How long and dreary is the night!' I met with some such words in a collection of songs somewhere, which I altered and enlarged; and to please you, and to suit your favourite air, I have taken a stride or two across my room and have arranged it anew, as you will find on the other page.

Tune-"Cauld Kail in Aberdeen."

How long and dreary is the night,
When I am frae my dearie!

I restless lie frae e'en to morn,
Tho' I were ne'er sae weary.
For oh, her lanely nights are lang ;
And oh, her dreams are eerie ;
And oh, her widow'd heart is sair,
That's absent frae her dearie.

When I think on the lightsome days
I spent wi' thee, my dearie;
And now what seas between us roar,
How can I be but eerie ?

For oh, &c.

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours;
The joyless day how dreary!
It was nae sae ye glinted by,
When I was wi' my dearie.

For oh, her lanely nights are lang ;
And oh, her dreams are eerie ;
And oh, her widow'd heart is sair,

That's absent frae her dearie.

Tell me how you like this. I differ from your idea of the expression of the tune. There is, to me, a great deal of tenderness in it. You cannot, in my opinion, dispense with a bass to your addenda airs. A lady of my acquaintance, a noted performer, plays and sings at the same time

so charmingly, that I shall never bear to see any of her songs sent into the world, as naked as Mr What-d'ye-callum has done in his London collection.*

These English songs gravel me to death. I have not that command of the language that I have of my native tongue. I have been at Duncan Gray,' to dress it in English, but all I can do is deplorably stupid.

stance :

LET NOT WOMAN E'ER COMPLAIN.

Tune-"Duncan Gray."

Let not woman e'er complain

Of inconstancy in love;
Let not woman e'er complain
Fickle man is apt to rove:
Look abroad through nature's range,
Nature's mighty law is change;
Ladies, would it not be strange,

Man should then a monster prove?

Mark the winds, and mark the skies;
Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow:
Sun and moon but set to rise,

Round and round the seasons go.

Why then ask of silly man,
To oppose great nature's plan?
We'll be constant while we can-

You can be no more, you know.

For in

Since the above I have been out in the country taking a dinner with a friend, where I met with the lady whom I mentioned in the second page in this odds-and-ends of a letter. As usual I got into song; and returning home I composed the following :

* Mr Ritson.

THE LOVER'S MORNING SALUTE TO HIS MISTRESS.

Tune-"Deil tak the Wars."

Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature ;

Rosy morn now lifts his eye,
Numbering ilka bud which nature
Waters wi' the tears o' joy :
Now thro' the leafy woods,

And by the reeking floods,

Wild nature's tenants, freely, gladly stray;

The lintwhite in his bower

Chants o'er the breathing flower;

The lav'rock to the sky

Ascends wi' sangs o' joy,

While the sun and thou arise to bless the day.*

Phoebus gilding the brow o' morning,

Banishes ilk darksome shade,

Nature gladdening and adorning ;

Such to me my lovely maid.

When absent frae my fair,

The murky shades o' care

With starless gloom o'ercast my sullen sky;

But when in beauty's light,

She meets my ravish'd sight,

• Variation:—

Now to the streaming fountain,

Or up the heathy mountain,

The hart, hind, and roe, freely, wildly-wanton stray;

In twining hazel bowers

His lay the linnet pours;
The lav'rock to the sky,
Ascends wi' sangs o' joy,

While the sun and thou arise to bless the day.

Currie.

When through my very heart

Her beaming glories dart ;

'Tis then I wake to life, to light, and joy.*

If you honour my verses by setting the air to them, I will vamp up the old song, and make it English enough to be understood.

I inclose you a musical curiosity, an East Indian air, which you would swear was a Scottish one. I know the authenticity of it, as the gentleman who brought it over is a particular acquaintance of mine. Do preserve me the copy I send you, as it is the only one I have. Clarke has set a bass to it, and I intend putting it into the Musical Museum. Here follow the verses I intend for it :

THE AULD MAN.

But lately seen in gladsome green

The woods rejoice the day,

Thro' gentle showers the laughing flowers

In double pride were gay:

But now our joys are fled,
On winter blasts awa!
Yet maiden May, in rich array,
Again shall bring them a'.

But my white pow, nae kindly thowe
Shall melt the snaws of age;
My trunk of eild, but buss or bield,
Sinks in time's wintry rage.

• Variation:

When frae my Chloris parted,

Sad, cheerless, broken hearted,

The night's gloomy shades, cloudy, dark, o'ercast my sky.
But when she charms my sight,

In pride of beauty's light;
When thro' my very heart

Her beaming glories dart;

'Tis then, 'tis then I wake to life and joy.

Currie.

Oh, age has weary days,

And nights o' sleepless pain!

Thou golden time o' youthfu' prime,
Why com'st thou not again!

I would be obliged to you if you would procure me a sight of Ritson's collection of English songs, which you mention in your letter. I will thank you for another information, and that as speedily as you please: whether this miserable drawling hotchpotch epistle has not completely tired you of my correspondence?

No. LXI.

MR THOMSON TO BURNS.

EDINBURGH, 27th October, 1794.

I AM sensible, my dear friend, that a genuine poet can no more exist without his mistress than his meat. I wish I knew the adorable she, whose bright eyes and witching smiles have so often enraptured the Scottish bard! that I might drink her sweet health when the toast is going round. Craigie-burn Wood' must certainly be adopted into my family, since she is the object of the song; but, in the name of decency, I must beg a new chorus verse from you. O to be lying beyond thee, dearie,' is perhaps a consummation to be wished, but will not do for singing in the company of ladies. The songs in your last will do you lasting credit, and suit the respective airs charmingly. I am perfectly of your opinion with respect to the additional airs. The idea of sending them into the world naked as they were born was ungenerous. They must all be clothed and made decent by our friend Clarke.

I find I am anticipated by the friendly Cunningham in sending you Ritson's Scottish collection. Permit me, therefore, to present you with his English collection,