: : he could do little but give him an old cottage, with older plenishing and still older inhabitants, and he could do all but work miracles. An ancient chair with a dog sleeping-or seeming to sleep-under it: an old woman twirling her distaff in the sun, with her cat and her chickens around her or an old man sitting ruminating at his own fireside, with his bible on his knees, inspired him at once; and in subjects such as these he has never been surpassed. His illustrations of Ramsay's Gentle Shepherd will bear out these commendations: his Glaud and Symon, his Mause and Madge, are inimitable: not so his Patie and his Peggie: his forte lay in representing humorous characters, and he failed when youth and loveliness came before him to be limned. His mantlewith a double portion of his power-has fallen on David Wilkie.-ED.] No. LI. BURNS TO G. THOMSON. May, 1794. MY DEAR SIR: I RETURN you the plates, with which I am highly pleased; I would humbly propose, instead of the younker knitting stockings, to put a stock and horn into his hands. A friend of mine, who is positively the ablest judge on the subject I have ever met with, and, though an unknown, is yet a superior artist with the burin, is quite charmed with Allan's manner. I got him a peep of the Gentle Shepherd; and he pronounces Allan a most original artist of great excellence. For my part, I look on Mr. Allan's choosing my favourite poem for his subject, to be one of the highest compliments I have ever received. I am quite vexed at Pleyel's being cooped up in France, as it will put an entire stop to our work. Now, and for six or seven months, I shall be quite in song, as you shall see by and by. I got an air, pretty enough, composed by Lady Elizabeth Heron, of Heron, which she calls "The banks of Cree." Cree is a beautiful romantic stream: and, as her Ladyship is a particular friend of mine, I have written the following song to it :— HERE IS THE GLEN. Tune-" Banks of Cree." I. Here is the glen, and here the bower, II. 'Tis not Maria's whispering call; "Tis but the balmy-breathing gale, Mixed with some warbler's dying fall, The dewy star of eve to hail. III. It is Maria's voice I hear! So calls the woodlark in the grove, IV. And art thou come? and art thou true? O welcome, dear to love and me! And let us all our vows renew Along the flow'ry banks of Cree. [The Poet had a double task to perform for the family of Kerroughtree: he wrote lyrics in honour of the lady, and lampoons for the benefit of the laird. The first was a task according to his heart, and he performed it the readier that Lady Elizabeth Heron was fair and accomplished of his success in the latter, the Heron Ballads have already informed the reader. In a note to the last of these lampoons, misled by an old rumour and manuscript memoranda, we made a statement which, we are glad to learn, is wholly unfounded. Mr. Heron certainly lost his election, and died on his way back to Scotland: but his nature was too noble, and his mind too pious, to allow political disappointment to prevail against his reason his health had been for some time giving way he was taken ill at Grantham, and died in peace, -as all good men would desire to die.-ED.] No. LII. BURNS TO G. THOMSON. July, 1794. your work Is there no news yet of Pleyel? Or is to be at a dead stop until the allies set our modern Orpheus at liberty from the savage thraldom of democratic discords? Alas the day! And woe is me! That auspicious period, pregnant with the happiness of millions-* 樂 * * * * I have presented a copy of your songs to the daughter of a much-valued and much-honoured friend of mine, Mr. Graham of Fintray. I wrote, on the blank side of the title-page, the following address to the young lady : Here, where the Scottish muse immortal lives, In sacred strains and tuneful numbers joined, Accept the gift; tho' humble he who gives, Rich is the tribute of the grateful mind. * A portion of this letter has been left out, for reasons that will be easily imagined. |