Adown winding Nith I did wander, To mark the sweet flowers as they spring; CHORUS. Awa wi' your belles and your beauties, The daisy amus'd my fond fancy, The rose-bud's the blush o' my charmer, Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prest: How fair and how pure is the lily, But fairer and purer her breast. Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour, Her breath, is the breath o' the woodbine, Awa, &c. H 2 Her Her voice is the song of the morning But beauty how frail and how fleeting, 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 Bonie Jean. They are both pupils of his. You shall hear from me, the very first grist I get from my rhyming mill. *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. No. XXXVI. MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON. August, 1793. THAT tune, Cauld kail, is such a favorite 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 elbow, "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 * Gloamin-twilight, probably from glooming. A beautiful poetical word which ought to be adopted in England. A gloamin-shot, a twilight-interview. E. 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 I shall spurn as vilest dust The warld's wealth and grandeur: That equal transports move her? That I may live to love her. Thus in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, Than sic a moment's pleasure: And by thy een, sae bonie blue, If you think the above will suit your idea of your favourite air, I shall be highly pleased. The last time 1 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 wander wi' my Davie, CHORUS. Meet me on the warlock know, e, Dainty Davie, dainty Davie, The |