No. 205.

MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS.

MY DEAR SIR,

Edinburgh, 16th Sept. 1794.

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. Upon the whole therefore, in my humble opinion, the song would be better adapted to the tune, if it consisted only of the first and last verses, with the chorusses.

No. 206.

MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON.

Sept. 1794.

I SHALL withdraw my, On the seas and far away, altogether: it is unequal, and unworthy the work. Making a poem is like begetting a son you cannot know whether you have a wise man or a fool, until you produce him to the world and try him.

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. Clunzie, 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 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.

"Ca' the yowes to the knowes, &c" See Poems, p. 444. I shall give you my opinion of your other newly adopted songs, my first scribbling fit.

No. 207.

MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON.

September, 1794.

Do you know a blackguard Irish song, called Onagh's waterfall. 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 ef fort 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.

"Sae flaxen were her ringlets, &c." See Poems, p. 445. Not to compare small things with great, my taste in music is like the mighty Frederic 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 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 most exquisite enjoyment, where you and other judges would probably be shewing disgust. For instance, I am just now making verses for Rothemurche'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. Rothemurche, 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 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.

"Lassie wi' the lint white locks, &c." See Poems, p. 456.

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 3 G

12.

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 was the physician who scemingly saved her from the grave; and to him I address the following.

To Dr. Maxwell, on Miss Jessy Staig's recovery. MAXWELL, if merit here you crave,

That merit I deny:

You save fair Jessie from the grave!

An angel could not die.

God grant you patience with this stupid epistle !