teration in order to suit the music. Pleyel does not alter a single note of the songs. That would be absurd indeed! With the airs which he introduces into the sonatas, I allow him to take such liberties as he pleases; but that has nothing to do with the songs. P. S.-I wish you would do as you proposed with your 'Rigs of Barley.' If the loose sentiments are thrashed out of it, I will find an air for it; but as to this there is no hurry. No. XXIV. BURNS TO MR THOMSON. June, 1793. WHEN I tell you, my dear Sir, that a friend of mine, in whom I am much interested, has fallen a sacrifice to these accursed times, you will easily allow that it might unhinge me for doing any good among ballads. My own loss, as to pecuniary matters, is trifling; but the total ruin of a muchloved friend, is a loss indeed. Pardon my seeming inattention to your last commands. I cannot alter the disputed lines in the Mill, Mill, O.** What you think a defect, I esteem as a positive beauty; *The lines were the third and fourth: "Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless, And mony a widow mourning." As our poet had maintained a long silence, and the first number of Mr Thomson's Musical Work was in the press, this gentleman ventured, by Mr Erskine's advice, to substitute for them in that publication, "And eyes again with pleasure beam'd Though better suited to the music, these lines are inferior to the original. This is the only alteration adopted by Mr Thomson, which Burns did not approve, or at least assent to.- Currie. so you see how doctors differ. I shall now, with as much alacrity as I can muster, go on with your commands. You know Frazer, the hautboy-player in Edinburghhe is here, instructing a band of music for a fencible corps quartered in this country. Among many of his airs that please me, there is one, well-known as a reel, by the name of The Quaker's wife;' and which I remember a grand aunt of mine used to sing, by the name of Liggeram Cosh, my bonnie wee lass.' Mr Frazer plays it slow, and with an expression that quite charms me. I became such an enthusiast about it, that I made a song for it, which I here subjoin, and inclose Frazer's set of the tune. If they hit your fancy, they are at your service; if not, return me the tune, and I will put it in Johnson's Museum. I think the song is not in my worst manner. BLYTHE HAE I BEEN. Tune-"Liggeram Cosh." Blithe hae I been on yon hill, Lesley is sae fair and coy, Care and anguish seize me. Heavy, heavy is the task, Hopeless love declaring: In my bosom swelling; Soon maun be my dwelling. I should wish to hear how this pleases you. No. XXV. BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 25th June, 1793. Have you ever, my dear Sir, felt your bosom ready to burst with indignation on reading of those mighty villains who divide kingdom against kingdom; desolate provinces, and lay nations waste, out of the wantonness of ambition, or often from still more ignoble passions? In a mood of this kind to-day, I recollected the air of Logan Water;' and it occurred to me that its querulous melody probably had its origin from the plaintive indignation of some swelling, suffering heart, fired at the tyrannic strides of some public destroyer; and overwhelmed with private distress, the consequence of a country's ruin. If I have done any thing at all like justice to my feelings, the following song, composed in three-quarters of an hour's meditation in my elbow chair, ought to have some merit. LOGAN BRAES.* Tune" Logan Water." O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide, The original of this song is a curious old ballad, sung in Ettrick Forest to this day, owing to the number of gentlemen once of that district who figure in it. It is all about the courting of the heiress of Logan Water. There is a good deal of sly humour in it. I remember only a very few of the wooers, whom I shall mention; for this lady was the identical Tibby Fowler o' the Glen.' There liveth a squire in Holms Water head, And he is on to visit me; And he came in at the Meer Cleuch head, Wi' his spotted grews, and his spaniels three. But now thy flow'ry banks appear Like drumlie winter, dark and drear, This squire he said he wanted a sheep, And a whole eared gimmer he supposed her to be; And he's never be the laird o' the Logan-lee. I have a braw wooer from Dryhope tower, Not far from the side of the St Marie; His cheeks they are blae wi' the supping o' the whey, Young Justilaw has ewe-milkers enew, Wi' their coats a' kiltit aboon the knee; And Ettrickha' is a squire sharp, But sae he didna kithe to me; For weel he might hae had what I darena name, She was ultimately married, according to the ballad, to John Linton, a young farmer of Henderland.-H. Mr John Mayne, author of the Sillar gun,' printed in the Star newspaper, of May 23, 1789, the following lines to Lugan braes,' which have become deservedly popular : "By Logan streams that rin sae deep, "Nae mair at Logan kirk will he Again the merry month o' May Has made our hills and valleys gay; The bees hum round the breathing flowers: And evening's tears are tears of joy : Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, O wae upon you, men o' state, How can your flinty hearts enjoy Do you know the following beautiful little fragment, in Witherspoon's collection of Scots songs? While my dear lad maun face his faes, Originally, "Ye mind na, 'mid your cruel joys, The widow's tears, the orphan's cries." M. |