Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove, By bonie Irwine-side, Where first I own'd that virgin-love How aften didst thou pledge and vow, And my fond heart, itsel sae true, It ne'er mistrusted thine. Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, And flinty is thy breast: Thou dart of heav'n that flashest by, Ye mustering thunders from above But spare, and pardon my fause love, My * The Song of Dr. Walcott on the same subject is as follows. Ah ope, Lord Gregory thy door, A midnight wanderer sighs, My most respectful compliments to the honourable gentleman, who favoured me with a postscript your in last. He shall hear from me and receive his MSS. soon. No. his Who comes with woe at this drear night A pilgrim of the gloom? If she whose love did once delight, My cot shall yield her room. Alas! thou heard'st a pilgrim mourn, But should'st thou not poor Marian know, I'll turn my feet and part; And think the storms that round me blow, Far kinder than thy heart, It is but doing justice to Dr. Walcott to mention, that song is the original. Mr. Burns saw it, liked it, and immediately wrote the other on the same subject, which is derived from an old Scottish ballad of uncertain origin. E. No. XIII. MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. 20th March, 1793. MARY MORISON. Tune-" BIDE YE YET." O MARY, at thy window be, It is the wish'd, the trysted hour; Those smiles and glances let me see, That make the miser's treasure poor: How blythly wad I bide the stoure, Yestreen when to the trembling string, To thee my fancy took its wing, I sat, but neither heard or saw: Tho Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, And the toast of a' the town, I sigh'd, and said amang them a', O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, If love for love thou wilt na gie, MY DEAR SIR, THE song prefixed is one of my juvenile works. I leave it in your hands. I do not think it very remarkable, either for its merits, or demerits. It is impossible (at least I feel it so in my stinted powers) to be always original, entertaining and witty. What is become of the list, &c. of your songs? I shall be out of all temper with you by and by. I have always looked on myself as the prince of indolent correspondents, and valued myself accordingly; and and I will not, cannot bear rivalship from you, nor any body else. No. XIV. MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. March, 1793. HERE WANDERING WILLIE. awa, there awa, wandering Willie, Now tired with wandering, haud awa hame; Come to my bosom my ae only dearie, And tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same. Loud blew the cauld winter winds at our parting; Ye hurricanes rest in the cave o' your slumbers, And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. But |