Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, Thou hast left me ever, Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, Thou hast left me ever. Aften hast thou vow'd that death, Only should us sever, Now thou's left thy lass for aye-I maun see thee never, Jamie. I'll see thee never*. Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, Thou hast me forsaken: Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, Thou hast for saken: Thou canst love anither jo, While my heart is breaking: Soon my weary e'en I'll close-Never mair to wa ken, Jamie, Ne'er mair to wakent. Jockie and Jennie I would discard, and in its plate would put There's nae luck about the house, which has a very pleasant air; and which is positively the finest love-ballad in that style in the Scottish, or perhaps in any other language. When she came ben she bobbet, as an air, is more beautiful than either, and, in the andante way, would unite with a charming sentimental ballad, Saw ye my father, is one of my greatest favourites. The evening before last, I wandered out and began a tender song, in what I think is its native style. I must premise, that the old way, and the The Scottish (the editor uses the word substantively, as the English) employ the abbreviation I'll for I shall as well as I will; and it is for I shall it is used here. In Annandale, as in the northern counties of England, for I shall, they use I'se.E. This is the whole of the song. The bard never proceeded farther. Note by Mr. Thomson. way to give most effect, is to have no starting note, as the fiddlers call it, but to burst at once into the pathos. Every country girl sings-Saw ye my father, &c. My song is but just begun; and I should like, before I proceed, to know your opinion of it. I have sprinkled it with the Scottish dialect, but it may be easily turned into correct English*. Todlin hame. Urbani mentioned an idea of his, which has long been mine; that this air is highly susceptible of pathos: accordingly, you will soon hear him, at your concert, try it to a song of mine in the Museum; Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon. One song more, and I have done; Auld lang syne. The air is but mediocre ; but the following song, the old song of the olden times, and which has never been in print, nor even in manuscript, until I took it down from an old man's singing, is enough to recommend any air. AULD LANG SYNE. Should auld acquaintance be forgot, CHORUS. For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne. This song appears afterwards. It begins, "Where are the joys I hae met in the morning." Ex D 2 We twa hae run about the braes, But we've wandered mony a weary foot We twa hae paidlet i' the burn, But seas between us braid hae roar'd, Sin auld lang syne. For auld, &c. And here's a hand, my trusty fiere, And we'll tak a right gude willie-waught, For auld, c. And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp, And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne*. For auld, &c. Now, I suppose I have tired your patience fairly. You must, after all is over, have a number of ballads, properly so called. Gill Morice, Tranent Muir,M'Pherson's farewell, Battle of Sheriff-muir, or We ran and they ran (I know the author of this charming ballad, and his history), Hardiknute, Barbara Allan (I can furnish a finer set of this tune than any that has yet appeared); and besides, do you know that I really have the old tune to which The Cherry and the Slae was sung; and which is mentioned as a well known air in Scotland's Complaint, a book published before poor Mary's days? It was then called The banks o' Helicon; an old * This song, of the olden time, is excellent. It is worthy of our bard. E. poem which Pinkerton has brought to light. You will see all this in Tytler's history of Scottish music. The tune, to a learned ear, may have no great merit; but it is a great curiosity. I have a good many original things of this kind. No. XLIII. Mr. BURNS to Mr. THOMSON. September, 1793. I am happy, my dear sir, that my ode pleases you so much. Your idea, "honour's bed," is, though a beautiful, a hackneyed idea; so, if you please, we will let the line stand as it is. I have altered the song as follows. BANNOCK-BURN. Robert Bruce's Address to his Army. Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled: Scots, wham Bruce has aften led; Or to glorious victorie. Now's the day, and now's the hour; See approach proud Edward's power- Wha will be a traitor knave? Traitor coward! turn and flee! Wha for Scotland's king and law By oppression's woes and pains! But they shall be-shall be free! Lay the proud usurpers low ! Forward let us do, or die! N. B. I have borrowed the last stanza from the common stall edition of Wallace. "A false usurper sinks in every foe, A couplet worthy of Homer. Yesterday you had enough of my correspondence. The post goes, and my head aches miserably. One comfort: I suffer so much, just now, in this world, for last night's joviality, that I shall escape scot-free for it in the world to come. Amen! No. XLIV. Mr. THOMSON to Mr. BURNS. 12th Sept. 1793. A thousand thanks to you, my dear sir, for your observations on the list of my songs. I am happy to find your ideas so much in unison with my own respecting the generality of the airs, as well as the verses. About some of them we differ, but there is no disputing about hobby-horses. I shall not fail to profit by the remarks you make; and to reconsider the whole with attention. Dainty Davie must be sung, two stanzas toge ther, and then the chorus; 'tis the proper way. I |