"Thy handsome foot thou shalt na set In barn or byre to trouble thee." The homage paid to the graceful forms of the ladies of the M'Murdo family merits notice, were it but to justify the Poet from a charge, brought against him in Ayr-shire, that his beauties were not other men's beauties. The o'erword of an old song seems to have been in his fancy when composing this lyric: "Learn to turn the maut wi' me.” tion of it, in Johnson's, is not much better. Mr. Pinkerton, in his, what he calls, ancient ballads (many of them notorious, though beantitul enough, forgeries), has the best set. It's full of his own interpolations, but no matter. In my next I will suggest to your consideration a few songs which may have escaped your hurried notice. In the mean time allow me to congratulate you now, as a brother of the qu You have committed your character and fame; which will now be tried, for ages to come, by —it occurs oftener than once in the manuscript. the illustrious jury of the SONS And Daugh-CUNNINGHAM.] No. XXVIII. BURNS TO G. THOMSON. July, 1793. I ASSURE you, my dear Sir, that you truly hurt me with your pecuniary parcel. It degrades me in my own eyes. However, to return it would savour of affectation; but, as to any more traffic of that debtor and creditor kind, I swear, by that HONOUR which crowns the upright statue of ROBERT BURNS'S INTEGRITYon the least motion of it, I will indignantly spurn the by-past transaction, and from that moment commence entire stranger to you! BURNS's character for generosity of sentiment and independence of mind will, I trust, long outlive any of his wants, which the cold unfeeling ore can supply: at least, I will take care that such a character he shall deserve. Thank you for my copy of your publication. Never did my eyes behold, in any musical work, such elegance and correctness. Your preface, too, is admirably written: only your partiality to me has made you say too much: however, it will bind me down to double every effort in the future progress of the work. The following are a few remarks on the songs in the list you sent me. I never copy what I write to you, so I may be often tautological, or perhaps contradictory. "The Flowers o' the Forest" is charming as a poem; and should be, and must be, set to the notes, but, though out of your rule, the three stanzas, beginning "I hae seen the smiling o' fortune beguiling," are worthy of a place, were it but to immortalize the author of them, who is an old lady of my acquaintance, and at this moment living in Edinburgh. She is a Mrs. Cockburn; I forget of what place; but from Roxburgh - shire. What a charming apostrophe is "O fickle fortune, why this cruel sporting, Why, why torment us-poor sons of a day!" The old ballad, "I wish I were where Helen lies," is silly, to contemptibility. My altera TERS OF TASTE-all whom poesy can please. or music charm. Being a bard of nature, I have some pretensions to second sight; and I am warranted by the spirit to foretel and affirm that your greatgrand-child will hold up your volumes, and say, with honest pride, "This so much admired selection was the work of my ancestor !" [Much has been said, and not a little written. concerning the refusal of Burns to receive a recompense in money for his labours; he hat a right to do as he pleased, but certainly the labourer was worthy of his hire. Had he lived he might have taken a lesson from Thomson in such matters." The publisher," says the: gentleman in his preface, has an exclusive right to all the songs written purposely for his collections, as well as to all the symphonies and accompaniments. And as he did not obtain these without expending a large sum of money, without laborious researches and unwear exertions, and not until after a correspondence of twenty years with poets, musicians, antiqu ries, both at home and abroad, he feels it dae to himself distinctly to announce that if any person shall publish any of these songs, or any of the symphonies or accompaniments, he may depend upon being prosecuted for damages, in terms of the Act of Parliament." Nay, even from Burns himself he obtained a document which might have opened the Poet's eyes to the value of his own productions.-"I do here by certify that all the songs of my writing, published and to be published by Mr. George Thomson of Edinburgh, are so published by my authority. And, moreover, that I never empowered any other person to publish any the songs written by me for his work. And I authorize him to prosecute any person or persons who shall publish or vend any of those songs without his consent. (Signed) Rober Burns." that The old ballad of "I wish I were where Helen lies," for which the Poet expresses such contempt, is considered by many both beautiful and affecting. Currie seems to suppose Burns was unacquainted with the genuine old strain, but the song which he altered for the Museum contains proof to the contrary: it is of the ancient strain itself; anything but improved by the alterations. Tradition readily supplies many versions-all are beautiful :— FAIR HELEN of KirkCONNELL, "I wish I were where Helen lies- O Helen fair, beyond compare, Until the day I die. Curs'd be the heart that thought the thought, O think na but my heart was sair I laid her down, my sword did draw, O that I were where Helen lies, O Helen fair! O Helen chaste! Where thou ly'st low, and tak'st thy rest I wish I were where Helen lies, Night and day on me she cries; Fair Helen of Kirkconnell belongs to the romantic songs of Scotland; other poets have taken up the story of the lovers, but the strains of the elder bard still triumph.] always do greater justice to the poet than in the slower airs of "The bush aboon Traquair," "Lord Gregory," and the like; for, in the manner the latter are frequently sung, you must be contented with the sound without the sense. Indeed, both the airs and words are disguised by the very slow, languid, psalm-singing style in which they are too often performed: they lose animation and expression altogether, and instead of speaking to the mind, or touching the heart, they cloy upon the ear, and set us a yawning! Your ballad, "There was a Lass, and she was fair," is simple and beautiful, and shall undoubtedly grace my collection. G. T. I HAD the pleasure of receiving your last two letters, and am happy to find you are quite pleased with the appearance of the first book. When you come to hear the songs sung and accompanied, you will be charmed with them. "The bonnie brucket Lassie" certainly deserves better verses, and I hope you will match her. "Cauld Kail in Aberdeen," "Let me in this ae night," and several of the livelier airs, wait the muse's leisure: these are peculiarly worthy of her choice gifts: besides, you'll notice that, in airs of this sort, the singer can No. XXXI. BURNS TO G. THOMSON. August, 1793. YOUR objection, my dear Sir, to the passages in my song of "Logan Water," is right in one instance; but it is difficult to mend it; if I can I will. The other passage you object to does not appear in the same light to me. I have tried my hand on "Robin Adair," and, you will probably think, with little success; but it is such a cursed, cramp, out-of-theway measure, that I despair of doing any thing better to it. that it has procured me so many of your much valued epistles. Pray make my acknowledg ments to St. Stephen for the tunes: tell him I admit the justness of his complaint on my staircase conveyed in his laconic postscript to your jeu d'esprit; which I perused more than once, without discovering exactly whether your discussion was music, astronomy, or politics: though a sagacious friend, acquainted with the convivial habits of the poet and the musician, offered me a bet, of two to one, you were just drowning care together; that an empty bowl was the only thing that would deeply affect you, and the only matter you could then study how to remedy! I shall be glad to see you give "Robin Adair" a Scottish dress. Peter is furnishing him with an English suit for a clange, and you are well matched together. Robin's air is excellent, though he certainly has an out-ofthe-way measure as ever poor Parnassian wight was plagued with.-I wish you would invoke the muse for a single elegant stanza to be substituted for the concluding objectionable verses of "Down the Burn, Davie," so that this most exquisite song may no longer be excluded from good company. Mr. Allan has made an inimitable drawing from your "John Anderson, my Jo," which 1 am to have engraved as a frontispiece to the humourous class of songs; you will be quite charmed with it, I promise you. The old I couple are seated by the fire-side. Mrs. Anderson, in great good-humour, is clapping John's shoulders, while he smiles and looks at her with such glee as to shew that he fully recollects the pleasant days and nights when they were "first acquent." The drawing would do honour to the pencil of Teniers. G. T. ["The 'Mrs. Anderson' on whom this prais is bestowed is what the old ballad calls A carlin-a rig-widdie carlin,' and seems fitter for a wife to him of Linkundoddie than to be spouse to cantie and douce John. She has the look of an ogress: her nose resembles a ram-horn, and the fingers which she is about to apply to her husband's Ivartlocks are as hard as lobster-claws.”—Ĉt xNINGHAM.] No. XXXIII. BURNS TO G. THOMSON. August, 1793. THAT crinkum-crankum tune "Robin Adair" has run so in my head, and I succeeded so ill in my last attempt, that I have ventured, Falsest of womankind, canst thou declare By the way, I have met with a musical Highlander, in Breadalbane's Fencibles, which are quartered here, who assures me that he well remembers his mother's singing Gaelic songs to both "Robin Adair" and "Gramachree.' They certainly have more of the Scotch than the Irish taste in them. This man comes from the vicinity of Inverness; so it could not be any intercourse with Ireland that could bring them ;-except, what I shrewdly suspect to be the case, the wandering minstrels, harpers, and pipers, used to go frequently errant through the wilds both of Scotland and Ireland, and so some favourite airs might be common to both. A case in pointThey have lately, in Ireland, published an Irish air, as they say, called "Caun du delish." The fact is, in a publication of Corri's a great while ago, you will find the same air, called a Highland one, with a Gaelic song set to it. Its name there, I think, is "Oran Gaoil," and a fine air it is. Do ask honest Allan, or the Rev. Gaelic parson,* about these matters. I walked out yesterday evening, with a volume of the Museum in my hand; when, turning up "Allan Water," "What numbers shall the muse repeat," &c., as the words appeared to me rather unworthy of so fine an air, and recollecting that it is on your list, I sat and raved under the shade of an old thorn, 'till I wrote one to suit the measure. I may be wrong; but I think it not in my worst style. You must know, that in Ramsay's "Tea Table," where the modern song first appeared, the ancient name of the tune, Allan says, is "Allan Water;" last has certainly been a line of the original or, My love Annie's very bonnie." This song; so I took up the idea, and, as you will see, have introduced the line in its place, which, I presume, it formerly occupied; though I likewise give you a choosing line, if it should not hit the cut of your fancy :— III. The haunt o' spring's the primrose brac, How cheery, thro' her shortening day, Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure, Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure? Bravo! say I: it is a good song. Should you think so too, (not else,) you can set the music to it, and let the other follow as English [The fancy of Burns took a flight northwards in conceiving this song. Allan Water gives its name to the strath. The Poet might have found all that he wanted in his immediate neighbourhood: Criffel or Queensberry rise loftily enough, and Annan Water is sufficiently pure for all the purposes of song: moreover, the old lyric from which he took the idea belongs to the district : "O Annan Water's wide and deep, And my love Annie's wondrous bonnie; For her whom I love best of onie? Gar saddle soon and make him ready, And a' to see my bonnie lady." Another ancient strain has a similarity of thought and language-the lover seems to be a cautious person : "O Annan Water's wading deep, The Annan is a beautiful river with alternate pool and stream, and liable, like all mountain waters, to sudden floods. Burns was often on its banks; amongst its woods he sought for smugglers, or wooed the muses, as circumstances required. CUNNINGHAM.] No. XXXV. BURNS TO G. THOMSON. August, 1793. Is "Whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad," one of your airs? I admire it much; and yesterday I set the following verses to it. Urbani, whom I have met with here, begged them of me, as he admires the air much; but, as I understand that he looks with rather an evil eye on your work, I did not choose to comply. However, if the song does not suit your taste, I may possibly send it him. The set of the air which I had in my eye is in Johnson's Museum. But warily tent, when you come to court me, II. At Kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me, III. Aye vow and protest that ye care na for me, Another favourite air of mine is, "Th muckin o' Geordie's byre." When sung slow. with expression, I have wished that it had had better poetry: that, I have endeavoured to supply, as follows: Adown winding Nith. |