sents a disagreeable image to the mind; and to tell them "Welcome to your gory bed," seems rather a discouraging address, notwithstanding the alternative which follows. I have shown the song to three friends of excellent taste, and each of them objected to this line, which emboldens me to use the freedom of bringing it again under your notice. I would suggest, "Now prepare for honour's bed, Or for glorious victorie." No. XLV. BURNS TO MR THOMSON. September, 1793. "WHO shall decide when doctors disagree?" My ode pleases me so much that I cannot alter it. Your proposed alterations would, in my opinion, make it tame. I am exceedingly obliged to you for putting me on reconsidering it; as I think I have much improved it. Instead of “soger! hero!" I will have it "Caledonian! on wi' me!" I have scrutinized it over and over; and to the world some way or other it shall go as it is. At the same time it will not in the least hurt me, should you leave it out altogether, and adhere to your first intention of adopting Logan's verses.* * Mr Thomson has very properly adopted this song (if it may be so called) as the bard presented it to him. He has attached it to the air of "Lewie Gordon," and perhaps among the existing airs he could not find a better; but the poetry is suited to a much higher strain of music, and may employ the genius of some Scottish Handel, if any such should in future arise. The reader will have observed, that Burns adopted the alterations proposed by his friend and correspondent in former instances, with great readiness; perhaps, indeed, on all indifferent occasions. In the present instance, however, he rejected them, though repeatedly urged, with determined resolution. With every respect for the I have finished my song to 'Saw ye my Father?' and in English, as you will see. That there is a syllable too múch for the expression of the air, is true; but, allow me to say, that the mere dividing of a dotted crotchet into a crotchet and a quaver, is not a great matter: however, in that I have no pretensions to cope in judgment with you. Of the poetry I speak with confidence; but the music is a business where I hint my ideas with the utmost diffidence. judgment of Mr Thomson and his friends, we may be satisfied that he did so. He who in preparing for an engagement, attempts to withdraw his imagination from images of death, will probably have but imperfect success, and is not fitted to stand in the ranks of battle, where the liberties of a kingdom are at issue. Of such men the conquerors of Bannockburn were not composed. Bruce's troops were inured to war, and familiar with all its sufferings and dangers. On the eve of that memorable day, their spirits were without doubt wound up to a pitch of enthusiasm suited to the occasion,-a pitch of enthusiasm at which danger becomes attractive, and the most terrific forms of death are no longer terrible. Such a strain of sentiment, this heroic "welcome" may be supposed well calculated to elevate,—to raise their hearts high above fear, and to nerve their arms to the utmost pitch of mortal exertion. These observations might be illustrated and supported by a reference to the martial poetry of all nations, from the spirit-stirring strains of Tyrtæus, to the war-song of General Wolfe. Mr Thomson's observation, that "Welcome to your gory bed, is a discouraging address," seems not sufficiently considered. Perhaps, indeed, may be admitted, that the term "gory" is somewhat objectionable, not on account of its presenting a frightful, but a disagreeable image to the mind. But a great poet, uttering his conceptions on an interesting occasion, seeks always to present a picture that is vivid, and is uniformly disposed to sacrifice the delicacies of taste on the altar of the imagination. And it is the privilege of superior genius, by producing a new association, to elevate expressions that were originally low, and thus to triumph over the deficiencies of language. In how many instances might this be exemplified from the works of our immortal Shakspeare: "Who would fardels bear, To groan and sweat under a weary life ;- It were easy to enlarge, but to suggest such reflections is probably sufficient.-Currie. The old verses have merit, though unequal, and are popular: my advice is to set the air to the old words, and let mine follow as English verses. Here they are: FAIR JENNY. Tune-" Saw ye my Father?" Where are the joys I have met in the morning, No more a-winding the course of yon river, Is it that summer's forsaken our valleys, No, no, the bees humming round the gay roses, Fain would I hide what I fear to discover, Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal, Nor hope dare a comfort bestow : Come then, enamour'd and fond of my anguish, Enjoyment I'll seek in my wo. Adicu, my dear Sir! the post goes, so I shall defer some other remarks until more leisure. No. XLVI. BURNS TO MR THOMSON. September, 1793. I HAVE been turning over some volumes of songs, to find verses whose measures would suit the airs for which you have allotted me to find English songs. For Muirland Willie,' you have, in Ramsay's Tea-table, an excellent song, beginning, Ah, why those tears in Nelly's eyes?' As for The Collier's dochter,' take the following old Bacchanal : DELUDED SWAIN, THE PLEASURE. Deluded swain, the pleasure The fickle fair can give thee, Is but a fairy treasure, Thy hopes will soon deceive thee. The billows on the ocean, The breezes idly roaming, O! art thou not ashamed, Go find an honest fellow; Good claret set before thee; Hold on till thou art mellow, The faulty line in Logan-Water, I mend thus : "How can your flinty hearts enjoy, The widow's tears, the orphan's cry?" The song otherwise will pass. As to 'M'Gregoira RuaRuth,' you will see a song of mine to it, with a set of the air superior to yours in the Museum. Vol. ii. p. 181. The song begins, "Raving winds around her blowing." Your Irish airs are pretty, but they are downright Irish. If they were like the Banks of Banna,' for instance, though really Irish, yet in the Scottish taste, you might adopt them. Since you are so fond of Irish music, what say you to twenty-five of them in an additional number? We could easily find this quantity of charming airs; I will take care that you shall not want songs; and I assure you that you would find it the most saleable of the whole. If you do not approve of 'Roy's Wife,' for the music's sake, we shall not insert it. 'Deil tak the wars,' is a charming song; so is, Saw ye my Peggy ?' 'There's nae luck about the house,' well deserves a place. I cannot say that O'er the hills and far awa,' strikes me as equal to your selection. This is no my ain house,' is a great favourite air of mine; and if you will send me your set of it, I will task my muse to her highest effort. What is your opinion of' I hae laid a herrin in sawt?' I like it much. Your Jacobite airs are pretty and there are many others of the same kind, pretty; but you have not room for them. You cannot, I think, insert Fie, let's a' to the bridal,' to any other words than its own. What pleases me, as simple and naive, disgusts you as ludicrous and low. For this reason, Fie, gie me my coggie, Sirs,'' Fie, let's a' to the bridal,' with several others of that cast, are to me highly pleasing; while, 'Saw ye my Father, or saw ye my mother?' delights me with its descriptive simple pathos. Thus my song, Ken ye what Meg o' the mill has gotten?' pleases myself so much, that I cannot try my hand at another song to the air; so I shall |