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mean time, allow me to congratulate you now, as a brother of the quill. You have

No. XXX.

committed your character and fame: which MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. will now be tried for ages to come, by the illustrious jury of the Sons and DAUGHTERS of TASTE-all whom poesy can please, or music charm.

Being a bard of nature, I have some pretensions to second sight; and I am warranted by the spirit to foretell and affirm, that your great-grand-child will hold up your volumes, and say, with honest pride, "This so much admired selection was the work of my ancestor."

MY DEAR THOMSON,

August, 1793.

I HOLD the pen for your friend Clarke. who at present is studying the music of the spheres at my elbow. The Georgium Sidus he thinks is rather out of tune; so until he rectify that matter, he cannot

stoop to terrestrial affairs.

He sends you six of the Rondeau subjects, and if more are wanted, he says you shall have them.

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I HAD the pleasure of receiving your

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last two letters, and am happy to find you MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON

are quite pleased with the appearance of the first book. When you come to hear the songs sung and accompanied, you will be charmed with them.

August, 1793.

I have tried my hand on Robin Adair, and you will probably think, with little success; but it is such a cursed, cramp out-of-the-way measure, that I despair of doing any thing better to it.

YOUR objection, my dear Sir, to the passages in my song of Logan Water, is The bonnie brucket Lassie, certainly de- right in one instance, but it is difficult to serves better verses, and I hope you will mend it; If I can, I will. The other pasmatch her. Cauld Kail in Aberdeen-sage you object to, does not appear in the same light to me. Let me in this ae night, and several of the livelier airs, wait the muse's leisure: these are peculiarly worthy of her choice gifts: besides, you'll notice, that in airs of this sort, the singer can always do greater justice to the poet, than in the slower airs of The Bush aboon Traquair, Lord Gregory, and the like; for in the manner the latter are frequently sung, you must be contented with the sound, without the sense. Indeed both the airs and words are disguised by the very slow, languid, psalm-singing style in which they are too often performed, they lose animation and expression altogether; and instead of speaking to the mind, or touching the heart, they cloy upon the ear, and set us a yawning!

Your ballad, There was a lass and she was fair, is simple and beautiful, and shall undoubtedly grace my collection.

PHILLIS THE FAIR.

WHILE larks with little wing,
Fann'd the pure air,

See Poems, p. 91.

So much for namby-pamby. I may, after all, try my hand on it in Scots verse. There I always find myself most at home.

I have just put the last hand to the song I meant for Cauld Kail in Aberdeen. It it suits you to insert it, I shall be pleased as the heroine is a favourite of mine; it not, I shall also be pleased; because I

wish, and will be glad, to see you act de- | with such giee, as to show that he fully recollects the pleasant days and nights when they were first acquent. The drawing would do honour to the pencil of Teniers.

cidedly on the business.* 'Tis a tribute as a man of taste, and as an editor, which you owe yourself.

No. XXXII.

No. XXXIII.

MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON.

MY GOOD SIR,

August, 1793.

August, 1793.

THAT crinkum-crankum tune Robin

ceeded so ill in my last attempt, that I have ventured in this morning's walk, one member an unfortunate part of our worthy essay more. You, my dear Sir, will refriend C.'s story, which happened about three years ago. That struck my fancy, and I endeavoured to do the idea justice

as follows:

I CONSIDER it one of the most agree-Adair, has run so in my head, and I sucable circumstances attending this publication of mine, that it has procured me so many of your much valued epistles. Pray make my acknowledgments to St. Stephen for the tunes: tell him I admit the justness of his complaint on my staircase, conveyed in his laconic postscript to your jeu d'esprit, which I perused more than once, without discovering exactly whether your discussion was music, astronomy, or politics: though a sagacious friend, acquainted with the convivial habits of the poet and the musician, offered. me a bet of two to one, you were just drowning care together; that an empty bowl was the only thing that would deeply affect you, and the only matter vou could then study how to remedy!

I shall be glad to see you give Robin Adair a Scottish dress. Peter is furnishing him with an English suit for a change, and you are well matched together. Robin's air is excellent, though he certainly has an ont of the way measure as ever Poor Parnassian wight was plagued with. I wish you would invoke the muse for a single elegant stanza to be substituted for the concluding objectionable verses of Down the Burn Davie, so that this most exquisite song may no longer be excluded from good company.

SONG.

HAD I a cave on some wild distant shore, Where the winds howl to the waves' dashing roar :

See Poems, p. 91.

By the way, I have met with a musical Highlander in Bredalbane's Fencibles, which are quartered here, who assures me that he well remembers his mother's singing Gaelic songs to both Robin Adair and Gramachree. They certainly have more of the Scotch than Irish taste in them.

This man comes from the vicinity of Inverness; so it could not be any intercourse with Ireland that could bring them;

except, what I shrewdly suspect to be the case, the wandering minstrels, harpers, and pipers, used to go frequently errant through the wilds both of Scotland Mr. Allan has made an inimitable draw- and Ireland, and so some favourite airs ing from your John Anderson my Jo, might be common to both: A case in which I am to have engraved as a fron-in point-They have lately in Ireland, tispiece to the humourous class of songs: you will be quite charmed with it I pro. The old couple are seated by the fireside. Mrs. Anderson, in great good humour, is clapping John's shoulders, while he smiles, and looks at her

mise you.

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Caun du delish. The fact is, in a publipublished an Irish air as they say; called cation of Corri's, a great while ago, you will find the same air, called a Highland one, with a Gaelic song set to it. Its name there, I think, is Oran Gaoil, and a fine air it is. Do ask honest Allan, or the Rev. Gaelic Parson, about these

matters.

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I walked out yesterday evening with a volume of the Museum in my hand; when turning up Allan Water, "What numbers shall the muse repeat," &c. as the words appeared to me rather unworthy of so fine an air, and recollecting that it is on your list, I sat and raved under the shade of an old thorn, till I wrote one to suit the measure. I may be wrong;

and yesterday I set the following verses
to it. Urbani, whom I have met with
here, begged them of me, as he admires
the air much: but as I understand that
he looks with rather an evil eye on your
work, I did not choose to comply. How-
ever, if the song does not suit your taste,
of the air which I had in my eye is in
I may possibly send it him. The set
Johnson's Museum.

O WHISTLE, and I'll come to you, my lad,*
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad:
See Poems, p. 92.

Another favourite air of mine, is, The
sung slow
muckin o' Geordie's Byre, when
with expression; I have wished that it
had had better poetry; that I have en-
deavoured to supply as follows:

but I think it not in my worst style. You
must know, that in Ramsay's Tea-table,
where the modern song first appeared,
the ancient name of the tune, Allan says,
is Allan Water, or My love Annie's very
bonnie. This last has certainly been a
line of the original song; so I took up
the idea, and as you will see, have intro-
duced the line in its place which I pre-
sume it formerly occupied ; though I like-
wise give you a chusing line, if it should pils of his. You shall
not hit the cut of your fancy.

ADOWN winding Nith I did wander,†
To mark the sweet flowers as they spring:
See Poems, p. 92.

By Allan stream I chanced to rove,
While Phoebus sank beyond Benleddi,*

See Poems, p. 91.

Mr. Clarke begs you to give Miss Phillis a corner in your book, as she is a particular flame of his. She is a Miss P. M. sister to Bonnie Jean. They are both puhear from me the from my rhyming

very first grist I get

mill.

No. XXXVI.

Bravo! say I: it is a good song. Should MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. you think so too (not else,) you can set the music to it, and let the other follow as English verses.

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August, 1793.

THAT tune, Cauld Kail, is such a faIvourite of yours, that I once more roved out yesterday for a gloamin-shot at the muses; when the muse that presides o'er the shores of Nith, or rather my old in

Is Whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad, one of your airs; I admire it much;

* A mountain, west of Strath-Allan, 3,009 feet high.

R. B.

* In some of the MSS. the four first lines run thus:

O whistle, and I'll come to thee, my jo,

O whistle, and I'll come to thee, my jo;
Tho' father and mother, and a' should say no,
O whistle and I'll come to thee, my jo.

See also Letter, No. LXXVII.

This song, certainly beautiful, would appear to more advantage without the chorus; as is indeed the case with several other songs of our author. E.

Gloamin-twilight; probably from glooming. A beautiful poetical word which ought to be adopted i England. A gloamin-shot, a twilight interview.

No. XXXVIII.

spiring, dearest nymph, Coila, whispered me the following. I have two reasons for thinking that it was my early, sweet, sim

Edinburgh, 1st Sept. 1793.

MY DEAR SIR,

SINCE Writing you last, I have re

ple inspirer that was by my elbow, "smooth MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. gliding without step," and pouring the song on my glowing fancy. In the first place, since I left Coila's native haunts, not a fragment of a poet has arisen to cheer her solitary musings, by catching inspiration from her; so I more than sus-ceived half a dozen songs, with which I pect that she has followed me hither, or at least makes me occasional visits: secondly, the last stanza of this song I send you, is the very words that Coila taught me many years ago, and which I set to an old Scots reel in Johnson's Museum.

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Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers,

am delighted beyond expression. The humour and fancy of Whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad, will render it nearly as great a favourite as Duncan Gray. Come, let me take thee to my breast-Adown winding Nith, and By Allan stream, &c., are full of imagination and feeling, and sweetly suit the airs for which they are intended. Had I a cave on some wild distant shore, is a striking and affecting composition. Our friend, to whose story it refers, read it with a swelling heart, I assure you. The union we are now forming, I think, can never be broken; these songs of yours will descend with the music to the latest posterity, and will be fondly cherished so long as genius, taste and sensibility exist in our island.

While the muse seems so propitious, I think it right to enclose a list of all the favours I have to ask of her, no fewer than twenty and three! I have burdened the pleasant Peter with as many as it is probable he will attend to: most of the remaining airs would puzzle the English poet not a little; they are of that peculiar measure and rhythm, that they must be familiar to him who writes for them.

No. XXXIX.

To deck her gay, green spreading bow- MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON.

ers;

See Poems, p. 93.

So much for Davie. The chorus, you know, is to the low part of the tune. See Clarke's set of it in the Museum..

N. B. In the Museum they have drawled out the tune to twelve lines of poetry, which is **** nonsense. Four lines of song, and four of chorus, is the way.

* Dainty Davie is the title of an old Scotch song, from which Burns has taken nothing but the title and the measure. E.

Sept. 1793.

You may readily trust, my dear Sir, that any exertion in my power is heartily at your service. But one thing I must hint to you; the very name of Peter Pindar is of great service to your publication, so get a verse from him now and then ; though I have no objection, as well as I can, to bear the burden of the business.

You know that my pretensions to musical taste are merely a few of nature's instincts, untaught and untutored by art. For this reason, many musical composi

tions, particularly where much of the me- | cal beast enough, has yet this blessed rit lies in counterpoint, however they may headstrong property, that when once it transport and ravish the ears of you con- has fairly made off with a hapless wight, noisseurs, affect my simple lug no other- it gets so enamoured with the tinkle-ginwise than merely as melodious din. On gle, tinkle-gingle, of its own bells, that it the other hand, by way of amends, I am is sure to run poor pilgarlic, the bedlamdelighted with many little melodies, which jockey, quite beyond any useful point or the learned musician despises as silly and post in the common race of man. insipid. I do not know whether the old air Hey tuttie taittie may rank among this number: but well I know that, with Frazer's hautboy, it has often filled my eyes with tears. There is a tradition, which I have met with in many places of Scotland, that it was Robert Bruce's march at the battle of Bannockburn. This thought, in my solitary wanderings, warmed me to a pitch of enthusiasm on the theme of Liberty and Independence, which I threw into a kind of Scottish ode, fitted to the air, that one might suppose to be the gallant ROYAL SCOT's address to his heroic followers on that eventful morning.*

So may God ever defend the cause of truth and Liberty, as He did that day!— Amen.

The following song I have composed for Oran Gaoil, the Highland air that you tell me in your last, you have resolved to give a place to in your book. I have this moment finished the song, so you have it glowing from the mint. If it suit you, well!-if not, 'tis also well!

BEHOLD the hour, the boat arrive;
Thou goest, thou darling of my heart!
See Poems, p. 93.

No. XLI.

Edinburgh, 5th September, 1793.

P. S. I showed the air to Urbani, who MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. was highly pleased with it, and begged me to make soft verses for it; but I had no idea of giving myself any trouble on the subject, till the accidental recollection of that glorious struggle for freedom, associated with the glowing ideas of some other struggles of the same nature, not quite so ancient, roused my rhyming mania. Clarke's set of the tune, with his bass, you will find in the Museum; though I am afraid that the air is not what will entitle it to a place in your elegant selec

tion.

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I BELIEVE it is generally allowed that the greatest modesty is the sure attendant of the greatest merit. While you are sending me verses that even Shakspeare might be proud to own, you speak of them as if they were ordinary productions! Your heroic ode is to me the noblest composition of the kind in the Scottish language. I happened to dine yesterday with a party of our friends, to whom I read it. They were all charmed with it; intreated me to find out a suitable air for it, and reprobated the idea of giving it a tune so totally devoid of interest or grandeur as Hey tuttie taittie. Assuredly your partiality for this tune must arise from the ideas associated in your mind by the tradition concerning it; for I never heard any person, and I have conversed again and again, with the greatest enthusiasts for Scottish airs, I say I never heard any one speak of it as worthy of

notice.

I have been running over the whole hundred airs, of which I lately sent you the list; and I think Lewie Gordon, is most happily adapted to your ode: at least with a very slight variation of the fourth

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