G. 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 cil. I shall be grievously disappointed if you are not quite pleased with it. pen 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. * [This song is altered from an old English one: it preaches a sermon on matrimonial alliances, which all believe and no one obeys; parents still use undue influence with their children, and, while securing a fleeting splendour, are heedless of entailing a lasting wretchedness.] [The idea of the first stanza of this song appears to have been borrowed from the old love verses that follow: How cruel are the Parents! Tune-John Anderson, my Jo. I. How cruel are the parents Has but a choice of strife;To shun a tyrant father's hate, Become a wretched wife. II. The rav'ning hawk pursuing, No shelter or retreat, Lovely as yonder sweet opening flower is, Shrinking from the gaze of day? O then, the heart alarming, And all resistless charming, ["The picture alluded to was painted from the "Cotter's Saturday Night:" it displays at once the talent and want of taste of the ingenious artist. The scene is a solemn one: but In Love's delightful fetters she chains the wil- the serenity of the moment is disturbed by what ling soul! Ambition would disown The world's imperial crown, Even Avarice would deny His worshipp'd deity, And feel thro' ev'ry vein Love's raptures roll. Well! this is not amiss. You see how I answer your orders: your tailor could not be more punctual. I am just now in a high fit for poetizing, provided that the strait-jacket of criticism don't cure me. If you can in a post or two administer a little of the intoxicating potion of your applause, it will raise your humble servant's phrenzy to any height you want. I am at this moment "holding high converse" with the Muses, and have not a word to throw away on such a prosaic dog as you are. ness. No. LXXVII. BURNS TO G. THOMSON. R. B. May, 1795. TEN thousand thanks for your elegant present; though I am ashamed of the value of it, being bestowed on a man who has not by any means merited such an instance of kindI have shewn it to two or three judges of the first abilities here, and they all agree with me in classing it as a first-rate production. My phiz is sae kenspeckle that the very joiner's apprentice whom Mrs. Burns employed to break up the parcel (I was out of town that day) knew it at once. My most grateful compliments to Allan, who has honoured my rustic muse so much with his masterly pencil. One strange coincidence is, that the little one who is making the felonious attempt on the cat's tail, is the most striking likeness of an ill-deedie, d-n'd, wee, rumble-gairie urchin of mine, whom, from that propensity to witty wickedness and manfu' mischief, which, even at twa days auld, I foresaw would form the striking features of his disposition, I named Willie Nicol; after a certain friend of mine who is one of the masters of a grammar school in a city which shall be nameless. Give the enclosed epigram to my much-valued friend Cunningham, and tell him that on Wednesday I go to visit a friend of his, to whom his friendly partiality in speaking of me in a manner introduced me-I mean a well-known military and literary character, Colonel Dirom. You do not tell me how you liked my two Are they condemned ? R. B. last songs. some esteem as a beauty, namely, the attempt to cut the top of the cat's tail, by the little merry urchin, seated on the floor. The unity of the sentiment is destroyed: it jars with the harmony of the rest of the picture as much as a snail does in crawling in the bosom of a new opened rose. This sense of propriety is required in such compositions: Burns was a great master in it: he introduced true love, domestic gladness, and love of country along with devotion in his noble poem of "The Cotter's Saturday Night," but he never dreamed of throwing in any of his ludicrous or humorous touchesall is as much in keeping as in the best conceived picture."-CUNNINGHAM.] Yet Burns seems to have enjoyed the humorous touch of the Painter exceedingly, and I question whether he, for one moment, thought it out of "keeping."-J. C. No. LXXVIII. G. THOMSON TO BURNS. 13th May, 1795. IT gives me great pleasure to find that you are all so well satisfied with Mr. Allan's production. The chance resemblance of your little fellow, whose promising disposition appeared be named after, is curious enough. I am acso very early, and suggested whom he should quainted with that person, who is a prodigy of learning and genius, and a pleasant fellow, though no saint. I You really make me blush when you tell me you have not merited the drawing from me. do not think I can ever repay you, or sufficiently esteem and respect you, for the liberal and kind manner in which you have entered into the spirit of my undertaking, which could not have been perfected without you. So I beg you would not make a fool of me again, by speaking of obligation. I like your two last songs very much, and am happy to find you are in such a high fit of Clarke has poetizing. Long may it last! made a fine pathetic air to Mallet's superlative ballad of "William and Margaret," and is to give it to me, to be enrolled among the elect. No. LXXIX. BURNS TO G. THOMSON. G. T. IN "Whistle, and I'll come to ye, my lad,” the iteration of that line is tiresome to my ear. Here goes what I think is an improvement : O whistle, and I'll come to ye, my lad, [See LETTER XXXV.] to write three or four songs for him, which he is to set to music himself. The enclosed sheet contains two songs for him, which please to present to my valued friend, Cunningham. I enclose the sheet open, both for your inspection, and that you may copy the song "0 bonnie was yon rosy brier." I do not know whether I am right; but that song pleases me, and, as it is extremely probable that Clarke's newly-roused celestial spark will be soon smo In fact, a fair dame, at whose shrine I, the Priest of the Nine, offer up the incense of Parnassus; a dame whom the Graces have attired in witchcraft, and whom the Loves have armed with lightning; a fair one, herself the heroine of the song, insists on the amendment, and dis-thered in the fogs of indolence, if you like the pute her commands if you dare! This is no my ain Lassie.* Tune-This is no my ain House. song, it may go as Scottish verses to the air of "I wish my love was in a mire ;" and poor Erskine's English lines may follow. I enclose you, a "For a' that and a' that," which was never in print: it is a much supe rior song to mine. I have been told that it was composed by a lady.— R. B. To Chloris. "TIs Friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend, Nor thou the gift refuse, Nor with unwilling ear attend The moralizing muse. Since thou, in all thy youth and charms, (A world 'gainst peace in constant arms,) Since thy gay morn of life o'ercast, Since life's gay scenes must charm no more, Still nobler wealth hast thou in store- Thine is the self-approving glow The joys refin'd of sense and taste, And doubly were the poet blest Une bagatelle de l'amitie.-COILA, No. LXXX. G. THOMSON TO BURNS. Edinburgh, 3rd August, 1795. MY DEAR SIR: THIS will be delivered to you by a Dr. Brianton, who has read your works, and pants for the honour of your acquaintance. I do not know the gentleman; but his friend, who applied to me for this introduction, being an excellent young man, I have no doubt he is worthy of all acceptation. My eyes have just been gladdened, and my mind feasted, with your last packet-full of pleasant things indeed. What an imagination is yours! it is superfluous to tell you that 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 Jeanie will venture wi' say that ye, my lad." I must be permitted to I do not think the latter either reads or sings so matter for a poet to load himself with another man's woes, and sing them with a natural and deep emotion.-For some interesting particulars respecting this lady, see note at the end of this Correspondence, page 517. well as the former. I wish, therefore, you would, in my name, petition the charming Jeanie, 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. G. T. [Currie says that he has heard the heroine of "Whistle and I'll come to ye, my lad," sing it in the very spirit of arch simplicity that it required, and the line, "Thy Jeanie will venture wi' ye, my lad," came gracefully from her lips. He therefore thinks Mr. Thomson's petition unreasonable. "There is no doubt that Currie alludes to Mrs. Riddel; but the heroine was one of a lower degree than her of Woodlee-Park, nor had she any talent for verse nor perhaps taste in poetry. But she was aware of the light which the genius of Burns shed on all to whom he was partial and, moreover, it gave her a sort of distinction or pre-eminence among the rustic damsels of the vale."-CUNNINGHAM.] No. LXXXI. BURNS TO G. THOMSON. Forlorn my Lobe, no Comfort near.* Tune-Let me in this ae Night. I. FORLORN, my love, no comfort near, Far, far from thee, I wander here; *["The complaint of a lover of the coldness or the absence of his mistress is a favourite theme with lyric poets. But the bards of the olden and the bards of these our latter times sung with a difference. Modern minstrels keep a poor lover enduring the rain or the snow of a stormy night, while his inexorable mistress looks out at her window as cold as the northern star, and reproaches him with evil intentions and reprehensible thoughts. The eldern minstrels did not make their ladies of icicles; a little maidenly bashfulness was exhibited, but at last pity influenced the dame; the doors were opened softly; green rushes were strewed on the floor and stair, to hinder the lover's steps to be heard; and he was conducted-past, perhaps, a mother's bed-side-or, more perilous still, a maiden aunt's-to a secret chamber, into which we shall not attempt to force our way. An old song, to the same air to which this song is written, gives a rude picture of such interviews: |