III. The sweetest flower that deck'd the mead, Let simple maid the lesson read, The weird may be her ain, jo. The bird that charm'd his summer-day, I do not know whether it will do. [If Burns drew his song of "A man's a man for a' that," solely from his own mind and fancy, there is no question that he is indebted to an old strain for the idea of these twin lyrics. He has changed the lead into gold, and dismissed a deal of dross still the sentiment belongs to the olden times. These are part of the old words : : "O lassie, art thou sleeping yet, Or are you waking, I wad wit? For love has bound me hand and fit, And I wad fain be in, O. O let me in this ae night, This ae, ae, ae night; O let me in this ae night, Or I'll ne'er come back again, O. "The night it is baith wind and weet, "I am the laird o' Windy wa's, I come na here without a cause; Wad killed a thousand men, O. "My father's waukrife in his sleep, Sae gae ye're ways this ae night, O gae ye're ways this ae night, I daurna let ye in, O." It is said that the thoughts of Burns wandered to Woodlee-Park, and his feud with Mrs. Riddel, when he composed these songs. The lady in the old verses resisted nothing like so stoutly or successfully as the modern heroine is made to do.-ED.] No. LXXI. BURNS TO G. THOMSON. Ecclefechun, 7th February, 1795. MY DEAR THOMSON: You cannot have any idea of the predicament in which I write to you. In the course of my duty as supervisor (in which capacity I have acted of late), I came esternight to this unfortunate, wicked, little village. I have gone forward, but snows, of ten feet deep, have impeded my progress: I have tried to " gae back the gate I cam again," but the same obstacle has shut me up within insuperable bars. To add to my misfortune, since dinner, a scraper has been torturing catgut, in sounds that would have insulted the dying agonies of a sow under the hands of a butcher, and thinks himself, on that very account, exceeding good company. In fact, I have been in a dilemma, either to get drunk, to forget these miseries; or to hang myself, to get rid of them: like a prudent man (a character congenial to my every thought, word, and deed), I, of two evils, have chosen the least, and am very drunk, at your service! I wrote you yesterday from Dumfries. I had not time then to tell you all I wanted to say; and, Heaven knows, at present I have not capacity. Do you know an air—I am sure you must know it-"We'll gang nae mair to yon town?" I think, in slowish time, it would make an excellent song. I am highly delighted with it; and if you should think it worthy of your attention, I have a fair dame in my eye, to whom I would consecrate it. As I am just going to bed, I wish you a good night. [Ecclefechan is a little thriving village in Annandale : nor is it more known for its hiring fairs than for beautiful lasses and active young men. The latter, when cudgel-playing was regularly taught to the youth of the Scottish lowlands, distinguished themselves by skill and courage; they did not, however, enjoy their fame without contention: they had frequent feuds with the lads of Lockerby, and their laurels were put in jeopardy. On an old New Year's-day, some thirty years ago, Ecclefechan sent some two hundred "sticks" against Lockerby: they drew themselves up beside an old fortalice, and intimated their intention of keeping their post till the sun went down :-they bit their thumbs, flourished their oak saplings, and said, "We wad like to see wha wad hinder us. This was a matter of joy to the lads of Lockerby an engagement immediately took place, and Ecclefechan seemed likely to triumph, when I grieve to write it—a douce elder of the kirk seizing a stick from one who seemed unskilful in using it, rushed forward, broke the enemy's ranks, pushed the lads of Ecclefechan rudely out of the place, and exclaimed, "That's the way we did lang syne!" The Poet paid Ecclefechan many a visit, friendly and official, and even wrought its almost unpronounceable name into a couple of songs.—ED.] : No. LXXII. G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 25th February, 1795. I HAVE to thank you, my dear Sir, for two epistles, one containing "Let me in this ae night;" and the other from Ecclefechan, proving that, drunk or sober, your "mind is never muddy." You have displayed great address in the above song. Her answer is excellent, and at the same time takes away the indelicacy that otherwise would have attached to his entreaties. I like the song, as it now stands, very much. I had hopes you would be arrested some days at Ecclefechan, and be obliged to beguile the tedious forenoons by song-making. It will give me pleasure to receive the verses you intend for "O wat wha's in yon town." ye |