I give you leave to abuse this song, but do it in the spirit of christian meekness. (Ca' the yowes to the knowes, p. 195.) I shall give you my opinion of your other newly adopted songs my first scribbling fit. No. LV. MR. THOMSON TO THE POET. MY DEAR SIR, Edinburgh, 16th Sept. 1794. You have anticipated my opinion of, On the seas and far away; I do not think it one of your very happy productions, though it certainly contains stanzas that are worthy of all acceptation. No. LVIL THE SAME TO THE SAME. September, 1794. Do you know a blackguard Irish song, called Onagh's water-fall? The air is charming, The second is the least to my liking, parti- and I have often regretted the want of decent cularly "Bullets, spare my only joy." Con- verses to it. It is too much, at least for my found the bullets! It might perhaps be object-humble rustic muse, to expect that every effort ed to the third verse, "At the starless mid- of hers shall have merit; still I think that it is night hour," that it has too much grandeur of better to have mediocre verses to a favourite imagery, and that greater simplicity of thought air, than none at all. On this principle I have would have better suited the character of a sai- all along proceeded in the Scots Musical Mulor's sweetheart. The tune, it must be re-seum, and as that publication is in its last vomembered, is of the brisk, cheerful kind. Upon lume, I intend the following song, to the air the whole, therefore, in my humble opinion, the above mentioned, for that work. song would be better adapted to the tune, if it consisted only of the first and last verses, with the chorusses. No. LVI. THE POET TO MR. THOMSON. Sept. 1794. I SHALL withdraw my, On the seas and far way, altogether: it is unequal, and unworthy the work. Making a poem is like begetting a son: you cannot know whether you have a wise man or a fool, until you produce him to the world and try him. If it does not suit you as an editor, you may be pleased to have verses to it that you can sing before ladies. (Sae flaxen were her ringlets, p. 223.) Not to compare small things with great, my taste in music is like the mighty Frederick of Prussia's taste in painting: we are told that he frequently adinired what the connoisseurs decried, and always without any hypocrisy confessed his admiration. I am sensible that my taste in music must be inelegant and vulgar, because people of undisputed and cultivated taste can find no merit in my favourite tunes. Still, because I am cheaply pleased, is that any reason why I should deny myself that pleasure? For that reason I send you the offspring of Many of our strathspeys, ancient and modern, my brain, abortions and all; and, as such, pray give me the most exquisite enjoyment, where look over them, and forgive them, and burn you and other judges would probably be showthem. I am flattered at your adopting, Ca' ing disgust. For instance, I am just now makthe yowes to the knowes, as it was owing to me ing verses for Rothemurche's Rant, an air that ever it saw the light. About seven years which puts me in raptures; and in fact, unless ago I was well acquainted with a worthy little I be pleased with the tune, I never can make fellow of a clergyman, a Mr. Clunie, who sung verses to it. Here I have Clarke on my side, it charmingly; and, at my request, Mr. Clarke who is a judge that I will pit against any of took it down from his singing. When I gave you. "Rothemurche," he says, "is an air it to Johnson, I added some stanzas to the song, both original and beautiful ;" and on his recomand mended others, but still it will not do for mendation I have taken the first part of the you. In a solitary stroll which I took to-day, tune for a chorus, and the fourth or last part I tried my hand on a few pastoral lines, follow-for the song. I am but two stanzas deep in the ing up the idea of the chorus, which I would work, and possibly you may think, and justly, preserve. Here it is, with all its crudities and that the poetry is as little worth your attention imperfections on its head. as the music. This Virgilian order of the poet should, I think, be disobeyed with respect to the song in question, the second stanza excepted.-Note by Mr. Thomson. Doctors diffcr. The objection to the second stanza does not strike the Editor.-CURRIE. I have begun anew, Let me in this ae night. Do you think that we ought to retain the old chorus? I think we must retain both the old ⚫ In the original follow here two stang "Lassie wi' the lint-white locks. love. (Now don t put any of your squinting constructions on this, or have any clishniaclaiver about it among our acquaintances.) I assure you that to my lovely friend you are iraebted for many of your best songs of mine. Do you think that the sober gin horse routine of existence, could inspire a man with life, and love, and joy to the eras when they were composed, is mere fancy and conjecture. On John Pinkerton, Esq. he has no mercy; but consigns him to damnation! He snarls at my publication, on the score of Pindar being engaged to write songs for it; uncandidly and unjustly leaving it to be inferred, that the songs of Scottish writers had been sent a-packing to make room for Peter's! Of you he could fire him with enthusiasm, or melt him speaks with some respect, but gives you a pass- with pathos, equal to the genius of your book? ing hit or two, for daring to dress up a little-No! no!-Whenever I want to be more than some old foolish songs for the Museum. His ordinary in song: to be in some degree equal sets of the Scottish airs are taken, he says, from to your diviner airs do you imagine 1 fast and the oldest collections and the best authorities: pray for the celestial emanation? Tout au many of them, however, have such a strange as- contraire! I have a glorious recipe; the very pect, and are so unlike the sets which are sung one that for his own use was invented by the diby every person of taste, old or young, in town vinity of healing and poetry, when erst he piped or country, that we can scarcely recognize the to the flocks of Admetus. I put myself in a refeatures of our favourites. By going to the oldest gimen of admiring a fine woman; and in proporcollections of our music, it does not follow that tion to the adorability of her charms, in proporwe find the melodies in their original state. tion you are delighted with my verses. The lightThese melodies had been preserved, we know ning of her eye is the godhead of Parnassus, and not how long, by oral communication, before be- the witchery of her smile the divinity of Heliing collected and printed; and as different per- con! sons sing the same air very differently, according to their accurate or confused recollection of it, so even supposing the first collectors to have possessed the industry, the taste and discernment to choose the best they could hear, (which is far from certain), still it must evidently be a chance, whether the collections exhibit any of the melodies in the state they were first composed. In selecting the melodies for my own collection, I have been as much guided by the living as by the dead. Where these differed, I preferred the sets that appeared to me the most simple and beautiful, and the most generally approved; and, without meaning any compliment to my own capability of choosing, or speaking of the pains I have taken, I flatter myself that my sets will be found equally freed from vulgar errors on the one hand, and affected graces on the other. No. LX. To descend to business; if you like my idea of, When she cam ben she bobbit, the following stanzas of mine, altered a little from what they were formerly when set to another air, may per haps do instead of worse stanzas. SAW YE MY PHELY. (Quasi dicat Phillis.) What says she, my dearest, my Phely? O had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely! The THE POET TO MR. THOMSON. MY DEAR FRIEND, 19th October, 1794. By this morning's post I have your list, and, in general, I highly approve of it. I shall, at more leisure, give you a critique on the whole. Now for a few miscellaneous remarks. Clarke goes to your town by to-day's fly, and Posie (in the Museum), is my composition: I wish you would call on him and take his opi- the air was taken down from Mrs. Burns' nion in general: you know his taste is a stand-voice. It is well known in the West Coun. ard. He will return here again in a week or try, but the old words are trash. By the bye, two; so, please do not miss asking for him. One take a look at the tune again, and tell me if you thing I hope he will do, persuade you to a- do not think it is the original from which Rosdopt my favourite, Craigie-burn-wood, in your lin Castle is composed. The second part, in selection It is as great a favourite of his as of mine. The lady on whom it was made is one of the finest women in Scotland; and, in fact, (entre nous) is in a manner to me what Sterne's Eliza was to him—a mistress, a friend, or what you will, in the guileless simplicity of Platonic : particular, for the first two or three bars, is exactly the old air. Strathallan's Lament is mine; the music is by our right-trusty and deservedly well-beloved, Allan Masterton. Donocht-head, is not mine: I would give ten pounds it were. It appeared first in the Edin Clarke has set a bass to it, and I intend prtting it into the Musical Museum. Here follow the verses I intend for it. (The auld man, p. 225.) burgh Herald; and came to the Editor of that paper with the Newcastle post-mark on it. Whistle o'er the lave o't is nine; the music said to be by a John Bruce, a celebrated violin player in Dumfries, about the beginning of this century. This I know, Bruce, who was an honest man, though a red-wud Highlandman, I would be obliged to you if you would proconstantly claimed it; and by all the old musi-cure me a sight of Ritson's collection of Engcal people here, is believed to be the author of it. lish songs, which you mention in your letter. Andrew and his cutty gun. The song to I will thank you for another information, and which this is set in the Museum, is mine; and that as speedily as you please: whether this was composed on Miss Euphemia Murray, of miserable drawling hotch-potch epistle has not Lintrose, commonly and deservedly called the completely tired you of my correspondence? Flower of Strathmore. How long and dreary is the night. I met with some such words in a collection of songs somewhere, which I altered and enlarged; and to please you, and to suit your favourite air, I have taken a stride or two across my room, and have arranged it anew, as you will find on the other page. (How long and dreary is the night, p. 205.) Tell me how you like this. I differ your idea of the expression of the tune. is, to me, a great deal of tenderness in it. cannot, in my opinion, dispense with a bass to your addenda airs. A lady of my acquaintance, a noted performer, plays and sings at the same time so charmingly, that I shall never bear to see any of her songs sent into the world as naked as Mr. What-d'ye-call-um has done in his London collection.t I No. LXI. MR. THOMSON TO THE POET Edinburgh, 27th October, 1794. I AM sensible, my dear friend, that a genuine poet can no more exist without his mistress than from his meat. I wish I knew the adorable she, There whose bright eyes and witching smiles have so You often enraptured the Scottish bard! that I might drink her sweet health when the toast is going round. Craigie-burn-wood, must certainly be adopted into my family, since she is the object of the song; but in the name of decency, I must beg a new chorus verse from you. O to be lying beyond thee, dearie, is perhaps a consummation to be wished, but will not do for singing in the company of ladies. The songs in your last will do you lasting credit, and suit the respective airs charmingly. I am perfectly of your opinion with respect to the additional airs. The idea of sending them into the world naked as they were born was ungenerous. They must all be clothed and made decent by our friend Clarke. I find I am anticipated by the friendly CunSince the above, I have been out in the coun-ningham, in sending your Ritson's Scottish coltry taking a dinner with a friend, where I met lection. Permit me, therefore, to present you with the lady whom I mentioned in the second with his English collection, which you will repage in this odds-and-ends of a letter. As usu-ceive by the coach. I do not find his historica al, I got into song; and returning home, I composed the following. I These English songs gravel me to death. have not that command of the language that have of my native tongue. I have been at Duncan Gray, to dress it in English, but all I can do is deplorably stupid. For instance: (Let not woman e'er complain, p. 209.) essay on Scottish song interesting. Your anecdotes and miscellaneous remarks will, I am sure, be much more so. Allan has just sketched a (Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature, charming design from Maggie Lauder. She is p. 235.) If you honour my verses by setting the air to them, I will vamp up the old song, and make it English enough to be understood. dancing with such spirit as to electrify the piper, who seems almost dancing too, while he is playing with the most exquisite glee. I am much inclined to get a small copy, and to have it engraved in the style of Ritson's prints. I enclose you a musical ear.osity, an East Indian air, which you woul. swear was a ScotP. S.-Pray, what do your anecdotes say tish one. I know the authenticity of it, as the concerning Maggie Lauder? was she a real gentleman who brought it over is a particular personage, and of what rank? You would sureacquaintance of mine. Do preserve me the ly spier for her if you ca'd at Anstruther copy I send you, as it is the only one I have. town. No. LXII. THE POET TO MR. THOMSON. been set to music, I think the shift a fair one. A song, which, under the same first verse, you will find in Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany, I have cut down for an English dress to your Dainty Davie, as follows. - (Chloe, p. 196.) You may think meanly of this, but take a look at the bombast original, and you will be surprised that I have made so much of it. I have finished my song to Rothemurche's Rant; and you have Clarke to consult, as to the set of the air for singing. November, 1794. MANY thanks to you, my dear Sir, for your present it is a book of the utmost importance to me. I have yesterday begun my anecdotes, &c. for your work. I intend drawing it up in the form of a letter to you, which will save me from the tedious dull business of systematic arrangement. Indeed, as all I have to say consists of unconnected remarks, anecdotes, scraps of old songs, &c. it would be impossible to give the work a beginning, a middle, and an end; which the critics insist to be absolutely necessary in a work. In my last, I told you my This piece has at least the merit of being a objections to the song you had selected for My regular pastoral: the vernal morn, the summer lodging is on the cold ground. On my visit noon, the autumnal evening, and the winter the other day to my fair Chloris, (that is the night, are regularly rounded. If you like it, poetic name of the lovely goddess of my inspi- well: if not, I will insert it in the Museum. ration), she suggested an idea, which I, in my I am out of temper that you should set so return from the visit, wrought into the follow-sweet, so tender an air, as Deil tak the wars, ing song: (Chloris, p. 197.) (Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, p. 208.) to the foolish old verses. You talk of the silliness of Saw ye my father; by heavens, the odds is, gold to brass! Besides, the old song, though now pretty well modernized into the Scottish language, is originally, and in the early editions, a bungling low imitation of the Scottish manner, by that genius Tom D'Urfey; so has no pretensions to be a Scottish producI like you for entering so candidly and so tion. There is a pretty English song by Shekindly into the story of Ma chere Amie. I as-ridan in the Duenna, to this air, which is out sure you, I was never more in earnest in my of sight superior to D'Urfey's. It begins, life, than in the account of that affair which I How do you like the simplicity and tenderness of this pastoral? I think it pretty well. storing." sent you in my last. Conjugal love is a passion" When sable night each drooping plant rewhich I deeply feel and highly venerate; but, somehow, it does not make such a figure in poesy as that other species of the passion, "Where Love is liberty, and Nature law." The air, if I understand the expression of it properly, is the very native language of simplicity, tenderness, and love. I have again gone over my song to the tune as follows.* Now for my English song to Nancy's to the Greenwood, &c. (Maria's Dwelling, p. 260.) There is an air, The Caledonian Hunt's de Musically speaking, the first is an instrument of which the gamut is scanty and confined, but the tones inexpressibly sweet; while the last has powers equal to all the intellectual modulations of the human soul. Still, I am a very poet in my enthusiasm of the passion. The welfare and happiness of the beloved object is the first and inviolate sentiment that pervades my soul; and whatever pleasures I might wish light, to which I wrote a song that you wil for, or whatever might be the raptures they find in Johnson. Ye banks and braes o' bonnD would give me, yet, if they interfere with that Doon; this air, I think, might find a place afirst principle, it is having these pleasures at a mong your hundred, as Lear says of his knights. dishonest price; and justice forbids, and gene- Do you know the history of the air? It is curosity disdains the purchase! rious enough. A good many years ago, Mr. James Miller, writer in your good town, a gentleman whom possibly you know, was in company with our friend Clarke; and talking of Scottish music, Miller expressed an ardent ambition to be able to compose a Scots air. Mr. Despairing of my own powers to give you variety enough in English songs, I have been turning over old collections, to pick out songs of which the measure is something similar to what I want; and with a little alteration, so as to suit the rhyme of the air exactly, to give you them for your work. Where the songs have hitherto been but little noticed, nor have ever • See the song in its first and best dress in p, 175 |