"Take, oh! take those lips away,

That so sweetly were forsworn;
And those eyes, the break of day,
Lights that do mislead the morn :
But my kisses bring again,

Seals of love, but sealed in vain."

While those who read the Bible will not fail to recollect the passage from which both bards drew their ideas :"Take away thine eyes from me, for they have overcome me."

Burns, in communicating this song to Thomson, recommended several lyrics written by Gavin Turnbull. Possibly, as he is an old friend of mine," he says, "I may be prejudiced in his favour; but I like some of his pieces very much :

:

THE NIGHTINGALE.

'BY G. TURNBULL.

Thou sweetest minstrel of the grove,
That ever tried the plaintive strain;
Awake thy tender tale of love,

And soothe a poor forsaken swain.

For, tho' the muses deign to aid,

And teach him smoothly to complain;
Yet Delia, charming, cruel maid,
Is deaf to her forsaken swain.

All day, with fashion's gaudy sons,
In sport she wanders o'er the plain;
Their tales approves, and still she shuns
The notes of her forsaken swain.

When evening shades obscure the sky,
And bring the solemn hours again,
Begin, sweet bird, thy melody,

And soothe a poor forsaken swain.'

"I shall just transcribe another of Turnbull's, which

would go charmingly to 'Lewie Gordon :'

LAURA.

By G. TURNBULL.

'Let me wander where I will,
By shady wood, or winding rill;
Where the sweetest May-born flowers
Paint the meadows, deck the bowers;
Where the linnet's early song
Echoes sweet the woods among :
Let me wander where I will,
Laura haunts my fancy still.

'If at rosy dawn I choose
To indulge the smiling muse;
If I court some cool retreat,
To avoid the noon-tide heat;
If beneath the moon's pale ray,
Thro' unfrequented wilds I stray;
Let me wander where I will,
Laura haunts my fancy still.

'When at night the drowsy god
Waves his sleep-compelling rod,
And to fancy's wakeful eyes
Bids celestial visions rise;
While with boundless joy I rove
Thro' the fairy land of love:
Let me wander where I will,
Laura haunts my fancy still.'

"The rest of your letter I shall answer at some other opportunity."

These songs have been preserved because Burns seems to have liked them: it is not quite safe to reject as indifferent the strains which he sanctioned.—ED.]

No. XLVIII.

G. THOMSON TO BURNS.

MY GOOD SIR:

7th November, 1793.

AFTER So long a silence it gave me peculiar pleasure to recognize your well-known hand, for I had begun to be apprehensive that all was not well with you. I am happy to find, however, that your silence did not proceed from that cause, and that you have got among the ballads once more.

I have to thank you for your English song to "Leiger m' choss," which I think extremely good, although the colouring is warm. Your friend Mr. Turnbull's songs have doubtless considerable merit; and as you have the command of his manuscripts, I hope you may find out some that will answer as English songs, to the airs yet unprovided.

[During almost the whole period that Burns lived in Dumfries, he was suffering from the twofold misery of misrepresentation and poverty. His farming speculations had drained his pockets of money, and the base and the malevolent were labouring to deprive him of bread. Well might he say as he did, that he had small heart to sing. Can the lark warble under the wing of the raven ?-ED.]

No. XLIX.

BURNS TO G. THOMSON.

December, 1793.

TELL me how you like the following verses to

the tune of "Jo Janet :"

I.

Husband, husband, cease your strife,

Nor longer idly rave, sir;

Tho' I am your wedded wife,

Yet I am not your slave, sir.

"One of two must still obey,
Nancy, Nancy;

Is it man, or woman, say,
My spouse, Nancy?"

II.

If 'tis still the lordly word,
Service and obedience;

I'll desert my sov'reign lord,

And so, good b'ye, allegiance!

"Sad will I be, so bereft,

Nancy, Nancy;

Yet I'll try to make a shift,
My spouse, Nancy."

III.

My poor heart then break it must,
My last hour I'm near it :
When you lay me in the dust,

Think, think, how you will bear it.
"I will hope and trust in heaven,
Nancy, Nancy;

Strength to bear it will be given,
My spouse, Nancy."

IV.

Well, sir, from the silent dead,
Still I'll try to daunt you;
Ever round your midnight bed
Horrid sprites shall haunt you.
"I'll wed another, like my dear
Nancy, Nancy;

Then all hell will fly for fear,
My spouse, Nancy."

[In composing this song the Poet had in his eye the lyrics of the olden time: the more immediate object "My Jo Janet," in the collection

of his imitation was

66

of Allan Ramsay, beginning

"Sweet Sir, for your courtesie,

When ye come to the Bass, then

For the love ye bear to me,

Buy me a keeking-glass, then."

"Keek into the draw well,

Janet, Janet,

And there ye'll see your bonnie sel,'

My Jo Janet."

Burns regretted that he had not sooner turned his thoughts

upon lyrics of a conversational character.-ED.]