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But there is ane, a secret ane,

Aboon them a' I loe him better;
And I'll be his, and he'll be mine,

The bonnie lad o' Galla Water.

Altho' his daddie was nae laird,

And tho' I hae nae meickle tocher

Yet, rich in kindest, truest love,

;

We'll tent our flocks by Galla Water.

It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth,
That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure;
The bands and bliss o' mutual love,

O that's the chiefest world's treasure!

Jan. 1793.

Many returns of the season to you, my dear Sir. How comes on your publication? will these two foregoing be of any service to you? I should like to know what songs you print to each tune besides the verses to which it is set. In short, I would wish to give you my opinion on all the poetry you publish. You know it is my trade, and a man in the way of his trade may suggest useful hints, that escape men of much superior parts and endowments in other things.

If you meet with my dear and much-valued Cunningham, greet him, in my name, with the compliments of the season. Yours, &c.

Sae fair her hair, sae brent her brow,
Sae bonnie blue her een, my deary,
Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her mou'
I aften kiss her till I'm weary.

O'er yon bank, and o'er yon brae,

O'er yon moss amang the heather,
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee,

And follow my love thro' the water.
Down amang the broom, the broom,

Down amang the broom, my deary;
The lassy lost her silken snood,

That gar'd her greet till she was weary.

M.

No. XI.

MR THOMSON TO BURNS.

EDINBURGH, Jan. 20, 1793.

You make me happy, my dear Sir, and thousands will be happy to see the charming songs you have sent me. Many merry returns of the season to you, and may you long continue, among the sons and daughters of Caledonia, to delight them and to honour yourself.

The four last songs with which you favoured me, viz. 'Auld Rob Morris,' 'Duncan Gray,' 'Galla Water,' and 'Cauld Kail,' are admirable. Duncan is indeed a lad of grace, and his humour will endear him to every body.

The distracted lover in Auld Rob,' and the happy shepherdess in Galla Water,' exhibit an excellent contrast: they speak from genuine feeling, and powerfully touch the heart.

The number of songs which I had originally in view, was limited; but I now resolve to include every Scotch air and song worth singing, leaving none behind but mere gleanings, to which the publishers of omnegatherum are welcome. I would rather be the editor of a collection from which nothing could be taken away, than of one to which nothing could be added. We intend presenting the subscribers with two beautiful stroke engravings; the one characteristic of the plaintive, and the other of the lively songs; and I have Dr Beattie's promise of an essay upon the subject of our national music, if his health will permit him to write it. As a number of our songs have doubtless been called forth by particular events, or by the charms of peerless damsels, there must be many curious anecdotes relating to them.

The late Mr Tytler of Woodhouselee, I believe, knew more of this than any body, for he joined to the pursuits of an antiquary, a taste for poetry, besides being a man of the

world, and possessing an enthusiasm for music beyond most of his contemporaries. He was quite pleased with this plan of mine, for I may say it has been solely managed by me, and we had several long conversations about it when it was in embryo. If I could simply mention the name of the heroine of each song, and the incident which occasioned the verses, it would be gratifying. Pray, will you send me any information of this sort, as well with regard to your own songs, as the old ones?

To all the favourite songs of the plaintive or pastoral kind, will be joined the delicate accompaniments, &c. of Pleyel. To those of the comic and humorous class, I think accompaniments scarcely necessary; they are chiefly fitted for the conviviality of the festive board, and a tuneful voice, with a proper delivery of the words, renders them perfect. Nevertheless, to these I propose adding bass accompaniments, because then they are fitted either for singing, or for instrumental performance, when there happens to be no singer. I mean to employ our right trusty friend Mr Clarke, to set the bass to these, which he assures me he will do con amore, and with much greater attention than he ever bestowed on any thing of the kind. But for this last class of airs I will not attempt to find more than one set of verses.

That eccentric bard, Peter Pindar, has started I know not how many difficulties, about writing for the airs I sent to him, because of the peculiarity of their measure, and the trammels they impose on his flying Pegasus. I subjoin for your perusal the only one I have yet got from him, being for the fine air 'Lord Gregory.' The Scots verses printed with that air, are taken from the middle of an old ballad, called The Lass of Lochroyan,' which I do not admire.* I have set down the air therefore as a creditor of yours.

*Mr Thomson is not remarkable for the correctness of his taste in regard to old Scottish ballads. The one he has alluded to, of which various versions occur in our collections, is, we think, an instance in point.-M.

Many of the Jacobite songs are replete with wit and humour; might not the best of these be included in our volume of comic songs?

POSTSCRIPT,

FROM THE HON. A. ERSKINE.

MR THOMSON has been so obliging as to give me a perusal of your songs. 'Highland Mary' is most enchantingly pathetic, and Duncan Gray' possesses native genuine humour; "spak o' lowpin o'er a linn," is a line of itself that should make you immortal. I sometimes hear of you from our mutual friend Cunninghame, who is a most excellent fellow, and possesses, above all men I know, the charm of a most obliging disposition. You kindly promised me, about a year ago, a collection of your unpublished productions, religious and amorous; I know from experience how irksome it is to copy. If you will get any trusty person in Dumfries to write them over fair, I will give Peter Hill whatever money he asks for his trouble, and I certainly shall not betray your confidence.

I am your hearty admirer,

ANDREW ERSKINE.

No. XII.

BURNS TO MR THOMSON.

26th January, 1793.

I APPROVE greatly, my dear Sir, of your plans. Dr Beattie's essay will of itself be a treasure. On my part, I mean to draw up an appendix to the Doctor's essay, containing my stock of anecdotes, &c. of our Scots songs. All the late Mr Tytler's anecdotes I have by me, taken course of my acquaintance with him from his own mouth. I am such an enthusiast, that, in the course of my several

down in the

peregrinations through Scotland, I made a pilgrimage to the individual spot from which every song took its rise; 'Lochaber' and the Braes of Ballenden,' excepted. So far as the locality, either from the title of the air, or the tenor of the song, could be ascertained, I have paid my devotions at the particular shrine of every Scots muse.

I do not doubt but you might make a very valuable collection of Jacobite songs; but would it give no offence? In the mean time, do not you think that some of them, particularly The sow's tail to Geordie,' as an air, with other words, might be well worth a place in your collection of lively songs?

If it were possible to procure songs of merit, it would be proper to have one set of Scots words to every air, and that the set of words to which the notes ought to be set. There is a naïveté, a pastoral simplicity, in a slight intermixture of Scots words and phraseology, which is more in unison (at least to my taste, and I will add to every genuine Caledonian taste) with the simple pathos, or rustic sprightliness of our native music, than any English verses whatever.

The very name of Peter Pindar is an acquisition to your work. His 'Gregory' is beautiful. I have tried to give you a set of stanzas in Scots, on the same subject, which are at your service. Not that I intend to enter the lists with Peter; that would be presumption indeed. My song, though much inferior in poetic merit, has, I think, more of the ballad simplicity in it.

LORD GREGORY.

O MIRK, mirk is the midnight hour,
And loud the tempest's roar ;

A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tow'r,
Lord Gregory, ope thy door.

An exile frae her father's ha',
And a' for loving thee;

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