HE. O PHILLY, happy be that day See Poems, p. 99. Tell me honestly how you like it; and oint out whatever you think faulty. I am much pleased with your idea of singing our songs in alternate stanzas, and regret that you did not hint it to me sooner. In those that remain, I shall have it in my eye. I remember your objections to the name Philly; but it is the common abbreviation of Phillis. Sally, the only other name that suits, has to my ear a vulgarity about it, which unfits it for any thing except burlesque. The legion of Scottish poetasters of the day, whom your brother editor, Mr. RITSON, ranks with me, as my coevals, have always mistaken vulgarity for simplicity: whereas, simplicity is as much eloignee from vulgarity on the one hand, as from affected point and puerile conceit on the other. I agree with you as to the air, Cragieburn-wood, that a chorus would in some degree spoil the effect; and shall certainly have none in my projected song to it. It is not however a case in point with Rothiemurchie; there, as in Roy's Wife of Aldivaloch, a chorus goes, to my taste, well enough. As to the chorus going first, that is the case with Roy's Wife, as well as Rothiemurchie. In fact, in the first part of both tunes, the rhythm is so peculiar and irregular, and on that irregularity depends so much of their beauty, that we must e'en take them with all their wildness, and humour the verses accordingly. Leaving out the starting note, in both times has, I think, an effect that no regularity could counterbalance the want of. Try O Roy's Wife of Aldivaloch. and compare with, Roy's Wife of Aldivaloch. Docs not the tameness of the prefixed syllable strike you? In the last case, with the true furor of genius, you strike at once into the wild originality of the air: whereas in the first insipid method, it is like the grating screw of the pins before the fiddle is brought into tune. This is my taste; if I am wrong, I beg pardon of the cognoscenti. The Caledonian Hunt is so charming Contented wi' little, and canty wi' mair, If you do not relish this air, I will send it to Johnson. Since yesterday's penmanship, I have framed a couple of English stanzas, by way of an English song to Roy's Wife. You will allow me that in this instance, my English corresponds in sentiment with the Scottish. CANST THOU LEAVE ME THUS, MY KATY? CHORUS. Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy? See Poems p. 100. *To this address, in the character of a forsaken 1over, a reply was found on the part of the lady, among the MSS. of our bard, evidently in a female hand-wri tnig; which is doubtless that referred to in p. 213, letter No. XLII. Note. The temptation to give it to the public is irresistible; and if, in so doing, offence should be given to the fair authoress, the beauty of her verses must plead our excuse. Tune-'Roy's Wife.' CHORUS. Stay, my Willie-yet believe me, Stay, my Willie-yet believe me, For, ah! thou know'st na every pan Wad wring my bosom shouldst thou leave me. Tell me that thou yet art true, And a' my wrongs shall be forgiven, We! I think this, to be done in two | can make little of it. of three turns across my room, and with two or three pinches of Irish Blackguard, is not so far amiss. You see I am determined to have my quantum of applause from somebody. Tell my friend Allan (for I am sure that we only want the trifling circumstance of being known to one another, to be the best friends on earth) that I much suspect he has, in his plates, mistaken the figure of the stock and horn. I have, at last, gotten one; but it is a very rude instrument. It is composed of three parts; the stock, which is the hinder thigh-bone of a sheep, such as you see in a mutton ham; the horn, which is a common Highland cow's horn, cut off at the smaller end, until the aperture be large enough to admit the stock to be pushed up through the horn until it be held by the thicker end of the thigh-bone; and lastly, an oaten reed exactly cut and notched like that which you see every shepherd boy have, when the corn-stems are green and fullThe reed is not made fast in the grown. bone, but is held by the lips, and plays loose in the smaller end of the stock: while the stock, with the horn hanging on its larger end, is held by the hands in playing. The stock has six or seven ventiges on the upper sides, and one back ventige, like the common flute. This of mine was made by a man from the braes of Athole, and is exactly what the shepherds wont to use in that country. However, either it is not quite properly bored in the holes, or else we have not the art of blowing it rightly; for we And when this heart proves fause to thee, But to think I was betray'd, That fa'sehood e'er our loves should sunder! Could I hope thou'dst ne'er deceive, It may amuse the reader to be told, that on this occasion the gentleman and the lady have exchanged the dialects of their respective countries. The Scottish bard makes his address in pure English: the reply on the part of the lady, in the Scottish dialect, is, if we If Mr. Allan chooses I will send him a sight of mine; as I look on myself to be a kind of brother-brush with him. "Pride in Poets is nae sin;" and I will say it, that I look on Mr. Allan and Mr. Burns to be the only genuine and real painters of Scottish costume in the world. No. LXV. MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS 28th November, 1794. I ACKNOWLEDGE, my dear Sir, you are not only the most punctual, but the most delectable correspondent I ever met with. To attempt flattering you, never entered into my head; the truth is, I look back with surprise at my impudence, in sɔ frequently nibbling at lines and couplets of your incomparable lyrics, for which, perhaps, if you had served me right, you would have sent me to the devil. On the contrary, however, you have all along condescended to invite my criticism with so much courtesy, that it ceases to be wonderful, If I have sometimes given myself the airs of a reviewer. Your last budget demands unqualified praise: all the songs are charming, but the duet is a chef d'œuvre. Lumps o' Pudding shall certainly make one of my family dishes; you have cooked it so capitally, that it will please all palates. Do give us a few more of this cast when you find yourself in good spirits; these convivial songs are more wanted than those of the amorous kind, of which, we have great choice. Besides, one does not often meet with a singer capable of giving the proper effect to the latter, while the former are easily sung, and acceptable to every body. I participate in your regret that the authors of some of our best songs are unknown; it is provoking to every admirer of genius. I mean to have a picture painted from your beautiful ballad, The Soldier's Return, to be engraved for one of my fron tispieces. The most interesting point of time appears to me, when she first recognizes her ain dear Willy, "She gaz'd, she redden'd like a rose." The three lines mistake not, by a young and beautiful Englishwo- immediately following are no doubt more E. impressive on the reader's feelings, but were the painter to fix on these, then you'll observe the animation and anxiety No. LXVII. of her countenance is gone, and he could | MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. only represent her fainting in the soldier's arms. But I submit the matter to you, and beg your opinion. Allan desires me to thank you for your accurate description of the stock and horn, and for the very gratifying compliment you pay him in considering him worthy of standing in a niche by the side of Burns in the Scottish Pantheon. He has seen the rude instrument you describe, so does not want you to send it; but wishes to know whether you believe it to have ever been generally used as a musical pipe by the Scottish shepherds, and when, and in what part of the country chiefly. I doubt much if it was capable of any thing but routing and roaring. A friend of mine says he remembers to have heard one in his younger days made of wood instead of your bone, and that the sound was abominable. January, 1795. I FEAR for my songs; however a few ture in composition, and in a multiplicity may please, yet originality is a coy fea of efforts in the same style, disappears altogether. For these three thousand years, we poetic folks, have been describing the spring, for instance; and as the spring continues the same, there must of these said rhyming folks. soon be a sameness in the imagery, &c. that love and wine are the exclusive A great critic, Aikin, on songs, says, themes for song-writing. The following is on neither subject, and consequently is two or three pretty good prose thoughts no song; but will be allowed, I think, to be inverted into rhyme. FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT. Is there, for honest poverty, I do not give you the foregoing song for your book, but merely by way of vive la bagatelle; for the piece is not really poetry. How will the following do for Craigie-burn-wood?* SWEET fa's the eve on Cragie-burn, Farewell! God bless you. No. LXVIII. MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. Edinburgh, 30th January, 1795. MY DEAR SIR, I THANK you heartily for Nannie's awa, as well as for Craigie-burn, which * Craigieburn-wood is situated on the banks of the river Moffat, and about three miles distant from the village of that name, celebrated for its medicinal waters. -The woods of Craigie-burn and of Dumerief, were at one time favourite haunts of our post. It was there be met the "Lassie wi' the lint-white leeks," and that be conceived several of his beautiful lyrics. E You cannot have any idea of the predicament in which I write to you. In the course of my duty as Supervisor (in which capacity I have acted of late,) I came yesternight to this unfortunate, wicked, little village. I have gone forward, but snows of ten feet deep have impeded my progress; I have tried to "gae back the gait self to get rid of them; like a prudent man (a character congenial to my every thought, word, and deed,) I of two evils, have chosen the least, and am very drunk, at your service!* I wrote to you yesterday from Dumfries. I had not time then to tell you all I wanted to say; and heaven knows. at present I have not capacity. Do you know an air-I am sure you must know it, We'll gang nae mair to yon town? I think, in slowish time, it would make an excellent song. I am highly delighted with it; and if you should think it worthy of your attention, I have a fair dame in my eve to whom I would consecrate it. As I am just going to bed, I wish you a good night. No. LXXI MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. 25th February, 1795. I HAVE to thank you, my dear Sir, for two epistles, one containing Let me in this ae night; and the other from Ecclefechan, proving, that drunk or sober, your "mind is never muddy." You have displayed great address in the above song. Her answer is excellent, and at the same time, takes away the indelicacy that otherwise would have attached to his entreaties. I like the song as it now stands, very much. I had hopes you would be arrested some days at Ecclefechan, and be obliged to beguile the tedious forenoons by songmaking. It will give me pleasure to receive the verses you intend for O wat ye wha's in yon town? No. LXXII. May, 1795. ADDRESS TO THE WOODLARK. cam again," but the same obstacle has MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON shut me up within insuperable bars. To add to my misfortune, since dinner, a scraper has been torturing catgut,in sounds that would have insulted the dying agonies of a sow under the hands of a butcher, and thinks himself, on that very account, exceeding goou company. In fact, I have been in a dilemma, either to get drunk, to forget these miseries, or to hang my-sweet Ecclefechan at this rate. STAY, sweet warbling woodlark, stay, The bard must have been tipsy indeed, to abuse Let me know, your very first leisure, | Address to the Wood-Lark, your elegant how you like this song. ON CHLORIS BEING ILL. CHORUS. Long, long the night, Heavy comes the morrow, See Poems, p. 102. How do you like the foregoing? The Panegyric on Caledonia, and your affecting verses on Chloris's illness. Every repeated perusal of these gives new delight. The other song to " Laddie, lie near me," though not equal to these, is very pleasing. No. LXXIV. Irish air, Humours of Glen, is a great fa- MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON vourite of mine; and as, except the silly stuff in the Poor Soldier, there are not any decent verses for it, I have written for it as follows: SONG. THEIR groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon, Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume; See Poems, p. 102. SONG. 'Twas na her bonnie blue e'e was my ruin; Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoing; See Poems, p. 102. Let me hear from you. No. LXXIII. MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS. How cruel are the parents, See Poems, p. 102. SONG. MARK yonder pomp of costly fashion, You see how Well! this is not amiss. I answer your orders; your tailor could not be more punctual. I am just now in a high fit for poetizing, provided that the strait jacket of criticism don't cure me. If you can in a post or two administer a little of the intoxicating portion of your applause, it will raise your humble servant's frenzy to any height you want. I am at this moment " holding high converse" with the Muses, and have not a word to throw away on such a prosaic dog as you are. No. LXXV. May, 1795. You must not think, my good Sir, that MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. I have any intention to enhance the value of my gift, when I say, in justice to the ingenious and worthy artist, that the design and execution of the Cotter's Saturday Night is, in my opinion, one of the happiest productions of Allan's pencil. I shall be grievously disappointed if you are not quite pleased with it. TEN thousand thanks for your elegant present: though I am ashamed of the va lue of it being bestowed on a man who has not by any means merited such an instance of kindness. I have shown it to two or three judges of the first abilities here, and they all agree with me in classing it as a first rate production. My phis is saeken-speckle, that the very joiner's apprentice whom Mrs. Burns employed to break up the parcel (I was out of town that day,) knew it at once.-My most grateful compliments to Allan, who has honoured my rustic muse so much with his masterly pencil. One strange coin |