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Adown winding Nith I did wander,
Of Phillis to muse and to sing.

CHORUS.

Awa wi' your belles and your beauties,
They never wi' her can compare :

Whaever has met wi

my

Phillis,

Has met wi' the queen o' the fair.

The daisy amus'd my fond fancy,
So artless, so simple, so wild;
Thou emblem, said I, o' my Phillis!
For she is simplicity's child.

Awa, &c.

The rose-bud's the blush o' my charmer,
Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prest:
How fair and how pure is the lily,

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Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour,
They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie:
Her breath is the breath o' the woodbine,
It's dew-drop o' diamond, her eye.
Awa, &c.

Her voice is the song of the morning

That wakes thro' the green-spreading grove,

When Phoebus peeps over the mountains,

On music, and pleasure, and love.

Awa &c.

But beauty, how frail and how fleeting-
The bloom of a fine summer's day!
While worth in the mind o' my Phillis
Will flourish without a decay.*
Awa' &c.

Mr Clarke begs you to give Miss Phillis a corner. in your book, as she is a particular flame of his. She is a Miss P. M. sister to Bonnie Jean. They are both pupils of his. You shall hear from me the very first grist I get from my rhyming-mill.

No. XXXVI..

MR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.

August, 1793.

THAT tune, Cauld Kail, is such a favourite of yours, that I once more roved out yesterday for a gloamin-shot at the muses; when the muse that presides o'er the shores of Nith, or rather my old inspiring, dearest nymph, Coila, whispered me the following. I have two reasons for thinking that it was my early, sweet, simple inspirer that was by my el

*This song, certainly beautiful, would appear to more advantage without the chorus; as is indeed the case with several other songs of our author.

E.

+Gloamin-twilight; probably from glooming. A beautiful poetical word which ought to be adopted in England. A gionmin-shot, a twilight interview.

E.

bow, "smooth gliding without step," and pouring the song on my glowing fancy. In the first place, since I left Coila's native haunts, not a fragment of a poet has arisen to cheer her solitary musings, by catching inspiration from her; so I more than suspect that she has followed me hither, or at least makes me occasional visits: secondly, the last stanza of this song I send you, is the very words that Coila taught me many years ago, and which I set to an old Scots reel in Johnson's Museum.

Air" CAUld Kail.”

COME, let me take thee to my breast,
And pledge we ne'er shall sunder;
And I shall spurn, as vilest dust,
The warld's wealth and grandeur:
And do I hear my Jeanie own,
That equal transports move her?
I ask for dearest life alone
That I may live to love her.

Thus in my arms, wi' all thy charms,
I clasp my countless treasure;
I'll seek nae mair o' heaven to share,
Than sic a moment's pleasure :
And by thy een, sae bonnie blue,
I swear I'm thine for ever!
And on thy lips I seal my vow,
And break it shall I never !

your

idea of

If you think the above will suit your favourite air, I shall be highly pleased. The last time I came o'er the moor, I cannot meddle with, as to mending it; and the musical world have been so long accustomed to Ramsay's words, that a different song, though positively superior, would not be so well received. I am not fond of chorusses to songs, so I have not made one for the foregoing.

No. XXXVII.

MR BURNS to MR THOMSON.

DAINTY DAVIE.

August, 1793,

Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers,
To deck her gay, green spreading bowers;
And now comes in my happy hours,

To wander wi' my

Davie.

CHORUS.

Meet me on the warlock knowe,
Dainty Davie, dainty Davie;
There I'll spend the day wi' you,
My ain dear dainty Davie.

The crystal waters round us fa',
The merry birds are lovers a',

The scented breezes round us blaw,
A wandering wi' my Davie.
Meet me, &c.

When purple morning starts the hare,
To steal upon her early fare,
Then thro' the dews I will repair,
To meet my faithfu' Davie.
Meet me, &c.

When day, expiring in the west,
The curtain draws o' nature's rest,
I flee to his arms I lo'e best,

And that's my ain dear Davie.

CHORUS.

Meet me on the warlock knowe,
Bonnie Davie, dainty Davie !
There I'll spend the day wi" you,
My ain dear dainty Davie.*

So much for Davie. The chorus, you know, is to

the low part of the tune.

the Museum.

See Clarke's set of it in

N. B. In the Museum they have drawled out the tune to twelve lines of poetry, which is **** nonsense. Four lines of song, and four of chorus, is

the way.

# Dainty Davic is the title of an old Scotch song, from which Burns has taken nothing but the title and the measure.

E.

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