III. O art thou not ashamed To doat upon a feature? IV. Go, find an honest fellow; The faulty line in "Logan-Water," I mend thus: "How can your flinty hearts enjoy The widow's tears, the orphan's cry?" The song, otherwise, will pass. As to "M'Gregoira Rua-Ruth," you will see a song of mine to it, with a set of the air superior to yours in the MuVol. ii. p. 81. The song begins : seum. "Raving winds around her blowing."* 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 twenty-five 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 * This will be found in the latter part of this volume.-ED. 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 tak the wars," is a charming song; so is "Saw ye my Peggy?" "There's nae 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 my 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 herrin' in sawt?" I like it much. Your jacobite airs are pretty: and there are many others of the same kind, pretty; but you have not room for them. You cannot, I think, insert, "Fye, let's a' to the bridal" to any other words than its own. What pleases me as simple and naïve, disgusts you as ludicrous and low. For this reason,“ Fye, gie me my coggie, Sirs," "Fye, let's a' to the bridal," with several others of that cast, are, to me, highly pleasing; while, "Saw ye my Father, or saw ye my Mother?" delights me with its descriptive simple pathos. Thus my song, "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." [Burns in the song to the air of "The Collier's Daughter," seems to have had in mind the famous old northern chaunt: Sirs," 66 "Fye, gie me my coggie, Sirs, And fye, gie me my coggie; The songs which the Poet enumerates in this letter, and the opinions which he expresses on their merits, are such as might be looked for from one who felt humour and tenderness, pathos and simplicity, with all the force of true genius. The refinement which would exclude from society such songs as "Fye, gie me my coggie, Fye, let us a' to the bridal," "The Auld GudeMeg o' the mill," and others of a similar stamp, is of a very questionable kind. Catherine of Russia was the purest in speech of all the sovereigns of her day: a slip of the tongue, or a suspicious allusion, were rewarded with Siberia or the knout. The purest in speech was the grossest in act— man," " "For, in such matters, Russia's mighty Empress Behaved no better than a common sempstress."-ED.] No. XLVII. BURNS TO G. 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. I am pleased that you are reconciled to the air of the "Quaker's Wife;" though, by the by, an old Highland gentleman and a deep antiquarian tells me, it is a Gaelic air, and known by the name of "Leiger m' choss." The following verses, I hope, will please you, as an English song to the air : NANCY. I. Thine am I, my faithful fair, *The honourable A. Erskine, brother to Lord Kelly, whose melancholy death Mr. Thomson had communicated in an excellent letter which he has suppressed.-CURRIE. II. To thy bosom lay my heart, III. Take away those rosy lips, Rich with balmy treasure: Turn away thine eyes of love, IV. What is life when wanting love? [We owe this song, it is said, to the charms of Clarinda. The words bear no resemblance to the old strains which accompany the air of "The Quaker's wife," to which it is adapted :— "Merrily danced the Quaker's wife, Merrily danced the Quaker's wife, Wi' a' her bairns about her." The lover of old English poetry will perceive a resemblance between the third verse of the song of Burns, and that truly exquisite one attributed to Shakspeare : |