O whistle, and I'H come to ye, my lad; In fact, a fair dame at whose shrine 1, 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 dispute her commands if you dare! (0 this is no my ain lassie, p. 238.) Do you know that you have roused the torpidity of Clarke at last? He has requested me 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 rosie 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 soon be smothered in the fogs of indolence, if you like the 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 For a' that and a' that, which was rever in print: it is a much superior song to mine. I have been told that it was composed by a lady. (Now Spring has clad the grove in green, p. 214.) (0 bonnie was yon rosy brier, p. 216.) Written on the blank leaf of a copy of the last edition of my poems, presented to the lady, whom, in so many fictitious reveries of passion, but with the most ardent sentiments of real friendship, I have so often sung under the name of Chloris: Still nobler wealth hast thou in store, Thine is the self-approving glow, On conscious honour's part; The joys refined of sense and taste, Une bagatelle de l'amitie. No. LXXVIII. MR. THOMSON TO THE POET. MY DEAR SIR, Edinburgh, 3d Aug. 1795. 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 Jeany, will venture wi'ye my lad. I must be permitted to say, that I do not think the latter either reads or sings so well as the former. I wish, therefore, you would in my name petition the charming Jeany, whoever she be, to let the line remain unaltered. I should be happy to see Mr. Clarke produce 'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend, a few airs to be joined to your verses. Nor thou the gift refuse, Nor with unwilling ear attend 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, 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. The Editor, who has heard the heroine of this song sing it herself in the very spirit of arch simplicity that it requires, thinks Mr. Thomson's petition unreason. able CURRIE. No. LXXIX. THE POET TO MR. THOMSON. ENGLISH SONG. Tune-"Let me in this ae night." FORLORN, my love, no comfort near, O wert thou, love, but near me, How kindly thou wouldst cheer me, Around me scowls a wintry sky, O wert, &c. Cold, alter'd friendship's cruel part, But dreary tho' the moments fleet, Can on thy Chloris shine, love. How do you like the foregoing? I have written it within this hour: so much for the speed of my Pegasus; but what say you to his bottom? No. LXXX. THE SAME TO THE SAME. Such is the peculiarity of the rhyme of this air, that I find it impossible to make another stanza to suit it. I am at present quite occupied with the charming sensations of the toothache, so have not a word to spare. MY DEAR SIR, No. LXXXI. MR. THOMSON TO THE POET. 3d June, 1795. YOUR English verses to Let me in this as night, are tender and beautiful; and your ballad to the "Lothian lassie" is a master-piece for its humour and naiveté. The fragment for the Caledonian Hunt is quite suited to the original measure of the air, and, as it plagues you so, the fragment must content it. I would rather, as I said before, have had Bacchanalian words, had it so pleased the poet; but, nevertheless, for what we have received, Lord make us thankful! No. LXXXII. THE SAME TO THE SAME. 5th Feb. 1796. O Robby Burns are ye sleeping yet? Or are ye wauking, I would wit? THE pause you have made, my dear Sir, 19 awful! Am I never to hear from you again? I know and I lament how much you have been afflicted of late, but I trust that returning health and spirits will now enable you to resume the pen, and delight us with your musings. I have still about a dozen Scotch and Irish airs that I wish" married to immortal verse. We have several true born Irishmen on the Scottish list; but they are now naturalized, and reckoned our own good subjects. Indeed we have none bet (Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang ter. I believe I before told you that I have been my remaining vol. of P. Pindar.-Peter is a delightful fellow, and a first favourite of mine. I am much pleased with your idea of publishing a collection of our songs in octavo with etchings. I am extremely willing to lend every assistance in my power. The Irish airs I shall cheerfully undertake the task of finding verses for. I have already, you know, equipt three with words, and the other day I strung up a kind of rhapsody to another Hibernian inelody, which I admire much. (Iey for a lass wi' a tocher, p. 238.) No. LXXXV. THE POET TO MR. THOMSON. April, 1796. ALAS, my dear Thomson, I fear it will be some time ere I tune my lyre again! "By Babel streams I have sat and wept," almost ever since I wrote you last: I have only known existence by the pressure of the heavy hand of sickness, and have counted time by the repercussions of pain! Rheumatism, cold, and fever have formed to me a terrible combination. I close my eyes in misery, and open them without hope. I look on the vernal day, and say, with poor Ferguson If this will do, you have now four of my Lish engagement. In my by-past songs, I dislike one thing; the name Chloris-I meant it" Say wherefore has an all-indulgent Heaven as the fictitious name of a certain lady; but," Light to the comfortless and wretched given ?" on second thoughts, it is a high incongruity to have a Greek appellation to a Scottish pastoral This will be delivered to you by a Mrs. Hyballad. Of this, and some things else, in my slop, landlady of the Globe Tavern here, which next: I have more amendments to propose.- for these many years has been my howff, and What you once mentioned of "flaxen locks" where our friend Clarke and I have had many is just they cannot enter into an elegant de-a merry squeeze. I am highly delighted with scription of beauty. Of this also again-God Mr. Allan's etchings. Woo'd and married bless you! No. LXXXIV. MR. THOMSON TO THE POET. YOUR Hey for a luss wi' a tocher, is a most excellent song, and with you the subject is something new indeed. It is the first time I have seen you debasing the god of soft desire, into an amateur of acres and guineas.— I am happy to find you approve of my proposed octavo edition. Allan has designed and etched about twenty plates, and I am to have my choice of them for that work. Independently of the Hogarthian humour with which they abound, they exhibit the character and costume of the Scottish peasantry with inimitable felicity. In this respect, he himself says, they will far exceed the aquatinta plates he did for the Gentle Shepherd, because in the etching he sees clearly what he is doing, but not so with the aquatinta, which he could not manage to his mind. The Dutch boors of Ostade are scarcely more characteristic and natural than the Scottish figures in those etchings. Our Poet never explained what name he would have substituted for Chloris.-Note by Mr. Thomson. and a' is admirable! The grouping is beyond No LXXXVI. MR. THOMSON TO THE POET sub 4th May, 1796. I NEED not tell you, my good Sir, what concern the receipt of your last gave me, and how much I sympathize in your sufferings. But do not, I beseech you, give yourself up to despondency, nor speak the language of despair. The vigour of your constitution I trust will soon set you on your feet again; and then it is to be hoped you will see the wisdom and the necessity of taking due care of a life so valuable to your family, to your friends, and to the world. Trusting that your next will bring agreeable accounts of your convalescence, and returning good spirits, I remain, with sincere regard yours. P. S. Mrs. Hyslop I doubt not delivered the gold seal to you in good condition. to whom I owe an account, taking it into his head that I am dying, has commenced a process, and will infallably put me into jail. Do, for God's sake, send me that suin, and that by return of post. Forgive me this earnestness, but the horrors of a jail have made me half distracted. I do not ask all this gratuitously; for, upon returning health, I hereby promise and engage to furnish you with five pounds worth of the neatest song genius you have seen. I tried my hand on "Rothiemu.e" this morning. The measure is so difficult, that it is impossible to infuse much genius into the lines; they are on the other side. Forgive, forgive me! (Fairest maid on Devon Banks, p. 200.) No. LXXXVIII. THE SAME TO THE SAME. THIS will be delivered by a Mr. Lewars, a young fellow of uncommon merit. As he will be a day or two in town, you will have leisure, if you choose, to write me by him; and if you have a spare half hour to spend with him, I shall place your kindness to my account. I have no copies of the songs I have sent you, and I have taken a fancy to review them all, and possibly may mend some of them; so when you have complete leisure, I will thank you for either the originals, or copies. I had rather be the author of five well-written songs than of ten otherwise. I have great hopes that the genial influence of the approaching summer will set me to rights, but as yet I cannot boast of returning health. I have now reason to believe that my complaint is a flying gout: a sad business! Do let me know how Cleghorn is, and remember me to him. This should have been delivered to you a month ago. I am still very poorly, but should like much to hear from you. No. LXXXIX. THE SAME TO THE SAME. Brow, on the Solway frith, 12th July, 1796. AFTER all my boasted independence, curst necessity compels me to implore you for five It is needless to say, that this revisal Burns did not live to perform. No. XC. MR. THOMSON TO THE POET MY DEAR SIR, 14th July, 1796. EVER since I received your melancholy letter by Mrs. Hyslop, I have been ruminating in what manner I could endeavour to alleviate your sufferings. Again and again I thought of a pecuniary offer, but the recollection of one of your letters on this subject, and the fear of of fending your independent spirit, checked my re solution. I thank you heartily, therefore, for the frankness of your letter of the 12th, and with great pleasure enclose a draft for the very sum I proposed sending. Would I were the Chancellor of the Exchequer but for one day, for your sake. Pray, my good Sir, is it not possible for you to muster a volume of poetry? If too much trouble to you in the present state of your health, some literary friend might be found here, who would select and arrange from your manuscripts, and take upon him the task of Editor. In the meantime it could be advertised to be published by subscription. Do not shun this mode of obtaining the value of your labour; remember Pope published the Iliad by subscription. Think of this, my dear Burns, and do not reckon me intrusive with my advice. You are too well convinced of the respect and friendship I bear you, to impute any thing I say to an unworthy motive. Yours faithfully. The verses to "Rothiemurchie" will answer finely. I am happy to see you can still tune your lyre. |