O leeze me on my wee thing,
My bonnie blithsome wee thing;
Sae lang's I hae my wee thing,
I'll think my lot divine.

Tho' warld's care we share o't,
And may see meikle mair o't,
Wi' her I'll blithely bear it,
And ne'er a word repine.

You perceive, my dear Sir, I avail myself of the liberty, which you condescend to allow me, by speaking freely what I think. Be assured, it is not my disposition to pick out the faults of any poem or picture I see my first and chief object is to discover and be delighted with the beauties of the piece. If I sit down to examine critically, and at leisure, what, perhaps, you have written in haste, I may happen to observe careless lines, the reperusal of which might lead you to improve them. The wren will often see what has been overlooked by the eagle. I remain yours faithfully, &c.

P. S. Your verses upon 66 Highland Mary" are just come to hand: they breathe the genuine spirit of poetry, and, like the music, will last for ever. Such verses, united to such an air, with the delicate harmony of Pleyel superadded, might form a treat worthy of being presented to Apollo himself. I have heard the sad story of your Mary: you always seem inspired when you write of her.

No. VIII.

BURNS TO G. THOMSON.

Dumfries, 1st Dec. 1792.

YOUR alterations of my

"Nannie, O," are per

fectly right. So are those of "My Wife's a winsome wee thing." Your alteration of the second stanza

is a positive improvement. Now, my dear Sir, with the freedom which characterises our correspondence, I must not, cannot alter "Bonnie Lesley." You are right, the word "Alexander makes the line a little uncouth, but I think the thought is pretty. Of Alexander, beyond all other heroes, it may be said, in the sublime language of Scripture, that "he went forth conquering and to conquer."

"For nature made her what she is,

And never made anither." (Such a person as she is.)

This is, in my opinion, more poetical than "Ne'er

made sic anither."

However, it is immaterial: make it either way. "" Caledonie," I agree with you, is not so good a word as could be wished, though it is sanctioned in three or four instances by Allan Ramsay; but I cannot help it. In short, that species of stanza is the most difficult that I have ever tried.

The "Lea-rig" is as follows. (Here the Poet gives the first two stanzas as before, pp. 12, 13, with the following in addition :-)

The hunter lo'es the morning sun,
To rouse the mountain deer, my jo;
At noon the fisher seeks the glen,
Along the burn to steer, my jo;
Gie me the hour o' gloamin gray,
It maks my heart sae cheery, O,
To meet thee on the lea-rig,

My ain kind dearie O!

I am interrupted.

Yours, &c.

[The original reading of the second verse in "Bonnie Lesley,” the reader will observe is restored in the text. Thomson decided in favour of the prosaic line,

"And ne'er made sic anither;"

rejecting the more poetic one,

"And never made anither."

Burns often adopted emendations in which his judgment did not concur, because they were pressed by his correspondent, to whose skill in the art of adapting words to music he looked with great confidence.-ED.]

No. IX.

BURNS TO G. THOMSON.

AULD ROB MORRIS.

I.

THERE'S auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, He's the king o' guid fellows and wale of auld men ; He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine, And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine.

II.

She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May;
She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay;
As blythe and as artless as the lamb on the lea,
And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e.

III.

But oh! she's an heiress,-auld Robin's a laird,
And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard;
A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed;
The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead.

IV.

The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane;
The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane :
I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist,
And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast.

V.

O had she but been of a lower degree,

I then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon me!
O, how past descriving had then been my bliss,
As now my distraction no words can express!

[The first two lines are taken from a song of considerable merit published in Ramsay's Miscellany: it is of a dramatic character:

MITHER.

"Auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen,

He's the king of good fellows and wale of auld men ;

Has fourscore of black sheep, and fourscore too,

Auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun lo'e.

DOUGHTER.

"Haud your tongue, mither, and let that abee,
For his eild, and my eild, can never agree;
They'll never agree, and that will be seen,
For he is fourscore, and I'm but fifteen.

MITHER.

"Tho' auld Rob Morris be an elderly man,
Yet his auld brass it will buy a new pan;
Then doughter ye shouldna be sae ill to shoo,
For auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun lo'e.

DOUGHTER.

"But auld Rob Morris I never will hae,

His back is sae stiff, and his beard is grown gray;

I had titter die than live with him a year,

Sae mair of Rob Morris I never will hear."

The old song is sarcastic that of Burns is tender; the tune and the starting lines seem only to have been present to his fancy, when he took up the subject of the daughter of Rob Morris.-ED.]