Whaever has met wi' my Phillis, corner in your She is a Miss They are both Mr Clarke begs you to give Miss Phillis a book, as she is a particular flame of his. Phillis M'Murdo, sister to " Bonnie Jean." pupils of his. You shall hear from me, the very first grist I get from my rhyming-mill. No. XXXVI. 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 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, *"This song, certainly beautiful," says Mr Currie, "would appear to more advantage without the chorus; as is indeed the case The heroine was Miss with several other songs of our author." Phillis M'Murdo, afterward Mrs Norman Lockhart, of Carnwath.-M. + Gloamin-twilight, probably from glooming. A beautiful poetic word which ought to be adopted in England. A gloaminshot, a twilight interview.-Currie. The word is now adopted by the best writers of the English language, as a peculiarly sweet and poetical synonyme.-M. 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. COME, LET ME TAKE THEE. 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 I may live to love her. Thus in my arms, wi' all thy charms, And on thy lips I seal my vow And break it shall I never! If you think the above will suit your idea of 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 choruses to songs, so I have not made one for the foregoing. No. XXXVII. BURNS TO MR THOMSON. August, 1793. DAINTY DAVIE.* Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers, To wander wi' my Davie. Meet me on the warlock knowe, The crystal waters round us fa', When purple morning starts the hare, Then thro' the dews I will repair, To meet my faithfu' Davie. When day, expiring in the west, I flee to his arms I lo'e best, And that's my ain dear Davie. *Burns published another set of this in the Musical Museum, which will be found in a previous volume. The present is a great improvement on his first essay.-M. Meet me on the warlock knowe, So much for Davie. The chorus, you know, is to the low part of the tune. See Clarke's set of it in the Museum. N. B. In the Museum they have drawled out the tune to twelve lines of poetry, which is damned nonsense. Four lines of song, and four of chorus, is the way. No. XXXVIII. MR THOMSON TO BURNS. MY DEAR SIR, EDINBURGH, 1st Sept. 1793. SINCE writing you last, I have received half a dozen songs, with which I am delighted beyond expression. The humour and fancy of Whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad,' will render it nearly as great a favourite as 'Duncan Gray?' Come, let me take thee to my breast,'-' Adown winding Nith,' and By Allan stream,' &c., are full of imagination and feeling, and sweetly suit the airs for which they are intended. Had I a cave on some wild distant shore,' is a striking and affecting composition. Our friend, to whose story it refers, reads it with a swelling heart, I assure you. The union we are now forming, I think, can never be broken; these songs of yours will descend with * Dainty Davie is the title of an old Scotch song, from which Burns has taken nothing but the title and the measure.— -Currie. The song was founded on the well-known intrigue of Mr David Williamson, a covenanting preacher, with the lady of Cherrytrees' daughter, into whose bed the reverend gentleman had bestowed himself for safety, when pursued by a party of dragoons.-M. the music to the latest posterity, and will be fondly cherished so long as genius, taste, and sensibility exist in our island. While the muse seems so propitious, I think it right to inclose a list of all the favours I have to ask of her, no fewer than twenty and three! I have burdened the pleasant Peter with as many as it is probable he will attend to : most of the remaining airs would puzzle the English poet not a little ; they are of that peculiar measure and rhythm, that they must be familiar to him who writes for them. No. XXXIX. BURNS TO MR THOMSON. Sept. 1793. You may readily trust, my dear Sir, that any exertion in my power is heartily at your service. But one thing I must hint to you; the very name of Peter Pindar is of great service to your publication, so get a verse from him now and then; though I have no objection, as well as I can, to bear the burden of the business. You know that my pretensions to musical taste are merely a few of nature's instincts, untaught and untutored by art. For this reason, many musical compositions, particularly where much of the merit lies in counterpoint, however they may transport and ravish the ears of you connoisseurs, affect my simple lug no otherwise than merely as melodious din. On the other hand, by way of amends, I am delighted with many little melodies, which the learned musician despises as silly and insipid. I do not know whether the old air Hey tuttie taitie,' may rank among this number; but well I know that, with Frazer's hautboy, it has often filled my eyes with tears. There is a tradition, which I have met with in many places in Scotland, that it was Robert Bruce's march at the battle of Bannockburn. |