I am delighted with all the three songs, as well as with your elegant and tender verses to Chloris.

I am sorry you should be induced to alter, O whistle and I'll come to ye, my lad, to the prosaic line, ‘Thy Jenny will venture wi' ye, my lad.' I must be permitted to say, that I do not think the latter either reads or sings so well as the former. I wish, therefore, you would in my name petition the charming Jeany, whoever she be, to let the line remain unaltered.*

I should be happy to see Mr Clarke produce a few airs to be joined to your verses. Every body regrets his writing so very little, as every body acknowledges his ability to write well. Pray was the resolution formed coolly before dinner, or was it a midnight vow made over a bowl of punch with the bard ?

I shall not fail to give Mr Cunningham what you have sent him.

P. S.-The lady's, 'For a' that and a' that,' is sensible enough, but no more to be compared to yours than I to Hercules.

No. LXXXI.

BURNS TO MR THOMSON.

FORLORN, MY LOVE, NO COMFORT NEAR.

Tune-"Let me in this ae night."

FORLORN, my love, no comfort near,
Far, far from thee, I wander here;
Far, far from thee, the fate severe

At which I most repine, love.

Dr Currie says, he that has heard the heroine of this song sing it herself in the very spirit of arch simplicity that it requires, thinks Mr Thomson's petition unreasonable. If we mistake not, this is the same lady who produced the lines to the tune of 'Roy's Wife.'-M.

O wert thou, love, but near me ;
But near, near, near me;

How kindly thou wouldst cheer me,
And mingle sighs with mine, love.

Around me scowls a wintry sky,
That blasts each bud of hope and joy ;
And shelter, shade, nor home have I,
Save in those arms of thine, love.
O wert thou, love, &c.

Cold, alter'd friendship's cruel part,
To poison fortune's ruthless dart—
Let me not break thy faithful heart,
And say that fate is mine, love.

O wert thou, love, &c.

But dreary tho' the moments fleet,
O let me think we yet shall meet!
That only ray of solace sweet

Can on thy Chloris shine, love.
O wert thou, love, but near me ;
But near, near, near me ;
How kindly thou wouldst cheer me,

And mingle sighs with mine, love.

How do you like the foregoing? I have written it within this hour: so much for the speed of my Pegasus, but what say you to his bottom?

No. LXXXII.

BURNS TO MR THOMSON.

LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER.

Tune- The Lothian Lassie."

LAST May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen,
And sair wi' his love he did deave me ;

I said there was naething I hated like men,
The deuce gae wi'm, to believe
me, believe me,
The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me!

He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black een,
And vow'd for my love he was dying;

I said he might die when he liked, for Jean,
The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying,
The Lord forgie me for lying!

A weel-stocked mailen, himself for the laird,
And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers :

I never loot on that I kenn'd it, or car'd,

But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers,
But thought I might hae waur offers.

But what wad ye think? in a fortnight or less,
The deil tak his taste to gae near her!
He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess,*

* In the original MS. this line runs, "He up the Gateslack to my black cousin Bess." Mr Thomson objected to this word, as well as to the word Dalgarnock in the next verse. Mr Burns replies as follows:

passage

"Gateslack is the name of a particular place, a kind of up among the Lawther hills, on the confines of this county. Dalgarnock is also the name of a romantic spot near the Nith, where are still a ruined church and a burial-ground. However, let the first line run,' He up the lang loan,""&c.

It is always a pity to throw out any thing that gives locality to our poet's verses.- -Currie.

Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her, could bear her, Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her.

But a' the niest week as I fretted wi' care,
I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock,
And wha but my fine fickle lover was there,
I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock,
I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock.

But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink,
Least neebors might say I was saucy;
My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink,
And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie,
And vow'd I was his dear lassie.

I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet,
Gin she had recover'd her hearin,

And how her new shoon fit her auld shachl't feet,
But, heavens! how he fell a swearin, a swearin,
But, heavens! how he fell a swearin!

He begged, for Gudesake! I wad be his wife,
Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow :

So e'en to preserve the poor body in life,

I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow,
I think I maun wed him to-morrow

FRAGMENT.

CHLORIS.

Tune-"The Caledonian Hunt's Delight."

Why, why tell thy lover,

Bliss he never must enjoy?

Why, why undeceive him,

And give all his hopes the lie?

O why, while fancy, raptur'd, slumbers,

Chloris, Chloris all the theme,

Why, why wouldst thou cruel,

Wake thy lover from his dream?

Such is the peculiarity of the rhythm of this air, that I find it impossible to make another stanza to suit it.

I am at present quite occupied with the charming sensations of the tooth-ach, so have not a word to spare.

No. LXXXIII.

MR THOMSON TO BURNS.

MY DEAR SIR,

3d June, 1795.

YOUR English verses to 'Let me in this ae night,' are tender and beautiful; and your ballad to the 'Lothian Lassie,' is a master-piece for its humour and naïveté. The fragment for the Caledonian Hunt' is quite suited to the original measure of the air, and, as it plagues you so, the fragment must content it. I would rather, as I said before, have had Bacchanalian words, had it so pleased the poet; but, nevertheless, for what we have received, Lord, make us thankful!

No. LXXXIV.

MR THOMSON TO BURNS.

5th Feb. 1796.

O Robby Burns, are ye sleeping yet?
Or are ye wauking, I would wit?

THE pause you have made, my dear Sir, is awful! Am I never to hear from you again? I know and I lament