clefechan, proving, that drunk or sober, your " mind is never muddy." You have displayed great address in the above song. Her answer is excellent, and at the same time takes away the indelicacy that otherwise would have attached to his entreaties. I like the song as it now stands very much. I had hopes you would be arrested some days at Ecclefechan, and be obliged to beguile the tedious forenoons by song-making. It will give me pleasure to receive the verses you intend for 'O wat ye wha's in yon town?' No. LXXIV. BURNS TO MR THOMSON. May, 1795. ADDRESS TO THE WOOD-LARK.* Tune-"Where'll bonnie Ann lie." Or, "Loch-Eroch side." O STAY, Sweet warbling wood-lark, stay, Thy soothing fond complaining. The tune to which this address was written, Where will bonnie Annie lie?' is sweet; and happily allied to words simple and unaffected, particularly if we take into account the exalted personages who formed the hero and heroine of the song-viz. James, fifth duke, and Ann, duchess of Hamilton. It was written by Allan Ramsay on the eve of their marriage. The following are the two first stanzas: HE. "Where wad bonny Annie lie? Is that the thing ye're laking? Again, again that tender part, SHE. Can a lass sae young as I, Syne down with a goodman lie? I'm flee'd he keep me wauking." A later version of the song runs as follows: Where will bonnie Ann lie? I' the cauld nights o' winter, O! Where but in her true love's bed; I' the cauld nights o' winter, O! There will bonnie Ann lie, There will bonnie Ann lie, I' the cauld nights o' winter, O! When the storm is raging high, Where will bonnie Ann lie? Where will bonnie Ann lie, I' the cauld nights o' winter, O! In the arms of wedded love, Whose care and goodness she does prove, Б. Say, was thy little mate unkind, Thou tells o' never-ending care; Let me know, your very first leisure, how you like this song. ON CHLORIS BEING ILL. Tune-" Aye wakin, O." Long, long the night, Heavy comes the morrow, Is on her bed of sorrow. Can I cease to languish ? Is on the couch of anguish? Every hope is fled, Every fear is terror; Heavy comes the morrow, Hear me, Pow'rs divine! But my Chloris spare me! Long, long the night, Is on her bed of sorrow. How do you like the foregoing? The Irish air, Humours of Glen,' is a great favourite of mine, and as, except the silly stuff in the 'Poor Soldier,' there are not any decent verses for it, I have written for it as follows: CALEDONIA. Tune-" Humours of Glen." Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon, Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys, Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace, He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains, "TWAS NA HER BONNIE BLUE E'E. Tune-" Laddie, lie near me." 'Twas na her bonnie blue e'e was my ruin; Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoing : 'Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us, Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me, Mary, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest, Let me hear from you. No. LXXV. MR THOMSON TO BURNS. You must not think, my good Sir, that I have any intention to enhance the value of my gift, when I say, in justice to the ingenious and worthy artist, that the design and execution of the Cotter's Saturday Night is, in my opinion, one of the happiest productions of Allan's pencil. I shall be grievously disappointed if you are not quite pleased with it. The figure intended for your portrait, I think strikingly like you, as far as I can remember your phiz. This should make the piece interesting to your family every way. Tell me whether Mrs Burns finds you out among the figures. I cannot express the feeling of admiration with which I have read your pathetic Address to the Wood-lark,' your elegant Panegyric on Caledonia,' and your affecting verses on 'Chloris's illness.' Every repeated perusal of these gives new delight. The other song to 'Laddie, lie near me, though not equal to these, is very pleasing. |