O POORTITH Cauld and restless love, Ye wreck my peace between ye; Yet poortith a' I could forgive, An' 'twere na' for my Jeanie. O why should fate sic pleasure have, Life's dearest bands untwining? Or why sae sweet a flower as love, Depend on fortune's shining? This has nothing in common with the old licentious ballad of Duncan Gray, but the first line and part of the third. The rest is wholly original. GALLA WATER. THERE'S braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes, But there is ane, a secret ane, Aboon them a' I loe him better And I'll be his, and he'll be mine, The bonnie lad o' Galla Water. Altho' his daddie was nae laird, And tho' I hae na meikle tocher; Yet rich in kindness, truest love, We'll tent our flocks by Galla Water. It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth, O that's the chiefest warld's treasure January, 1793. MANY returns of the season to you, my dear sir. How comes on your publication? will these two foregoing be of any service to you. I should like to know what songs you print to each tune, besides the verses to which it is set. In short, 1 would wish to give you my opinion on all the poetry you publish. You know, it is my trade; and a man in the way of his trade may suggest useful hints, that escape men of "The wild-wood Indian's fate," in the original MS. N much superior parts and endowments in other | paniments scarcely necessary; they are cheifly things. If you meet with my dear, and much-valued C. greet him in my name, with the compliments of the season. No. XI. Yours, &c. MR THOMSON TO MR BURNS. Edinburgh, January, 20th, 1793. You make me happy, my dear sir, and thousands will be happy to see the charming songs you have sent me. Many merry returns of the season to you, and may you long continue among the sons and daughters of Caledonia, to delight them, and to honour yourself. The four last songs with which you favoured me, for Auld Rob Morris, Duncan Gray, Galla Water, and Cauld Kail, are admirable. Duncan is indeed a lad of grace, and his humour will endear him to every body. The distracted lover in Auld Rob, and the happy shepherdess in Galla Water, exhibit an excellent contrast; they speak from genuine feeling, and powerfully touch the heart. The number of songs which I had originally in view was limited, but I now resolve to include every Scotch air and song worth singing; leaving none behind but mere gleanings, to which the publishers of omnegatherum are welcome. I would rather be the editor of a collection from which nothing could be taken away, than of one to which nothing could be added. We intend presenting the subscribers with two beautiful stroke engravings; the one characteristic of the plaintive, and the other of the lively songs; and I have Dr Beattie's promise of an essay upon the subject of our national music, if his health will permit him to write it. As a number of our songs have doubtless been called forth by particular events or by the charms of peerless damsels, there must be many curious anecdotes relating to them. The late Mr Tytler of Woodhouselee, I believe, knew more of this than any body, for he joined to the pursuits of an antiquary, a taste for poetry, besides being a man of the world, and possessing an enthusiasm for music beyond most of his contemporaries. He was quite pleased with this plan of mine, for I may say, it has been solely managed by me, and we had several long conversations about it, when it was in embryo. If I could simply mention the name of the heroine of each song, and the incident which occasioned the verses, it would be gratifying. Pray, will you send me any information of this sort, as well with regard to your own songs, as the old ones? To all the favourite songs of the plaintive or pastoral kind, will be joined the delicate accompaniments, &c. of Pleyel. To those of the comic or humorous class, I think accom fitted for the conviviality of the festive board, and a tuneful voice, with a proper delivery of the words, renders them perfect. Neverthe less, to these I propose adding bass accompaniments, because then they are fitted either for singing, or for instrumental performance, when there happens to be no singer. I mean to employ our right trusty friend Mr Clarke to set the bass to these, which he assures me he will do, con amore, and with much greater attention than he ever bestowed on any thing of the kind. But for this last class of airs, I will not attempt to find more than one set of verses. That eccentric bard Peter Pindar, has started I know not how many difficulties, about writing for the airs I sent to him, because of the peculiarity of their measure, and the tram.. mels they impose on his flying Pegasus. I subjoin for your perusal the only one I have yet got from him, being for the fine air "Lord Gregory." The Scots verses printed with that air, are taken from the middle of an old ballad, called, The Lass of Lochroyan, which I do not admire. I have set down the air therefore as a creditor of yours. Many of the Jacobite songs are replete with wit and hu mour; might not the best of these be included in our volume of comic songs? POSTSCRIPT. FROM THE HON. A. ERSKINE MR THOMSON has been so obliging as to give me a perusal of your songs. Highland Mary is most enchantingly pathetic, and Duncan Gray possesses native genuine humour: "spak o' lowpin o'er a linn," is a line of itself that I sometimes should make you immortal. hear of you from our mutual friend C. who is a most excellent fellow, and possesses, above all men I know, the charm of a most obliging disposition. You kindly promised me, about a year ago, a collection of your unpublished productions, religious and amorous; I know from experience how irksome it is to copy. If you will get any trusty person in Dumfries to write them over fair, I will give Peter Hill whatever money he asks for his trouble; and I certainly shall not betray your confidence. I am, your hearty admirer, ANDREW ERSKINE. No XII. MR BURNS to MR THOMSON. 26th January, 1793. I APPROVE greatly, my dear sir, of your plans. Dr Beattie's essay will of itself be a treasure. On my part, I mean to draw up an appendix to the Doctor's essay, containing my stock of anecdotes, &c. of our Scots songs. All the late Mr Tytler's anecdotes I have by me, taken down in the course of my acquaintance with him from his own mouth. I am such an enthusiast, that in the course of my several peregrinations through Scotland, I made a pilgrimage to the individual spot from which every song took its rise," Lochaber," and the "Braes of Ballenden," excepted. So far as the locality, either from the title of the air, or the tenor of the song, could be ascertained, I have paid my devotions at the particular shrine of every Scotch muse. I do not doubt but you might make a very valuable collection of Jacobite songs-but would it give no offence? In the mean time, do not you think that some of them, particularly "The Sow's tail to Geordie," as an air, with other words, might be well worth a place in your collection of lively songs? If it were possible to procure songs of merit, it would be proper to have one set of Scots words to every air, and that the set of words to which the notes ought to be set. There is a naivete, a pastoral simplicity, in a slight intermixture of Scots words and phraseology, which is more in unison (at least to my taste, and I will add, to every genuine Caledonian taste), with the simple pathos, or rustic sprightliness of our native music, than any English verses whatever. The very name of Peter Pindar, is an acquisition to your work. His "Gregory" is beautiful. I have tried to give you a set of stanzas in Scots, on the same subject, which are at your service. Not that I intend to enter the lists with Peter; that would be presumption indeed. My song, though much inferior in poetic merit, has I think more of the ballad simplicity in it. LORD GREGORY. O MIRK, mirk is this midnight hour, An exile frae her father's ha', Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove, By bonnie Irwine side, Where first I own'd that virgin love I lang, lang had denied. How aften didst thou pledge and vow, It ne'er mistrusted thine. Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, Ye mustering thunders from above But spare and pardon my fause love, My most respectful compliments to the honourable gentleman who favoured me with a postscript in your last. He shall hear from me and his MSS. soon. No XIII. MR BURNS to MR THOMSON. 20th March, 1793. MARY MORISON. Tune-"Bide ye yet." O MARY, at thy window be, Those smiles and glances let me see, That make the miser's treasure poor; The song of Dr Walcott on the same subiect is as follow : AH ope, Lord Gregory thy door, A midnight wanderer sighs; Hard rush the rains, the tempests roar, And lightnings cleave the skies. Who comes with woe at this drear night A pilgrim of the gloom, If she whose love did once delight, Alas! thou heard'st a pilgrim mourn, Thou gav'st to love and me. But should'st thou not poor Marian know, And think the storms that round me blow, It is but doing justice to Dr Walcott to mention, that his song is the original. Mr Burns saw it, liked it, and immediately wrote the other on the same subject, which is derived from an old Scottish ballad of uncer tain origin. Yestreen when to the trembling string, The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', To thee my fancy took its wing, I sat, but neither heard nor saw; O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, MY DEAR SIR, THE song prefixed is one of my juvenile works. I leave it in your hands. I do not think it very remarkable, either for its merits, or demerits. It is impossible (at least I feel it so in my stinted powers) to be always original, entertaining, and witty, What is become of the list, &c. of your songs? I shall be out of all temper with you oy and by. I have always looked on myself as the prince of indolent correspondents, and valued myself accordingly; and I will not, cannot bear rivalship from you, or any body else. May I never see it, may I never trow it, I leave it to you, my dear sir, to determine whether the above, or the old "Through the lang Muir" be the best. No. XV. MR BURNS to MR THOMSON. OPEN THE DOOR TO ME OH! WITH ALTERATIONS. OH open the door, some pity to show, Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek, But caulder thy love for me, Oh: The wan moon is setting behind the white wave, And time is setting with me, Oh: False friends, false love, farewell! for ever mair I'll ne'er trouble them nor thee, Oh. Grace, beauty and elegance fetter her lover, O fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning, Enthron'd in her een he delivers his law: And still to her charms she alone is a stranger, Her modest demeanor's the jewel of a'. No. XVII. MR THOMSON to MR BURNS. Edinburgh, 2d April, 1793. I WILL not recognise the title you give yourself, "the prince of indolent correspondents;" but if the adjective were taken away, I think the title would then fit you exactly. It gives me pleasure to find you can furnish anecdotes with respect to most of the songs: these will be a literary curiosity. I now send you my list of the songs, which I believe will be found nearly complete. I have put down the first lines of all the English songs, which I propose giving in addition to the Scotch verses. If any others occur to you, better adapted to the character of the airs, pray mention them, when you favour me with your strictures upon every thing else relating to the work. Pleyel has lately sent me a number of the songs, with his symphonies and accompaniments added to them. I wish you were here, that I might serve up some of them to you with your own verses, by way of desert after dinner. There is so much delightful fancy in the symphonies, and such a delicate simplicity in the accompaniments: they are indeed beyond all praise. I am very much pleased with the several last productions of your muse: your Lord Gregory, in my estimation, is more interesting than Peter's, beautiful as his is! Your Here Awa Willie must undergo some alterations to suit the air. Mr Erskine and I have been conning it over he will suggest what is necessary to make them a fit match. : * WANDERING WILLIE. AS ALTERED BY MR ERSKINE AND MR THOMSON. Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie, Rest ye wild storms in the cave o' your slumbers, The gentleman I have mentioned, whose fine taste you are no stranger to, is so well pleased both with the musical and poetical part of our work, that he has volunteered his assistance, and has already written four songs for it, which, by his own desire, I send for your perusal. No. XVIII. MR BURNS to MR THOMSON. WHEN WILD WAR'S DEADLY BLAST WAS BLAWN. Air-"The Mill, Mill O." WHEN wild war's deadly blast was blawn, A leal, light heart was in my breast, Blow soft ye breezes! roll gently ye billows! And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. But ch, if he's faithless and minds na his Nannie, Flow still between us, thou dark-heaving main! May I never see it, may I never trow it, While, dying, I think that my Willie's my ain. Our poet, with his usual judgment, adopted some of these alterations, and rejected others. The last edition is as follows: HERE awa, there awa, wandering Willie, Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers, But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie, Several of the alterations seem to be of little importance in themselves, and were adopted, it may be presumed, for the sake of suiting the words better to the music. The Homeric epithet for the sea, dark-heaving, suggested by Mr Erskine, is in itself more beautiful, as well perhaps as more sublime than wide-roaring, which he has retained; but as it is only applicable to a placid state of the sea, or at most to the swell left on its surface after the storm is over, it gives a picture of that element not so well adapted to the ideas of eternal separation, which the fair mourner is supposed to imprecate. From the original song of Here awa Willie, Burns has borrowed nothing but the second line and part of the first. The superior excellence of this beautiful poem will, it is hoped, justify the different editions of it which we have given |