With "Mary, when shall we return, Ime, which I shall presently submit to you. There is in Lewie Gordon more of the grand than the plaintive, particularly when it is sung with a degree of spirit which your words would oblige the singer to give it. I would have no scruple about Thro' the wood Laddie-I am decidedly substituting your ode in the room of Lewie of opinion that both in this, and There'll Gordon, which has neither the interest, never be peace till Jamie comes hame, the the grandeur, nor the poetry that cha- second or high part of the tune, being a reracterize your verses. Now the varia-petition of the first part an octave higher, tion I have to suggest upon the last line of each verse, the only line too short for the air, is as follows: Verse 1st, Or to glorious victorie. 2d, Chains-chains and slaverie. If you connect each line with its own verse, I do not think you will find that either the sentiment or the expression loses any of its energy. The only line which I dislike in the whole of the song is, "Welcome to your gory bed." Would not another word be preferable to welcome? In your next I will expect to be informed whether you agree to what I have proposed. The little alterations I submit with the greatest deference. The beauty of the verses you have made for Oran Gaoil will ensure celebrity to the air. No. XLII. MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. September, 1793. I HAVE received your list, my dear Sir, and here go my observations on it.* Down the burn Davie. I have this moment tried an alteration, leaving out the last half of the third stanza, and the first half of the last stanza, thus: As down the burn they took their way Mr. Thomson's list of songs for his publication. In his remarks, the bard proceeds in order, and goes through the whole; but on many of them he merely sigmifies his approbation. All his remarks of any importance are presented to the reader. is only for instrumental music, one would be much better omitted in singing. Cowden-knowes. Remember in your index that the song in pure English to this tune, beginning, 'When summer comes the swains on Tweed." is the production of Crawford. Robert was his Christian name. Laddie lie near me, must lie by me for some time. I do not know the air; and my own singing (such as it is,) I can never until I am complete master of a tune, in compose for it. My way is: I consider idea of the musical expression; then the poetic sentiment correspondent to my choose my theme; begin one stanza; when that is composed, which is generally the most difficult part of the business, I walk out, sit down now and then, look out in unison and harmony with the cogitafor objects in nature around me that are tions of my fancy, and workings of my bosom; humming every now and then the air, with the verses I have framed. When I feel my muse beginning to jade, I retire to the solitary fire side of my study, and there commit my effusions to paper; swinging at intervals on the hind legs of my elbow chair, by way of calling forth my own critical strictures, as my pen goes on. Seriously, this, at home, is almost invariably my way. What cursed egotism! Gill Morice, I am for leaving out. It is a plaguy length; the air itself is never sung; and its place can well be supplied by one or two songs for fine airs that are not in your list. For instance, Cragieburn-wood and Roy's Wife. The first, beside its intrinsic merit, has novelty: and the last has high merit, as well as * This alteration Mr. Thomson has adopted (or at least intended to adopt,) instead of the last stanza of the original song, which is objectionable, in point of delicacy. E. great celebrity. I have the original words of a song for the last air, in the handwriting of the lady who composed it; and they are superior to any edition of the song which the public has yet seen.* Highland Laddie. The old set will please a mere Scotch ear best; and the new an Italianized one. There is a third, and what Oswald calls the old Highland Laddie, which pleases more than either of them. It is sometimes called Ginglan Johnnie; it being the air of an old humorous tawdry song of that name. You will find it in the Museum, I hae been at Crookieden, &c. I would advise you in this musical quandary, to offer up your prayers to the muses for inspiring direction; and in the mean time, waiting for this direction bestow a libation to Bacchus; and there is not a doubt but you will hit on a judicious choice. Probatum Est. Auld Sir Simon, I must beg you to leave out, and put in its place Tho Quaker's Wife. these verses for any merit they have. I composed them at the time in which Patie Allan's mither died, that was about the back o' midnight; and by the lea-side of a bowl of punch, which had overset every mortal in company, except the hautbois and the muse. THOU hast left me ever, Jamie, Thou hast left me ever, Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, Thou hast left me ever. See Poems, p. 93. Jockey and Jennie I would discard, and in its place would put There's nae luck about the house, which has a very pleasant air, and which is positively the finest love ballad in that style in the Scottish or perhaps any other language. When she came ben she bobbit, as an air, is more beautiful than either, and in the andante way, would unite with a charming sentimental ballad. Saw ye my Father? is one of my greatest favourites. The evening before last, I wandered out, and began a tender song; Blithe hae I been o'er the hill, is one of in what I think is its native style. I must the finest songs ever I made in my life; premise, that the old way, and the way and besides, is composed on a young lady, to give most effect, is to have no starting positively the most beautiful, lovely wo-note, as the fiddlers call it, but to burst man in the world. As I purpose giving you the names and designations of all my heroines, to appear in some future edition of your work, perhaps half a century hence, you must certainly include The bonniest lass in a' the warld in your col lection. Daintie Davie, I have heard sung, nineteen thousand nine hundred and ninetynine times, and always with the chorus to the low part of the tune; and nothing has surprised me so much as your opinion on this subject. If it will not suit as I proposed, we will lay two of the stanzas together, and then make the chorus follow. Fee him father-I enclose you Frazer's set of this tune when he plays it slow; in fact he makes it the language of despair. I shall here give you two stanzas in that style, merely to try if it will be any improvement. Were it possible, in singing to give it half the pathos which Frazer gives it in playing, it would make an admirably pathetic song.. I do not give • This song, so much admired by our bard, will be found at the bottom of p. 229. E. at once into the pathos. Every country girl sings-Saw ye my father, &c. My song is but just begun; and I should like, before I proceeded, to know your opinion of it. I have sprinkled it with the Scottish dialect, but it may easily be turned into correct English.* Todlin hame. Urbani mentioned an idea of his, which has long been mine; that this air is highly susceptible of pathos; accordingly, you will soon hear him at your concert try it to a song of mine in the Museum; Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon. One song more and I have done: Auld lang syne. The air is but mediocre; but the following song, the old song of the olden times, and which has never been in print, nor even in manuscript, until I took it down from an old man's singing, is enough to recommend any air.t *This song begins, 'Where are the joys I hae met in the morning.' E. †This song of the olden time is excellent. It is wor thy of our bard. AULD LANG SYNE. Should auld acquaintance be forgot, See Poems, p. 93. Now, I suppose I have tired your patience fairly. You must, after all is over have a number of ballads, properly so rably. One comfort!-I suffer so much, just now, in this world, for last night's joviality, that I shall escape scot-free for it in the world to come.-Amen. No. XLIV. 12th September, 1793. A THOUSAND thanks to you, my dear Sir, for your observations on the list of my songs. I am happy to find your ideas so much in unison with my own, respecting the generality of the airs, as well as the verses. About some of them we differ, but there is no disputing about hobbyhorses. I shall not fail to profit by the remarks you make; and to re-consider the whole with attention. called. Gill Morice, Tranent Muir, M- MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. Pherson's Farewell, Battle of Sheriff Muir, or We ran and they ran, (I know the author of this charming ballad, and his history), Hardiknute, Barbara Allan, (I can furnish a finer set of this tune than any that has yet appeared,) and besides, do vou know that I really have the old tune to which The Cherry and the Slae was sung; and which is mentioned as a well known air in Scotland's Complaint, a book published before poor Mary's days. It was then called The Banks o' Helicon; an old poem which Pinkerton has brought to light. You will see all this in Tytler's history of Scottish music. The tune, to a learned ear, may have no great merit; but it is a great curiosity. I have a good many original things of this kind. No. XLIII. MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. September, 1793. together, and then the chorus: 'tis the Dainty Davy, must be sung two stanzas may be something of pathos, or tenderproper way. I agree with you that there ness at least, in the air of Fee him Father, when performed with feeling: but a tender cast may be given almost to any lively air, if you sing it very slowly, expressively, and with serious words. I am, however, cheerful tunes joined to their own humoclearly and invariably for retaining the rous verses, wherever the verses are passable. But the sweet song for Fee him Father, which you began about the back of midnight, I will publish as an additional Mr. James Balfour, the king of good fellows, and the best singer of the lively Scottish ballads that ever existed, has charmed thousands of companies with Fee him Father, and with Todlin hame also, to the old words, which never should be disunited from either of these airsSome Bacchanals I would wish to discard. Fy, lets a' to the Bridal, for instance, is so coarse and vulgar, that I think it fit only to be sung in a company of drunken colliers; and Saw ye my Father? appears to me both indelicate and silly. I AM happy, my dear Sir, that my ode pleases you so much. Your idea honour's bed," is, though a beautiful, a hack-one. neyed idea; so, if you please, we will let the line stand as it is. I have altered the song as follows: BANNOCK-BURN. ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY. Scors, wha hae wi' WALLACE bled, Scots, wham BRUCE has often led; See Poems, p. 94. N. B. I have borrowed the last stanza from the common stall edition of Wallace. "A false usurper sinks in every foe, One word more with regard to your heroic ode. I think, with great deference to the poet, that a prudent general would avoid saying any thing to his soldiers which would tend to make death A couplet worthy of Homer. Yester- more frightful than it is. Gory presents day you had enough of my correspondence. a disagreeable image to the mind, and to The post goes, and my head aches mise- I tell them "Welcome to your gory bed' seems rather a discouraging address, notwithstanding the alternative which follows. I have shown the song to three friends of excellent taste, and each of them objected to this line, which emboldens me to use the freedom of bringing it again under your notice. I would suggest, "Now prepare for honour's bed, No. XLV. MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. September, 1793. "WHO shall decide when doctors disagree?" My ode pleases me so much that I cannot alter it. Your proposed alterations would, in my opinion, make it tame. I am exceedingly obliged to you I have finished my song to Saw ye my Father? and in English, as you will see. That there is a syllable too much for the expression of the air, is true; but allow me to say, that the mere dividing of a dotted crochet into a crochet and a quaver, is not a great matter; however, in that I have no pretensions to cope in judgment with you. Of the poetry I speak with confidence; but the music is a business where I hint my ideas with the utmost diffidence. The old verses have merit, though unequal, and are popular: my advice is, to set the air to the old words, and let mine follow as English verses. Here they are FAIR JENNY. See p. 213. Tune-"Saw ye my Father ?" for putting me on reconsidering it; as IWHERE are the joys I have met in the think I have much improved it. Instead of "soger! hero!" I will have it "Caledonian! on wi' me!" I have scrutinized it over and over; and to the world some way or other it shall go as it is. At the same time it will not in the least hurt me, should you leave it out altogether, and adhere to your first intention of adopting Logan's verses.* * Mr. Thomson has very properly adopted this song (if it may be so called,) as the bard presented it to him. He has attached it to the air of Lewie Gordon, and perhaps among the existing airs he could not find a better; but the poetry is suited to a much higher strain of music, and may employ the genius of some Scottish Handel, if any such should in future arise. The reader will have observed, that Burns adopted the alterations proposed by his friend and correspondent in former instances, with great readiness: perhaps, indeed, on all indifferent occasions. In the present instance, however, he rejected them, though repeatedly urged, with determined resolution. With every respect for the judgment of Mr. Thomson and his friends, we may be satisfied that he did so. He, who in preparing for an engagement, attempts to withdraw his imagination from images of death, will probably have but imperfect success, and is not fitted to stand in the ranks of battle, Of such where the liberties of a kingdom are at issue. men the conquerors of Bannockburn were not composed. Bruce's troops were inured to war, and familiar with all its sufferings and dangers. On the eve of that memorable day, their spirits were, without doubt, wound up to a pitch of enthusiasm, suited to the occasion: a pitch of enthusiasm, at which danger becomes attractive, and the most terrific forms of death are no longer terrible. Such a strain of sentiment, this heroic "wel come" may be supposed well calculated to elevate-to raise their hearts high above fear, and to nerve their arms to the utmost pitch of mortal exertion. These observations might be illustrated and supported by a reference to that martial poetry of all nations, from the spirit-stirring strains of Tyrtæus, to the war-song of General Wolfe. Mr. Thomson's observation, that "Welcome to your gory bed, is a discouraging address," scems not sufficiently considered. Perhaps, indeed, it may be admitted, that the term gory is somewhat objectionable, not on account of its presenting a frightful, but a disagreeable image to the mind. But a great poet, uttering his conceptions on an interesting occasion, seeks always to present a pic ure that is vivid, and is uniformly disposed to sacrifice the delicacies of taste on the altar of the imagination. And it is the privilege of superior genius, by producing a new association, to elevate expressions that were originally low, and thus to In how triumph over the deficiencies of language. many instances might this be exemplified from the works of our immortal Shakspeare: "Who would fardels bear, To groan and sweat under a weary life;When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin!" It were easy to enlarge, but to suggest such refloctions is probably sufficient. No. XLVI MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. September, 1793. I HAVE been turning over some volumes of songs, to find verses whose measures would suit the airs, for which you have allotted me to find English songs. For Muirland Willie, you have, in Ramsay's Tea-table, an excellent song, beginning, "Ah! why those tears in Nelly's eyes?" As for The Collier's Dochter, take the following old Bacchanal. DELUDED Swain, the pleasure The faulty line in Logan-Water, I mend thus: others of the same kind, pretty; but you have not room for them. You cannot, I think, insert Fie, let us a' to the bridal, to any other words than its own. What pleases me, as simple and naive, disgusts you as ludicrous and low. For this reason, Fie, gie me my cogie, sirs— Fie, let us a' to the bridal, with several others of that cast, are to me highly pleasing; while, Saw ye my Father, or descriptive simple pathos. Thus my song, saw ye my Mother; delights me with its Ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten? pleases myself so much that I cannot try my hand at another song to the air; so I shall not attempt it. I know you will laugh at all this: but, "Ilka man wears his belt his ain gait." No. XLVII MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. October, 1793. YOUR last letter, my dear Thomson, was indeed laden with heavy news. Alas, poor Erskine!* The recollection that he was a coadjutor in your publication, has till now scared me from writing to you, or turning my thoughts on composing for you. the air of the Quaker's Wife; though, by THINE am I, my faithful fair, See Poems, p. 94. Your Irish airs are pretty, but they are downright Irish. If they were like the Banks of Banna, for instance, though really Irish, yet in the Scottish taste, you might adopt them. Since you are so fond of Irish music, what say you to twentyfive of them in an additional number? We could easily find this quantity of charming airs: I will take care that you shall not want songs; and I assure you that you would find it the most saleable of the whole. If you do not approve of Roy's Wife, for the music's sake, we shall not insert it. Deil take the wars, is a charming song; so is, Saw ye my Peggy? There's na luck about the house, well deserves a place. I cannot say that, O'er the hills and far awa, strikes me as equal to your selection. This is no mine ain house, is a great favourite air of mine: and if you will send me your set of it, I will task my muse to her highest effort. What is your opinion of I hae laid a Her- * The Honourable A. Erskine, brother to Lord Kelly, rin in sawt? I like it much. Your Jaco-whose melancholy death Mr. Thomson had communi pite airs are pretty; and there are many cated in an excellent letter, which he has suppressed. Your objection to the English song I proposed for John Anderson my jo, is cer tainly just. The following is by an old acquaintance of mine, and I think has which I think is so much in your favour. merit. The song was never in print, The more original good poetry your col lection contains, it certainly has so much the more merit. |