. It 1 worthy of Burns, or of Macniel. E. † A mountain in the North. mia Murray, of Lintrose, commonly and deservedly called the Flower of Strath more. How long 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. SONG. How long and dreary is the night, When I am frae my dearie! See Poems, p. 97. Tell me how you like this. I differ from your idea of the expression of the tune. There is, to me, a great deal of tenderness in it. You cannot, in my opinion, dispense with a bass to your addenda airs. A lady of my acquaintance, a noted performer, plays and sings 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 collec tion.* 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; SONG. LET not woman e'er complain 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 in this oddsand-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. SLEEP'ST thou or wak'st thou, fairest creature; * Mr. Ritson. his mistress than his meet. 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. Cragie-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 collection. 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 is 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 con sists of unconnected remarks, anecdotes, scraps of old songs, &c., it would be impossible to give the work a beginning, a middle, or 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 name of the lovely goddess of my inspiration,) she suggested an idea, which I, in my return from the visit, wrought into the following song. My Chloris, mark how green the groves, How do you like the simplicity and tenderness of this pastoral? I think it pretty well. I like your entering so candidly and so kindly into the story of Ma chere Amie. I assure you I was never more in earnest in my life, than in the account of that affair which I sent you in my last.-Conjugal love is a passion which I deeply feel, and highly venerate; but, somehow, it does not make such a figure in poesy as that other species of the passion, "Where love is liberty, and Nature law." Musically speaking, the first is an instrument of which the gamut is scanty and confined, but the tones inexpressibly sweet; while the last has powers equal to all the intellectual modulations of the human soul. Still I am a very poet in my enthusiasm of the passion. The welfare and happiness of the beloved object is the first and inviolate sentiment that pervades my soul; and whatever pleasures I might wish for, or whatever might be the raptures they would give me, yet, if they interfere with that first principal, it is having these pleasures at a dishonest price; and justice forbids, and generosity disdains the purchase! * Despairing of my own powers to give you variety enough in English songs, I have been turning over old collections, to pick out songs, of which the measure is something similar to what I want; and, with a little alteration, so as to suit the * It does not appear whether Burns completed these anecdotes, &c. Something of the kind (probably the rude draughts,) was found amongst his papers, and appears in Appendix No. II. Note B. I am out of temper that you should set so sweet, so tender an air, as Deit tak the wars, to the foolish old verses. You talk of the silliness of Saw ye my father? by heavens! the odds is gold to brass! Besides, the old song, though now pretty well modernized into the Scottish language, is originally, and in the early editions, a bungling low imitation of the Scottish manner, by that genius Tom D'Urfey; so has no pretensions to be a Scottish production. There is a pretty English song by Sheridan, in the Duenna, to this air, which is out of sight superior to D'Urfey's. It begins, In some of the MSS. the last stanza of this song runs thus: And should the bowling wint'ry blast And comfort thee my dearie O Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, this air, I think, might find a place among your hundred, as Lear says of his knights. Do you know the history of the air? It is curious enough. A good many years ago, Mr. James Miller, writer in your good town, a gentleman whom possibly you know, was in company with our friend Clarke; and talking of Scottish music, Miller expressed an ardent ambition to be able to compose a Scots air. Mr. Clarke, partly by way of joke, told him to keep to the black keys of the harpsichord, and preserve some kind of rhythm; and he would infallibly compose a Scots air. Certain it is, that, in a few days, Mr. Miller produced the rudiments of an air, which Mr. Clarke with some touches and corrections, fashioned into the tune in question. Ritson, you know, has the same story of the black keys; but this Mr. account which I have just given you, Clarke informed me of several years ago. Now to show you how difficult it is to trace the origin of our airs, I have heard it repeatedly asserted that this was an Irish air; nay, I met with an Irish gentleman who affirmed he had heard it in Ireland among the old women; while, on the other hand, a Countess informed me, that the first person who introduced the air into this country, was a baronet's lady of her acquaintance, who took down the notes from an itinerant piper in the Isle of Man. How difficult then to ascertain the truth respecting our poesy and music. I, myself have lately seen a couple of bal * See the song in its first and best dress in page 212. "Our bara remarks upon it, "I could easily throw this into an English mould; but, to my taste, in the simple and the tender of the pastoral song, a sprinkling of the old Scottish has an inimitable effect." E |