know whether you have a wise man or a fool, until you produce him to the world to try him. For that reason I send you the offspring of my brain, abortions and all; and, as such, pray look over them, and forgive them, and burn* them. I am flattered at your adopting Ca' the yowes to the knowes, as it was owing to me that ever it saw the light. About seven years ago I was well acquainted with a worthy little fellow of a clergyman, a Mr Clunie, who sung it charmingly; and, at my request, Mr Clarke took it down from his singing. When I gave it to Johnson, I added some stanzas to the song and mended others, but still it will not do for you. In a solitary stroll which I took to-day, I tried my hand on a few pastoral lines, following up the idea of the chorus, which I would preserve. Here it is, with all its crudities and imperfections on its head. CHORUS. Ca' the yowes to the knowes, * This Virgilian order of the poet should, I think, be disobeyed with respect to the song in question, the second stanza excepted. Note by Mr Thomson. Doctors differ. The objection to the second stanza does not strike the Editor. E. Nitha. Hark, the mavis' evening sang Ca' the, &c. We'll gae down by Clouden side, Yonder Clouden's silent towers, Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear; Thou'rt to love and heaven sae dear, Nocht of ill may come thee near, My bonnie dearie. Ca' the, &c. Fair and lovely as thou art, I can die-but canna part, My bonnie dearie. Ca' the, &c. The river Clouden, or Cluden, a tributary stream to the E. I shall give you my opinion of your other newly adopted songs my first scribbling fit. No. LVII. MR BURNS to MR THOMSON. September, 1794. Do you know a blackguard Irish song called Onagh's Water-fall? The air is charming, and I have often regretted the want of decent verses to it. It is too much, at least for my humble rustic muse, to expect that every effort of her's shall have merit ; still I think that it is better to have mediocre verses to a favourite air, than none at all. On this princi. ple I have all along proceeded in the Scots Musical Museum; and as that publication is at its last volume, I intend the following song to the air abovementioned, for that work. If it does not suit you as an editor, you may be pleased to have verses to it that you can sing before ladies. SHE SAYS SHE LO'ES ME BEST OF A'. Tune "ONAGH'S WATER-Fall." SAE flaxen were her ringlets, Her eye-brows of a darker hue, Bewitchingly o'er-arching Twa laughing een o' bonnie blue. Her smiling sae wyling, Wad make a wretch forget his woe; What pleasure, what treasure, And ay my She says she lo'es me best of a'. Like harmony her motion; Wad make a saint forget the sky. Her faultless form and graceful air; Ilk feature-auld nature Declared that she could do nae mair: Hers are the willing chains o' love, By conquering beauty's sovereign law ; And ay my Chloris' dearest charm, She says she lo'es me best of a'. Let others love the city, And gaudy shew at sunny noon; Gie me the lonely valley, The dewy eve, and rising moon Fair beaming, and streaming, Her silver light the boughs amang; While falling, recalling, The amorous thrush concludes his sang: There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove Not to compare small things with great, my taste in music is like the mighty Frederick of Prussia's taste in painting: we are told that he frequentlyadmired what the connoisseurs decried, and alwayswithout any hypocrisy confessed his admiration. I am sensible that my taste in music must be inelegant and vulgar, because people of undisputed and cultivated taste can find no merit in my favourite tunes. Still, because I am cheaply pleased, is that any reason why I should deny myself that pleasure? Many of our strathspeys, ancient and modern, give me most exquisite enjoyment, where you and other judges would probably be shewing disgust. For instance, I am just now making verses for Rothiemurche's Rant, an air which puts me in raptures; and in fact, unless I be pleased with the tune, I never can make verses to it. Here I have Clarke on my side who is a judge that I will pit against any of you. Rothiemurche, he says, is an air both original and beautiful; and on his recommendation I have taken the first part of the tune for a chorus, and the fourth or last part for the song. I am but two stanzas deep in the work, and possibly you may think, and justly, that the poetry is as little worth your attention as the music.* Do I have begun anew, Let me in this ae night. you think that we ought to retain the old chorus? I think we must retain both the old chorus and the *In the original, follow here two stanzas of a song, begin. ning "Lassie wi' the lint-white locks;" which will be found at full length afterwards. E. |