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ROBERT BURNS.
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aiRAii'J-- ■J^'J'a.iJlT '
Jb/3^9
THE
WORKS
OP
ROBERT BURNS
EDITED BY
THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD,
AND
WILLIAM MOTHERWELL, ESQ.
VOL. Ill
GLASGOW:
ARCHIBALD FULLARTON, AND CO,
110, B&UNSWICK STAIiET;
AND 6, ROXBURGH PLACE, EDINBtTBGH.
1839.
.GLASGOW:
rrLLARTON AND CO., PII1NTBK8, VILI.AFIEI.n.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME THIRD.
oC
The pieces marked thus f are not contained in Dt Currie*8 edi-
tion ; and a considerable proportion of them have not appeared in
any qfthe old editions ofBum^ Works-^-whiU others have appeared
only in an imperfect form.
SONGS.
PAGB
f The tither morn 1
f O saw ye my Dearie 2
f The CJooper o' Cuddie 3
Lovely Polly Stewart 4
t The Highland Laddie 4
f Lovely Davies ..... .6
t Nithsdale's welcome hame 6
f As I was a wand'ring 7
f It is na, Jean, thy bonny face 8
i t The Lass of Ecclefechan 9
Ca' the Ewes 10
f Merry hae I been teethin' a heekle . . . . 11
t Frae the friends and land I love 12
f Our thrissles flourished 12
f Where hae ye been 13
O gude ale comes 14
f Simmer's a pleasant time . *.> . . . .15
f Jamie, come try me 15
f The Captain's Lady 16
Beware o* bonnie Ann 17
As I came in by our gate end . . . . 18
Wee Willie Gray 18
f Ae day a braw wooer . . . . • 19
ly
CONTENTS.
f Gade e'en to you, kimmer .
f Scrc^gam ....
Robin shure in hairst
f Meg o* the Mill
f There's news, lasses, news .
f O that I had ne*er been married
But lately seen • •
Could aught of song .
f Here's to thy health .
f O steer her up
O aye my wife she dang me .
Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast
O wha is she that lo'es me
f O lay thy loof in mine, lass
f O wha will to St Stephen's house
f The Highland widow's lament
f Cauld is the e'enin' blast
There was a bonnie lass • .
f O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet
f The Farewell .
f Lady Mary Ann. * ;
My lady's gown, there's gairs upon't
PAGB
20
22
22
23
24
25
25
26
27
28
29
90
81
32
33
35
36
37
37
88
41
43
CORRESPONDENCE.
Ma
I. Mr Thomson to Burns, (1792) desiring the Baid to
furnish verses for some of the Scottish airs, and to
revise former songs . . • • . .47
II. Bums to Mr T. promising assistance ... 48
IIL Mr T. to Bums, sending some Tunes . . .50
IV. Burns to Mr T. with « The Lea-Rig,' and * Will ye go
to the Indies, my Mary ?' 51
V. Bums to Mr T. with * My wife's a winsome wee thing,'
and * O saw ye bonnie Lesley ?* . . . .66
VL Burns to Mr T. with * Highland Mary' ... 60
VII. Mr T. to Bums. Thanks, and critical obsenra--
tions .... .... 64
VIII. Burns to Mr T., with an additional stanza to < The
Lea-rig' 67
CONTENTS. V
FAOK
IX. Burns to Mr T., with * Auld Rob Morris/ and * Dun-
can Gray' 68
X. Burns to Mr T., with *0 poortith cauld,* &c.y and
• Galla Water* 71
XI. Mr T. to Bums, Jan. 1793, desiring anecdotes on the
origin of particular songs. Tytler of Woodhouse-lee
— Pleyei — Sends Peter Pindar's 'Lord Gregory' —
Postscript from the Hon. A. Erskine « . .79
Xn. Bums to Mr T. Has Mr Tytler's anecdotes, and
means to give his own — sends his own * Lord Gre-
gory ......*• 76
Xin. Burns to Mr T.^ with 'Mary Morison* . . .79
XIV. Burns to Mr T., with < Wandering Willie* . . 81
XV. Bums to Mr T. with < Open the door to me, Oh !* .88
XYI. Bums to Mr T., with 'Jessie' .... 84
XVII. Mr T. to Bums, with a list of songs, and ' Wander-
ing Willie,' altered 8«
XVIIL Burns to Mr T., with 'When wild war's deadly
blast was blawn,' and ' Meg o' the Mill' . • 87
XIX. Bums to Mr T. Voice of Coila — Criticism — Origin
of ' The Lass o* Patie's Mill' . . . .90
XX. Mr T. to Burns 93
XXL Burns to Mr T. Simplicity requisite in a song — One
poet should not mangle the works of another . 94
XXn. Bums to Mr T. ' Farewell thou stream that wind-
ing flows' — ^Wishes that the national music may pre-
serve its native features . . ' . . . 96
XXIIL Mr T. to Burns. Thanks and observations . . 97
XXIV. Burns to Mr T., with 'Blithe hae I been on yon
hill' 98
XXV. Bums to Mr T., with ' O Logan, sweetly didst thou
glide.' ' O gin my love were yon red rose,' &c. . 100
XX VI. Mr T. to Burns, inclosing a note — Thanks . 105
XXVIL Burns to Mr T., with ' There was a lass and she
was fair' 106
XXVni. Bums to Mr T. Hurt at the idea of pecuniary
recompense — Remarks on songs . . .108
XXIX. Mr T. to Burns. Musical expression . • 113
XXX Burns to Mr T. For Mr Clarke . . . .114
\
VI - CONTENTS.
PAQB
XXXI. Burns to Mr T., with * Phillis the fair' . .114
XXXII. Mr T. to Burns. Mr Allan— «Dra wing from ' John
Anderson, my jo' 116
XXXni. Burns to Mr T., with < Had I a cave,' &c. — Some
airs common to Scotland and Ireland . . 117
XXXIV. Burns to Mr T., with 'By Allan stream^I chanced
to rove' 118
XXXV. Bums to Mr T., with 'Whistle and I'll come to
you, my lad/ and * Awa wi* your belles and your
beauties' 120
XXXVI. Burns to Mr T., with * Come let me take thee to
my breast* 123
XXXVII. Bums to Mr T. < Daintie Davie' . .125
XXXVIII. Mr T. to Bums. Delighted with the produc-
tions of Burns's muse . . . . . .126
XXXIX. Burns to Mr T., with ' Bruce to his troops at Ban-
nockburn' .... . . 127
XL. Burns to Mr T., with 'Behold the hour, the boat
arrive' . . . . . 129
XLI. Mr T. to Burns. Observations on 'Bruce to his
troops* 131
XLII. Burns to Mr T. Remarks on songs in Mr T.*s list —
- His own method of forming a song — '' Thou has left
me ever, Jamie* — ' Where are the joys I hae met in
the morning* — < Auld lang syne* . . . .133
XLIIL Bums to Mr T., with a variation of ' Bannock-
burn* 140
XLIV. Mr T. to Burns. Observations . . . .142
XLV. Burns to Mr T. On * Bannockbura' — sends * Fair
Jenny* « 43
XLVL Burns to Mr T., with 'Deluded swain, the pleasure*
— Remarks ....... 146
XL VII. Burns to Mr T., with < Thine am I, my faithful fair,*
— ' O condescend, dear charming maid' — ' The Night-
ingale*—' Laura* — (the three last by G. Turnbull) 148
XL VIII. Mr T. to Bums. Apprehensions — Thanks . 152
XLIX. Burns to Mr T. with * Husband, husband, cease your
strife !' and 'Wilt thou be my dearie ?' . .153
L. Mr T. to Burns, 1794. Melancholy comparison be-
CONTENTS. fii
PAGB
tween Buros and CarliDi'-~A]lan*8 ikeich from the
< Ck>tter*8 Saturday Night* 155
LI. Bams to Mr T. Praise of Mr Alkui->< Banks of
Cree' 156
Lll. Burns to Mr T. Pleyel in France—' Here, where the
Scottish Muse immortal liTes,* presented to Miss
Graham of Fintry, with a copy of Mr Thomson's
Collection 157
LIII. Mr T. to Burns. Does not expect to hear from Pleyel
^oon, but desires to be prepared with the poetry . 1 58
LIV. Bums to Mr T. with < On the seas and far away* . 159
LV. Mr T. to Burns. Criticism 161
LVl Burns to Mr T., with < Ca' the yowes to the
knowes* 161
LYlI. Bums to Mr T., with < She says she lo*es me best of
a' — < O let me in,* &c. — Stanza to Dr Maxwell . 163
LVUI. Mr T. to Bums, advising him to write a Musieal
Drama 166
LIX. Mr T. to Bums. Has been examining Scottish col-
lections — Ritson — ^Difficult to obtain ancient melo-
dies in their original state 168
LX. Bums to Mr T. Recipe for producing a love-song —
' Saw ye my Phely'^-Remarks and anecdotes — ' How
long and dreary is the night' — *■ Let not woman e'er
complain'*^* The Lover^s morning salute to his mis-
tress'—' The Auld Man' 169
LXL Mr T. to Burns. Wishes he knew the inspiring fair
one — Ritson's historical essay not interesting-
Allan — Maggie Lauder . . . . . 1 77
LXII. Burns to Mr T. Has begun his anecdotes, &c. < My
Chloris, mark how green the groves* — Love — ' It was
the charming month of May' — ' Lassie wi' the lint-
white locks' 178
LXin. Burns to Mr T. 'Farewell thou stream' — Miller
— Clarke — The black keys — Instance of the difficulty
of tracing the origin of ancient airs . . . 183
LXIV. Mr T. to Burns, with three copies of the Scottish
airs 186
LXV. Burns to Mr T., with « O Philly, happy be that day*
• ••
▼111 C0NXBNT8.
PAGH
-^Starting note— < Gonteoted wi' little, and caatie
wi* mair* . ... . . . . . 187
LXVL Bums to Mr T., with < Canst thou leave me thus,
my Katy* — Stock and horn, &c . . . . . 191
LXVIL Mr T. to Bums. Praise — ^Desires more songs of
the humorous cast — ^Means to have a picture from
< The Soldier's return' . . . .194
LXVIIL Burns to Mr T., with < My Nannie's awa* . 198
LXIX. Bums to Mr T. (1795) with <For a' that and a'
that/ and < Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie-bura* . 199
LXX. Mr T. to Bums. Thanks 203
LXXL Burns to Mr T. *0 lassie, art thou sleeping yet ?'
and the Answer « . 203
LXXn. Bums to Mr T. < Praise of Ecclefechan' 206
LXXIIL Mr T. to Bums. Thanks . . .207
LXXIV. Burns to Mr T. * Address to the Woodlark' —
* On Chloris being ill* — * Their groves o' sweet myrtle/
&c. — ' *Twas na her bonnie blue e'e/ &c, . 208
LXXV. Mr T. to Bums, with Allan's design from <The
Cotter's Saturday Night' . . . . 212
LXXVI. Bums to Mr T., with < How crael are the parents,'
and < Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion' . . 213
LXXVIL Bums to Mr T. Thanks for Allan's designs . 215
LXXVIIL Mr T. to Burns. Compliment . . .216
LXXIX. Burns to Mr T. with an improvement in * Whistle
and ni come to you, my lad* — < O this is no my ain
lassie' — * Now spring has clad the grove in green' —
* O bonny was yon rosy brier' — * 'Tis friendship's
pledge, my young, fair friend' . . . .217
LXXX. Mr T. to Bums, introducing Dr Brianton . . 222
LXXXL Bums to Mr T. * Forlorn my love, no comfort
near' 223
LXXXn. Bums to Mr T. < Last May a braw wooer cam
down the lang glen' — * Why, why tell thy lover,' a
fragment 225
LXXXIIL Mr T. to Burns . . . . 227
LXXXIV. Mr T. to Burns, (1796) after an awful pause 227
LXXXV. Bums to Mr T. Thanks for P. Pindar, &c.
' Hey for a lass wi' a tocher' . . . , . 228
CONTENTS. ix
PAOB
LXXXVI. Mr T. to Burns^ Allui has dengHed some
plfttes for an octavo edition . . ' . . 230
LXXXVIf. Barns to Mr T. Afflicted by sickness, but
pleased with Mr Allan's etchings .... 230
LXXXVIIL' Mr T. to Burns. Sympathy-— encouragement 292
LXXXIX. Burns to Mr T., with * Heroes a health to ane I
lo'edear* 283
XC Bums to Mr T. , introducing Mr Lewars—Has taken a
fancy to review his songs — hopes to recover . . 234
XCI. Bums to Mr T. Dreading the horrors of a Jail, so-
licits the advance of five pounds, and incloses ' Fair-
est maid on Devon banks* .... 295
XCII. Mr T. to Burns. Sympathy — Advises a volume of
poetry to be published by subscription-'— Pope pub-
lished the Iliad so 236
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE.
No.
I. To William Burness.— Dec. 27, 1781. His health
somewhat improved, but heartily tired of life. How
much he is pleased with the ** Revelation." . . 257
II. To John Murdoch. — Jan. 15, 1763. Giving an account
of his studies and temper of mind . . . 259
III. To James Buraess. — June 21, 1763. His father*s ill-
ness, and wretched state of the country . . . 262
IV. To Miss E Lochlea, 1788. On love . . 265
V. To Miss E — Lochlea, 1783. On love . . 266
VL To Miss E . — Lochlea, 1763. On love . . 268
VII. To Miss E . — Lochlea^ 1783. On her refusal of
his offer of marriage . ' . . . . .. 270
VIIL To Robert Riddel.~1783. Observations and hinto
regarding poetry and human life . . . 27 1
IX. To James Burness. — Feb. 17) 1784. On the death of
his father 290
^ X. To James Buraess»'^Aug. 1784. Account of the
Buchanites . . . . . .291
f XL To Miss With a book . . . .295
XIL To John Richmond.-^Feb. 17. 1786. His poetical
progress ..... • 296
X CONTENTS.
PAGE
t XIII. To John Kennedy.-—March 3, 1786. With a poet-
ical inyitation 298
t XIV. To Robert Muir. March 20, 1786. Jnclosing his
< Scotch Drink' 299
fXV. To Robert Aikin. — Aprils, 1786. Acknowledgment
of kindness 300
XVI. To Mr M'Whinnie.— April 17, 1786. With copies
of his prospectus 301
t XVII. To Robert Muir. Inclosing his poem of the * Calf ' 301
t XVIII. To John Kennedy. — April 20, 1786. Inclosing
the 'Mountain Daisy* 302
t XIX. To John Kennedy.— May 17, 1786. Inclosing a
copy of the ' Epistle to Rankine' . . . 303
XX. To James Smith.— Mossgiel, n86. The delay of his
voyage to the West Indies 303
XXL To David Brice. — Jane 12, 1786. Distress regard-
ing Jean Armour — printing his poems . . 304
XXIL To Robert Aikin.— Ayrshire, 1786. Perplexity of
mind 306
f XXin. To John Ballantyne.— June, 1786. Aikin's cold-
ness — The destruction of his marriage lines • . 309
t XXIV. To John Richmond. — July 9, 1786. Armour's
unkindness 310
t XXV. To David Brice.— July 17, 1786. Jean Armour
—West Indies 310
j* XXVL Poetical promise to attend a party . . 31 1
f XXVIL To John Richmond. — ^July 30, 1786. Prospect
of immediate departure for Jamaica .. . .312
XX Vm. To Mrs Dunlop.— July, 1786. Thanks for her
notice— *Sir William Wallace . . .313
f XXIX. To John Kennedy. — Aug., 1786. Publication
of his poems 314
XXX. To Miss Alexander.— Not. I8> 1786. Inclosing the
< Lass of Ballochmyle* . . . . . 315
XXXL To Mrs Stewart, of Stair.— Nov., 1786. With
various songs . . . 31 7
t XXXIL To Robert Muir.— Not. 18, 1786. ' Tam Sam-
son* 318
XXXIII. Proclamation in the name of the Muses . . 319
CONTENTS. xi
PAGB
XXXIV. To Dr Mackenzie Nov. 1786. On dining with
Lord Daer ....... 321
XXXV. To Gavin Hamilton.— Dec. 7, 1786. His success
— Lord Glencaim 322
XXX VL To John Ballantyne ^Dec 13, 1786. Account
of his patrons 323
f XXXVn. To Robert Muir.— ^Dec. 20, J 786. On bis
subscribing for sixty copies of his poems . , 324
XXXVm. To William Chalmers.-- Dec. 27, 1786. A
humorous sally . - • . . . . 325
XXXIX. To the Earl of Eglinton.— Jan. 1787. Acknow-
ledgment of his patronage ..... 326
XL. To John Ballantyne. — Jan. 14, 1787. Lease of a,
farm — Grand Lodge of Scotland . . . 327
XLI. To John Ballantyne. — Jan. 1787. Inclosing < Bonnie
Doon,' . 328
XLIL To Mrs Dunlop. — Jan. 16. 1787. The novelty of his
situation . . ~ 329
XLIIL To Dr Moore. — ^Jan. 1787. Thanks for his notice 331
XLIV. To Rev. G. Lawrie.— Feb. 6, 1787. Thanks for
his friendly hints — Blacklock — Mackenzie . . 334
XLV. To Dr Moore.— Feb. 16, 1787. Answer to his for-
mer letter ...,.,, 335
XLVL To John Ballantyne.— Feb. 24, 1787. His portrait,
engraved by Beugo after Nasmyth . . , 337
XLVn. To the Earl of Glencaim. — Feb. 1787. Asking
leave to publish some complimentary stanzas . 333
XLVni. To the Earl of Buchan. — In reply to his letter of
advice ••••*... 339
XLIX. To James Candlish. — March 21, 1787. Infidelity
abandoned 3^1
L. To .—March 1787. On Fergusson*s head-stone . 342
LI. To Mrs Dunlop. — ^March ^22, 1787. On his departure
from Edinburgh, and prospects in life . . . 345
SONGS.
THE TITHER MORN.*
To a Highland Air.
The tither mora,
When I forlora,
A Death an aik sat moaning,
I did na trow,
I*d see my Jo,
Beside me gain the gloaming.
But he sae trig.
Lap o*er the rig.
And dawtingly did cheer me.
When I, what reck,
Did least expec*.
To see my lad so near me.
His bonnet he,
A thought ajee,
Cock*d sprush when first he clasped me ;
And I, I wat,
Wi* &inness grat.
While in his grips he press'd me.
* This long was first published in the Museum. « The tune,"
■ays Bums, '<is otiginally from the Highlands; I have heard a
Gaelic song to it which I was told was clever, but not by any
means a uSly's song**'— M.
a A
WORKS OF fiURNt».
Deil tak' the war I
I late and air,
Hae wishM since Jock departed $
But now as glad
I'm wi* my lad.
As short syne broken-hearted.
Fu* aft at e*en
Wi' dancing keen,
When a' were blythe and merry,
I car'd na by
Sae sad was I
In absence o' my dearie.
But, praise be blest,
My mind's at rest,
Pm happy wi* my Johnny ;
At kirk and &ir,
I'se aye be there,
And be as cant/s ony.
O SAW YE MY DEARIE.
-'' Eppie Macnab."
O SAW ye my dearie, my Eppie M*Nab ?
O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab ?
She*s down in the yard, she's kissin' the laird.
She winna come hame to her ain Jock Rah.
O come thy ways to me, my Eppie M*Nab!
O come thy ways to me, my Eppie M'Nab I
Whate*er thou hast done, be it late, be it soon,
Thou's welcome ag^n to thy ain Jock Rab.
What says she, my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab ?
What says she, my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab ?
SONO&. .
She lets thee to irot, that she has thee forgot.
And for ever disowns thee, her ain Jock Rah.
O had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie M'Nab!
O had K ne'er seen thee, my Eppie M'Nab !
As light as the air, and fause as thou's fiur,
Thou*s broken the heart o* thy ain Jock Rab*
THE COOPER O' CUDDIE.*
3ViM~«Bab at the bowster.*'
The cooper o* Cuddie cam' here awa.
And ca'd the girrs out owre us a' —
And our gude wife has gotten a ca*
That anger'd the silly gude-man, O.
We*]! hide the cooper behind the door.
Behind the door, behind the door ;
We'll hide the cooper behind the door.
And cover him under a mawn, O.
He sought them out, he sought them in,
Wi', deil hae her I and, deil hae him I
But the body was sae doited and blin'.
He wist na where he was gaun, O.
They cooper'd at e*en, they coopered at mom,
'Till our gude-man has gotten the scorn ;
On ilka brow she's planted a horn.
And swears that they shall stan', O.
We'll hide the cooper behind the door.
Behind the door, behind the door ;
We'll hide the cooper behind the door,
And cover him under a mawn, O.
• In this song Bums did little more than prune it a little of
its indelicacy. Even as it stands it is more witty than deooroos.
— M.
a2
WORKS OF BURNS.
LOVELY POLLY STEWART.
-« Ye*re welcome, Charlie Stewart**'
O LOVELY Polly Stewart !
O charming Polly Stewart I
Tiiere*8 not a flower that blooms in May
That's half so £siir as thou art.
The flower it blaws, it fades and fa*s.
And art can ne'er renew it ;
But worth and truth eternal youth
Will give to PoUy Stewart
May he whose arms shall fauld thy charms
Possess a leal and true heart;
To him be given to ken the heaven
He grasps in Polly Stewart.
O lovely Polly Stewart !
O charming Polly Stewart I
There*s ne'er a flower that blooms in May
That's half so sweet as thou art.
THE HIGHLAND LADDIE.*
TVine— *<If thoult play me fair play."
The bonniest lad that e'er I saw,
Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie ;
Wore a plaid, and was fu' braw»
Bonnie Highland laddie.
On his head a bonnet blue,
Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie ;
* A long ditty, entitled the << Highland Lad and the Lowland
Laraie, '' was the bans of this song. Burns compressed it within
singing dimensions. — M.
SONGS.
His byal heart was firm and true,
Boouie Higfilaiid laddie.
Trumpets sound, and cannons roAr,
Bonnie lassie, Lowland lassie ;
And a' the hills wi' echoes roar,
Bonnie Lowland lassie.
Glory, honour, now invite,
Bonnie lassie. Lowland lassie.
For freedom and my king to fight,
Bonnie Lowland lassie.
The sun a backward course shall take,
Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie.
Ere aught thy manly courage shake,
Bonnie Highland laddie.
Go, for yourself procure renown,
Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie.
And for your lawful king, his crown,
Bpnnie Highland laddie.
LOVELY DAVIES.
Tune-^' Miss Muir."
O HOW shall I, unskilfii', try
The poet's occupation.
The tunefu* powers, in happy hours*
That whisper inspiration ?
Even they maun dare an effort mair.
Than aught they ever gave us.
Or they rehearse, in equal verse.
The charms o' lovely Davies.
Each eye it cheers, when she appears.
Like PhoBbus in the morning,
A 3
'
6 WORKS Of BUBN&
When post the shower and cv'fy flower.
The garden is adorning.
As the wretch looks o'er Siberia's shore.
When winter4)ound the wave is ;
Sae droops our heart when we maun part
Frae charming lovely Davies.
Her smile's a gift, ftae 'boon the lift,
Tiiat make's us mair than princes ;
A scepter'd hand, a king's command.
Is in her darting glances :
The man in arms, 'gainst female ciiarms,
Even he her willing slave is ;
He hugs hb chain, and owns the reign
Of conquering, lovely Davies.
My muse to dream of such a theme.
Her feeble pow'rs surrenders ;
The eagle's gaze alone surveys
The sun's meridian spicndours :
I wad in vain essay the strain,
The deed too daring brave is ;
I'll drap the lyre, and mute admire
The charms o' lovely Davies.
NITHSDALE'S WELCOME HAME.
The noble Maxwells and their powers
Are coming o'er the border.
And they'll gae bigg Teueagle's towers,
And set them a' in order.
And they declare Terreagle's fair.
For their abode they choose it ;
There's no a heart in a' the land,
But's lighter at the news o't.
SON68.
Tho' stars in skies may disappear.
And angry tempests gather ;
The happy hour may soon be near
That brings us pleasant weather :
The weary night b* care and grief
May hae a joyful morrow ;
So dawning day has brought relief —
Fareweel our night o* sorrow !
AS I WAS A-WANDERING.
Tune—" Rino Meudial mo Mhealladh.
n
As 1 was a-wand'ring ae midsummer e*enin'.
The pipers and youngsters were making their game ;
Amang them I spied my Pithless £iuse lover,
Which bled a' the wounds o' my dolour again.
Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gae wi' him ;
I may be distressed, but I winna complain ;
I flatter my fancy I may get anither,
My heart it shall never be broken for ane.
I couldna get sleeping till dawin for greetin'.
The tears trickled down like the hail and the rain ;
Had I na got greetin', my heart wad a broken.
For, oh I love forsaken's a tormenting pain.
Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gae wi* him ;
I may be distressed, but I winna complain ;
I flatter my fancy I may get anither,
My heart it shall never be broken for ane.
Although he has left me for greed o* the siller,
I dinna envy him the gains he can win ;
I rather wad bear a' the lade o' my sorrow
Than ever hae acted sae faithless to him.
WORKS OF BURNS.
Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gae wi' him ;
I may be distressed, but I winna complain ;
I flatter my fancy I may get anither,
. My heart it shall never be broken for ane.
IT IS NA, JEAN, THY BONNIE FACE.^
-« The Maid's complaint.*'
It is na, Jean, thy bonnie face.
Nor shape that I admire,
Altho* thy beauty and thy grace
Might weel awake desire.
Something, in ilka part o* thee,
To praise, to love, I find ;
But dear as is thy form to me.
Still dearer is thy mind.
Nae mair ungen'rous wish I hae.
Nor stronger in my breast.
Than if I canna mak thee sae.
At least to see thee blest
Content am I, if heaven shall give
But happiness to thee :
And as wi' thee Pd wish to live,
For thee Fd bear to die.
* Upon these verses, which were originally English, Bums only
bestowed a Scottish dress, imbuing it at the same time with a
portion of his own individual feelings. — ^M.
^
BONGS. 9
THE LASS OF ECCLEFECHAN.»
2\<ne—" Jacky Latin.**
O OAT ye me, O gat ye me,
O gat ye me wi* naething?
Bock and reel and spinning wheel,
A mickle quarter basin.
Bye attour, my gutcher has
A hiech house and a laigh ane,
A* forbye my bonnie sel*.
The toss of Ecclefechan,
baud your tongue now, Luckie Laing,
baud your tongue and jauner ;
1 held the gate till you I met.
Syne I began to wander :
I tint my whistle and my sang,
1 tint my peace and pleasure ;
But your green graff, now, Luckie Laing,
Wad airt me to my treasure.
* To those curiooB in snatches of our ancient Caledonian
Muse, it may not be unacceptable to present them with the
original words of the air to which Bams has attached the, above
words:
Bonnie Jockte^ braw Jockie,
Bonnie Jockie Latin,
His skin was like the silk sae fine.
And mine was like the satin.
•
Bonnie Jockie, braw Jockie,
Bonnie Jockie Latin,
Because she wudna gie'm a kiss,
His heart was at the breakin*.
Bonnie Jockie, &c.
Jockie Latin*s gotten a wife.
He kentna how to guide her ;
He put a saddle on her back.
And bade the devil ride her.
Bonnie Jockie, &c. M.
10 WORKS OF BURNS.
CA* THE EWES *
Tune — <<Ca* the Ewes to the Knoweg.**
CHORUS.
Ca* the ewes to the knowes,
Ca' them whare the heather grows,
Ca' them whare the burnie rowes.
My bonnie dearie I
As I gaed down the water-side.
There I met my shepherd lad.
He row'd me sweetly in his plaid.
And he ca'd me his dearie.
Will ye gang down the water-side.
And see the waves sae sweetly glide.
Beneath the hazels spreading wide ?
The moon it shines fu' clearly.
I was bred up at nae sic school.
My shepherd lad, to play the fool.
And a' the day to sit in dool.
And naebody to see me.
Ye sail get gowns and ribbons meet,
Cauf-leather shoon upon your feet.
And in my arms ye'se lie and sleep,
And ye sail be my dearie.
If ye*ll but stand to wliat yeVe said,
Tse gang wi' you, my shepherd lad,
* This old song was considerably altered and improved by
Bums for the Museum. The last stanza is entirely his.— M.
SONGS. 11
And ye oiay rowe me in your plaid.
And I sail be your dearie.
While waters wimple to the sea.
While day blinks in the lift sae liiep
Till day-cauld death sail blin' my e*e,
Ye sail be my dearie.
Ca' the ewes to the knowes,
Ca' them whare the heather grows,
Ca' them whare the bumie rowes,
My bonnie dearie !
MERRY HAE I BEEN TEETHIN' A HECKLE.
-"Lord Breadalbane's March."
O MERRT hae I been teethin' a heckle.
And merry hae I been shapin' a spoon ;
O merry hae I been cloutin' a kettle,
And kissin' my Katie when a' was done.
O a' the lang day I ca' at my hammer.
And a' the lang day I whistle and sing,
A* the lang night I cuddle my kimmer.
And a' the lang night as happy's a king.
Bitter in dool I lickit my winnins,
O' marrying Bess, to gie her a slave :
Blest be the hour she cooPd in her linens.
And blithe be the bird that sings on her grave.
Come to my arms, my Katie, my Katie,
And come to my arms and kiss me again 1
Drunken or sober, here's to thee, Katie !
And blest be the day I did it again.
12 WORKS OF BURNS.
FRAE THE FRIENDS AND LAND I LOVE.*
Tune—** Carron Side."
Fbae the friends and land I love
Driv*u by fortune's felly spite,
Frae my best belov*d I rove.
Never mair to taste delight ;
Never mair maun hope to find
Ease frae toil, relief frae care ;
When remembrance wracks the mind,
Pleasures but unveil despair.
Brightest climes shall mirk appear,
Desert ilka blooming shore.
Till the fates, nae mair severe.
Friendship, love, and peace restore ;
Till Revenge, wi' laurellM head.
Bring our banish'd hame again ;
And ilk loyal bonnie lad
Cross the seas and win his ain.
OUR THRISSLES FLOURISHED.f
Tune — " Awa, Whigs, awa."
CHOBUS.
Awa, Whigs, awa !
Awa, Whigs, awa I
Ye're but a pack o' traitor louns,
Yell do nae good at a'.
* Though Barns, in his notes on the Museum, only claims the
last four lines of this Jacobite song, there can be little doubt that
he wrote the whole of it.-- -M.
f This Jacobite song owes some of its bitterest touches to the
pen of Bums.— M.
SONGS. 13
Our thrissles flouiish'd fresh and fiiir.
And bonnie bloom'd our roses ;
But Whigs came like a frost in June»
And wither'd a* our posies.
Our ancient crown's &'n in the dust-—
Deil blin' them wi' the stonr o*t ;
And write their name in his black beuk,
Wha gae the Whigs the power o*t.
Our sad decay in church and state
Surpasses my descriving ;
The Whigs came o'er us for a curse,
And we hae done wi' thriving.
Grim vengeance lang has ta'en a nap»
fiut we may see him wauken ;
Gude help the day when royal heads
Are hunted like a maukin.
Awa, Whigs, awa I
Awa, Whigs, awa I
Ye're but a pack o' traitor louns.
Yell do nae guid at a*.
WHERE HAE YE BEEN.
-« KiUicrankie."
Where hae ye been sae braw, lad ?
Where hae ye been sae brankie, O ?
O, where hae ye been sae braw, lad ?
Cam ye by Killicrankie, ?
An ye had been where I hae been.
Ye wadna been sae cantie, O ;
An ye had seen what I hae seen,
On the braes o' Killicranlde, O.
3 B
14 WORKS OF BURNS.
I fought at land, I fought at sea ;
At hame I fought my auntie, O ;
But I met the devil and Dundee,
On the braes o* Killicrankie, O.
The bauld Pitcur fell in a furr,
And Clavers got a clankie, O ;
Or I had fed an Athole gled
On the braes o* Killicrankie, O.
O GUDE ALE COMES,*
GUDE ale comes and gude ale goes
I Gude ale gars me sell my hose,
Sell my hose, and pawn my shoon,
Gude ale keeps my heart aboon.
1 had sax owsen in a pleugh,
They drew a* weel eneugh ;
I sell*d them a* just ane by aoe,
Gude ale keeps my heart aboon.
Gude ale hands me bare and busy.
Gars me moop wi' the servant hizzie
Stand i* the stool when I hae done,
Gude ale keeps my heart aboon.
O gude ale comes and gude ale goes,
Gude ale gars me sell my hose,
Sell my hose, and pawn my shoon,
Gude ale keeps my heart aboon.
* Bums made only a few slight verbal emendations on this old
•ong, to suit it for publication in the Museum. — ^M.
SONGS. 15
SIMMER'S A PLEASANT TIME.
IVne— " Aye waukin O."
Simmer's a pleasant time,
Flow'rs of ev'iy colour ;
The water rins o'er the heugh,
And I long for my true lover.
Aye waukin O,
Waukin still and wearie :
Sleep I can get nane
For thinking on my dearje.
"When I sleep I dream,
When I wauk I'm eerie ;
Sleep I can get nane
For thinking on my dearie.
Lanely night comes on
A' the lave are sleepin* ;
I think on my bonnie lad.
And I bleer my een with greetin*.
Aye waukin O,
Waukin still and wearie :
Sleep I can get nane
For thinking on my dearie.
JAMIE, COME TRY ME.
Tune-~^" Jamie, come try me."
CHORUS.
Jamie, come try me,
Jamie, come try me ;
If thou would win my love,
Jamiie, come try me.
B 2
15 WORKS OF BURNS.
If thou should ask my love.
Could I deny thee ?
If thou would win my love,
Jamie, come try me.
If thou should kiss me, love,
Wha could espy thee ?
If thou wad be my love,
Jamie, come try me.
Jamie, come try me,
Jamie, come try me ;
If thou would win my love,
. Jamie, come try me.
THE CAPTAIN'S LADY.*
7\ine — "O mount and go.*'
' CHORUS.
O mount and go.
Mount and make you ready ;
O mount and go,
And be the captain's lady.
When the drums do beat.
And the cannons rattle.
Thou shalt sit in state,
And see thy love in battle.
When the vanquished foe
Sues for peace and quiet.
To the shades well go,
And in love enjoy it.
• This is ascribed to Burns by Mr Cromek, who found it in the
poet*s handwriting among the papers of Johnson, the publisher
of the Museum. Bums never acknowledged it. — M.
J
SONGS. 17
O mount and go»
Mount and make you ready :
O mount and go,
And be the captain's lady.
BEWAKE O' BONNIE ANN.»
2Vn«— <• Ye gallants bright."
Ye gallants bright, I red ye right.
Beware o* bonnie Ann ;
Her comely £Bu:e, sae fu* o' grace.
Your heart she will trepan.
Her een sae bright, like stars by night.
Her skin is like the swan ;
Sae jimply laced her genty waist.
That sweetly ye might span.
Youth, grace, and love attendant move
And pleasure leads the van ;
In a' their charms and conquering arms.
They wait on bonnie Ann.
The captive bands may chain the hands,
' But love enslaves the man ;
Ye gallants braw, I red ye a'
Beware o' bonnie Ann.
* The heroine of this song was Ann Masterton, daughter of
Allan Masterton, one of the poet's stead&st friends, and author of
the air of Strathallan's Lament — M.
B 3
18 WORKS OF BURNS.
AS I CAME IN BY OUR GATE END.
As I came in by our gate eDd»
As day was ¥raxin' weary,
O wha cam tripping down the street
But bonnie Peg, my dearie I
Her air sae sweet, and shape complete,
Wi' nae proportion wanting.
The queen of love did never move
Wi* motion mair enchanting.
Wi' linked hands, we took the sands
A-down yon winding river ;
And, oh ! that hour and broomy bower,
Can I forget it ever ?
WEE WILLIE GRAY.
Web Willie Gray, and his leather wallet;
Peel a willie wand to be him boote and jacket;
The rose upon the brier will be him trouse and doublet.
The rose upon the brier will be him trouse and doublet.
Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet,
Twice a lily-flower will be him sark and cravat ;
Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet.
Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet.
SOKGS. 19
AE DAY A BRAW W00ER.»
Ttme—** The Lothian Lasae.**
Ab day a braw wooer came down the lang glen.
And sair wi' his love he did deave me ;
But I said there was naething I hated like men,
The deuce gae wi' him to believe me, believe me,
The deuce gae wi* him to believe me.
A well stocket mailen, himsel o't the laird.
And bridal affhand was the proffer ;
I never loot on that I kenn'd or I car*d,
But I thought I might get a waur offer, waur offer.
But thought I might get a waur offer.
He spak o' the darts o' my bonny black een.
And O for my love he was deein* ;
I said he might die when he liked for Jean,
The Gude forgie me for liein', for liein'.
The Gude forgie me for liein*.
But what do you think ? in a fortnight or less.
The deil's in his taste to gae near her,
He's down to the castle to black cousin Bess,
Think how the jade I could endure her, endure her.
Think how the jade I could endure her ?
And a' the niest week as I fretted wi' care,
I gaed to tlie tryst o' Dulgarlock ;
And wha but my braw fickle wooer was there,
Wha glowered as if he'd seen a warlock, a warlock,
Wha glower'd as if he'd seen a warlock.
* This is the set of the song which Bums sent to the 'Museum ; *
but he afterwards made some verbal emendations on it, and sent
it to Thomson's work. — ^M.
20 WORKS OF BURNS.
Out ower my left shouther I gied him a blink.
Lest neighbours should think I was saucy ;
My wooer he capered as he*d been in drink,
And vowM tluit I was a dear lassie, dear lassie.
And YOw*d that I was a dear lassie.
I speir'd for my cousin, fu* couthie and sweet.
And if she'd recovered her hearin' ;
And how my auld shoon fitted her shacheFd feet ;
Gude save us how he fell a swearin, a swearin,
Gude save us how he fell a swearin.
He begg'd me for gudesake, that I'd be his wife.
Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow ;
And just to preserve the poor body in life,
I think I will wed him to-morrow, to-morrow,
I think I will wed him to-morrow.
GUDE E'EN TO YOU, KIMMER.*
•« We're a' noddin."
Gude e'en to you, kimmer.
And how do ye do ?
Hiccup, quo' kimmer.
The better that I'm fou.
We're a' noddin, nid, nid, noddin,
We're a' noddin at our house at hame.
We're a* noddin, nid, nid, noddin,
We're a' noddin at our house at hame.
* This is an old song, which Burns trimmed up for the ' Mu-
seum,* where it was ^rst published. — M.
BONOS. 21
Kate sits i' the neuk
Suppia* hen«broo ;
Deil tak Kate
An she be na noddin too!
We're a* noddin, &c
How's a' wi' you, kimmer.
And how do ye £ire ?
A pint o* the best o't,
And twa pints mair.
We're a' noddin, Ac.
How's a' wi* you, kimmer,
And how do ye thrive ?
How mony bairns hae ye ?
Quo' kimmer, I hae five.
We're a* noddin, &c.
Are they a* Johnny's ?
Eh ! atweel na ;
Twa o' them were gotten
When Johnny was awa.
We're a' noddin, &c.
Cats like milk
And dogs like broo :
Lads like lasses weel.
And lasses lads too
We're a' noddin, &c.
^
22 WORKS OF BURNS.
SCROGGAM.*
Thbkb was a wife wonD*d in Cockpen,
Scroggam;
She brew'd gude ale for gendemen ;
Sing auld Cowl, lay you down by me,
Scroggam, my dearie, ruffiim.
The guidwife's dochter fell in a fever,
Scroggam ;
The priest o' the parish fell in anither.
Sing auld Cowl, lay you down by me,
Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum.
They laid the twa i' the bed thegither,
Scroggam ;
That the heat o' the tane might cool the tither.
Sing auld Cowl, lay you down by me,
Scroggam, my dearie, ru£fum.
ROBIN SHURE IN HAIRST.
CHORUS.
Robin shure in hairst,
I shure wi' him ;
Tient a heuk had I,
Yet I stack by him.
I GAED up to Dunse
To warp a wab o* plaiden ;
At his daddie*s yett
Wha met me but Robin.
* This is ascribed to Burns in the * Museum,' wu 5*
SONGS. 2S
Was na Robin bauld,
Tho' I vas a cotter,
Play'd me sic a trick.
And me the elder's dochter?
Robin shure, &c.
Robin promis'd me
A* my winter vittle ;
Fient haet he had but three
Goose feathers and a whittle.
Robin shure, &c.
MEG O' THE MILL.*
Tttne — " O bonny Lais, will you lie in a barracks.*
O KEN ye what Meg o' the mill has gotten,
And ken ye what Meg o' the mill has gotten ?
A braw new naig wi'. the tail o' a rottan.
And that*s what Meg o* the mill has gotten.
O ken ye what Meg o* the mill lo'es dearly.
And ken ye what Meg o' the mill lo*es dearly ?
A dram o' gude strunt in a morning early.
And that's what Meg o* the mill lo'es dearly.
O ken ye how Meg o* the mill was married.
And ken ye how Meg o' the mill was married ?
The priest he was oxter'd, the clerk he was carried.
And that's how Meg o' the mill was married.
O ken ye how Meg o' the mill was bedded.
And ken ye how Meg o' the mill was bedded ?
* This is founded on an old ditty which the poet altered and
trimmed up for Johnson's 'Musical Museum.' Another version
of it he subsequently furnished to Mr Thomson, which will be
given in his correspondence with that gentleman. — ^Bi.
24 WORKS OF laBNS.
The groom gat sae fou, he fell twa&uld beside it,
And that's how Meg o' the mill was bedded.
THERE»S NEWS, LASSES, NEWS.
Ths&b's news, lasses, news,
Guid news I've to tell.
There's a boatfu' o' lads
Come to our town to sell.
The wean wants a cradle.
And the cradle wants a cod ;
And ril no gang to my bed
Until I get a nod.
Father, quo' she, mither, quo' she.
Do what ye can,
m no gang to my bed,
Till I get a man.
The wean wants a cradle,
And the cradle wants a cod s
And I'll no gang to my bed.
Until I get a nod.
I hae as guid a craft rig
As made o' yitd and stane ;
And waly fit' the ley-crap.
For I maun till'd ag^n.
The wean wants a cradle^
And the cradle wants a cod ;
And I'll no gang to my bed
Until I get a nod.
80N0S. 25
O THAT I HAD NE'ER BEEN MARRIED.
O THAT I had ne'er been married,
I wad never had nae care ;
Now I've gotten wife and bairns^
And they cry crowdie evermair.
Ance crowdie, twice crowdie.
Three times crowdie in a day,
Gin ye crowdie ony mair,
Te*ll crowdie a* my meal away.
Waefu' want and hunger fley me,
Glowrin' by the hallan en* ;
Sair I fecht them at the door,
But aye Fm eerie they come ben.
Ance crowdie, twice crowdie.
Three times crowdie in a day;
Gin ye crowdie ony mair,
Ye*ll crowdie a' my meal away.
BUT LATELY SEEN.
-« The winter of life."
But lately seen in gladsome green,
The woods rejoiced the day ;
Thro* gentle showers the laughing flowers.
In double pride were gay :
But now our joys are fled
On winter blasts awa !
Yet maiden May, in rich array,
Agam shall bring them a'«
But my white pow, nae kindly thowe.
Shall melt the snaws of age ;
3 c
26 W0IL£8 OF BURNS.
My trunk of eild, but buss or bield,
Sinks in Time's wintry rage.
Oh ! age has weary days.
And nights o' sleepless pain I
Thou golden time o* youthfu* prime,
Why comes thou not again ?
COULD AUGHT OF SONG.
2Vcne — " Could anght of song."
Could aught of song declare my pains.
Could artful numbers move thee.
The muse should tell, in laboured strains^
O Mary, how I love thee !
They who but feign a wounded heart.
May teach the lyre to languish ;
But what avails the pride of art.
When wastes the soul with anguish ?
Then let the sudden bursting sigh,
The heart-felt pang discover ;
And in the keen, yet tender eye,
O read th* imploring lover.
For well I know thy gentle mind
Disdains art's gay disguising ;
Beyond what fancy e'er refin'd.
The voice of nature prizing.
1
1
I
soNOs. 27
HERE'S TO THY HEALTH.
Tune — « Laggan Barn.'*
Here's to thy health, my bonnie lass,
Gude night and joy be wi' thee ;
rU come nae mair to thy bower-door.
To tell thee that I lo'e thee.
dinna think, my pretty pink.
But I can live without thee :
1 vow and swear I dinna care
How lang ye look about ye.
Thou'rt aye sae free informing me
Thou hast nae mind to marry ;
I'll be as free informing thee
Nae time hae I to tarry.
I ken thy friends try ilka means,
Frae wedlock to delay thee.
Depending on some higher chance-—
But fortune may betray thee.
I ken they scorn my low estate.
But that does never grieve me;
But I'm as free as any he,
Sma' siller will relieve me.
I count my health my greatest wealth,
Sae long as 111 enjoy it :
111 fear nae scant, Fll bode na want.
As lang's I get employment.
But &r off fowls hae feathers fair.
And aye until ye try them :
Tho' they seem fair, still have a care,
They may prove waur than I am.
c 2
'
28 WOAKS or BCENS.
But at twal at night, when the moon shines bright.
My dear Til come and see thee ;
For the man that lo'es bis mistress weel
Nae travel makes him weary.
O STEER HER UP.
Tune — "O steer her up, and haud her gaun.*'
O STEER her up, and haud her gaun,—
Her mother's at the mill, jo ;
And gin she winna take a man,
E*en let her take her will, jo :
First shore her wi* a kindly kiss.
And ca* anither gill, jo.
And gin she take the thing amiss,
E'en let her flyte her fill, jo.
O steer her up, and be na blate,
And gin she take it ill, jo.
Then lea'e the lassie till her &te,
And time nae langer spill, jo :
Ne'er break your heart for ae rebut»
But think upon it still, jo ;
Then gin the lassie winna do*t,
Ye'll fin' anither will, jo.
SONGS. 29
O AYE MY WIFE SHE DANG ME.*
2\<ji«— "My wife she dang me."
AYE my wife she dang me.
And aft my wife did bang me ;
If ye gie a woman a* her will,
Oude fiiith, she*ll soon o'ergang ye.
On peace and rest my mind was bent.
And fool I was I married ;
But never honest man's intent
As cursedly miscarried.
* When Boms wrote the abore, he had probably in his recol*
lection the old words to which the air was originally united.
1 was twenty years a bachelor.
And li?ed a single life ;
But I never could contented be
Until I got a wife.
But I hadna lang married been
Till she began to bang me,
And near dang out my very een,
And sware she would gae hang me.
Ae day I at a wedding was
And dandng on the green ;
I laid my hands on a kent lass,
Said, hail ye dainty quean.
Up comes my wifie in a crack.
And on the ilure she dang me,
And for a lick o* the grey mare pock,
She sware that she would hang me.
But when I did get up again,
Then fast awa ran I ;
My wife she chasM me owre the plain
Wi* mony a hue and cry.
But I soon tipped her the wink.
And said nae mair ye'se bang me,
ril drink nae mair o' your sour drink
For fear at last ye hang me. M.
c 3
90 WORKS or BURNS.
Some sairie comfort still at last.
When a' their days are done, man ;
My pains o* hell on earth are past,
Tm sure o* bliss aboon, man.
O aye my wife she dang me.
And all my wife did bang me ;
If ye gie a woman a* her will,
Gude &ith» she'll soon o*ergang ye.
OH, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST.
2\fii«-— << Lass o* Livistone.**
Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast.
On yonder lea, on yonder lea.
My plaidie to the angry airt,
I'd shelter thee, Td shelter thee :
Or did misfortune's bitter storms
Around thee blaw, around thee blaw,
Thy bield should be my bosom.
To share it a', to share it a*.
Or were I in the wildest waste,
Sae black and bare, sae black and bare.
The desert were a paradise.
If thou wert there, if thou wert there :
Or were I monarch o' the globe,
Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign.
The brightest jewel in my crown
Wad be my queen, wad be my queen
SONGS. 31
O WHA IS SHE THAT LO'ES ME.
f'Morag."
O WHA is she that lo'es me.
And has my heart a-keeping?
sweet is she that lo*es me.
As dews o* simmer weeping,
In tears the rose-buds steeping I
O that's the lassie o' my heart,
My lassie ever dearer ;
that's the queen of womankind,
And ne'er a ane to peer her.
If thou shalt meet a lassie
In grace and beauty charming,
Tliat e'en thy chosen lassie,
Erewhile thy breast sae warming,
Had ne'er sic powers alarming ;
O that's the lassie o' my heart.
My lassie ever dearer ;
O that's the queen o' womankind.
And ne'er a ane to peer her.
If thou hadst heard her talking.
And thy attentions plighted.
That ilka body talking,
But her by thee b slighted.
And thou art all delighted ;
O that's the lassie o* my heart.
My lassie ever dearer ;
O that's the queen o' womankind.
And ne'er a ane to peer her
If thou hast met this fair one ;
When frae her thou hast parted,
32 WO&KS OF BURNS.
If every other &ir one,
But her, thou hast deserted.
And thou art broken-hearted ;
O that's the lassie o' my heart.
My lassie ever dearer ;
O that's the queen o' womankind.
And ne'er a ane to peer her.
O LAY THY LOOP IN MINE, LASS.
Tune — '* Ck>rdwainer*s March."
O LAY thy loof in mine, lass.
In mine, lass, in mine, lass ;
And swear on thy white hand, lass.
That thou wilt be my ain.
A slave to love's unbounded sway.
He aft has wrought me meikle wae ;
But now he is my deadly fae,
Unless thou be my ain.
There's monie a lass has broke my rest.
That for a blink I hae lo*ed best ;
But thou art queen within my breast*
For ever to remain.
O lay thy loof in mine, lass,
In mine, lass, in mine, lass ;
And swear on thy white hand, lass,
That thou wilt be my ain.
— I
80N08. S3
O WHA WILL TO SAINT STEPHEN'S HOUSE.*
TVm^— « Killicrankie.*'
O WHA will to Saint Stephen's house.
To do our errands there, man ?
O wha will to Saint Stephen's house,
O' th' merry lads o' Ayr, man ?
Or will we send a man-o'-law ?
Or will we send a sodger ?
Or him wlut led o'er Scotland a'
The meikle UrsapMajor ?
Come, will ye court a noble lord.
Or buy a score o' lairds, man ?
For worth and honour pawn their word.
Their vote shall be Glencaird's, man ?
Ane gtes them coin, ane gies them wine,
Anither gies them clatter ;
Anbank, wha guess'd the ladies' taste.
He gies a Fete Champetre.
* " The occasion of this ballad was as follows : — ^When Bfir
Cunninghame of Eoterkin came to his estate, two mansion-honses
on it — ^Enterkin and Annbank — were both in a ruinous state.
Wishing to introduce himself with some eeka to the country, he
got temporary erections made on the banks of Ayr, tastefully
decorated with shrubs and flowers, for a supper and ImlII, to which
most of the respectable families in the county were invited. It
was a novelty in the county, and attracted much notice. A dis-
solution of parliament was soon expected, and the festivity was
thought to be an introduction to a canvass for representing the
county. Several other candidates were spoken of, particularly
Sir John Whitefoord, then residing at Goncaird, commonly pro-
nounced Olencaird, and Mr Boswell, the well known biographer
of Dr Johnson. The political views of the festive assemblage
which are alluded to in the ballad, if they ever existed, were how-
ever laid aside, as Mr C did not canvass the county." — GUbert
Burnt*
M W0BK8 or BUKMB.
When love and beauty heard the news.
The gay green-woods amang, man ;
Where gathering flowers and busking bowers
They heard the blackbird's sang, man :
A Yow, tliey seal*d it with a kiss.
Sir Politics to fetter.
As theirs alone, the patent-bliss.
To hold a F^te Champetre.
Then mounted Mirth, on gleesome wing,
O'er hill and dale she flew, man ;
Ilk wimpling bum, ilk crystal spring.
Ilk glen and shaw she knew, man ;
She summon*d every social sprite.
That sports by wood or water.
On th' bonny banks o' Ayr to meet.
And keep this Fete Cliampetre.
Cauld Boreas, wi' his boisterous crew.
Were bound to stakes like kye, man ;
And Cynthia's car, o* silver fu',
Clamb up the starty sky, man ;
Reflected beams dwell in the streams,
Or down the current shatter ;
The western breeze steals thro* the trees.
To view this Fete Champetre.
How many a robe sae gaily floats !
What sparkling jewels glance, man I
To Harmony's enchanting notes.
As moves the mazy dance, man.
Tlie echoing wood, the winding flood.
Like Paradise did glitter.
When angels met, at Adam's yett.
To hold their Fete Champetre.
When Politics came there, to mix
And make his ethernstane, man I
SONGS. 85
He circled round tlie magic ground.
But entrance found he nane,- man :
He blushed for shame, he quat his name^
Forswore it, every letter,
Wi* humble prayer to join and share
This festive Fete Champetre.
THE HIGHLAND WIDOW'S LAMENT.*
Oh ! I am come to the low countries
Och-on, och-on, och-rie !
Without a penny in my purse.
To buy a meal to me. ,
It was nae ^e in tlie Highland hiUs,
Och-on, och-on> och-rie !
19ae woman in the countrie wide
Sae happy was as me.
* For then I had a score o' kye,
Och-on, och-on, och-rie!
Feeding on yon hills so high*
And giving milk to me.
And there I had three score o' yowes^
Och-on, och-on, och-rie!
Skipping on yon bonnie knowes*
And casting woo' to me.
I was the happiest of a' the clan,
Sair, sair may I repine ;
For Donald was the brawest lad.
And Donald he was mine.
* I do not know on what authority Mr Canningham attigni
this Jacobite song to Burns ; for we have heard old ladies sing it,
who remember its existence anterior to the poet's time. — M.
t
86 WORKS OF BURNS.
Till Charlie Stuart cam* at last,
Sae fiur to set us free ;
My Donald's arm was wanted then.
For Scotland and for me.
Their waefu* &te what need I teU,
Right to the wrang did jrield :
My Donald and his country feU
Upon CuUoden's field.
Oh ! I am come to the low countne,
Och-on, och-on, och-rie I
Nae woman in tlie world wide
Sae wretched now as me.
CAULD IS THE E'ENIN* BLAST.
•« Caold is the e'ento' blast."
Cauld is the e'enin' blast
O* Boreas o'er the pool.
And dawin* it is dreary
When birks are bare at Yule.
O bitter blaws the e*enin' blast
When bitter bites the frost.
And in the mirk and dreary drift,
The hills and glens are lost.
Ne'er sae mnrky blew the nig^t
That drifted o'er the hill.
But bonnie Peg-a-Ramsey
Gat grist to her miU.
SONGS. 87
THERE WAS A BONNIE LASS.
There was a bonnie lass,
And a bonnie, bonnie lass.
And she lo*ed her bodnie laddie dear ;
Till war's loud alarms
Tore her laddie frae her arms,
Wi' mony a sigh and a tear.
Over sea, over shore,
Where the cannons loudly roar.
He still was a stranger to fear :
And nocht could him quell.
Or his bosom assail.
But the bonnie lass he Io*ed sae dear.
O MALLY'8 MEEK, UALLYS SWEET
O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet,
Mally's modest and discreet,
Mally's rare, Mally's fair,
Mally's every way complete.
As I was walking up the street,
A barefit maid I chanc'd to meet ;
But O the road was very hard
For that fair maiden's tender feet
It were mair meet that those fine feet
Were weel lac'd up in silken shoon.
And 'twere more fit that she should sit
Within yon chariot gilt aboon.
O Mally*s meek, &c.
Her yellow hair, beyond compare.
Comes trinkling down her swan white neck ;
3 D
38 WOEKB OF BURNS.
And her two eyes like stars in skies.
Would keep a sinking ship frae wreck.
O Mally's meek, Malljr's sweet,
Mall/s modest and discreet,
Mally's rare, Mally*s &ir,
Mally's every way complete.
THE FAREWELL.*
Tune — *' It was a* for our rightfu* king."
It was a' for our rightfu' king.
We left &ir Scotland's strand ;
It was a' for our rightfu' king
We e'er saw Irish land, jny dear ;
We e'er saw Irish land.
* The above song is published in Johnson's ' Scots Musical
Museum,' Vol. 5, but witoout any allusion to its being altered or
improved by Burns, though Mr Cunningham, in his recent edition
of the Poet*s Works, assumes as much, and publishes it according-
ly. In his notes to the Jacobite Reliques, the Ettrick Shepherd
says, this song was written by Captain Ogilvie, who was killed on
the banks of the Rhine in the year 1695. Sir Walter Scott, in
his notes to Rokeby, Canto d, acknowledges that it suggested to
him the idea of his own beautiful lyric, ** A weary lot is thine.**
We give the old song, such as it occurs in stall ballads, which was
the prototype of the above.
The cold winter it is past and gone.
And now comies on the spring,
And I am one of the king's life-guards,
And I must go fight for my king, my dear ;
And I must go fight for my king.
Now since to the wars you must go.
One thing I pray grant me.
It's I will dress myself in man's attire.
And ri\ travel along with thee, my dear.
And ni travel along with thee.
SONGS. 89
Now a' is done that men can do,
And a* is done in vain ;
My love and native land farewell,
For I maun cross the main, my dear ;
For I maun cross the main. .
I would not for ten thousand worlds
That my love endangered were so ;
The rattling of drums and shining of swords,
Will cause great sorrow and wo, my dear,
Will cause great sorrow and wo.
I will do the thing for my true love,
That she will not do for me ;
It's ril put cuffs of black on my red coat.
And mourn till the day I die, my dear.
And mourn till the day I die.
I will do more for my true love.
Than he will do for me ;
I'll cut my hair and roll me bare.
And mourn till the day I die, my dear.
And mourn till the day I die.
So farewell mother and father dear,
My kith and kin also,
My sweet and bonny Mally Stewart,
You*re the cause of all my wo, my dear.
You're the cause of all my wo.
When we came to bonny Stirling town.
As we lay all in tent.
By the King's orders we were all taken,
And to Germany we were all sent, my dear.
And to Germany we were all sent.
So farewell bonny Stirling town,
And the maids therein also ;
And farewell bonny Mally Stewart,
You're the cause of all my wo, my dear.
You're the cause of all my wo.
She took the slippers off her feet.
And the cockups off her hair ;
D 2
40 WORKS OF BURNS.
He turned him right, and round about
Upon the Irish shore ;
And gae his bridl&-reins a shake,
With adieu for evermore, my dear ;
With adieu for evermore.
The sodger from the wars returns.
The sailor frae the main ;
But I hae parted frae my love,
Never to meet again, my dear ;
Never to meet again.
f
I
When day is gane, and night is come,
And a' folk bound to sleep ;
I think on him that's far awa'.
The lee-lang night, and weep, my dear ;
The lee-lang night, and weep.
And she has ta*en a long journey,
For seven lang years and mair, my dear,
For seven lang years and mair.
Sometimes she rade, spmetimes she gaed,
Sometimes' sat down to mourn.
And it was aye the overcome o' her tale,^
Shall I e*er see my bonny laddie return, my dear.
Shall I e'er see my bonny laddie return.
The trooper turned himself round about,
All on the Irish shore ;
He has gi*en the bridle reins a shake,
Saying adieu for evermore, my dear,
Saying adieu for evermore,
SONGS. 41
LADY MARY ANN*
Tune — " Craigton's Growiog.**
O, Ladt Mary Ann
Looks o'er the castle wa'.
She saw three bonnie boys .
Playing at the ba';
The youngest he was
The flower amang them a\
My bonnie laddie's young.
But he's growin' yet.
* Bums noted the song and the air from a lady in the north
country when upon his tour in that district, and communicated it
to Johnson ; and it must be confessed that, in so much of it as is
his own, he has displayed all his accustomed taste and fine feel-
ing. From the ** Museum** Mr Finlay transplanted it into his col-
lection of ballads, but apparently without the slightest notion of
the master mind which had been at work upon it. In ** The
North Countrie Garland, Edinburgh, 1824,** edited by Mr
Maidment, advocate, we are furnished with the first version of
the old ballad, accompanied with the following historical note :—
** The estate of Craigstoun was acquired by John Urquhart, better
known by the name of the tutor of Cromarty. It would appear
that the ballad refers to his grandson, who married EliziDbeth,
daughter of Sir Robert Innes of that ilk, and by her had one son.
This John Urquhart died 30th November, 1634. — Spalding, (vol.
i. p. 36,) after mentioning the great mortality in the Craigstoun
family, says, * thus in throe years space, the good sire, son, and
oy,^died.* He adds, that ' the Laird of Innes, whose sister was
married to this Urquhart of Leathers, (the father,) and not with-
out her consent, as was thought, gets the guiding of this young
boy, and without advice of friends, shortly and quietly marries
him, upon his own eldest daughter Elizabeth Innes.* He men-
tions that young Craigstoun's death was generally attributed to
melancholy, in consequence of Sir Robert Innes refusing to pay
old Craigstoun's debts. The creditors bestowing * many male-
dictions which touched the young man*s conscience, albeit he
could not mend it.' The father died *in December, 1631, and
the son in 1634. The marriage consequently must have been of
short duration.'*
We subjoin a copy of it as traditionally preserved in the' west
of Scotland :—
D 3
42 WORKS OF BURNS.
O father! O father!
An ye think it fit,
We'll send him a year
To the coUege yet :
We'll sew a green ribbon
Round about his hat,
And that will let them ken
He's to marry yet.
MY BONNIE LADDIE'S LANG O* GROWING.
The trees they are i?ied, the leavef they are green.
The days are a* awa that I hae seen,
On the cauld winter nights I ha*e to lie my lane,
For my bonnie laddie's lang o* growing.
O father dear, you have done me great wrong,
You have wedded me to a boy that's too young,
He is scarce twelve, and Tm but thirteen,
And my bonnie laddie's lang o' growing.
daughter dear, I have done you no wrong,
1 have wedded you to a noble lord's son.
Hell be the lord, and ye'll wait on.
And your bonnie laddie's daily growing.
father dear, if you think it fit.
Well send him to the college a year or twa yet ;
We*ll tie a green ribbon round about his hat.
And that will be a token that he's married.
And O father dear, if this pleaseth you,
1 will cut my hair aboon my brow ;
Coat, vest, and breeches I will put on.
And I to the college will go wi' him.
Sbe*8 made him shirts o* the Holland sae fine,
And wi* her ain hands she sewed the same;
And aye the tears came trickling down,
Saying, my bonnie laddie's lang o* growing.
In his twelfth year he was a married man.
And in bis thirteenth he had his auld son.
And in bis fourteenth his grave it was green,
Sae that put an end to his growing. If.
^^^^^^^
80N6B.
Lady Maiy Atm
Was a flower i* the dew,
Sweet was its smell,
And bonnie was its hue ;
And the laDger it blotsom'd
The sweeter it grew ;
For the lily in the bud
Will be bonnier yet.
Young Charlie Ckx:hran
Was the sprout of an aik^
Bonnie and bloomin*
And straught was its make :
The sun took delight
To shine for its sake,
And it will be the brag
O* the forest yet.
The simmer is gane
When the leaves they were green,
And the days are awa
That we hae seen ;
But far better dscfi
I trust will come ag&in,
For my bonnie laddie's young.
But he's growin* yet.
48
MY LADY'S GOWN, THERE'S GAIRS UPON'T*
IVne— « Gregg's Pipes."
My lady's gown, there's gairs upon't.
And gowden flowers sae rare upon't ;
* The air to which this song was written, part of which is an-
terior to the time of Bums, is said to have been the composition
of James Gregg, a musician belonging to Ayrshire.— M.
44 WORKS OF BURN8.
But Jenny's jimps and jirkinet»
My lord thinks muckle mair upon*t.
My lord a-hunting he is gane,
But hounds or hawks wi' him are nane ;
By Colin's cottage lies his g^me»
If Conn's Jenny be at hame.
My lady's white^ my lady's red.
And kith and kin o' Cassilis' blude ;
But her ten-pund lands o' tocher guid
Were a' the charms his lordship lo'ed.
4
Out o'er yon muir, out o'er yon moss,
Whare gorcocks thro' the heather pass,
Tliere wons auld Colin's bonnie lass,
A lily in a wilderness.
Sae sweetly moves her genty limbs.
Like music notes o' lover's hymns ;
The diamond dew is her een sae blue.
Where laughing love sae wanton swims.
My lady's dink, my lady's drest.
The flower and &ncy o' the west ;
But the lassie that a man lo'es best,
O that's the lass to make him blest.
My lady's gown, there's gairs upon't.
And gowden flowers sae rare upon't ;
But Jenny's jimps and jirkinet.
My lord thinks muckle mair upon't.
CORRESPONDENCE
WITH
MR GEORGE THOMSON.
CORRESPONDENCE, &c.
SiK,
No. L
MR THOMSON TO BURNS.
EdimbuegHi September, 1792.
FoK some years past, I have, with a friend or two,
employed many leisure hours in selecting and collating the
most favourite of our national melodies for publication.
We have engaged Pleyel, the most agreeable composer
livings to put accompaniments to these, and also to com-
pose an instrumental prelude and conclusion to each air,
the better to fit them for concerts, both public and private.
To render this work perfect, we are desirous to have the
poetry improved, wherever it seems unworthy of the music ;
and tliat it is so in 4nany instances, is allowed by ever}' one
conversant with our musical collections. The editors of
these seem in general to have depended on the music
proving an excuse for the verses ; and hence, some charm-
ing melodies are united to mere nonsense and do^erel
while others are accommodated with rhymes so loose and
indelicate, as cannot be sung in decent company. To re-
move this reproach, would be an easy task to the author of
" The Cotter's Saturday Night ;'* and, for the honour of
Caledonia, I would fain hope he may be induced to take
up the pen. If so, we shall be enabled to present the pub-
lic with a collection infinitely more interesting than any that
lias yet appeared, and acceptable to all persons of taste,
whether they wish for correct melodies, delicate accompani-
/i
48 WORKS OF BUENS.
ments, or characteristic verses. — We will esteem your poet-
ical assistance a particular favour, besides paying any rea-
sonable price you shall please to demand for it. Profit is
quite a secondary consideration with us, and we are resolred
to spare neither pains nor expense on the publication.
Tell me frankly, then, whether jrou will devote your lebure
to writing twenty or twenty-five songs, suited to the parti-
cular melodies which I am prepared to send you. A few
songs, exceptionable only in some of their verses, I will
likewise submit to your consideration ; leaving it to you,
either to mend these, or make new songs in their stead. It
is superfluous to assure you that I have no intention to dis-
place any of the sterling old songs ; those only will be re-
moved, which appear quite silly, or absolutely indecent.
Even these shall all be examined by Mr Burns, and if he is
of opinion that any of them are deserving of the music, is
such cases no divorce shall take place.
Relying on the letter accompanying tiiis, to be forgiven
for the liberty I have taken in addressing you, I am, with
great esteem. Sin your most obedient humble servant,
G. THOMSON.
No. II.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
DUMFIUXS, leth Sept, 1792.
Sir,
I HAVE just this moment got your letter. As the
request you make to me will positively add to my enjoy-
ments in complying with it, I shall enter into your under-
taking with all the small portion of abilities I have, strained
to their utmost exertion by the impulse of enthusiasm.
Only, don't buny me : ** Deil tak the Inndmost," is by no
means the cri de guerre of my muse. Will 3rou, as I am in^*
ferior to none of you in enthusiastic attachment to the poetry
CORAESPONDENCE. 49
and music of old Caledonia* and, since you request it, have
cheerfully promised my mite of assistance — will you let me
have a list of your airs, with the first line of the printed
verses you intend for them, that I may have an opportunity
of suggesting any alteration that may occur to me. You
know 'tis in the way of my trade ; still leaving you, gentle-
men, the undoubted right of publishers, to approve, or re-
ject, at your pleasure, for your own publication. Apropos I
if you are for English verses, there is, on my part, an end
of the matter. Whether in the simplicity of the ballad, or
the pathos of the song, I can only hope to please myself in
being allowed at least a sprinkling of our native tongue.
English verses, particularly the works of Scotsmen, that
have merit, are certainly very eligible. * Tweedside ;' * Ah !
tlie.poor shepherd's mournful fate I' ' Ah I Chloris could I
now but sit,' &c. you cannot mend ; but such insipid stuff
as, * To Fanny feir could I impart,' &c. usuaUy set to
* The Mill, -Mill 0,' is a disgrace to the collections in
which it has already appeared, and would doubly disgrace a
collection thqt will have the veiy superior merit of yours.
But more of tliis in the ^ther prosecution of the business,
if I am called on for my strictures and amendments I say,
amendments ; for I will not alter except where I myself at
least think that I amend.
As to any remuneration, you may ^ink my songs either
above or below price ; for they shall absolutely be the one
or the other. In the honest enthusiasm with which I em-
bark in your uudertaking, to talk of money, wages, fee, hire,
&c would be downright prostitution of soul ! A proof of
each of the songs that I compose or amend, I shall receive
as a favour. In the rustic phrase of the season, ** Gude
speed the wark!"
I am, Sir, your very humble servant,
R. BURNS.
P.S. I have some particular reasons for wishing my in-
terference to be known as little as possible.
3 E
50 WORKS OF BURNS.
No. III.
MR THOMSON TO BURNS.
Edinburgh, 13M Oct. 1792.
Dear Sir,
I RECEIVED, with much satisfactioi), your pleasant
and obliging letter, and I return my warmest acknowledg-
ments for the enthusiasm with which you have entered into
our undertaking. We have now no doubt of being able
to produce a collection highly deserving of public attention
in all respects.
I agree with you in thinking English verses that have
merit, very eligible, wherever new verses are necessary;
because the English becomes every year more and more
the language of Scotland ; but if you mean that no English
verses except those by Scottish authors, ought to be admit-
ted, I am half inclined to differ from you. I should con-
sider it unpardonable to sacrifice one good song in the
Scottish dialect, to make room for English verses ; but, if
we can select a few excellent ones suited to the unprovided
or ill-provided airs, would it not be the very bigotry of
literary patriotism to reject such, merely because the au-
thors were born south of the Tweed ? Our sweet air, * My
Nannie O,' which in the collections is joined to the poor-
est stuff* that Allan Ramsay ever wrote, beginning, ' While
some for pleasure pawn their health,* answers so finely to
Dr Percy's beautiful song, * O Nancy wilt thou go witli
me,' that one would think he wrote it on purpose for the
air. However, it is not at all our wish to confine you to
English verses ; you shall freely be allowed a sprinkling of
your native tongue, as you elegantly express it ; and more-
over, we will patiently wait your own time. One thing
only I beg, which is, that however gay and sportive the
muse may be, she may always be decent. Let her not
write what beauty would blush to speak, nor wound that
CORRBSPONDENCE. 51
cliarming delicacy which forms the most precious dowry of
our daughters. I do not conceive the song to be the most
proper vehicle for witty and brilliant conceits ; simplicity,
I believe, should be its prominent feature ; but, in some of
our songs, the writers have confounded simplicity with
coarseness and vulgarity ; although between the one and the
other, as Dr Beattie well observes, there b as great a difference
as between a plain suit of clothes and a bundle of rags. The
humorous ballad, or pathetic complaint, is best suited to our
artless melodies ; and more interesting, indeed, in all songs,
than the most pointed wit, dazzling descriptions, and flow-
ery fancies.
With these trite observations, I send you eleven of the
soiigs, for which it is my wish to substitute others of your
writing. I shall soon transmit the rest, and, at the same
time, a prospectus, of the whole collection : and you may
believe we will receive any hints that you are so kind as to
give for improving the work, with the greatest pleasure and
thankfulness.
I remain, dear Sir, &c.
No. IV.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
My Dear Sir,
Let me tell you that you are too fastidious in
your ideas of songs and ballads. I own that your criti-
cisms are just ; the songs you specify in your list have all
but one the faults you remark in them ; but who shall
mend the matter ? Wlio shall rise up and say — Go to, I
will make a better? For instance, on reading over the
' Lea-rig,' I immediately set about trying my hand on it,
and, after all, I could make nothing more of it than the
following, which, Heaven knows, is poor enough : —
e2
52 WORKS OF BURNS.
MY AIN KIND DEARIE O.
When o'er the hill the eastern star.
Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo ;
And owsen frae the furrowed field.
Return sae dowffand weary, O ;
Down by the bum, where scented birks,*
Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo,
rU meet thee on the lea-rig,
, My ain kind dearie, O.
In mirkest glen at midnight hour,
rd rove and ne'er be eerie, O,
If thro* that glen I gaed to thee.
My ain kind dearie, O.
Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild,f
And I were ne'er sae wearie, O,
I'd meet thee on the lea-rig.
My ain kind dearie, O.
• For " scented birks," in some copies^ ** birken buds."
f In the copy transmitted to Mr Thomson, instead of wild, was
inserted wet. But in one of the manuscripts, probably written
afterwards, wet was changed into wild; evidently a great im-
provement. The lovers might meet on the lea-rig, * although
the night were ne'er so wildf^ that is, although the summer-vrind
blew, the sky lowered, and the thunder murmured : such circum-
stances might render their meeting still more interesting. But
if the night were actually wet, why should they meet on the lea-
rig ? On a wet night the imagination cannot contemplate their
situation there with any complacency. — Tibullus, and after bim
Hammondi has conceived a happier situation for lovers on a wet
night. Probably Bums had in his mind the verse of an old Scot-
tish Song, in which wet and weary are naturally enough conjoin-
ed.
** When my ploughman comes hame at ev'o,
He's often wet and weary ;
Cast off the wet, put on the dry.
And gae to bed, my deary." Cmitm.
CORRESPONDENCE. 53
The hunter lo*es the morning sun.
To rouse the mountain deer, my jo ;
At noon the fisher seeks the glen,
Along the bum to steer, my jo : \
Gie me the hour o' gloamin grey.
It makes my heart sae cheerie, O,
To meet thee on the lea-rig.
My ain kind dearie, O.ij:
f For the sake of connection we have given the concluding
stanza of this fine song here, although it occurs in a subsequent
communication by Bums to Mr Thomson. By Mr Buchan we
are informed that the original or old name of this song was the
Ware-hone, **Bums and Fergusson," says he, "have exerted
their skill to make words worthy of so fine an air ; but my great
grandmother's way ran thus :
I hae been at the ware-horse,
Till I am wet and weary, O ;
Cast off the wet, put on the dry,
Come to your bed, my deary, O.
Fll row you up, 111 row you down.
And row till I be weary, O ;
Fll row you on the lea-rig,
My ain kind deary, O.
But how are ye sae bauld, Sir,
And you my father's cottar, O ;
As row me on the lea-rig,
And me his eldest dochter, O ?
As row me up, and row me down,
And row till I be weary, O ;
And row me on the lea-rig.
My ain kind deary, O.
Then tho' the night be ne*er sae dark*
And I be wet and weary, O;
1*11 hap you in my petticoat.
My ain kind deary, O.
Then row me up, and row me down.
And row till ye be weary, O ;
And row me on the lea-rig.
My ain kind deary, O.
To those ucacquaiuted with the term or name of Ware-horse,
it may be necessary to add, by way of explanation, that along the
E 3
54 WORKS OF BURNS.
Your observation, as to the aptitude of Dr Percy's ballad
to the air * Nannie 0/ is just. It is besides, perhaps, tlie
most beautiful ballad in the English language. But let me
remark tb you, that, in the sentiment and style of our Scot^
tish airs, there is a pastoral simplicity, a something that
one may call the Doric style and dialect of vocal music, to
which a dash of our native tongue and manners is particu-
larly, nay peculiarly, apposite. For this reason, and, upon
my honour, for this reason alone, I am of opinion (but, as
I told you before, my opinion is yours, freely yours, to ap-
prove, or reject, as you please) that my ballad of ' Nannie
O ' might, perhaps, do for one set of verses to the tune.
Now don't let it enter into your head that you are under
any necessity of taking my verses. I have long ago made
up my mind as to my own reputation in the business of
authorship ; and have nothing to be pleased or offended at
in your adoption or rejection of my verses. Though you
should reject one half of what I give you, I shall be pleas-
ed with your adopting the other half, and shall continue to
serve you with the same assiduity.
In the printed copy of my * Nannie O,' the name of the
river is horridly prosaic. I. will alter it,
■I
** Behind yon hills where Lugar flows."
Girvan is the name of the river that suits the idea of the
stanza best, but Lugar is the most agreeable modulation of
syllables.
I will soon give you a great many more remarks on this
business ; but I have just now an opportunity of conveying
you this scrawl, free of postage, an expense that it is ill able
rocky and steep coast of the east of Scotland the adjoining lands
were manured with a kind of sea-weed, called ware, which was
carried on the backs of dwarf horses in wooden creels or curroches,
and led by the young women belonging to the farm. — The men's
duty was to gather it from the sea, load the hor?eS| and after-
wards spread it on the land." — M.
^^mmm^^^mmKmm
COBRESPONDENCB. 55
to pay : so, with my best compliments to honest Allan,
Good be wi' ve, &c.
Friday Night,
^ Saturday Mominy.
As I find I have still an hour to spare this morning before
my conveyance goes away, I will give you * Nannie O * at
length. (Vide vol II. p. 94.)
Your remarks on * Ewe-bughts, Marion/ are just: still
it has obtained a place among our more classical Scottish
songs ; and what, with many beauties in its composition,
and more prejudices in its favour, you will not find it easy
to supplant it.
In my very early years, when I was thinking of going to
the West Indies, I took the following farewell of a dear
girl. It is quite trifling, and has nothing of the merits of
' Ewe-bughts ; ' but it will fill up this page. You must
know, that all my earlier love songs were the breathings of
ardent passion, and though it might have been easy in after-
times to have given them a polish, yet that polish to me,
whose they were, and who perhaps alone cared for them,
would have defaced the legend of my heart, which was so
faithfully inscribed on them. Their uncouth simplicity
was, as they say of wines, their race.
TO MARY CAMPBELL.*
Will ye go to the Indies, ray Mary,
And leave auld Scotia's shore ?
Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary,
Across th' Atlantic's roar ?
O sweet grows the lime and the orange.
And the apple on the pine ;
* The first line of this song was taken from an old Irish one,
bcginiiiDg,
« Will ye go to Dublin, my Molly ? " M.
56 WOaKS OF BURNS.
But a* the charms o* the Indies
Can never equal thine.
I liae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary,
I hae sworn by the Heavens to be true ;^
And sae may the Heavens forge]t me,
When I forget my vow !
O plight me your faith, my Mary,
And plight me your lily-white liand ;
O plight me your faith, my Mary ;
Before I leave Scotia's strand.
We hae plighted our troth, my Mary,
In mutual affection to join ;
And curst be the cause that shall part us !
The hour and the moment o' time !*
• lialla Water,' and * Auld Rob Morris,' I think, will
most probably be the next subject of my musings. How-
ever, even on my verses, speak out your criticisms with
equal frankness. My wish is, not to stand aloof, the un-
complying bigot of opinidtretd, but cordially to join issue
with you in the furtherance of the work.
No. V.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
November %tht 1192,
If you mean, my dear Sir, that all the songs in your
collection shall be poetry of the first merit, I am afraid
you will find more difficulty in the undertaking than you
* This song Mr Thomson has not adopted in his collection.
It deserves however to be preserved. — Currit,
CORRESPONDENCE. 57
are aware of. There is a peculiar rhythmus in many
of our airs, and a necessity of adapting syllables to the em-
phasb, or what I would call the feature-notes of the tune,
that cramp the poet, and lay him under almost insuperable
difficulties. For instance, in the air, ' My wife's a wanton
wee thing,' if a few lines smooth and pretty can be adapted
to it, it is all you can expect. The following were made
extempore to it ; and though, on farther study, I might
give you something more profound, yet it might not suit the
light-horse gallop of the lur so weU as this random clink.
MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING.*
She is a winsome wee thing.
She is a handsome wee thing.
She is a bonnie wee thing,
This sweet wee wife o* mine.
I never saw a fairer,
I never Io*d a dearer.
And niest my heart I'll wear her
For fear my jewel tine.
She is a winsome wee thing.
She is a handsome wee thing,
* There are many sets of this old song on which this is framed,
to be found both in print and on the breath of tradition. In
Herd's Collection, vol. ii. p. 230, we have the following ver-
sion :—
My wife's a wanton wee thing,
My wife's a wanton wee thing,
My wife's a wanton wee thing ;
She'll never be guided by me.
She play*d the loon e'er she was married, ^
She play'd the loon e'er she was married.
She play'd the loon e*er she was married ;
She'll doH again e'er she die.
The traditional copies celebrate the Tirtues and vices of a pigmy
drunken wife. — M.
58 WORKS OF BURNS.
She is a bonnie wee thing.
This sweet wee wife o' mine.
The warld*s wrack we share o't.
The warstle and the care o't ;
Wi' her I'll blythely bear it.
And think my lot divine.
I have just been looking over the ' Collier's bonny Doch-
ter ;' and if the following rliapsody, which I composed the
other day, on a charming Ayrshire girl. Miss Lesley Baillie,
(afterwards Mrs Cuming of Logie,) as she passed through
this place to England, will suit your taste better than the
' Collier Lassie,' fall on and welcome.
BONNIE LESLEY.*
O saw ye bonnie Lesley
As she gaed o'er the border.
She's gane, like Alexander,
To spread her conquests farther.
The last word in the third line of this song, gave Mr Itaom-
•on some uneasiness. He wished some other word to take the
rank and precedence of Alexander ; but Burns, true to his post,
would not yield to the dictation of the critic. He perhaps was
right ; and, at any rate, can claim for precedent the great mar- «
quis of Montrose, who, in one of his best songs, says,
As Alexander I will reign.
And I will reign alone ;
'My thoughts did evermore disdain
A rival on my throne.
In speaking of the fair object who inspired these verses.
Burns, in a letter to Mrs Dunlop, dated August, 1792, thus de->
scribes his emotions : — *' Know then, that the heart-struck awe, —
the distant humble approach, — ^the delight we should have in
gazing upon and listening to a messenger of heaven, appearing
in all the unspotted purity of his celestial home, among the
course, polluted, far inferior sons of men, to deliver to them
tidings that make their hearts swim in joy, and their imaginations .
soar in transport, — such, so delighting, and so pure, were the
emotions of my soul on meeting the other day with Miss Lesley
GOBRESPONDBNCE. 69
To see her is to love her.
And love but her for ever ;
^or Nature made her what she is.
And never made anither !
Thou art a queen, fair Lesley,
Thy subjects we, before thee :
Thou art divine, fair Lesley,
The hearts o' men adore thee.
The Deil he could na scaith thee.
Or aught that wad belang thee ;
He*d look into thy bonnie &ce,
And say, " I canna wrang thee/'
The powers aboon will tent thee ;
Misfortune sha'na steer thee ;
Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely,
That ill they'll ne*er let near thee.
Return again, fair Lesley,
Return to Caledonie !
That we may brag, we hae a lass
There's nane again sae bonnie.
I have hitherto deferred the sublimer, more pathetic airs,
until more leisure, as they will take, and deserve, a greater
effort. However, they are all put into your hands, as clay
into the hands of the potter, to make one vessel to honour
and another to dishonour. Farewell, &c.
Baillie, your neighbour. Mr Baillie, with his two daughten,
accompanied by Mr H. of G., passing through Dumfries a few
days ago, on their way to England, did me the honour of calling
on me : on which occasion I took my horse, (though, God knows,
I could ill spare the time,) and accompanied them fourteen or
fifteen miles, and dined and spent the day with them. 'Twas
about nine, I think, when I left them ; and riding home I com>
posed the following ballad." — M.
60 WORKS OF BURNS.
No. VI.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
HIGHLAND MARY.*
IVne—" Katharine Ogie.'
»»
Ye banks, and braes, and streams around,
The castle o' Montgomer5%
Green be your woods and fair your flowers.
Your waters never drumlie !
There simmer first unfald her robes,
And there the langest tarry :
For there I took the last fareweel
O' my sweet Highland Mary.
* In a preceding Tolume we haye given a short account of
Highland Mary, and of her last and affecting interview with her
passionate lover. The subjoined particulars have been supplied
to us, as they have been to Mr Cunningham, by our friend John
Kerr, Esq., Writer in Glasgow, who oommunicated them to the
Scots Times Newspaper, in which Journal they were published,
7th Nov. 1829.
" The parents of Highland Mary lived in Greenock, and she
crossed the firth of Clyde to visit some relations in Cowal, previ-
ous to her marriage. Her father was a mariner ; had two sons,
Archibald and Robert; and, besides Mary, a daughter, named
Anne, who married James Anderson, a stonemason. AH these
individuals are now dead : Mary was not long outlived by her
iatber and brothers : her mother died in great poverty in the
year 1828. The representatives of Highland Mary, therefore^
now consist of Anderson's children— two sons and two daughters.
Mary it appears was not hurried to the grave immediately after
her return from Cowal : she lived several weeks with her father*
and every week received a letter from her lover. The circum-
stance of a girl in her humble condition receiving a letter weekly,
excited the curiosity of the neighbours : the secret was carefully
hunted out, and one of the gossips informed her father and
mother that Mary was in the habit of receiving letters from a
person named Bums, who was known to be a strange character,
and *a great scoffer at women.* Mary was questioned on the
subject, and admitted the correspondence, laughing heartily at the
CO&ILESPONDENCE. 61
How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk.
How rich the hawthorn's blossom !
As underneath their fragrant shade,
I clasp'd her to my bosom !
The golden hours, on angel wings.
Flew o'er me and my dearie ;
For dear to me as light and life.
Was my sweet Highland Mary.
descriptioo of her lover, wboio scoffing, she said, she was ready to
trust to. After this, Mary was allowed to receive her letters
openly : one of them, it appears, contained the song of * The
Highland Lassie, O ;* for her mother got it by heart from the
Poet's corrMpondence, and, in her declinii^ yean, soothed her
grand-children with strains which recorded the charms of her
favourite daughter.
** It is to be regretted that none of these letters are now in
existence. After Mary*s death, her father disliked all allnsions to
her or to her lover ; and when Bums wrote a moving letter, re-
questing some memorial of her he loved so dearly, the stem old
man neither answered it, nor allowed any one to speak about it
in his presence. His grand children can sing some scraps of the
songs which he wrote in praise of their aunt ; and these, save
the Bible presented to her by the Poet, are all that the relatives
of Highland Mary have to bear testimony of the love that was be-
tween her and Bums.
<* Before the 'last &rewell,* commemorated in the song of
'Highland Mary,' was taken, the lovers plighted mutual CaJth,
and, exchanging Bibles, stood with a running stream between,
and, lifting up its waters in their hands, vowed love while the
woods of Montgomery grew and its waters ran. The spot where
this took place is still pointed out. Mary's Bible was of the
commonest kind, and consisted of one volume only-— that of Burns
was elegantly bound, and consisting of two volumes. In the first
volume he had written, — < And ye shall not swear by my name
falseljr — lam the Lord« Lev. chap, xix., v. 12.* — In the second
— * Thou shalt not forswear thyself, but shalt perform unto the
Lord thine oath. St. Matth. chap, v., v. 33 ;' and on a blank
leaf of both volumes, * Robert Bums, Mossgiel.' By the death
of Mary, this Bible came into the possession of her mother, who,
about twelve years ago, gave it to her only surviving daughter,
Mrs And^son. The circumstance of its being in two volumes
seemed at one period to threaten its dismemberment ; for, up-
wards of five years siiice, Mrs Anderson presented a volume to
each of her two daughters ; but on the approaching marriage of
3 F
62 WORKS or BURNS.
Wi* mony a vow, and lock'd embrace.
Our parting was fu' tender ;
And» pledging aft to meet again.
We tore oiirsels asunder ;
But Oh ! fell death's untimely frost.
That nipt my flower sae early !
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay.
That wraps my Highland Mary !
these two femftlos sometime afterwards, her eldest son, William
Anderson, a mason in- Ronton, prevailed on each of his sisters to
dispose of the Tolumes they had received to him ; and thus both
volumes, once more united, now remain in the custody of the
senior nephew of Highland Mary. The sacred verses we have
quoted above remain in the bold, distinct hand-writing of the
Poet ; but his signature, on the opposite leaves, is almost wholly
obliterated. In the first volume, a masonic emblem, drav^n by
Burns, below his signature, is in complete preservation. Mr
William Anderson is also possessed of a pretty large lock of his
aunt. Highland Mary's hair, a portion of which he presented to
us, as a relic of the Bard's first love.
" We now come to another era in the history of this Bible.
Mr Archibald, schoolmaster in Largs, an admirer of Burns, and
a votary of the Scottish muse, waited, it is said, on old Widow
Campbell, some time before her death, for the purpose of pur-
chasing the volumes. He learnt, hov^ever, that she was a pauper
on the roll of the Kirk Session of Greenock, who, in consequence,
were entitled to take possession of her little property as soon as
death removed her from this world ; but in the mean time, to
secure a right to them;, he is said to have bai^ained with her that
he should become the possessor of the volumes when that event
took place, at such a price as might be agreed upon between hin
and the Session. In February last, Mr Archibald having heard
that the Bible had found its way into the custody of ope of the
elders, presented a memorial to the Session :
« < Your Memorialist will not presume to dictate to your Rev-
erend Body what you may or ought to do with the Bible. He
takes leave, however, to say, that if you do not see fit to retain
them as public property, estimable to the people of Greenock, in
consequence of the historical circumstances connected with tiiete
volumes, having been within their locality, he, the Memorialist*
will be proud to be one of those who will gladly come forward to
offer you a handsome sum of money for behoof of the poor, for
the possessiou of the Sacred Pledges of Burns' purest affection.
He has no doubt that many will compete with, him in the gener-
COBRESPONDENCE. ^3
O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,
I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly !
And closed for aye the sparkling glance.
That dwelt on me sae kindly ;
And mouldering now in silent dust
That heart that lo*ed me dearly !
But still within my bosom's core.
Shall live my Highland Mary.
0U8 strife of obtaining the books, and that^ if you see fit in this
way to raise it, a considerable sum may be realiied for the neces-
sities of the poor.'
'* On this memorial the Session pronounced the following judg-
ment upon it : —
*<<The Kirk Session of the Old Parish of Greenock, with their
Heritors, being met — inter alia, the Kirk Treasurer laid before
the meeting a letter from Mr Joseph J. Archibald, Teacher at
Largs, containing an offer of j£lO. for the effects (including fur-
niture, books, &c. &c.) left by Widow Campbell, mother to Bums*
Highland Mary, which effects became the property of the Kirk
S^ion, in consequence of the said Widow Campbell being, for
several years, a pauper on their rolL The Session agreed to re-
sign their hypothec in said effects to and in favour of the said Mr
Joseph J. Archibald, for the aforesaid sum of j£]0. and authorize
their clerk to intimate this to him.'
** Notwithstanding the grave and formal tenor of this resolution,
we suspect that the Bible is the unquestionable property of its
present possessor, and if the account we have received of his
character and conduct approach the truths he is well worthy of
remaining their custodier in perpetuity. **
A correspondent informs us, who resides in Dairy, that the John
Jamieson Archibald had the Bibles, alluded to in the preceding
narrative, for a considerable time in his possession, and that he
deposited them, along with a lock of Mary*s hair, in our corres-
pondent's hands for some time. Jamieson was in the employment
of Dr Kirk, late of Greenock, now in Glasgow, where he took
badly, and his mother went from Dairy to nurse him. On his
death, and her return to Dairy, our correspondent inquired about
the Bibles, but she informed him that she had never seen the
Bibles all the. while she remained in Greenock. Of course it is
impossible to say into whose possession these precious relics have
found their way. Our correspondent, Mr Andrew Crawford,
Dairy, Ayrshire, still retains a small portion of the lock of High-
land Mary's hair. — M.
F 2
64 WORKS OF BURNS.
I4th November, 1792*
My Dear Sir,
I AGREK with you that the song, ' Katharine Ogie/
is very poor stuff*, and unworthy, altogether unworthy, of
so beautiful an air. I tried to mend it, but the awkward
sound Ogie recurring so often in the rhyme, spoils every
attempt at introducing sentiment into the piece. The
foregoing song pleases myself; I think it is in my happiest
manner ; you will see at first glance that it suits the air
The subject of the song is one of the most interesting pass-
ages of my youthful days; and I own that I should be
much flattered to see the verses set to an air which would
insure celebrity. Perhaps, after all, 'tis the still glowing
prejudice of my heart, that throws a borrowed lustre over
the merits of the composition.
I have partly taken your idea of ' Auld Rob Morris.' I
have adopted the two first verses, and am going on with the
song on a new plan, which promises pretty well. I take
up one or another, just as the bee of the moment buzzes
in my bonnet-lug ; and do you, sans ceremonie, make what
use you choose of the productions. Adieu ! &c.
No. VII.
MR THOMSON TO BURNS.
Edinburgh, November, 1792.
Dbar Sir,
I WAS just going to write to you, that on meeting
with your Nannie I had &llen violently in love with her.
I thank you, therefore, for sending the charming rustic to
me, in the dress you wish her to appear before the public.
She does you great credit, and will soon be admitted into
the best company.
I regret tliat your song for the ' Lea-rig' b so short;
CORBESPONDBNCE. 6^
the air is easy, soon suDg, and very pleasing ; so that, if the
singer stops at the end of two stanzas, it is a pleasure lost
ere it is well possessed.*
Although a dash of our native tongue and manners is
.doubtless peculiarly congenial and appropriate to our melo'
dies, yet I shall be able to present a considerable number
of the very flowers of English song, well adapted to those
melodies, which in England at least will be the means of
recommending them to still greater attention than they
have procured there. But you will observe, my plan is
that every air shall, in the first place, have verses wholly by
Scottish poets ; and that those of English writers shall fol-
low as additional songs, for the choice of the singer.
What you say of the ' Ewe-bughts ' is just ; I admire it,
and never meant to supplant it. All I requested was, that
you would try your hand on some of the inferior stanzas,
which are apparently no part of the original song : but this
I do not urge, because the song is of sufficient length
though those inferior stanzas be omitted, as they will be by
the singer of taste. You must not think I expect all the
songs to be of superlative merit : that were an unreasonable
expectation. I am sensible that no poet can sit down
doggedly to pen verses, and succeed well at all times.
I am highly pleased with your humorous and amorous
rhapsody on ' Bonnie Leslie :' it is a thousand times better
than the ' Collier s Lassie ! ' *' The deil he couldna skaith
thee, ^^c.** is an eccentric and happy thought. Do you not
think, however, that the names of such old heroes as Alex-
ander, sound rather queer, unless in pompous or mere bur-
lesque verse ? Instead of the line *' And never made
anither,*' I would humbly suggest, ** And ne'er made sic
anither ; *' and I would fain have you substitute some other
line for " Return to Caledonie," in the last verse, because
I think this alteration of the orthography, and of the sound
* The fashion of the day, however^ is short songs. At present
nothing can be tolerated in the way of a song, above a couple of
stanzas. — M,
F 3
66 WORKS OF BURHS.
of Caledonia, disfigures^ tiie word, and renders it Htidibras-
tic.
Of riie other song, * My wife's a winsome wee thing,' I
think the first eight lines veiy good, but I do not admire
the other eight, because four of them are a bare repetition of
the first verse. I have been trying to spin a stanza, but
could make nothing better than the following: do you
mend it, or as Yorick did with the love-letter, whip it up
in your own way.
O leeze me on my wee thing,
My bonnie blithsome wee thing ;
Sae laughs I hae my wee thing,
rU think my lot divine.
Tho' warld's care we share o't.
And may see meikle mare o't ;
Wi' her Til blithly bear it.
And ne'er a word repine.
You perceive, my dear Sir, I avail myself of the liberty
which you condescend to allow me, by speaking freely what
I think. Be assured, it is not my^ disposition to pick out
the fiiults of any poem or picture I see : my first and chief
object is to discover and be delighted with the beauties of
the piece. If i sit down to^ examine critically, and at leis-
ure, what perhaps you have written in haste, I may happen
to observe careless lines the re-perusal of which might lead
you to improve them. The wren will often see what has
been overlooked by the eagle.
I remain yours faithfully, &c.
P. S. Your verses upon Highland Mary are just come
to hand : they breathe the genuine spirit of poetry, and,
like the music, will last for ever. Such verses united to
such an air, with the delicate harmony of Pleyel superadd-
ed, might form a treat worthy of being presented to Apollo
COll&ESPONDENCE. 67
bimself. I liave heard the sad story of your Mary : you
always seem inspired when you write of her.
No. VIII.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
DuMFBiES, Ut Dee, 1792.
YouB alterations of my . • Nannie O' are perfectly right.
So are those of * My wife's a wanton wee thing.' Your
alteration of the second stanza is a positive improvement.
Now, my dear Sir, with the freedom which characterizes
our correspondence, I must not, cannot alter ' Bonnie Les-
lie.' You are right, the word " Alexander," makes the line
a little uncouth, but I think the thought is pretty. Of
Alexander, beyond all other heroes, it may be said, in the
sublime language of scripture, that " he went forth conquer-
ing and to conquer."
'* For Nature made her what she is.
And never made anither;** (such a person as she is.)
This is in my opinion more poetical than ** Ne'er made
sic anither." However, it is immaterial : make it either
way.* " Caledonie," I agree with you, is not so good a
word as could be wished, though it is sanctioned in three or
four instances by Allan Ramsay: but I cannot help it.
In short, that species of stanza is the most difficult that I
have ever tried.
The ' Lea-rig* is as follows. (Here the poet gives the
two first stanzas, as before, p. 52. with the following in ad-
dition :) -
The hunter lo'es the morning sun,
To rouse the mountain deer, my jo ;
* BIr Thomson has decided on "Ne*er made sic anither."-*
Carrie,
68 WO&KS OF BU&NS.
At noon the fisher seeks the glen,
Along the bi^m to steer, my jo ;
Gie me the hour o* gloamin grey.
It maks my heart sae cheery, O,
To meet thee on the lea* rig,
My ain kind dearie, O.
I am interrupted. Yours, &c
No. IX.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
AULD ROB MORRIS.*
There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen,
He*s the king o' guid fellows and wale of auld men ;
He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine.
And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine.
* The two first lines are taken from an old ballad — the rest is i
wholly originaL — Currie, \
This song is a great improvement on the old ballad ; but still it
was not a bad song, and bereaves this of the claim of originality.
It is as follows :
•
There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen.
He's the king o' gude fellows and the wale o' auld men.
He has kie in his bires, an' yowes on the brae.
And auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun hae.
Dear father, he's doited, a shame to be seen ;
And what can he do wi* a lass o' nineteen !
He's out-shinn'd, and in-shinn'd, and ringle-e'ed too.
And auld Rob Morris I never can loe.
But auld Rob Morris, he is a gude laird, ;
And your daddy has nought but a cot-house and yard.
He's a leel and a hale and a proper auld man, I
And his auld brass will buy you a new pan. . H •
CORRESPONDENCE. 69
She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May :
She's sweet as th'e ev'ning amang the new hay:
As blithe and as artless as the lambs on the lea.
And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e.
But Oh ! she's an heicess, auld Robin's a laird.
And my daddie has naught but a cot-house and yard ;
A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed,
The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead.
The day comes to me, but delight brings me naue ;
The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane :
I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist.
And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast.
had she but been of a lower degree,
1 then might hae hop'd she wad sroil'd upon me !
O, how past discriring had then been pay bliss,
As now my distraction no words can express !
DUNCAN GRAY.*
Duncan Gray cam here to woo.
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
On blithe yule night when we were fu',
Ha, ha, the wooing o't
Maggie coost her head fu' high,
Look'd asklent and unco skeigh,
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh ;
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd :
Ha, ha, tiie wooing o't,
* Bams, no doubt, took upon himself to be the renovator of
Scottish song, and in that capacity has perhaps done us as much
service as in his own original capacity. This is a clever modifi-
cation of a clever old inadmissible ballad. — H.
70 WOEKS OF BURNS.
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig,*
Ha, ha, the wooing o*t.
Duncan sigh*d baith out and in,
Orat his een baith bleert and blin',
Spak o' lowpiu o'er a linn ;
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Time and chance are but a tide.
Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
Slighted love is sair to bide.
Ha, ha, the wooing o*t.
Shall I, like a fool, quoth he.
For a haughty hizzie die ?
She may gae to — France for ine !
Ha, ha, the wooing o*t.
How it comes let doctors tell.
Ha, ha, the wooing o*t,
Meg grew sick — as he grew heal.
Ha, ha, the wooing o*t.
Something in her bosom wrings.
For relief a «igh she brings ;
. And O, her een, they spak sic things I
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Duncan was a lad o* grace.
Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
Maggie's was a piteous case.
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Duncan couldna be her death.
Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath ;
Now they're crouse and canty baith.
Ha, ha, the wooing o'tf
* A well-known rock in the Frith of Qyde.
f This has nothing in common with the old licentious ballad of
Duncan Gray, but the first line, and part of the third.— The rest
is wholly original. — Currle,
COSRESPONDENCK. 71
4th December, 1 792.
The foregoing I submit, my dear Sir, to your better judg-
ment. Acquit them, or condemn them, as seemeth good in
your sight Duncan Gray is tliat kind of light-horse gal-
lop of an air, which precludes sentiment. The ludicrous
is its ruling feature.
No. X.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
SONG.*
Tune — " I had a horse."
O pooRTiTH cauld, and restless love»
Ye wreck my peace between ye ;
Yet poortith a* I could forgive.
An 'twere na for my Jeanie.
O why should fate sic pleasure have,
Life*s dearest bands untwining ?
Or why sae sweet a flower as love.
Depend on Fortune's shining ?
This warld's wealth when I think on.
Its pride, and a' the lave o't ;
Fie, fie on silly coward man.
That he should be the slave o't.
O why should fate, &c.
Her een sae bonnie blue betray.
How she repays my passion ;
* The heroine of this beautiful song was Miss Jean Lorimer,
of Kemmisrhall in Kirkmahoe. We very much suspect that the
Poet's admiration of her was, from all we have heard, " of the
earth earthly. *'-^M.
72 WORKS OF BORNfe.
But prudence is her o'erword ayf ,
She talks of rank and fashion.
O why should fate, &c,
O wha can pradence tliink upon,
And sic a lassie by him ?
O wha can prudence think upon,
And sae in love as I am ?
O why should fate, &c.
How blest the humble cotter's fate ! *
He woos his simple dearie ;
The sillie bogles, wealth and state.
Can never make them eerie.
O why should fate sic pleasure have.
Life's dearest bands untwining ?
Or why sae sweet a flower as love
Depend on Fortune's shining ?
GALLA WATERf
There's braw braw lads on Yarrow braes,
Tliat wander thro' the blooming heather ;
But Yarrow braes, nor Ettrick shaws.
Can match the lads o' Galla Water.
* " The wild-wood Indian's fote," in the original MS.
f This was founded on the old song of * Galla Water,* which we
subjoin. The old words, which appear in Johnson's Museam, and
in song collections fifty years before, Mr Cunnii^ham, owing to
some odd overlook, ascribes in part to Burns. As they appear
in the Museum, they had appeared in various publications many
years before the birth of the Poet. ' Many traditional variations
occur, and numerous streams beside the Galla claim the precedence
for the ** braw lads,'* who dwell on their banks.
Braw, braw lads of Galla Water,
O braw lads of Galla Water ;
m kilt my coats up to my knee.
And follow my love thro* the water.
CORBESPONDENCE. 73
But there is ane, a secret ane,
AbooD them a' I loe him better ;
And 111 be his, and he'll be mine.
The bonnie kd o* Galla Water.
Altho' his daddie was nae laird.
And tho' I hae nae meickle tocher ;
Yet, rich in kindest, truest love,
We'll tent our flocks by Galla Water.
It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth,
That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure $
The bands and bliss o' mutual love,
O that's the chiefest world's treasure !
Jim. 1793.
Many returns of the season to you, my dear Sir. How
comes on your publication ? will these two foregoing be of
any service to yoti ? I should like to know what songs you
print to each tune besides the verses to which it is set In
short, I would wish to give you my opinion on all the poetry
you publish. You know it is my trade, and a man in the
way of his trade may suggest useful hints, that escape men
of much superior parts and endowments in other things.
If you meet with my dear and much-valued Cuttningfaam,
greet him, in xuy namci with the compliments of the season.
Yours, &c.
Sse fair her hair, sae brent her brow,
Sae bonnie blae her een, my deary,
Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her mou*
I aften kiss her till Pm weary.
O'er yon bank, and o'er yon brae,
O'er yon moss amang the heather,
III kilt itj coatb aboon my knee.
And follow my love thro' the water.
' Down ainang the broom, the breom,
Down amang the broom, my deary ;
The lasdy lost her silken snood,
That gar'd her greet till she was- weary. ^L
8. G
'74 WORKS OP BURNS.
No. XI.
MR THOMSON TO BURNS.
Edinburgh, Jan. 20, 1793.
You make me happy, my dear Sir, and thousands will be
happy to see the charming songs you have sent me. Many
merry returns of the season to you, and may you long con-
tinue, among the sons and daughters of Caledonia, to de-
light them and to honour yourself.
The four last songs with which you favoured me, viz.
• Auld Rob Morris,' ' Duncan Gray,' * Galla Water,' and
' Cauld Kail,' are admirable. Duncan is indeed a lad of
grace, and his humour will endear him to every body.
The distracted lover in ' Auld Rob,' and the happy
shepherdess in 'Galla Water,' exhibit an excellent con-
trast: they- speak from genuine feeling, and powerfully
touch the heart.
The number of songs which I had originally in view, was
limited ; but I now resolve to include every Scotch air and
song worth singing, leaving none Iceland but mere glean-
ings, to which the publishers of omnegaiherum are wel-
come. I would rather be the editor of a collection from
which ncfthing could b^ taken away, than of one to which
nothing could be added. We intend presenting the sub-
scribers with two beautiful stroke engravings ; the one
cliaracteristic of the plaintive, and the other of the lively
songs ; and I have Dr Beattie's promise of an essay upon
the subject of our national music, if his health will permit
him to write it. As a number of our songs have doubtless
been called forth by particular events, or by the charms of
peerless damsels, there must be many curious anecdotes re;-
lating to them.
The late Mr Tytler of Woodhouselee, I believe, knew
more of this than any body, for he joined to the pursuits of
an antiquaiy, a taste for poetry, besides being a man of the
COAREBFONDSNCE. 75
world, and poflsessbg an enthusiasm for music beyond most
of his contemporaries. He was quite pleased with this
plan of mine, for I may say it has been solely managed by
me, and we had several long conversations about it when it
was in embryo. If I could simply mention the name of the
heroine of each song, and the incident which occasioned the
verses, it would be gratifying. Pray, will you send me any
information of thb sort, as well with regard to your oWn
songs, as the old ones ?
To all the &vourite songs of the plaintive or pastoral
kind, will be joined the delicate accompaniments, &c. of
Pleyel. To those of the comic and humorous class, I think
accompaniments scarcely necessary ; they are chiefly fitted
for the conviviality of the festive board, and a tuneful voice,
with a proper delivery of the words, renders them perfect.
Nevertheless, to these I propose adding bass accompani-;
roents, because then they are fitted either for singing, or
for instrumental performance, when there happen^ to be no
singer. I mean to employ our right trusty friend Mr
Clarke, to set the bass to these, which he assures me he
will do can amare, and with much greater attention than
he ever bestowed on any thing of the kind. But for this
)ast class of airs I will not attempt to find more than one
set of verses.
That eccentric bard, Peter Pindar, has started I know
not how many difficulties, about writing for the airs I sent
to him, because of the peculiarity of their measure, and the
trammels they impose on his flying Pegasus. I subjoin for
your perusal the only one I have yet got from him, being
£or the fine air * Lord Gregory.' The Scots verses printed
with that air, are taken from the middle of an old ballad,
called ' The Lass of Lochroyan,' which I do not admire.*
I have set down the air therefore as a creditor of yours.
* Mr Thomson is not remarkable for the correctness of his taste
in regard to old Scottish ballads. The one he has alluded to, of
which various versions occur in our collections^ is, we think, an
instance in point— —M.
g2
76 WOBKS or BURNS.
Many of the Jaoobite songs are replete with wit and humour ;
might not Che best of these be included in our volume of
comic songs?
POSTSCRIPT,
FROM THE HON. A. ERSKINE.
\ Mr Thomson has been so obliging as to gjve me a per-
usal of your songs. ' Highland Mary* is most endiantiogly
pathetic, and * Duncan Gra}^' possesses native genuine
humour ; ** spak o' lowpin o'er a linn,*' is a line of itself
that should make you immortal. I sometimes hear of you
from our mutual friend Gunningliame, who is a most ex-
cellent fellow, and possesses, above all men I know, the
charm of a most obliging disposition. You kindly pro-
mised me, about a year ago, a collection of your unpublished
productions, religious and amorous ; I know from ex-
perience how irksome it is to copy. If you will get any
trusty person in Dumfries to write them over fair, I will
give Peter Hill whatever money he asks for his trouble, and
I certainly shall not betray your confidence.
I am your hearty admirer,
ANDREW ERSKINE.
No. XII.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
26th Jemuary, 1793.
I APPROVE greatly, my dear Sir, of your plans. Dr Beat-
tie's essay will of itself be a treasure. On my part, I mean
to draw up an appendix to the Doctor's essay, containing my
stock of anecdotes, &c. of our Scots songs. All the late
Mr Tytler's anecdotes I have by me, taken down in the
course of my acquaintance with him from his own mouth.
I am such an enthusiast, that, in the course of ray several
i
COREESPONDENCE. 77
peregrinations through Scotland, I made a pilgrimage to the
individual spot from which every song took its rise ; ' Loch-
aber* and the ' Braes of Ballenden,' excepted. So far as the
locality, either from the titl^ of the air, or the tenor of the
song, could be ascertained,.! have paid my devotions at the
particular shrine of every Scots muse.
I do not doubt but you might make a very valuable col-
lection of Jacobite songs ; but would it give no offence ?
In the mean time, do not you think that some of them,
particularly ' The sow's tail to Geordie,' as an air, with other
words, might be well worth a place in your collection of
lively songs ?
If it were possible to procure songs of merit, it would be
proper to have one set of Scots words to every air, and that
the set of words to which the notes ought to be set. There
is a natvetdf a pastoral simplicity, in a slight intermixture of
Scots words and phraseology, which is more in unison (at
least to my taste, and I will add to every genuine Caledonian
taste) with the simple pathos, or rustic sprightliness of our
native music, than any English verses whatever.
The very name of Peter Pindar is an acquisition to your
work. His * Gregory* is beautiful. I have tried to give you
a set of stanzas in Scots, on the same subject, which are at
your service. Not that I intend to enter the lists with
Peter ; that would be presumption indeed. My song,
though much inferior in poetic merit, has, I think, more of
the ballad simplicity in it.
LORIX GREGORY.
O MiRx, mirk is the midnight hour, '
And loud the tempest's roar ;
A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tow*r.
Lord Gregory, ope thy door.
An exile frae her father's ha*.
And a' for loving thee ;
g3
78 WORKS OF BURNS.
At least some pity on me shaw.
If love it may na be.
Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the groTe»
By bonaie Irwine side.
Where first I own'd that virgin-love
I lang, lang had denied ?
How aften didst thou pledge and vow
Thou wad for aye be mine ;
And my fond heart, itsel sae true»
It ne'er mistrusted thine.
Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory,
And flinty is thy breast :
Thou dart of heav*n that fiashest by,
O wilt thou give me rest !
Ye mustering thunders from above
Your willing victim see t
But spare, and pardon my &lse love,
His wrangs to heaven and me I*
* The soDg of Dr Walcott^ on the same subject, is as follows t
Ah ope, Lord Gregory, thy door !
A midnight wanderer sighs ;
Hard rash the rains, the tempests roar,
And lightnings cleave the skies.
Who comes with woe at this dr^ar night—
A pilgrim of the gloom ?
If she whose love did once delight,
My cot shall yield her room.
Alas 1 thon heard*st a pilgrim mourn.
That once was priz*d by thee :
Think of the ring by yonder burn
Thou gaT*st to love and me.
&at should'st thou not poor Marian know,
ru turn my feet and part ;
tM-K-l
CORBE8PONDENCE. 79
My most respectful complimeats to the honourable
geutleman who favoured me with a postscript in your last.
He shall hear from me and receive hb MSS. soon. "
No. XIIT.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
20eh March, 1793.
MARY MORISON.*
2\«e— " Bide ye yet.'
)•
O MAUT, at thy window be,
' It is the wish'd, the trysted hour !
Those smiles and glances let me see»
Tliat make the miser's treasure poor ;
How bUthely wad I bide the stoure,
A weary Slave frae sun to sun ;
Could I the rich reward secure,
The lovely Mary Morison.
Yestreen when to the trembling string,
The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha\
And think the storms that round me blow.
Far kinder than thy heart.
It is but doing justice to Dr Walcott to mention, that his song
is the original. Mr Burns saw it, liked it, and immediately wrote
the other on the same subject, which is derived from the old
Scottish ballad of uncertain origin. — Currie.
* Of all the productions of Burns, the pathetic and serious
love songs which he has left behind him^ in the manner of the old
ballads, are perhaps those which take the deepest and most last-
ing hold of the mind. Such are the lines to Mary Morison,
those entitled 'Jessy,* and the song, beginning * O my luve is
like a red red rose.' — HazUtt,
80 WORKS or BuaNSrf
To thee my fisincy took its wiug,
I sat, but neither heard or saw.
Tho* this was fair, and tliat was braw,
And you the toast of a' the town,
\ sigh*d, and said amang them a',
** Ye are na Mary Morison."
O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,
Wlia for thy sake would gladly die ?
Or canst thou break that heart of his,
Whase only &ut is loving thee ?
If love for love thou wilt na gie.
At least be pity to me shown ;
A thought ungentle canna be
The thought o' Mary Morison.
My dear Sir,
The song prefixed is one of my juvenile works. I
leave it in your hands. I do not think it veiy remarkable,
either for its merits or demerits. It is impossible (at least
I feel it so in my stinted powers) to be always original, en-
.tertaining, and witty.
What is become of the list, &c. of your songs ? I shall
be out of all temper with you by-and-by. I have always
looked upon myself as the prince of indolent correspondents,
and valued myself accordingly ; and I will not, cannot bear
rivalship from you, nor any body else.
COaaESPONDENGS. 61
No. XIV.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
March, 1793.
WANDISRINQ WILLIE. •
Herb awa, there awa, wandering WiUie,
Now tired with wandering, hand awa hame ;
Come to my bosom my ae only dearie*
And tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same.
* There are two old songs to this tune. We give from Herd,
vol.^ ii. page 150, the following :
Here awa, there awa, Willie,
Here awa, there awa, haud awa hame;
Lang have I sought thee, dear have I bought thee,
Now I have gotten my Willie again.
Thro* the lang muir I have followed my Willie,
Thro* the lang muir I have followed him hame ;
Whatever betide us, nought shall divide us.
Love now rewards all my sorrow and pain.
Here awa, there awa, baud awa, Willie,
Here awa, there awa, haud awa hame :
Come, love, believe me, naething ean grieve me.
Ilka thing pleases while Willie*s at hame.
The other is a Jacobite ditty, for which we are indebted to Mi
Buchan.
Mony a day hae I followed Duke Willie,
And mony a day hae I followed the drum ;
Mony a day hae I followed Duke Willie*
Frae Cullen o* Bqphan to CuUen Aboyne.
Oin ye meet my luve kiss her and clap her.
And gin ye meet my luve turn her again ;
Gin ye meet my luve kiss her and clap her,
And show her the way to Cullen Aboyne.
Come into my arms my ain bonny Kattie,
Come into my arms and rest ye a while ;
82 WORKS OF BURNS.
Loud blew the cauld winter winds at our parting ;
It was nae tlie blast brought the tear in my e*e :
Now welcome the simmer, and welcome my Willie,
The simmer to nature, my Willie to me.
Ye hurricanes, rest in the cave o' your slumbers !
O how your wild horrors a lover alarms !
Awaken ye breezes, row gently ye billows.
And wall my dear laddie ance mair to my arms.
But if he's forgotten his faithfuUest Nannie,
O still flow between us, thou wide roaring main ;
May I never see it, may I never trow it.
But dying believe that my Willie's my ain I
1 leave it to you, my dear Sir, to determine whether the
above, or the old ' Thro' the lang muir,' be the best.
Come into my arms my ain bonny Kattie,
Believe me, my luve, that with me tbere'f nae guile.
Gin ye meet my love, &c.
Mony a-night bae 1 broken the glasses.
And mony a-nigbt hae I drunken the wine ;
Mony a-nigbt bae I broken the glasses.
When thinking on my luve at CuUen Aboyne.
Gin ye meet my luve, ke»
Mony a-day hae I lac*d your stays, Kattie,
And mony a-day bae I prin*d on your gown ;
Mony a^day hae I lae'd your stays, Kattie,
But now ye have left me and CuUen Aboyne*
Gin ye meet my luve, &c.
Her gown it is striped, her cloak it is scarlet,
Her mutches are made o' the Holland sae fine ;
While mony-a-day hae I followed Duke Williei*^
And spent a' my money at Cullen Aboyne.
Gin ye meet my luve, &c. M.
* Duke of Cumberland,
COERSSPONDENCB. 89
No. XV.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, OH!
WITH ALTERATIONS.
Oh, open the door, some pity to show.
Oh, open the door to me. Oh I*
Tho' thou hast been hke, I'll ever prove true,
Ob, open the door to me. Oh !
Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek.
But caulder thy love for me, Oh !
The frost tliat freezes the life at my heart.
Is nought to my pains frae thee, Oh !
The wan moon is setting behind the white wave,
And time is setting witli me. Oh !
False friend?, false love, &rewell I for mair
111 ne*er trouble them, nor thee, Oh !
She ha^ open'd the door, she has opened it wide ;
She sees his pale corse on the plain, Oh I
My tnie love I she cried, and sank down by his side.
Never to rise again. Oh !
I do not know whether this song be really mended.
* This second line was originally, " If love it may na be, Oh f
84 WORK! OF BURNS.
No. XVI.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON,
JESSIE.*
Tune — " Bonnie Dundee."
Trub hearted was he, the sad swain o* the Yarrow,
And fair are the maids on the banks o' the Ayr,
But by the sweet side of the Nith*s winding river,
Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as &ir ;
To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over ;
To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain ;
Grace, beauty, and elegance, fetter her lover,
And maidenly modesty fixes the chain.
O, fresh is the rose in tiie gay, dewy morning.
And sweet is the lily at evening close ;
But in the fair presence o' lovely young Jessie,
Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose.
Love sits in her smile, a wizard insnaring,
Enthron'd in her een he delivers his law :
And still to her charms she alone is a stranger !
Her modest demeanour's the jewel of a*.
No. XVII.
MR THOMSON TO BURNS.
Edinburgh, 2d April, 179di
I WILL not recognise the title you give yourself, " the
Prince of indolent correspondents;" but if the adjective
were taken away, I think the title would then fit you ex-
* The heroine of this song was Miss Jessie Staig, who married
Major Miller, second son of Mr Miller of Dalswinton. She died
young. — M.
COftRCSPONDSNCE. 85
actly. It gives me pleasure to find you can furnish anec-
dotes with respect to most of the songs : these will be a
literary curiosity,
I now send you my list of the songs, which I believe
will be found nearly complete. I have put down the flr^t
lines of all the English songs which I propose giving in ad-
dition to the Scotch verses. If any others occur to you,
better adapted to the character of the airs, pray mention
them, when you &voar me with your strictures upon every
thing else relating to the work. .
Pleyel has lately sent me a number of the songs, with
his symphonies and accompaniments added to them. I wish
you were here, that I might serve up some of them to you
with your own verses, by way of dessert after dinner. There
is so much delightful fancy in the symphonies, and such a de-
licate simplicity in the accompaniments — they are indeed
beyond all praise.
I am very much pleased with the several last productions
of your muse : your ' Lord Gregory,* in my estimation, is
more interesting than Peter's, beautiful as his is! Your
' Here awa, IVillie,' must undergo some alterations to suit
the air. Mr Erskine and I have been conning it over ; he
will suggest what is necessary to make them a fit match.*
• WANDERING WILLIE,
AS ALTEBEB BY MR ERSKINE AND MR THOMSON.
Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie,
Here awa, there awa, hand awa hame
Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie,
Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the
Winter-winds blew loud and caul at our parting,
Fears for my Willie brought tears in my e'e,
Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie,
As simmer to nature, so Willie to me.
Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave o* your slumbers.
How your dread howling a lover alarms !
3 H
same.
86 WORKS OF BURNS.
Tlie gentleman I have mentioned, whose fine taste you
are no stranger to, is so well-pleased both with the musical
and poetical part of our work, ^hat he has volunteered his
assistance, and lias already written four songs for it, which
by his own desire I send for your perusal.
Blow soft ye breezes t roll gently ye billows t
And waft my dettr laddie ance mair to my arms.
But oh, if he's faithless and minds na his Nannie,
Flow still between us thou dark-heaving main I
May I never see it, may I never trow it,
While dying I think that my Willie^s my ain.
Our poet, with his usual judgment, adopted some of these altera-
tions, and rejected others. The last edition is as follows : —
Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie,
Here awa, there awa, baud awa hame ; ^
C!ome to' my bosom, my ain only dearie.
Tell me thou bring*8t me my Willie the same.
Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting,
Fears for my Willie brought tears in my e*e ;
Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie,
The simmer to nature, my Willie to me.
Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers,
How your dread howling a lover alarms 1
Wauken ye breezes, row gently ye billows.
And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms.
But oh, if he*8 faithless, and minds na hi? Nannie,
Flow still between us thou wide-roaring main !
May I never see it, may I never trow it,
But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain.
Several of the alterations seem to be of little importance in
hemselves, and were adopted, it may be presumed, for the sake
of suiting the words better to the music The Homeric epithet
(or the sea, dark-heavinfff suggested by Mr Erskine, is in itself
more beautiful, as well perhaps as more sublime, than wide-roar"
ing, which he has retained, but as it is only applicable to a placid
state of the sea, or at most to the swell left on its surface after
the storm is over, it gives a picture of that element not so well
CORRESPONDENCE. 117
No. XVIII.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
WHEN WILD WAR'S DEADLY BLAST.
r„n«— « The Mill, Mill, O."
When wild war*s deadly blast was blawn,
And gentle peace returning,
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless.
And mony a widow mourning i*
I left the lines and tented field.
Where lang I'd been a lodger.
My humble knapsack a* my wealth,
A poor and honest sodger.
A leal, light heart was in my breast,
My hand unstain'd wi* plunder :
And for fair Scotia, hame again,
I cheery on did wander.
J thought upon the banks o' Coil,
I thought upon my Nancy;
I thought upon the witching smile
^ That caught my youthful fancy.
At length I reach'd the bonny glen.
Where early life I sported ;
adapted to the ideas of eternal separation, which the fair mourner
is supposed to imprecate. From the original song of * Here awa,
Willie,* Burns has borrowed nothing but the second line and part
of the first. The superior excellence of this beautiful poem will,
it is hoped^ justify the different editions of it which we have given.
* Variation, lines dd and 4th :
" And eyes again with pleasure beam'd.
That had been blear'd with mourning.**
See No. XXIV.
H 2
88 WORKS OF BURNS.,
I pass'd the mill, lUid trysting thorn.
Where Nancy ail I courted :
Wha spied I but my ain dear maid,
Down by her mother's dwelling !
And tum'd me round to hide the flood
That in my een was swelling.
Wi* alter'd voice, quoth I, sweet lass,
Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom,
O ! happy, happy may he be,
"Hiat's dearest to thy bosom !
My purse is light, I've fiur to gang.
And &in would be thy lodger ;
Fve serf'd my king and country lang.
Take pity on a sodger.
Sae wistfully she gaz*d on me.
And lovelier was than ever ;
Quo* she, a sodger ance I lo*ed.
Forget him shall I never :
Our humble cot and hamely &re,
Ye freely shall partake it.
That gallant badge, the dear cockade,
Ye're welcome for the sake o't.
She gaz'd — she redden'd like a rose —
Syne pale like ony lily ;
She sank within my arms, and cried,
Art thou my ain dear Willie ?
By him who made yon sun and sky,
By whom true lovers regarded,
I am the man : and thus may still
True lovers be rewarded.
The wars are o'er, and Fm come hame.
And find thee still true-hearted t
Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love,
And mair we'se ne'er be parted.
wmim^mmm^
CO&HESPONBKNCE. 89
Quo* she, ray grandsire left me gowd,
A mailen plenish'd fairly ;
And come, my faithfu' sodger lad,
Thou'rt welcome to it dearly.
For gold the merchant plouglis the main.
The farmer ploughs the manor ;
But glory is the sodger's prize.
The sodgei^s wealth is honour :
The hrave poor sodger ne'er despise.
Nor count him as a stranger ;
Remember he's his country's stay,
In day and hour of danger.
MEG O* THE MILL.*
' 7\m*-^*0 bonnie Ian, will you lie in a barrack."
O ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten ?
And ken ye what Meg o' the Mill lias gotten ?
She has gotten a coof wi' a daut o* siller,
And broken the heart o* the barley Miller.
The Miller was strappin, the Miller was ruddy ;
A heart like a lord and a hue like a lady :
The laird was a widdiefu*, bleerit knurl ;
She's left the guid-fellow and ta'en the churl.
The Miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving :
The Laird did address her wi* matter mair moving,
A fine pacing-horse wi' a clear chained bridle»
A whip by her side, and a bonnie side-saddle.
* At page 25 of this yolume we haye giTon the old set of
the song as touched up by Bums, for Johnson's Scots Musical
Museum. — M.
R 3
90 W0EK8 OF BU&NS^
O wae on the siller it is sae prevailing ;
And wae on the love that is fixed on a mailen !
A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle.
But, gie me my love, and a fig for the warl' !
No. XIX.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
M April, 1793.
Thank you, my dear Sir, for your packet. You can-
not imagine how much this l>usiness of composing for
your publication has added to my enjoyments. What with
my early attachment to ballads, your book, &c. ballad-
making is now as completely my hobby-horse as ever for-
tification was Unde Tobby*s ; so 1*11 e*eu canter it away
till I come to the limit of my race— God grant that I may
take the right side of the winning post ! — and then cheer-
fully looking back on the honest folks with whom I have
been happy, I shall say or sing, * Sae merry as we a' hae
been I' and raising my last looks to the whole human race,
the last words of the voice of ' Coila,'« shall be, ' Good
night, and joy be wi' you aT So much for my last words :
now for a few present remarks, as they have occurred at
random on looking over your list.
The first lines of ' The last time I came o'er tlie moor,'
and several other lines in it, are beautiful ; but in my opin-
ion — ^pardon me, revered shade of Ramsay !^-the song Is un-
worthy of the divine air. I shall try to make or mend.
* For ever, fortune, wilt thou prove,* is a chtrming song.
' Bums here calls himself the <<Voice of Coila,'* in imitation of
Ossian, who denominates himseK the <*Voioe of Coaa.** 'Sae
merry as we a* hae been,' and < Good night, and joy be wi* you
aV are the names of two Scottish tunes.— Currie.
COBRXSFONDXNCE. 91
but' Logan burn and Logan braes,' are sweetly susceptible
of rural imageiy: 111 try tbat likewise, and, if I succeed,
the other song maj class among the Englbh ones. I re*
member the two last lines of a Terse in some of the old
songs of * Logan Water ' (for I know a good many differ^
ent ones) which I think pretty.
** Now my dear lad maun face his foes,
Far, far frae me and Logan foraes."
' My Patie is a lover gay,* is unequal. ' His mind is
never muddy,' is a muddy expression indeed.
« Then FU reugn and inarry Pate^
And syne my cockemony." —
This is surely far unworthy of Ramsay, or your book.
My song, ' Rigs of Barley,' to the same tune does not alto-
gether please me ; but if I can mend it, and thrash a few
loose sentiments out of it, I will submit it toyourconsidera-
tion. * The lass o' Patie'S Mill ' is one of Ramsay's best
songs ; but there is one loose sentiment in it, which my
much-valued friend Mr Erskine will take into his critical
consideration. In Sir J. Sinclair's statistical volumes, are
two claims, one, I think, from Aberdeenshire, and the other
from Ayrshire, for the honour of this song. The following
anecdote, which I had from the present Sir William Gun-
ningbam of Robertland, who had it of the late John, Earl
of Loudon, I can, on such authorities, believe:
Allan Ramsay was residing at Loudon-castle with the
then Earl, &ther to Earl John ; and one forenoon, riding,
or walking out together, his Lordship and Allan passed a
sweet romantic spot on Irvme water, still called, " Patie's
Mill," where a bonnie lass was 'Hedding hay, bareheaded
on the green.** My Lord observed to Allan, that it would
foe a fine theme for a song. Ramsay took the hint, and
lingering behind, he composed the first sketch of it, which
he produced at dinner.
* One day I heard Mary say,* is a fine song; but, for con-
sistency's sake, alter the name *< Adonis." Were there ever
such banns published, as a purpose of marriage between
92 WORKS OF BURIfS.
Adonis and Mary? I agree with you that my song,
* There's nought but care on every hand,' is much superior
to * Poortith cauld.' The original song, • The Mill, MiU, O/
though excellent, is, on account of delicacy, inadmissible ;
still I like tlie title, and think a Scottish song would suit
the notes best ; and let your chosen song, which is very
pretty, follow as an English set. ' The banks of the Dee,'
is, you know, literally 'Langolee/ to slow time. The
song is well enough, but has some folse imagery in it : for
instance,
<< And sweetly the nightingale sang from the tree."
In tlie first place, the nightingale sings in a low bush,
but never from a tree ; and in the second place, there never
was a nightingale seen, or heard on the banks of the Dee*
or on the banks of any other river in Scotland. Exotic
rural imagery is always comparatively flat. If I could hit
on another stanza, equal to ' The small birds rejoice,' &c,
I do myself honestly avow, that I think it a superior song.*
' John Anderson, my jo* — ^the song to this tune in Johnson's
Museum, is my composition, and I think it not my worst :
if it suit you, take it and welcome. Your collection of
sentimental and pathetic songs, is, in my opinion, very com-
plete ; but not so 'your comic ones. Where are *■ Tulloch-
gorum,' * Lumps o' puddin,* * Tibbie Fowler,* and several
others, which, in my humble judgment, are well worthy of
preservation ? There is also one sentimental song of mine
in the Museum, which never was known out of the im-
mediate neighbourhood, until I got it taken down from a
country girl*s singing. It is called * Cragieburn Wood ;'
and in the opinion of Mr Clarke, is one of the sweetest
Scottish songs. He is quite an enthusiast about it : and I
would take his taste in Scottish music against the taste of
most connoisseurs.
* It will be found, in the course of this correspondence^ that
the^Bard produced a second stansa of * The C3ie?alier*s Lament,!
<fco which he here alludes,) worthy of the first. — Currie.
CORRESPONDENCE. 93
You are quite right in inseitiDg tbe last five in your list,
though they are certainly Irish. * Shepherds, I have lost
my love !' is to me a heavenly air — what would you think
of a set of Scottish verses to it ? I have made one to it a
good while ago, but in its- original state it is not quite a
lady's song. I inclose an altered, not amended copy for
you, if you choose to set the tune to it, suxd let the Irish
verses follow.*
Mr Erskine's songs are all pretty, but his ' Lone Vale '
is divine.
Yours, &c.
Let me know just how you like these random hints.
No. XX.
MR THOMSON TO BURNS.
Edinburgh, AprU, 1798.
I REJOICE to find, my dear Sir, that ballad-making con-
tinues to be your hobby-horse. Great pity 'twould be
were it otherwise. I hope you will amble it away for
many a year, and " witch the world with your horaeman-
ship.*'
I know there are a good many lively songs of merit that
I have not put down in the list sent you ; but I have them
all in my eye. ' My Patie is a lover gay,' though a little
* Mr Thomson, it appears, did not approve of this song, even
in its altered state. It does not appear in the correspondence ;
but it is probably one to be found in his MSS. beginning,
" Yestreen I got a pint of wine,
A place where body saw na ;
Yestreen lay on (his breast of mine,
The gowden locks of Anna.*'
It is highly characteristic of our Bard, but the strain of senti-
ment does not correspond with the air to which he proposes it
should be allied.— Ct»me.
94 WORKS OF BUBNS.
unequal, is a natural and very pleasing song, and I huoAbly
think we ought not to displace or alter it, except the last
stanza.*
No. XXL
BURNS TO MR THOMSON,
April, 1793.
I HAVE yours, my dear Sir, this moment* J shall answer
it and your former letter, in my desultory way of saying
whatever comes uppermost.
The business of many of our tunes wanting, at the be-
ginning, what fiddlers cEdl a starting-note, is often a rub to
us poor rhymers.
'* There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes.
That wander thro' the blooming heather,**
you may alter to
** Braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes,
Ye wander, &o.*
»
My song, ' Here awa, there awa,* as amended by Mr
Erskine, I entirely approve of, and return you.t
Give me leave to criticise your taste in the only thing
in which it is, in my opinion, reprehensible. You know I
ought to know something of my own trade. Of pathos,
sentiment, and point, you are a complete judge ; but there
is a quality more necessary than either in a song, and
which is the very essence of a ballad, I mean simplicity :
* The original letter from Mr Thomson contains many obserra-
tions on the Scottish songs, and on the manner of adapting the
words to the music, which, at his desire, are suppressed. The
subsequent letter of Mr Bums refers to several of these observa-
tions. — Currie,
•f The reader has already seen that Bums did not finally adopt
all of Mr £rskine*s alterations. — Currie.
CORRESPOHDENCE. 95
now, if I mistake not, this last feature you are a little apt
to sacrifice to the foregoing.
Ramsay, as e?ery other poet, has not been always equally
happy in his pieces ; still I cannot approve of taking sucli
liberties with an author as Mr W. proposes doing with
The last time I came o'er the moor.' Let a poet, if he
choos^, take up the idea of another, and work it into a
piece of his own ; but to mangle the works of the poor bard,
whose tuneful tongue is now mute for ever, in the dark and
narrow house* — ^by Heaven, 'twould be sacrilege ! I grant
that Mr W.'s version is an improvement ; but I know Mr
W. well, and esteem him much ; let him mend the song,
as the Highlander mended his gun ; he gave it a new stock*
a new lock, and a new barrel.
I do not, by this, object to leaving out improper stanzas,
where that can be done without spoiling the whole. One
stanza in ' The lass o' Patie'^ Mill,' must be left out : the
song will be nothing worse for it. I am not sure if we can
take the same liberty with ' Corn rigs are bonnie.' Per-
haps it might want the last stanza, and be the better for it.
' Cauld kail in Aberdeen,' you must leave with me yet a
while. I have vowed to have a song to that air, on the
lady whom I attempted to celebrate in the verses, ' Poor-
tith cauld and restless love.' At any rate my other song^
' Green grow the rashes,' will never suit. That song is
current in Scotland under the old title, and to the merry
old tune of that name, which, of course, would mar the pro-
gress of your song to celebrity. Vonr book will be the
standard of Scots songs for the future : let tliis idea ever
keep your judgment on the alarm.
I send a song on a cdebrated toast in this country, to
suit ' Bonnie Dimdee.' I send you also a ballad to the
^ MUl, Mill, O.'*
* The song to the tune of * Bonnie Dundee,' is that in No.
XYI. The ballad to the * Mill, MUl, O,' is that beginning,
** When wild war's deadly blasts are blawn.** €urri€.
96 WORKS OF BURNS.
' Tiie last time I came o*er the moor/ I would fiiio at-
tempt to make a Scots song for, and let Ramsay's be the
English set. You shall hear from me soon. When you
go to London on this business, can you come by Dumfries ?
I have still several MS. Scots airs by me, which I have
picked up, mostly from the singing of country lasses. They
please me vastly ; but your learned iugs* would perfa^[is
be displeased with the very feature for which I like them.
I call them simple ; you would pronounce them silly. Do
you know a fine air called ' Jackie Hume's Lament ?* I have
a song of considerable merit to that air. 1*11 inclose you
both the song and tune, as I had them ready to send to
JobOBon's Mu8eum.f I send you likewise, to me, a
beautiful little air, which I had taken down finom viva
voce.X Adieu.
No. XXIL
. BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
April, 1793.
My dear Sir,
I HAD scarcely put my last letter into the post
office, when I took up the subject of * The last time I came
o'er the moor,* and ere I slept drew the outlines of the
foregoing. How far I have succeeded, I leave on this, as
on every other occasion, to you to decide. I own my vani-
ty is flattered, when you give my songs a place in your
elegant and superb work ; but to be of service to the work
is my first wisiu As I have often told you, I do not in a
* Ears.
f The song here mentioned is that given in No. XVIII. < O
ken ye what Meg o* the mill has gotten ?' This song is surely
Mr Burns's own writing, though he does not generally praise his
own songs so mach. — iVbte (y Mr Thonuoii.
\ The air here mentioned is that for which he wrote the balbnl
of < Bonnie Jean.* See No. XXVIL
CORRESPONDBNCE. 97
tingle instance wish you, out of compliment to me, to
insert any thing of mine. One hint let me give you — ^what
ever Mr Pleyel does, let him not alter one iota of the
original Scottish airs : I mean in the song department ; but
let our national music preserve- its native features. They
are, I own, frequently wild and irreducible to the more
modem rules ; but on that very eccentricity, perhaps, de-
pends a great part of their effect.
No. XXIII.
MR THOMSON TO BURNS.
Edinburgh, 26th April, 1793.
I HEARTILY thank you, my dear Sir, for your .last two
letters, and the songs which accompanied them. I am
always both instructed and entertained by your observa-
tions ; and tlie frankness with which you speak out your
mind, is to me highly agreeable. It is very possible I may
not have the true idea of simplicity in composition. I con>
fess there are several songs, of Allan Ramsay's for example,
l;hat I think ully enough, which another person, more con-
versant than I have been with country people, would per-
haps call simple and natural. But the lowest scenes of
simple nature will not please generally, if copied precisely
as they are. The poet, like the painter, must select what
will form an agreeable as well as a natural picture. On
this subject it were easy to enlarge ; but, at present, suffice
it to say, that I consider simplicity, rightly understood;
as a most essential quality in composition, and the ground-
work of beauty in all the arts. I will gladly appropriate
your most interesting new ballad, ' When wild war's
deadly blast,' &c. to the < Mill, Mill, O,* as well as the
two other songs to their respective air&; but the tliird and
fourth lines of the first verse must undergo some little al-
3 1
98 WORKS or BURNS.
teratioD 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 much-
loved friend, is a loss indeed. Pardon my seeming inat>
tention 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 oar poet had maintained a long silence, and the first num<'
ber of Mr Thomson's Musical Work was in the press, this ffentle-
man rentured, by Mr Erskine's advice, to substitute for them io
that publication, *
** Aqd eyes again with pleasure beamM
That had been bleared with mourning."
Though better suited to the music, these lines are inferior to the
original. This is the only alteration adopted by Mr Thomson,
'Which Bums did not approve, or at least assent to»-^ CurrU,
CORRESPONDENCE. 99
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 Edinburgh —
he 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.
T^me— << Liggeram Gosh."
Blithe hae I been on yon hill.
As the lambs before me ;
Careless ilka thought and free.
As the breeze flew o'er me :
Now nae langer sport and play.
Mirth or sang can please me ;
Lesley is sae fair and coy.
Care and anguish seize me.
Heavy, heavy is the task.
Hopeless love declaring :
Trembling, I dow nocht but glow'r.
Sighing, dumb, despairing !
If she winna ease tlie thraws
In my bosom swelling ;
Underneath the grass-green sod.
Soon maun be my dwelling.
I should wish to hear how this pleases you.
I 2
100 WOBK8 OF BUaNS.
No. XXV.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
Hate 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 swell-
ing, suffering heart, fired at the tyrannic strides of some
public destroyer ; and overwhelmed with private distress,
the consequence of a countiy'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.*
STuiM— « Logan Water."
O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide.
That day I was my Willie's bride ;
And years sinsyne hae o*er us run.
Like Logan to the simmer sun.
* The original of this song is a curious old ballad, sung in
Ettrick Forest to this daj, owing to ^e number of gentlemen
once of that district who figure in it. It is all about the court-
ing 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 grows, and his spaniels three.
COBRESPONDSNCC. 101
But now thy flow'ry banks appear
Like drumlie winter, dark and drear.
While my dear lad maun face his &es.
Far; far fiae me and Logan braes.
This squire he said he wanted a sheep,
And a whole eared giminer he supposed her to be ;
But I trow she's turned to a twinter ewe.
And he's never be the laird o' the L<^an-lee.
I haye a braw wpoer from Dryhope tower.
Not far from the side of the St Marie ;
His cheeks they are blae wi* the supping o* the whey,
And he's never be the laird o' the Logan-lee.
Young Justilaw has ewe-milkers enew,
Wi' their coats a* kiltit aboon the knee ;
But amang them a* he may take his wale,
For he's never be the laird o* the Logan-lee.
And Ettrickha* is a squire sharp,
But sae he didna kithe to me ;
For weel he might hae had what I darena name,
And syne been the laird o' the L<^an-lee.
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 Unea to 'Logan
braes,* which have become deservedly popular :
" By Logan streams that rin sae deep,
Fu' aft wi* glee I've herded sheep :
I've herded sheep, or gathered slaes,
Wi' my dear lad on Logan braes.
But waes my heart thae days are gane.
And fu* o' grief I herd my lane ;
While my dear lad maun face his faes.
Far, far frae me and Logan braes.
** Nae mair at Logan kirk vnll he
Atween the preachings meet wi* m&—
Meet wi' me, or when it's mirk,
Convoy me hame frae Logan kirk.
I weel may sing thae days are gane,
Frae kirk and fair I come my lane ;
13
102 WOaKS OF BUKVf.
Again the meny montli o' May
Has made our hills and valleys gay ;
The birds rejoice in leafy bowers.
The bees hum round the breathing flowers :
Blithe morning lifts his rosy eye.
And evening's tears are tears of joy :
My soul, delightless, a* surveys,
While Willie's far frae Logan braes.
Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush,
Amang her nestlings sits the thrush ;
Her &ithfu' mate will share her toil.
Or wi* his song her cares beguile :
But I, wi* my sweet nurslings here,
Nae mate to help, oae mate to cheer.
Pass widow'd nights, and joyless days.
While Willie's far frae Log^n braes.
O wae upon you, men o' state.
That brethren rouse to deadly hate !
As ye make mony a fond heart mourn,
Sae may it on your heads return !
How can your flinty hearts enjoy
The widow's tears, the orphan's cr}' ? *
But soon may peace bring happy days.
And Willie hame to Logan braes !
Do you know the following beautiful little fragment, in
Witherspoon's collection of Scots songs ?
While my dear lad maun face his &es.
Far, far frae me and Logan braes.*' M.
• Originally,
** Ye mind na, *mid your cruel Joys,
The widow's tears, the orphan's cries.**
"^i^"'**. ^<BWKm«^a>^^«««S*^H« 11. I 1-^
comtssroNDSNci. lOQ
i4tiw.M Hughie Orabftm."
O gin my love were yon red rose.
That growB upon the casUc wa' ;
And I myseP a dnip o' dew.
Into her bonnie breast to &' !
Oh, there bejrond expression blest,
Fd feast^n beauty a' the night s
Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest,
Till fley'd awa by Phoebus' light.*
* This beautiful fragment first appeared in Herd's Collection
of Scottish ballads and songs. A perfect copy of the old song
has been supplied to us by Mr Buchan, as reoovered bj him from
tradition, in the North of Scotland, which we subjoin : —
O gin my luvie were a' in a stoupie.
And syne gin I were sent for barm,
The cauldest time that ever I was,
A kiss o* my luvie would keep me warm.
My bonnie luvie, she's little, she's Uttley
And my bonnie luvie, she*s little and wee ;
But when I look to her weel made middle,
I think that my luvie will fancy me.
O gin my luvie were a' in a pockie,
And syne gin I were sent for meal.
The sickest time that ever I was,
A kiss o* my luvie would make me weel.
My bonnie luvie, &c.
O gin my luvie were a* in a coffer.
And I mysell had the keys to keep.
Nineteen times in a winter nisht.
Into my bonnie luve I would creep.
My bonnie luvie, &c.
O gin my luvie were a bonnie red rosei
Grown at the foot o' yon castle wa* ;
And I mysel a drap o' dew,
Down on my bonnie luve*s breast to fa**
My bonnie luvie^ ScCa
104 WO&K8 OF BUBN8*
This thought is inexpressibly beautiful ; and quite, so
(ar as I know, original. It is too short for a song, else I
would forswear you altogether unless you gave it a place.
I have often tried to eke a stanza to it, but in vain. After
balancing myself for a musing five minutes, on the hind*
legs of my elbow-chair, I produced the following.
The verses are &r inferior to the foregoing, I frankly
confess ; but if worthy of insertion at all, they might be
first in place ; as every poet, who knows any thing of his
trade, will husband his best thoughts for a concluding
stroke.
O were my love yon lilac fair,
Wi' purple blossoms to the spring ;
And r, a bird to shelter there.
When wearied on my little wing.
How I wad mourn, when it was torn.
By autumn wild, and winter rude !
But I wad sing on wanton wing.
When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd.
Oh, there beyond expression blest,
Td feast on beauty a* the night ;
Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest.
Till fley*d awa by Phoebus light.
My bonnie luvie, &c.
O gin my luve were a turtle dove.
Flying about frae tree to tree,
And I mysell a single blackbird,
I'd fly and bear her company.
My bonnie luvie, &c
Another version of the above, purporting to be from the wo-
man, by way of answer to it, Mr Buchan informs us, is also cur-
rent in the North, but which, he adds^ it is unnecessary to give.
— M.
QOKRBSPONOENCS. lOd
No. XXVL
MR THOMSON TO BURNS.
Monday, \tt Jufy, 1793.
1 AM eltremely sorry, my. good Sir, that any thing
should happen to unhinge you. The times are terribly out
of tune; and when harmony will be restored. Heaven
knows.
The first book of songs, just published, will be despatch-
ed to you along with this. Let me be fieivoured with your
opinion of it frankly and freely.
I shall certainly give a place to the song you have writ^
ten for the ' Quaker's Wife ;' it is quite enclianting. Pray
will you return the list of songs wi^ such airs added to it
as you think ought to be included. The business now rests
entirely on myself, the gentlemen who originally agreed to
join the speculation having requested to be off. No mat*
ter, a loser I cannot be. The superior excellence of the
work will create a general demand for it as soon as it is
properly known. And were the sale even slower than it
promises to be, I should be somewhat compensated for my
labour, by the pleasure I shall receive from the music. I
cannot express how much I am obliged to you for the ex-
qubite new songs you are sending me ; but thanks, my
friend, are a poor return for what you have done : as I
shall be benefited by the publication, you must suffer me to
inclose a small mark of my gratitude,* and to repeat it
afterwards when I find it convenient. Do not return it,
for, by Heaven, if you do, our correspondence is at an end :
and though this would be no loss to you, it would mar the
publication, which under your auspices cannot &il to be re-
spectable and interesting. •
• £5.
)06 WORKS OF BURNS.
Wednesday Morning,
I THANK you for your delicate additional verses to the
old fragment, and for your excellent song to * Logan Wa-
ter:' Thomson*s truly elegant one will follow for the
English singer. Your apostrophe to statesmen is admira-
ble ; but I am not sure if it is quite suitable to the sup
posed gentle character of the fair mourner who speaks it*
No. XXVII.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
July 2d, 1799.
My dear Sib,
I HAVE just finished the following ballad, and, as
I do think it in my best style, I send it you. Mr Clarke,
who wrote down the air from Mrs Bums's wood-note
wild, is very fond of it, and has given it a celebrity by
teaching it to some young ladies of the first fashion here.
If you do not like the air enough to give it a place in your
collection, please return it. The song you may keep, as I
remember it.
:bjonnie jean.*
There was a lass, and she was &ir.
At kirk and market to be seen.
When a' the fairest maids were met.
The &irest maid was bonny Jean.
* Mr Cunningham says, Miss Jean M*Murdo, the eldest
daughter of John M'Murdo, Esq. of Dnimlanrig, was the heroine
of this exquisite song ; and his evidence . must be conclusive,
as he states that the original MS. presented by the poet to the
family was in his possession. Others have stated her to be Miss
Miller of Dalswinton^ but without adducing any proof. — ^M.
n
COBBBSPONDENCE. 107
And aye she wrought her mammie's wark« -
And aye she sang sae merriiie :
The blithest bird upon the bush
Had ne'er a lighter heart than she.
But hawks will rob the tender joys
That bless the little lintwhite's nest i
And frost will blight the fairest flowers, .
And love will break the soundest rest.
Young Robie was the brawest lad|
The flower and pride of a' the glen i
And he had owsen, sheep, and kye.
And wanton naigies nine or ten.
He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste,
He danc'd wi* Jeanie on the down ;
And lang ere witless Jeanie wist,
H^r heart was tint, her peace was stown.
As in the bosom o* the stream.
The moon-beam dwells at dewy e'en ;
So trembling, pure, was tender love
Within the breast o' bonnie Jean.*
And now she works her mammie*s wark,
And aye she sighs wi' care and pain ;
Yet wist na what her ail might be,
Or what wad mak her weel again.
But did na Jeanie's heart loup light,
And did na joy blink in her e'e.
As Robie tauld a tale o' love
Ae e'en in on the lily lea ?
* In the original MS. our poet asks Mr Thomion if this stanza
1i not original?— Cvrrie.
108 WORKS OF BURNS.
The sun was sinking in the west.
The birds sang sweet in ilka grore ;
His cheek to hers he fondly presto
And whisper*d thus his tale o' love :
O Jeanie fair, I lo*e thee dear ;
O canst thou think to fancy me ;
Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot.
And learn to teat the fenns wi' me ?
At bam or byre thou shalt na drudge.
Or naething else to trouble thee ;
But stray amang the heather-bells.
And tent the waving corn wi' me.
Now what could artless Jeanie do ?
She had nae will to say him na :
At length she blush'd a sweet consent.
And love was aye between them twa.
I have some thoughts of inserting in your index, or in
my notes, the names of the fair ones, the themes of my
songs. I do not mean the name at full ; but dashes or
asterisms, so as ingenuity may find them out
Tlie heroine of the foregoing is Miss M., daughter to
Mr M. of IX, one of your subscribers. I have not painted
her in the rank which she holds in life, but in the dress
and character of a cottager.
No. XXVIII.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
Jir/y, 1793.
I A8SI7RB you, my dear Sir, that you truly hurt me with
your pecuniary parcel. It degrades me in my own eyes.
CORRESPONDENCE. 109
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 Integrity — on the least motion of it, 1
will indignantly spurn the by-past transaction, and from
that moment commence entire stranger to you I Burns*s
character for geuerosity of sentiment and indepetidence 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 pre&ce, too, is admirably written ; only
yowr partiality to me has made you say too much s bow-
ever, 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 pefhaps
contradictory.
' The Flowers of the Forest* is charming as a poem, and
s^otiM be, and must be, set to the notes ; but, though out
of your rule, the three stanzas, beginnings
" I hae seen the tmiling o' fortune beguiling,**
are worthy of a place, were it but to iranortalize the author
of them, who is an old lady of my acqiiaifitance, and at this
moment living in Edinburgh. She is a Mrs Cockburn ; I
forget of what place ; but from Roxburghshire. What a
charming apostrophe is
'* O fickle fortune, why this cruel sporting.
Why, why torment us — poor sons of a day Y*
The old ballad, ' I wish I were where Helen lies,' is siUy
to contemptibility .* My alteration of it in JohnsoiS's is not
* There is a copy of this ballad glvem in the account of the
Parish of Kirkpatrick-Fleeming, (whicli ooutiJiis the tomb of
fair Helen Irvine,) in the SUtlsties of Sir Joha Sinclair, vol.
xni. p. 275, to which this character H certainly not applicable.
3 K
1 10 WORKS Ol BURNS.
much better. Mr Pinkerton, in his, wliat he calls, ancient
ballads, (many of them notorious, though beautiful enough
forgeries,) has the best set. It is full of his own interpola-
tions, — but no matter.
That oar readers may judge for themselves, we sh&Il here give
the ballad of * Fair Helen' entire, with the story of the lovers, as
related in the Statistics : — " In the burial-ground of Kirkconnell,
are still to be seen the tomb-stones of Fair Helen, and her favourite
lover Adam Fleeming. She was a daughter of the family of
Kirkconnell, and fell a victim to the jealousy of a lover. Being
courted by two young gentlemen at the same time, the one of
whom thinking himself slighted, vowed to sacrifice the other to
his resentment, when he again discovered him in her company.
An opportunity soon presented itself, when the faithful pair,
walking along the romantic banks of the Kirtle, were diseoTered
from the opposite banks by the assassin. Helen perceiving him
lurking among the bushes, and dreading the fatal resolution,
rushed to her lover's bosom, to rescue him from the danger ; and
thus receiving the wound intended for another, sunk and expir-
ed in her favourite's arms. He immediately revenged her death,
and slew the murderer. The inconsolable Adam Fleeming, now
sinking under the pressure of grief, went abroad and served un-
der the banners of Sgain, against the infidels. The impression,
however, was too strong to be obliterated. The image of woe
attended him thither ; and the pleasing remembrance of the ten-
der scenes that were past, with the melancholy reflection, that
they could never return, harassed his soul, and deprived his mind
of repose. He soon returned, and stretching himself on her
grave, expired, and was buried by her side. Upon the tomb-
stone are engraven a svvord and cross, with ' Hie jacet Adam
Fleeming.' The memory of this is only preserved in an old
Scots ballad, which relates the tragical event, and which is said
to have been written by Adam Fleeming, when in Spain. As
the piece is little known, and affords a pretty good specimen of
the vulgar dialect spoken at present in this country, which must
have undei^one little variation for upwards of 200 years, it is
sent for insertion.
FAIR HELEN.
A TRAGICAL OLD SCOTS BONG.
Afy sweetest tweet, and fairest fair,
Of birth and worth beyond compare,
Thou art the causer of my cair.
Since first I loved thee :
COB&ESPONDENCE. Ill
. In my next I will suggest to your consideration a few
Bonga which may have escaped your hurried notice. In the
mean time, allow me to congratulate you now, as a brother
of the quill. You have committed your character and
Yet God hath given to me a mind,
Tlie which to thee shall prove as kind.
As any one that thou wilt find.
Of high or low deeree.
Yet nevertheless I am content,
And ne*er a whit my love repent ;
But think my time it was well spent,
Though I disdained be.
The shairest water makes maist din.
The deepest pool the deadest lin,
The richest man least truth within.
Though he disdained be.
O Helen fair, without compare,
1*11 wear a garland of thy hair.
Shall cover me for ever mair.
Until the day I die.
O Helen sweet, and maist complete,
My captive spirit's at thy feet ;
Think'st thou still fit thus for to treat*
Thy pri8*ner with cruelty ?
O Helen brave ! this still I crave,
On thy poor slave some pity have.
And do him save, that's near his grave.
And dies for love of thee.
Curst be the hand that shot the shot.
Likewise the gun that gave the crack.
Into my arms bird Helen lap,
And died for love of me.
O think na* ye my heart was sair.
My love sank down, and spak na mair.
There did she swoon wi' meikle cair,
On fair Kirkconnell lee.
k2
1 12 W0BK8 OF BUEN8.
fame ; which will uqw be tried, £br ages to come, by the
illustrious jury of the Sons and DAUiaHTERs op 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 foretell and a&
firm, that your great-grand child will hold up your volumes,
and say with honest pride, " This so much admired selec-
tion was the work of my ancestor."
I lighted down, ipy sword did draw,
I cuttad him in pieces sma*,
I catted him in pieces sma'.
On fair ^rkcooaeU lee.
Helen chaste ! thoQ wert modest,
Were I with thee I would be blest,
Where thou ly 'st low, and taVst thy rest
On fair ILirkcounell lee.
1 wish I ^ere wber^ I have been,
Embracing of my love Helen,
At Venus' gfimes weVe been right keen,
On fair Kirkooanell lee.
I wish my gr^ve were growing green,
A winding sheet put o'er my een.
And I in Helen's anns lying,
On fair Kirkconuell lee.
I wish I were where Helen lies, '
Where night and day she on me cries ;
1 wish I were where Helen lies,
On fair Kirkconnell lee. M.
CORRESPOND8NCE. 1 13
No. XXIX.
MR THOMSON TO BURNS.
Edinburgh, Itt Awftutt 1 799.
Dear Sir,
I HAD the pleasure of receiving your last two let-
ters, and am happy to find you are quite pleased witli 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 tlie
livelier airs, wait the muse's leisure : these are peculiarly
worthy of her choice gifls : besides, you'll notice, that in
airs of this sort, the singer can always do greater justice to
the poet, tlian in the slower airs of ' The Bush aboon Tra-
quair,' ' Lord Gregory,' and the like ; for in the manner
the latter were 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 sim-
ple and beautiful, and shall undoubtedly grace my colw
lection.
114 liv6BKS OF BUANS.
No. XXX.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
Aufftut, 1793.
My DEAR Thomson,
I HOLD the pen for our friend Clarke, who at pre-
sent is studying the music of the spheres at my elbow. The
Georgium Sidus he thinks is rather out of tune ; so until
he rectify that matter, he cannot stoop to terrestrial affairs.
He sends you six of the Rondeau subjects, and if more
are wanted, he says you shall haive them.
Confound your long stairs !
S. CLARKE.
No. XXXI.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
49^f¥^ 1798*
Your objection, my dear Sir, to the passage in my foog
of ' Lpgan Waterj,' is right in one instance ; but it is difficuk
to mend it : if I can I wiU. The other paspagf^ you object
to does not appear in the same light to me.
I have tried my hand on ' Robin Adair,' a^4 you will
probably think* with little success ; but it is such a cursed,
cramp, out-of-the-way measure, that I d^pair of dping any
thing better to it
PHILLIS THE FAIR.
Tune—" Robin Adair.*'
While larks with little wing,
Fann'd the pure air.
Tasting the breathing spring,
Forth I did fare ;
i
tff^BmBt^'^'^^^^SK
CQMtlSfONDfiNC^. 1 15
Gay tlie sun'a golden eye,
Peep'd o'er the mouQtaioa high ;
Such thy morn ! did I cry,
PhUle th« fwn
Id each bird's careless song.
Glad did I share ;
While yon wild flowers iii^ong,
Chaoce led me there :
Sweet to the opening d^',
Rosebuds hent the dewy spray ;
Such thy bloom 1 did I say,
Phillis the &ir.
Down in a shady wi^k.
Doves cooiqg were :
I marl^'d the cru^l hawk
Caught ia a snare s
So kind may Ib^uiji^ be,
Such make his <Ntiny,
He who would injure thee,
Phillis the fair.
•
8« much for namby*pamby. I may, after all, try my
hand on it }^ Scots verse. There I always find myself
IDOst at home.
I have just put the last hand to the song I meant for
* Cauld ka^l in Aberdeen.' If it suits you to insert it, I
sl^ill be pleased* as the heroine is a fiivourite of mine ; if
not, I shall also be pleased ; because I wish, and will be
g^a4 to see you act decidedly on the business. 'Tis a tri-
bute as a man of taste, and as an edltorj^ which you owe
yourselC
1 16 WORKB OF BUANS.
No. XXXIl/
MR THOMSON TO BURNS.
Au^ustf 1793.
Mt good Sir,
I CONSIDER it one of the most agreeable circumstances
attending this publication of mine, that it has procured me
BO many of your much valued epistles. Pray make my ac-
knowledgments to St Stephen for the tunes ; tell him I ad-
mit the justness of his complaint on my stair-case, convey-
ed in his laconic postscript to your jeu cTesprit, 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 xieeply 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
change, and you are well matched together. Robin's air is
excellent, though he certainly has an out-of-the-way mea-
sure 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 exqubite song
may no longer be excluded from good company.
Mr Allan has made an inimitable drawing from your
'John Anderson, my Jo,* which I am to have engraved
as a frontispiece to the humorous class of songs ; you will
be quite charmed with it, I promise you. The old couple
are seated by the fireside. Mrs Anderson in great good
humour is clapping John*s shoulders, while he smiles and
looks at her with such glee, as to show that he fully re-
i
£0|A«8FQNDBNa^. 1 17
collects the ploumpt days und nights when they were " first
acquent." The drawipg would do honour to the pencil
of Teniers.*
No. xxxm.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
Augwif 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 in this morning's walk, one essay more.
You, my dear Sir, will remember an unfortunate part of
our worthy friend Cunningham's story, which happened
about three years ago. That struck my &ncy, and I en-
deavoured to do the idea justice as follows :
HAQ I A G4VQ.
7V«n«^"RohiQ Adair."
Had I a cave on some wild, distant shore,
Where the winds howl to the waves* dashing roar \
There would I weep my woes,
There seek my lost repose.
Till grief my eyes should close,
Ne*er to wake more.
* Mr Cunningham, in his recent edition of the poet*s works,
differs toto eeelo from the opinion of Mr Thomson, as to the de-
sign and execution of this engraving, and we think with justice :
Mr CunnlBgh&m says, « the Mrs Anderson on whom this praise
is bestowed is what the old ballad calls
< A earlin-i^ra rig-widdie earlin,*
and seems fitter for a wife to him of Linkumdoddie than to be
spouse to cantie and douce John. She has the look of aip ogress :
her nose resembles a ramhom, and the fingers which she is about
to apply to her husband's lyart-locks are as hard aa lobster-
claws." — ^M.
118 WORKS OF BURNS.
Falsest of womankind, canst tliou declare.
All thy fond-plighted vows — fleeting as air !
To thy new lover hie,
Laugh o'er thy perjury.
Then in thy bosom try
What peace is there I.
By the way, I have met with a musical Highlander in
Breadalbane's Fencibles, which are quartered here, who as-
sures me that he well remembers his mother's singing Gaelic
songs to both * Robin Adair,' and ' Gramachree.' They
certainly have more of the Scotch tlian 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 fre-
quently errant through the wilds both of Scotland and Ire-
land, and so some favourite airs might be common to both.
A case in point — ^they 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 par-
son,* about these matters.
No. XXXIV.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
Auguitt 1793.
My dear Sir,
' Let me in this ae night,' I will reconsider. I am glad
that you are pleased with my song, ' Had I a cave,' &c. as
I liked it myself.
* The Gaelic parson referred to, was, we are informed, the Rer.
Joseph Robertson Ma<^egor.
CORKESPONDENCE. 119
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 re-
collecting 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 tuue, Allan
81^, is ' Allan Water,' or * My love Annie's very bonnie.'
This last has certainly been a line of the original 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 : —
BY ALLAN STREAM.
By Allan-stream I cbanc*d to rove,
Wliile Phoebus sank beyond Benledi ;*
Tlie winds were whispering thro* the grove.
The yellow corn was waving ready :
I listen'd to a lover's sang,
And thought on youthfu' pleasures many ;
And aye the wild-wood echoes rang —
O dearly do I love thee, Annie If
O liappy be the woodbine bower,
Nae nightly bogle make it eerie ;
Nor ever sorrow stain the hour,
Th& place and time I met my dearie !
Her head upon my throbbing breast.
She, sinking, said, " I'm thine for ever !"
While mony a kiss the seal imprest,
The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever.
* A mountain west of Strath-Allan, 3,009 feet high.— R. R
f Or, " O my lo?e Annie's very bonnie." — R. B.
120 WOAK8 OF Btram.
The haunt o* spring's the primrose brae/
The simmer joys the flocks to follow :
How cheelry thro' her shortening day,
Is autumn in her weeds o' yellow !
But can they melt the glowing heart,
Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure,
Or through each nerre the rapture dart.
Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure ?
Bravo I 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 verses.
Autumn is my prc^itious season. I make more verses
in it than all the year else.
God bless you !
No. XXXV.
BURNS TO MK THOMSON.
Augysi, 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 under-
stand that he looks with rather as 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 k in Johsson's Museum.
O WHISTLE AND IXL COME TO YOU.
O whistle, and FU come to you, my lad,
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad ;
Tho* fiither and mither and a' should gae mad,
O whistle, and 1*11 come to you, my lad.
CORRESPONDBNCfi. 121
But warily tent, when you come to court me,
And come na unless the back-yett be a^jee ;
Syne up the back-stile and let naebody see,
And come as ye were ua comin to me,
And come as ye were na comin to me.
At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me.
Gang by me as thodgh that ye car^d ta. a iSte ;
But steal me a blink o' your bonnie black e*e,
Yet look as ye were na lookin at me.
Yet look as ye were na lookin at me.
O whistle, &c.
Aye vow and protest that ye care na for me,
And whyles ye may lightly my beauty a wee ;
But court nae anither, though jokin ye be,
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me.
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me.
O whistle, and 1*11 come to you, my lad,
O whistle, and 111 come to you, my lad ;
Tho* father and mither and a' should gae mad,
O whistle, and 1*11 come to you, my lad.*
Another favourite air of mine is, ' The muckin o' Geor-
die's byre.* When sung slow with expression, I have wish-
ed that it had had better poetry ; that I have endeavoured
to supply as follows : — '
ADOWN WINDING NITH.
Adown winding Nith I did wander.
To mar^ the sweet flowers as thiey spring ;
* In some of the MSS. the four first lines of this song mn thus :
' " O whistle, and T\\ cbme to thee, my jo,
O whistle, and 1*11 come to thee, my jo ;
Tho' father and mother and a' should say no,
O whistle, and HI come to thee, my jo." Currie,
122 WORKS OF BURNS.
Adown winding Nkh I did wander,
Of Phillb to muse and to sing.
Awa wi* your belles and your beauties.
They never wi' her can compare
Whaever has met wi' my Phillis,
Has met wi' the queen o' the fair.
The daisy amus'd my fond fancy.
So artless, so simple, so wild ;
Thou emblem, said I, o' my Phillis I
For she is simplicity's child.
Awa' wi' your belles, &c.
The rose bud's the blush o' my charmer.
Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prest :
How fair and how pure is tiie lily.
But &irer and purer her breast.
Awa wi* your belles, &c.
Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour,
They ne'er wi* my Phillis can vie ;
Her breath is the breath o' the woodbine.
Its dew-drop o' diamond, her eye.
Awa wi' your belles, &c.
Her voice is the song of the morning.
That wakes thro' the green-spreading grove.
When Phoebus peeps over the mountains.
On music, and pleasure, and love.
Awa wi* your belles, &c.
But beauty how frail and how fleeting.
The bloom of a fine summer's day !
While worth in the mind o' my Phillis
Will flourish without a decay.
Awa wi' your belles and your beauties.
They never wi' her can compare ;
CO&IUESPONDSNCE. ' 128
Whaever has met wi* my Phillis,
Has met wi* the queen o* the fiur.*
Mr Clarke begs you to give Miss Phillis a comer in your
book, as she is a particular flame of his. She is a Miss
Phillb M'Murdo, sister to '' Bonnie Jean." They are both
pupils'of his. You shiedl hear from me, the very first grist
I get from my rhyming-mill.
No. XXXVI.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
AuguMt, 1793.
That tune, ' Cauld Kail,' is such a fiivourite of yours,
that I once more roved out yesterday for a gloamin-shot at
the muses ; f when the- muse that presides o*er the shores
of Nith, or rather my old inspiring dearest nymph, Coila,
whispered me the following. I have two reasons for think-
ing tliat it was my early, sweet simple inspirer that was by
my elbow, " smooth gliding without step,** and pouring the
song on my glowing &ncy. In the first place, since I left
Coila's native haunts, not a fragment of a poet has arisen
to cheer her solitary musings, by catching inspiration from
her ; so I more than suspect that she has followed me
hither, or at least makes me occasional visits : secondly,
* ^ This song, certainly beautiful,** says Mr Currie, " would ap-
pear to more advantage without the chorus ; as is indeed the case
with several other songs of our author.'* The heroine was Miss
Phillis M<Murdo» afterward Mrs Norman Lockhart, of Carn-
wath. — M.
f Gloamin— rtwilight, probably from glooming. A beautiful
poetic word which ought to be adopted in England. A gloamin-
shot, a twilight interview. — Currie,
The word is now adopted by the best writers of the English
language, as a peculiarly sweet and poetical synonyme.— M.
l2
124 W011X8 OP BUBN8.
the last stanza of this song I send you, is the rery words
that Coila taught me many years .ago, and which I set to
an old Scots reel in Johnson's Museum.
COME, LET ME TAKE THEE.
^tr— « CJauld KaiL"
Come, let me take thee to my breast,
And pledge we ne*er shall sunder ;
And I shall spurn as vilest dust
The warld's wealth and grandeur :
And do I hear my Jeanie own,
That equal transports move her ?
I ask for dearest life alone
That I may live to love her.
Thus in my arms, wi' all thy charms,
I clasp my countless treasure ;
I'll seek nae mair o' heaven to share.
Than sic a moment's pleasure :
And by thy een, sae bonnie blue,
I swear Fm thine for ever I
And on thy lips I seal my vow
And break it shall I never I
If you think the above will suit your idea of your favour^
ite air, I shall be highly pleased. ' The last time I came
o'er the moor,' I cannot meddle with, as to mending it •
and the musical world have been so long accustomed to
Ramsay's words, that a different song, though positively
superior, would not be so well received. I am not fond of
choruses to songs, so I have not made one for the fore-
going.
COHABSrONDENCB. 126
No. XXXVII.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
August, 179:).
DAINTY DAVIE.*
Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers,
To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers ;
And now comes in my happy hours.
To wander wi' my Davie.
Meet me on the warlock knowe.
Dainty Davie, dainty Davie,
There HI spend the day wi* you,
My ain dear dainty Davie.
The crystal waters round us fa'.
The merry birds are lovers a',
The scented breezes round us blaw,
A wandering wi* my Davie.
Meet me, &c.
When purple morning starts the hare.
To steal upon her early (are.
Then thro* the dews I will repair.
To meet my fiuthfu' Davie.
Meet me, &c.
When day, expiring in the west.
The curtain draws o' nature's rest,
I flee to his arms I lo*e best,
And that's my ain dear Davie.
* Bums published another set of this in the Musical Museum,
mrhicb will be found in a previous volume. The present is a
great improvement on his first essay. — M.
L 3
196 WO&KS OF •U».N8.
Meet me on the warlock knowe,
Bonnie Davie, dainty Davie ;
There 1*11 spend the day wi* you,
My aio dear dainty Davie.*
So much for Davie. The chorus, you know, is to the low
part of the tune. See darkens set of it in the Museum.
N. B. In the Museum they have dmwled out the tune
to twelve lines of poetry, which is damned nonsense. Four
lines of song, and four of chorus, is the way.
No. XXXVIII.
MR THOMSON TO BURNS.
EoiNfiyRGH, 1st Sept, 1793.
My dear Sia,
Since writing you last, I have received half a dozen
songs, with which I am delighted beyond expression. The
humour and fancy of ' Whistle, and I'll come to you, my
lad,' will render it nearly as> great a favourite as ' Duncan
Gray.' ' Ck)me, let me take thee to my breast,' — * Adown
winding Nith»' and * By Alhn stream,' &c^ are full of
imagination and feeling,, and sweetly suit the airs for which
they are intended. ^ Had I a eave on some wild distant
shore,* is a striking and affecting coa^positkHi. Our friend,
to whose story it refers, reads it with a swelling heart, I as-
sure you. The union we are now forming, I think, can
never be broken ; these songs: (^ youiPa will diescend with
* Dainty Davie is the title of an ol4 Seotdl sQQg> Ck>iii which
Bums has taken nothing hoi the title and the nieasure. — Currie.
The song was founded on the well-known intrigue of Mr David ^
Williamson, a covenanting preacher, with the lady of Cherry-
trees* dan^bter, 'mU> whose bed Um reverend gontlemaar fattd be-
stowed himself for safety, whon pursued by a party of dra-
goons. — M.
N
*' CORRBSPONDENCB. 127
tlie music to the latest posterity, and will be fondly ciierisb-
ed so long as genius, taste^ and sensibility exist in our
island.
While the muse seems so pcopitious, I think it right to
inclose a list o£ all the favours I have to ask of her, no
fewer than twenty and three ! I have burdened the pleasant
Peter with as many as it is probable he will attend to :
most of the remaining airs would puzzle the English poet
not a little ; they are of that peculiar measure and rhythm,
that they must be familiar to Irim who writes for them.
No. XXXIX.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
Sept. 1793.
You may readily tru9t« my dear Sijr„ that any exertion in
my power is heartily at your servicer But one thing I
must hint to you ; the very name of Peter Pindar is of
great service to your publication,, sa get a verse from iiim
now and then ; though I have na ol](jection> as well as I
can, to bear the burden, of the bnaBesa.
You know that my pretensions to nrasiical taste are mere-
ly a few of nature's instincts, untaught and untutored by
art For this reason, many musical compositions, particu-
larly where much of the merit lies in counterpoint, how-
"ever they may transport and ravish the ears of you connois-
seurs, affect my simple lug no otherwiise than merely as
melodious din. On the other hand, by way of amends, I
am delighted with many Kttle melodies, which the learned
musician despises as silly and insipid. 1 do not know
whether the old air * Hey tuttie taitie,* may rank among
this number ; but well I know that, with Frazer's hautboy,
it has often filled my eyes with tears. There is a tradition,
which I have met with in many places in Scotland^ that it
was Robert Bruce's march at the battle of Bannockbum.
128 WORKS OP BURNS.
This thought, in my solitary wanderings, warmed me to a
pitch of enthusiasm on the theme of liberty and inde-
pendence, which I threw into a kind of Scottish ode, fit-
ted to the air, that one might suppose to be the gallant
RoTAL Scot's address to his heroic followers on that event-
ful morning.*
BRUCE TO HIS MEN AT BANNOCKBURN.
Tune—*' Hey, tuttie taitie."
Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led :
Welcome to your goiy bed.
Or to victorie I
Now's the day, and now's the hour :
See the front o' battle lower ;
See approach proud Edward*s power^
Chains and slavery !
Wha will be a traitor-knaye ?
Wha can fill a coward*s grave ?
Wiia sae base as be a slave ? ■
Let him turn and flee !
Wha for Scotland's king and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw.
Free-man stand, or free-man fa'.
Let him follow me !
By oppression's woes and pains !
By your sons in servile chains !
We will drain our dearest veins.
But they shall be free I
* This noble strain was conceived by our poet daring a storm
among the wilds of Glen-Ken in Galloway. A more finished
copy will be found after wards. f->Cum«.
CORRBSPONDENCE. 129
Lay the proud usurpers low !
Tyrants fall in every foe ! ^
Liberty's in every blow ! —
Let us do, or die !
So may God ever defend the cause of truth and liberty,
as he did that day ! — Amen.
P. S. I showed the air to Urbani, who was highly
pleased with it, and begged me to make soft verses for it ;
but I had no idea of giving myself any trouble on the sub-
ject, till the accidental recollection of that glorious struggle
for freedom, associated with the glowing ideas of some
other struggles of the same nature, not quite so ancient,
roused my rhyming mania. Clarke's set of the tune, with
his bass, yon will find in the Museum ; though I am afraid
that the air is not what will entitle it to a place in your
elegant selection.
No. XL.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
Sqa. 1793.
I DARE say, my dear Sir, that you will begin to think my
correspondence is persecution. No matter, I can't help it ;
a ballad is my hobby-horse ; which* though otherwise a sim-
ple sort of harmless idiodcal beast enough, has yet this
blessed headstrong property, that when once it has fairly
made off with a hapless wight, it gets so enamoured with
the tinkle-gingle, tinkle-gingle of its own bells, that it is
sure to run poor pilgarlic, the bedlam-jockey, quite beyond
any useful point or post in the common race of man.
The following song I have composed for ' Oran-gaoil,' the
Highland air, that, you tell me in your last, you have re-
solved to give a place to in your book. I have this mo-
130 WORKS OF BURNS.
ment finished tlie song, so yon have it glowing from the
mint. If it suit you, well ! — if not, *tis ako well !
BEHOLD THE HOUR.*
Time — « Oran-gaoil."
Behold the hour, the boat arrive ;
Thou goest, thou darling of my heart !
Severed from thee can I survive ?
But fate has wilPd, and we must part.
I'll often greet this surging swell.
Yon distant isle will often hail :
* The heroine of this parting soliloquy is said to have been
Clarinda, alias M'llhose, alias the young and fair Edinburgh lady,
to whom Burns addressed so many flattering compliments in his
love-inspired moments. As he is the fittest person to express his
own feelings, we quote the following : —
Before I saw Clarinda*8 face,
My heart was blythe and gay,
Free as the wind, or feathered race
That hop from spray to spray.
But now dejected I appear,
Clarinda proves unkind ;
I sighing, drop the silent tear,
But no relief can find.
In plaintive notes my tale rehearses
When I the fair have found ;
On every tree appear my verses
That to her praise resound.
But she ungrateful shuns my sight.
My faithful love disdains.
My vows and tears her scorn excite.
Another happy reigns. '
Ah, though my looks betray,
I envy your success ;
Yet love to friendship shall give way,
1 cannot wish it less. B.
CORBESFONDENCE. ISJ
" E'en here I took the last farewell ;
There latest mark'd her vanished sail."
Along the solitary shore,
While flitting sea-fowl tound me cry.
Across the rolling, dashing roar,
I'll westward turn my wistful eye ;
Happy, thou Indian grove, 111 say.
Where now my Nancy's path may be !
While thro' thy sweets she loves to stray,
O tell me, does she muse on me !
No. XLI.
MR THOMSON TO BURNS.
Edinburgh, bth Sept 1793.
I BELIEVE it is generally allowed that the greatest mo-
desty is the silre attendant of the greatest merit. While
you are sending me verses that even Shakspeare might be
proud to own, you speak of them as if they were ordinary
productions I Your heroic ode is to me the noblest com>
position of the kind in the Scottish language. I happened
to dine yesterday with a party of your friends, to whom I
read it. They were all charmed with it ; entreated me to
find out a suitable air for it, and reprobated the idea of giv-
ing it a tune so totally devoid of interest or grandeur as
' Hey tuttie taitie.' Assuredly your partiality for this tune
must arise from the ideas associated in your mind by the
tradition concerning it, for I never heard any person, and
I have conversed again and again with the greatest enthusi-
asts for Scottish airs, I say, I never heard any one speak of
it as worthy of notice.
I have been running over the whole hundred airs, of
which I lately sent you the list ; and I think * Lewie Gor-
IdS WORKS OF BURNS.
don* is most happily adapted to your ode : at least with a
very slight variation of the fourth line, whiclt I shall pre-
sently submit to you. There is in * Lewie Gordon* more
of the grand than the plaintive, particularly when it is sung
with a degree of spirit, which your words would oblige the
singer to give it. 1 would have no scruple about substitute
ing your ode in the room of ' Lewie Gordon,' which has
neither the interest, the grandeur, nor the poetry that
characterize your verses. Now the variation I have to
suggest upon the last line of each verse, the only line too
short for the air, is as follows :
Verse 1st, Or to glorious victorie.
2d, Chains — chains and slaverie.
3d, Let him, let him turn and flie.
4th, Let him hrcmely follow me.
5th, But they shall, they shall be free.
6th, Let us, let us do, or die f
If you connect each line with its own verse, I do not
think you wiU find that either the sentiment or the expres-
sion loses any of its energy. The only line which I dislike
in the whole of the song is, " Welcome to your gory bed.*'
Would not another word be preferable to '* welcome ?^ In
jour next I will expect to be informed whether you agree
to what I have proposed. The little alterations I submit
with the greatest deference.
The beauty of the verses you have made for ' Oran-gaoiP
will ensure celebrity to the air.
CORRESPONDENGS. 133
No. XLII.
BURNS TO MB THOMSON.
Sept, 1793.
I HATE receiTed your list, my dear Sir, and here go my
observatiops on U.*
* Down the burn Davie.* I have this moment tried an
i^temtion, leaving out the hist half of the third stanza, and
the first half of the last stanza, thus :
As down the burn they took their way,
And thro' the flowery dale ;
His che^k to hers he aft did lay.
And love was aye the tale.
With " Mary, when shall we return.
Sic pleasure to renew T*
Quoth Mary, " Love, I like the bum,
And aye shall follow you.'*f
* Thro' the wood laddie' — I am decidedly of opinion
that both in this, and ' There'll never be peace till Jamie
comes hame,* the second or high part of the tune being a
repetition of the first part an octave higher, is only for in-
strumental music, and would be much better omitted in
singing.
* Mr Thom80ii*8 list of songs for his pablieation. In bis re-
marks the bard proceeds in order, and goes through the whole ;
but <Hk many of them he merely signifles his approbation. All
his remarks of any importance are presented to the reader. —
Currie*
f This alteration Mr Thomson has adopted (or at least intend-
ed to adopt,) instead of the last stanza of the original song, which
is objectionaJ)le in point of delicacy.**- Cum'tf*
3 M
] 34 WORKS OF BURNS.
' Cowden-knowes.* Remember in your index tliat the
song in pure English to this tune, beginning,
" When Bummer comeS) the swains on Tweed,"
is the production of Crawford. Robert was his Christian
name.
* Laddie lie near me,' must lie by me for some time. I
do not know the air ; and until I am complete master of a
tune, in my own singing (such as it is,) I can never com-
pose for it. My way is : I consider the poetic sentiment
correspondent to my idea of the musical expression ; then
choose my theme ; begin one stanza ; when that is com-
posed, which is generally the most difficult part of the busi-
ness, I walk out, sit down now and then, look out for ob-
jects in nature around me that are in unison and harmony
with the cogitations of my fancy, and workings of my
bosom ; humming every now and then the air with the
verses I have framed.. When I feel my muse beginning to
jade, I retire to the solitary fire-side of my study, and there
commit my effusions to paper ; swinging at intervals on the
hind legs of my elbow-ciiair, by way of calling forth my own
critical strictures, as my pen goes on. Seriously, this, at
home, is almost invariably my way.
What cursed egotism !
*Gill Morice,' I am fop leaving out. It is a plaguy
length ; the air itself is never sung ; and its place can well
be supplied by one or two songs for fine airs that are not
in your list. For instance, * Cragieburn Wood,' and ' Roy*s
Wife.' The first, beside its intrinsic merit, has novelty ; and
the last lias high merit as well as great celebrity. I have the
original words of a song for tiie last air, in the hand- writing
of the lady who composed it ; and they are superior to any
edition of the song which the public has yet seen.*
* Highland-laddie.' The old set will please a mere Scotch
ear best ; and the new an Italianized one. There is a
«
, * This song, so much admired by our bard, will be found in a
future part of the volume* see No. XLIV.
1
CORRESPONDENCE. 135
third, and what Oswald calls the old * Highland-laddie/
which pleases me more than either of them. It is some-
times called ' Ginglan Johnnie ;' it being the air of an old
humorous tawdry song of that name. You will find it in
the Museum, ' I hae been at Crookieden/ &c. I would
advise you in this musical quandary, to offer up your
prayers to the muses for inspiring direction; and in the
mean time, waiting for this direction, bestow a libation to
Bacchus ; and there is not a doubt but you will hit on a
judicious choice. Probatum est
* Auld Sir Simon,* I must beg you to leave out, and pyt
in its place * The Quaker's Wife.*
' Blithe hae I been o*er the hill,* is one of the finest
songs ever I made in my life ; and besides, is composed on
a young lady, positively the most beautiful, lovely woman
in the world. As I purpose giving you the names and
designations of all my heroines, to appear in some future
edition of your work, perhaps half a century hence, you
must certainly include ' The bonniest lass in a' the warld,'
in your collection.
* Dainty Davie,' I have heard sung nineteen thousand
nine hundred and ninety-nine times, and always with the
chorus to the low part of the tune ; and nothing has sur-
prised me so much as your opinion on this subject. If it
' will not suit as I proposed, we will lay two of the stanzas
together, and then make the chorus follow.
•Fee him, Father' — I inclose you Frazer's set of this
tune when he plays it slow ; in fact he makes it the lan-
guage of despair. I shall here give you two stanzas, in
that style ; merely to try if it will be any improvement.
Were it possible, in singing, to giv$ it half the pathos
which Fn^zer gives it in playing, it would make an admira-
bly pathetic song. I do not give these verses for any merit
they have. I composed them at the time in which " Patie
Allan's mither died, that was, about the back o' midnight ;"
and by the lee-side of a bowl of punch,, which had overset
eveiy mortal in company, except the hautbois and the muse.
m2
136 MTORKS OF BOANS.
THOU HAST LEFT MB EVER.
7\f»«— « Fee him. Father."
Thoit hast left me ever, Jamie,
Thou hast left me ever ;
Tliou hast left me erer, Jamie,
Tliou hast left me ever.
Afteo hast thou vow'd that death
Only should us sever ;
Now thou'st left thy lass for aye,-«
I maun see thee never, Jamie,
111 see thee never.*
Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie,
Thou hast me forsaken ;
Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie,
Thou hast me forsaken.
Thou canst love anitber jo,
While my heart is breaking :
Soon my weary een I'll dose^
Never mair to waken, Jamie,
Ne'er mair to waken.f
' Jockie and Jenny* I would discard, and in its place
would put * There's nae luck about the house,' which has a
very pleasant air, and which is positively the finest love-
ballad in that style in the Scottish, or perhaps in any other
language. ' When she came ben she bobbet,' as an air, is
more beautiful than either, and in the cohdatUe way would
unite with a charming sentimental ballad.
* The Scottish (the Editor uses the word subetantiTely, as the
English,) employ the abbreviatioii FU for / ihaU as well as /
tmS ; and it is for / tkaU it is used here. In Annandale, as ai
the northern counties of England, for / shaU they use P#b.—
Currit.
f This is the whole of the song. The bard nerer proceeded
fiiurther.— Note kg Mr Z^lomson.
CORRESPONDENCE. 137
* Saw ye my Father ?* is one of my greatest favourites.
The evening before last, I wandered out, and began a ten-
der song, in what I think is its native style. I must pre-
mise, that the old way, and the way to give most effect, is
to have no starting note, as the fiddlers call it, but to burst
at once into the pathos. Every country girl sings — * Saw
ye my father ?* &c.
My song is but just begun ; and I should like, before I
proceed, to know your opinion of it. I have sprinkled it
with the Scottish dialect, but it may be easily turned into
correct English.*
' Todlin hame.* Urbani mentioned an idea of his, which
has long been mine, that this air is highly susceptible of
pathos : accordingly, you will soon hear him at your con-
cert try it to a song of mine in the Museum ; ' Ye banks
and braes o* bonnie Doon.* One song more and I have
done : * Auld lang syne.* The air is but mediocre ; but
the following song, the old song of the olden times, and
which has never been in print, nor even in manuscript,
until I took it down from an old man's singing, is enough
to recommend any air.
AULD LANG SYNE.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to min* ?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot.
And days o* lang syne ?
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne.
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet.
For auld lang syne.
We twa hae run about the braes,
And pu*t the gowans fine ;
• This song appears afterwards. It begins,
" Where are the joys I hae met in the morning.'*
Md
138 woAU OF BirmNi.
But weVe waiider*d mooy a wesiy Ibotr
Sin auld lang syne.
For auld, &c.
We twa hae paidft i' the burn,
Frae morning sun till dine :
But seas between us braid bae roar'd.
Sin auld lang syne.
For auld, &c
And here's a hand, my trusty fiere,
And gie*B a hand o' thine ;
And we'll tak a right guid wiUie-wmught*
For auU lang sync
Fbr auld, &c.
And suiely ye*ll be your pintpstowp,
And surely PU be mine ;
And well t^ a eup o* kindness yet
For ai^ lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We*ll tak a cup & kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.*
* This song, of the olden time, ia excelleot. It is worthy of
our bard* — Currie.
We subjoin the earliest copy of this song that we hare ever
met with, taken from a broadside printed before 1700; from
which it will be seen, that, notwithstanding die poet*v resolute dis-
claimer, the merits of his yersion are peculiarly his own : —
AULD LANGSYNE.
To its own proper tttne.
Should auld aequamtanee be forgot
And neyer thought upon,
The flames' of love eiiti^ivished.
And freely past and gone ;
COBBESPON0SNCi£. 189
Nbnr, r suppose I have tired your patience fairly. You
nrasty after dl is over, have a nutnbet of ballade, properly
so called. « Gill Morice/ * Tranent Muir,' ' M'Pherson'^s
FsreweB; ' Battle of SberifT Muir/ or * We ran and they
Is thy kind heart, now grown so cold,
Ja that loving breast of thine,
That thou can'st never once reflect
On aald langyyne ?
Where are thy protestations—
Thy vovrs and oaths, my dear,
Thou made to me, and I to thee,
In register yet elear :
Is faith and truth so violate
To the immortal god* divine,
That thou can*st never once reflect
On auld Ungsyne?
lB*t Cupid's fears, or frostie cares.
That makes thy sp'rits decay ?
Or ii*t some obr^ct of more ymttb.
That's stolen thy heart away ?
Or some desert makes thee neglect
Her once so much was thine,
lliiit thou oan'st nevoy oa<Je reflect
On auld langsyne?
Is't worldly cares so desperate
That makes thos to deqiair?
Is*t that makes thee exasperate.
And makes thee to forbear ?
If thou of that were free as I,
Thou surely should be mine.
And theti, of new, we would renew
Kind auld langsyne.
But since that nothing ean prevail.
And all hope now isr vain,
From these rejected eyes of mine.
Still showen of tears shall rain :
And though thou hast me bow forget,
Yet ru eontinoe thkie,
Yea, though thou hast me now forgot.
And auld langsyne.
140 WOBKS OF BDRNS.
ran/ (I know the author of tliis charnnng ballad* and his
history,) ' Hardiknute/ ' Barbara Allan/ (I can furnish a
finer set of this tune tlian any that has yet appeared,) and
besides, do you know that I really have the old tune to
which * The Cherry and the Slae' was Sung ; and which is
mentioned as a well-known air in Scotland's Complaint, a
book published before poor Mary's days. It was then
called ' The Banks o* Helicon ;' an old poem which Pin-
kerton has brought to light. You will see all this in
Tytler*s history of Scottish music. The tune, to a learned
ear, may have no great merit : but it is a great curiosity.
I have a good many original things of this kind.
No. XLIII.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
Sept, 1793.
I AM happy, my dear Sir, that my ode pleases yon so
much. Your idea, " honour's bed," is, though a beautiful,
a hackneyed idea ; so, if you please, we will let the line
stand as it is. I have altered the song as follows :
BANNOCKBURN.
ROBERT BRUCE*8 ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY.
Scots, wlia hae wi' Wallace bled ;
Scots, wham Bruce has afben led ;
If e'er I haye a house, my dear.
That's truly called mine,
And can afford but country cheer,
Or aught that's good therein :
Tho* thou were rebel to the King,
And beat with wind and rain,
Thou'rt sure thyself of welcome, love.
For auld langsyne. M.
CORRESPONDENCE. HI
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to glorious victorie.
Now's the day, and now's the hour ;
See the front o' battle lower ;
See approach proud Edward's power*—
Eklward ! chains and alaverie I
Wha will be a traitor knave ?
Wha can fill a coward's grave ?
Wha Sae base as be a slave ?
Traitor ! coward ! turn and flee !
Wha for Scotland's king and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Fi;!?e-inan stand, or free^man fa',
Caledonian I on wi' me !
By oppression's woes and pains !
By your sons in servile chains !
We will drain our dearest Veins*
But they shall be — shall be free !
Lay the proud usurpers low !
Tyrants &11 in every foe !
Liberty's in every blow !
Forward ! let as do, or die I
N. B..^! liave borrowed the last stansa from tlM ooitlmoti
tCaU edltioti of Wallace ;-^
** A ftilse fisurper sinks in every ttte,
And liberty teturos with etery blow/'
A couplet worthy of Homer. Yesterday you had
enough of my correspondence. The post goes and my
head aches mberably. One comfort! I suffer so much,
just now, in this world, for last night's joviality, that I
shall escape scot-free for it in the world to come. Amen.
• J42 WORKS OF BURKS.
No. XLIV.
MR THOMSON TO BURNS.
1 2th September, 1703.
A THOUSAND thanks to you, my dear Sir, for your obser-
vations on the list of my songs. I am happy to find your
ideas so much in unison with my own respecting the gener-
ality of the airs, as well as the verses. About some of them
we aiifer, but there is no disputing about hobby-horses. I
shall not fail to profit by the remarks you make, and to
reconsider the whole with attention.
' Dainty Davie' must be sung, two stanzas together, and
then the chorus : 'tis the proper way. I agree with you,
that there may be something of pathos, or tenderness at
least, in the air of ' Fee him. Father,' when performed with
feeling : but a tender cast may be given almost to any
lively air, if you sing it very slowly, expressively, and with
serious words. I am, however, clearly and invariably for
retaining the cheerful tunes joined to their own humorous
verses, wherever the verses are passable. But the sweet
song for * Fee him. Father,' which you began about the back
of midnight, I will publish as an additional one. Mr
James Balfour, the king of good-fellows, and the best singer
of the lively Scottish ballads that ever existed, has charmed
thousands of companies with * Fee him. Father,' and with
* Todlin hame' also, to the old words, which never should
be disunited from either of these airs. — Some Bacchanals I
would wish to discard. * Fy, let's a' to the Bridal,' for in-
stance, is sp coarse and vulgar, that I think it fit only to be
sung in a company of drunken colliers ; and ' Saw ye my
Father ?' appears to me both indelicate and silly.
One word more with regard to your heroic ode. I think,
with great deference to the poet, that a prudent general
would avoid saying any thing to his soldiers which might
tend to make death more frightful than it is. *' Gory" pre-
CORRESPONDENCE. 143
sents a disagreeable image to the mind ; and to tell them
** Welcome to your gory bed/' seemd rather a discouraging
address, notwithstanding the alternative which follows. 1
have shown the song to three friends of excellent taste,
and each of them objected to this line, which emboldens me
to use the freedom of bringing it again under your notice.
1 would suggest.
((
Now prepare for honour's bed,
Or for gloriouft victorie."
No. XLV.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
« September, 1793.
." Who sliall decide when doctors disagree ?'* My ode
pleases me so much that I cannot alter it. Your proposed
alterations would, in my opinion* make it tame. I am ex-
-ceedingly obliged to you for putting me on reconsidering
it ; as I think I have much improved it. Instead of " so-
ger ! hero !" I will have it " Caledonian ! on wi' me !*•
I have scrutinized it over and over ; and to the world
some way or other it shall go as it is. At the same time it
will not in the least hurt me, should you leave it out alto*
gether, and adhere to your first intention of adopting Lo-
gan's verses.*
* Mr Thomson has very properly adopted this song (if it may
be so called) as the bard presented it to him. He has attached
it to the air of " Lewie Gordon,*' and perhaps amonf^ the existing
airs he could not find a better ; but the poetry is suited to a much
higher strain of music, and may employ the genius of some Scot-
tish Handel, if any such should in future arise. The reader will
have observed, that Bums adopted the alterations proposed by hi*
friend and correspondent in former instances, with great readi-
ness ; perhaps, indeed, on all indifferent occasions. In the pre-
sent instance, however, he rejected them, though repeatedly
urged, with determined resolution. With every rmpect for ttie
144 W0BK8 OF BUANS.
I have finished my song to ^ Saw ye my Father ?' and in
£lngli«h» as you will see. That there is a syllable too mt^ch
for th9 ej^pression of the air? is true ; but, allow me to say,
that the mere dividing of a dotted crotchet into a crotchet
and a quaver, is not a great matter : however, in that I
have no pretensions to cope in judgment with you. Of the
poetry I speak with confidence ; but the music ia a busi-
ness where I hint my ideas with the utmost diffidence.
iudj^n^n^ent of Mr Thomson and his Mends, we may be satisfied
that he did so. He who in preparing for an engagement, at-
tempts to withdraw his imagination from images of death, will
probably have but imperfect success, and is not fitted to stand in
the ranks of battle, where the liberties of a kingdom are at issue.
Of such men the conquerors of Bannockbum were not compos-
ed. Bruce's troops were inured to war, and familiar with all its
sufferings and dangers. On the eve of that memorable day, their
spirits were without doubt wound up to a pitch of enthusiasm
suited to the occasion, — a pitch of enthusiasm at which danger
becomes attractive, and the most terrific forms of death are no
longer terrible. Such a strain of sentiment, this heroic *' wel-
come*' may be suppot^d weU oalculated to elevate, — to raisa their
hearty high above fear^ and to nerve their arms to the utmost
pitch of mortal exertion. These observations might be illustrat-
ed and supported by a reference to the martial poetry of all na-
tions, from the spirit-stirring strains of Tyrtseus, to the virar^aong
of General Wolfe. Mr Thomson'^ observation, that ** Welcome
to your gory bed, is a discouraging address/' seems not sufficiently
considered. Perhaps, indeed, it may be admitted, that the term
'* gory** is somewhat objectionable, not on account of its preMuting
a Mghtful, but a disagreeable image to the mind. But a great
poet, uttering his conceptions on an interesting occasion, seeks
always to present a picture that is vivid, and is uniformly disposed
to sacrifice the delicacies of taste on the altar of the imagination.
And it is the privilege of superior genius, by producing a new
association, to elevate euressions that were originally low, and
thus to triumph over the deficiencies of language. In how many
iastances might this be exemplified from the work* of oiur uamor-
tal Shakspeare :*—
" Who would fairdels bear,
To groan and sweat under a weary life ;— -
MHien he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin?''
It were easy to enlarge, but to suggest such reflections is pro-
bably sufficient, — Currie,
C6ll]tS8P0NI>BNCB. 145
The old verses have merit, though unequal, and are pop-
ular: my advice is to set the air to the old words, and let
mine follow as English verses. Here' they are :-m
FAIR JENNY.
Tune^*' Saw ye my Father ?"
Where are the jojs I have met in the morning.
That danc'd to the lark's e^rly song?
Where is the peace that awaited my wand'ring.
At evenhig the wild woods among ?
No more a-winding the course of yon river.
And marking sweet flow'rets so &ir :
No more I trace the light footsteps of pleasure.
But sorrow and sad tfghtng eai^
Is it that summer's focsaken our valleys,
And grim surly winter i» near ?
No, no, the bees humming round the gay roses.
Proclaim it the pride of the year.
Fain would I hide what I fear to discover.
Yet long, long too well have I known.
All that has caused this wreck in my bosom,
Is Jenny, fair Jenny alone.
Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal.
Nor hope dace a comibrt bestow :
Come then, enamour'd and fond of my anguish.
Enjoyment Fll seek in my wo.
Adieu, my dear Sir ! the post goes, so I sliall defer some
other remarks until more leisure.
S
\4$ WORKS OF BO&NA^
No. XL VI.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
^ September, 1798^
I BAVK been turning over some volumes of songs, to find
verses whose measures would suit the airs for which you
have allotted me to find English songs.
For ' Muirland Willie/ you have, in Ramsa/s Tea-table,
an excellent song, beginning, ' Ah, why those tears in
Nelly's eyes ?* As for < The Collier's dochter,' take the
following old Bacchanal :—
DELUDED SWAIN, THE PLEASURE.
Deluded swtiin, the pleasure
The fickle fair can give thee.
Is but a fiiiry treasure'.
Thy hopes will soon deceive thee.
The billows on the ocean.
The breezes idly roaming.
The clouds' uncertain motion.
They are but types of woman.
O ! art thou not ashamed.
To doat upon a feature ?
' If man thou would'st be named.
Despise the silly creature.
Go find an honest fellow ;
Good claret set before thee ;
Hold on till thou art mellow,
And then to bed in glory.
The faulty line in Logan- Water, I mend thus :
COJUtBSPONDBKCX. 147
*' How cao your flinty hwrti enjoy»'
The widow*! tears, the orphan's cry ?**
The song otherwise will pass. As to ' M'Gregoira R^a-
Rath/ you will see a song of mine to it, with a set of th«
air superior to yours in the Museum. VoL ii. p. 181.*
The song begins,
" Raving winds around her blowing."
Your Irish airs are pretty, but they are downright Irish.
If they were like the ' Banks of Banna,* for instance,
though really Irish, ^et in the Scottish taste, you might
adopt them. Since you are so fond of Irish music, what
say you to twenty-five of them in an additional number ?
We could easily find this quantity of charming airs' ; I will
take care that you shall not want songs ; and I assure you
that you would find it the most saleable of the whole. If
you do not approve of * Roy's Wife,' for the music's sake,
we shall not insert it. * Deil tak the wars,' is a charming
song ; so is, * Saw ye my P^gy P ' There's nae luck about
the house/ well deserves a place. I cannot say that * O'er
the hills and &r awa,' strikes me as equal to yourtelecdon.
' This is no my ain house,' is a great fiivourite ur of mine ;
and if you will send me your set of it, I will task my muse
to her highest effort What is your opinion of ' I hae laid
a herrin in sawt ?' I like it much. Your Jacobite airs are
pretty: -and there are many others of the same kind,
pretty ; but you have not room, for them. You cannot, I
think, insert ' Fie^ let* s a' to the bridal,' to any other words
than its own.
What pleases me, as simple and naive, disgusts you as
ludicrous and low. For this reason, ' fie, gie me my cog«
gie. Sirs,* * Fie, let's a' to the bridal,' with several others i>f
that cast, are to me highly pleasing ; while, ' Saw ye my
Father, or saw ye my mother T delights me with its de-
scriptive simple pathos* Thus my song^ ' Ken ye what
Meg o' the mill has gotten ?* pleases myself so much, that
I cannot try my hand at another song to the air; po I shall
n2
148 WORKS OF BUBNB.
not attempt it. I koow you will laugh at all thii ; but.
** Ilka man wears his belt his ain gait*'*
No. XLVIL
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
Octoker^ I79a
Yoi^a last letter, my dear Thomsoii, was indeed ladea
with heavy news. Alas, poor Enkine If The reooDecdoQ
that bo was a coadjutor in your puUicatioo, has till now
scared me from writing to yoa» or tnming my thoughts on
Qompottng for you«
I am pleased that you are reconciled to the air of the
' Quaker's Wife f though, by the bye, an okl Highknd gen-
tleman* and a deep antiquarian, tdls me it is a (Gaelic air*
and known by the name of * Leiger m' dioss.' The foU
lowing rerseSt I hope, will please you, as an Enigiiah song
tQtbew*
Thine am J, my &Lthful fiur.
Thine, my lovely Nancy i
Ev'jpy pulse along my veios,
Ev*ry roving fancy*
To thy bosom lay my heart.
There to throb and langubh :
Tho' despair had wrung its core,
That would b^l its anguish,
* We agree with Bums in the criticism he has passed on these
songs, much more than we do with the opinion of Thomson*
That gentleman's taste was too fastidioiis in the matter of our
elder lyrics, and not always correct. — M.
f The honourable A. Erskine, brother to l^rd Kelly, whose
mehindioly death Mr Thomson had communicated in an excel-
teat letter, whieh he has sappressed.
CORRE8PONDBNCI. 149
Take away these rosy lips.
Rich with balmy treasure :
Turn away thine eyes of love.
Lest I die with pleasure,
"Whatis life when wanting love ?
Night without a morning :
Love's the cloudless summer sun,
Nature gay adorning.
- Your objection to the English song I proposed for * Jobo
Anderson, my jo,* is certainly just. The following is by an
old acquaintance of mine, and I think has merit. Tht
song was never in print, which I think is so much in your
fiivour. The more original good poetry your collection
contiuns, it certainly has so much the more merit.
SONG.
By Oavin Tuanbull.
condesoend, dear charming maid.
My wretched state to view ;
A tender swain to love Vietray'd,
And aad despair, by yon.
While here, all melancholy,
My passion I deplore,
Yet, urg'd by stem resistless &te,
I love thee more and more.
1 heard of love» and with disdain.
The urchin's power denied ;
I laugh'd at every lover's pain.
And mock*d them when they sigh'd.
But how my state is alter*d t
Those happy days are o*er ;
For all thy unrelenting hate,
I love Uiee more and more.
O yield, illustrious beauty, yield.
No longer let me mourn ;
UK) WORKS OF BVftWS.
And the* vletorioos in the fi^ld*
Thy capU^e do not icorn.
Let generous pity wann thee.
My wonted peace restore ;
And, grateful, I shall hless thee still.
And love thee mora and more.
The following address of TurabuU's to the Nigbtiiig&Ie»
will suit as an English song to the air^ * There was a lass
and she was fair/ By the bye, Tumball has a great many
aoDg^ in MS. which I can comfoand, if you like his man-
ner. Possibly, as he is an old friend of mine, I may be
prejudiced in his &voar ; but I like some of hb pieces
very much,
THS NIGHTINGALE.
By G. TinfcNBULL.
Thou sweetest minstrel ef the grcrte.
That ever tried the plaintive strain.
Awake thy tender tale of love^
And soothe a poor forsaken swaia*
For tho* the muses deign to aid,
And teach him smoothly to complain ;
Yet Delia, charming, cruel maid.
Is deaf to her forsakep swain*
All day, with fhshion's gaudy sons.
In sport she wanders o'er the plain :
Their tales approves, and still she shunt
The notes of her forsaken swain.
When evening shades obscure the sky,
And bring the solemn hours again,
Begin, sweet bird^ thy melody.
And soothe 9 poor forsaken swain.
I shall just transcribe another of Turqbuirs, which would
go charmingly to ' Lewie Gordon.'
>««■■•■■«
COAftBSPONDBNCB. 16)
LAURA.
By Q, Tuhnbuli^
Let me wander where I will,
By shady wood, or winding rill ;
Where the sweetest May-bom flowers
Paint the meadows, deck the bowers 2
Where the ]innet*s early song
Echoes sweet the woods among ;
Let me wander where I will,
Laura haunts my fancy still.
If at rosy dawn I choose.
To indulge the smiling muse ;
<If I court some cool retreat.
To aToid the noon«-tide heat ;
If beneath the moon's pale ray.
Thro* unfreqn^ted wilds I stray ;
Let me wander where I will,
Laura haunts my ftmoy stilL
When at night the drowsy god
Waves his deep-ocmipelliiig rod.
And to ftincy's wakeful eyes
Bids celestial visions rise ;
While with boundless joy I rove
Thro' the fttiry land of love ;
Let me wander where I will,
Laura haunts my fancy still.
The rest of your letter I shall answer at some other op^
portqnity.*
* Like all men of true genius, Burns was the least suseeptible
of literanr jealousy, and the first to acknowledge the claim* 0$
a CQ^rival to poetical distinction. His goodness of hearty how-
ever, occasionally blinded his judgment; for, after a careful
perusal of < Tumbull^ Essays,' we cannot eonscientlously bring
ourselves to believe, that the author possessed that merit which
his enthuriastio and single-hearted friend, in the generosity of hia
nature, was willing to award to him. We hooeiiily think Burnii
waa, *<as an old friend, prejudiced in hia favour,'* fla much as h^
was in the eases of Lapraik and Sillan; but what be Mys **h%
likes very much," it would be doing iqjnstioe to his memory,
were we to diseard what he liked from this edition of hit workik
153 WORKS OF BURNI.
No. XLVIII.
MR THOMSON TO BURNS.
7th Nov. 179a
My good SiRf
Aftee 8o long a silence, it gave me peculiar pleasure to
recognise your well-known hand, for I had begun to be
apprehensive that all was not well with you. I am happy
Hence we have retained the songs of TurnbuU precisely as tbey
originally appeared in the correspondence' betwixt the Poet and
Mr Thomson.
Little or nothing is known of TumbulL In < Campbeirs His-
tory of Scottish Poetry/ there appears this brief notice of the
work of one, of whom Bums speaks in so flattering a manner: —
« No sooner had the Paisley press produced the poems of Mr
Ebenezer Picken, than the Poetical Essays of Gavin TambuU, in
1788, issued from the press of Mr David Niven of Glasgow. The
* Poetical Essays' of Mr TurnbuU are such as do him the
highest credit. I am hopeful he wUl go on ; for, in truth, the
specimens already before the public, give, so far as I understand,
uncommon satisfaction. It was the peculiar felicity of Bums, on
his first entrance on the literary stage, to be patronised and sup-
ported, even to a degree rarely the lot of the most consummate
talents. It became for a time the rage, to use a fashi<mable
phrase, to talk of him, recite his pieces, and boast of having spent
an evening in company with the Ayrshire bard. No wonder
then, if the contemporaries of Bums were neglected by those
who are looked up to as the umpires of literary reputation.
But one consolation remained ; the ingenious author escaped the
most poignant mortification, usually attendant on talents unac-
companied by pradence, that is, the supercilious sneer, indicative
of altered opinion, and its humiliating consequence, cold indif-
ference. Did not Bums experience all this ?**
So far says Alexander Campbell, in his < History of Poetry io
Scotland,* which, be it remembored, was published at Edinburgh
in 1798, and which work, we beg leave to say, is neither distin-
guished for the accuracy of its details, its extent of information,
nor the acumen of its criticism, when any critical observations ara
haxarded. Campbell, we believe, meant well, but be performe4
ill. In one word, he was incompetent for the very laborious task
which he undertook. But he is dead, and we remember the
adage, <'De mortnis nil nisi bonum,'* otherwise we might en*
large this note to a size disproportionate wit^ its snb9ect.T-M* .
CORRESPONDBBICB. 1S3
to find, however* that your silence did not proceed from
that cause, and tliat you have ^t among the ballads once
more.
I have to thank you for your English song to ' Leiger m'
choss,' which I think extremely good, althou^ the colour-
ing is warm. Your friend Mr Tumbull's songs have doubt«
less considerable merit ; and as you have the command of
his manuscripts, I hope you may find out some that will
answer, as English songs, to the airs yet unprovided.
No. XLIX.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
JOeeember, 1793.
Tell me how you like the following verses to the tune
of * Jo Janet :'
Husband, husband, cease your strife.
Nor longer idly rave, sir ;
Tho' I am your wedded wife
Yet I am not your slave, sir
** One of two must still obey,
Nancy, Nancy i
Is it man, or woman, say;
My spouse, Nancy ?"
If 'tis still (he lordly word.
Service and obediebce ;
ril desert my sovereign lord.
And so, good b'ye, allegiance !
" Sad will I be, so bereft,
Nancy, Nancy,
Yet ril try to make a shift,
My spottse» Nancy."
154 WOftKS OF BURNS.
My poor heart then break it roiutr
My last hour I'm near it :
When you lay me in the dust,
Think, think, how you will bear it.
" I will hope and trust in heaven,
Nancy, Nancy ;
Strength to bear it will be giTen,
My spouse, Nancy.'*
Well, sir, from the silent dead,
Still I'll try to daunt you ;
Ever round your midnight bed
Horrid sprites shall haunt you.
" rU wed another, like my dear
Nancy, Nancy ;
Tlien all hell will fly for fear.
My spouse, Nancy."
WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE?
Air—*' The Sutor's Doehter.**
Wilt thou be my dearie ?
When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart,
Wilt thou let me cheer thee ?
By the treasure of my soul.
That's the love I bear thee !
I swear and vow that only thou
Shall ever be my dearie.
Only thou, I swear and vow.
Shall ever be my dearie.
Lassie, say thou lo*es me;
Or if thou wilt na be my ain.
Say na thou'lt refuse me :
If it winna, canna be.
Thou for thine may choose me,
C0RRE8P0MDBNCS. 155
Let me, lassie, quickry die,
Trusting that thou lo'es me.
Lassie, let me quickly die.
Trusting that thou lo'es me.
No. L.
MR THOMSON TO BURNS.
EniNBUEGH, nth April, 1794.
My dear Sir,
Owing to the distress of our friend for the loss of his
child, at the time of his receiving your admirable but
melancholy letter, I had not an opportunity, till lately, of
perusing it* How sorry I am to find Bums saying,
** Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased ?** while he is
delighting others from one end of the island to the other.
Like the hypochondriac who went to consult a physician
upon his case—'' Go," says the doctor, " and see the &mous
Garlini, who keeps all Paris in good humour." "Alas I
sir," replied the patient, " I am that unhappy Carlini !**
Your plan for our meeting together pleases' me greatly,
and I trust that by some means or other it will soon take
place ; but your Bacchanalian challenge almost frightens
me, for I am a miserable weak drinker !
Allan is much gratified by your good opinion of his
talents. He has just begun a sketch from your ' Cotter's
Saturday Night,' and, if it pleases himself in the design, he
win probably etch or engrave it. In subjects of the pas-
toral and humorous kind, be is, perhaps, unrivalled by any
artist living. He fiauls a little in giving beauty and grace
to his females, and his colouring is sombre, otherwise his
paintings and drawings would be in greater request.
I like the music of the ' Sutor's dochter,' and will con-
* A Letter to Mr Cunningham, to be found in another volume.
156 WOftKS OF BURNS.
sider whether it shall be added to the last volume ; your
verses to it are pretty ; bat your humorous English song,
to suit ' Jo Janet/ is inimitable. What think you of the
air, ' Within a mile of Edinburgh ? It has always struck
me as a modem English imitation, but it is said to be
Oswald's, and is so much liked, that I believe I must in-
clude it The verses are little better than namby pamby.
Do you consider it worth a stanza or two ?
No. LI.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
May, 17M.
Mt DEAIl Sia,
I AETuaN you the plates, with which I am highly pleas-
ed; I would humbly propose, instead of the you&ker
knitting stockings, to put a stock and horn into his hands.
A friend of mine, who is positively the ablest judge on the
subject I have ever met with, and though an imknown, is
yet a superior artbt with the burin, is quite charmed witli
Allan's manner. I got him a peep of the ' Gentle Shep-
herd ;' and he pronounces Allan a most original artist of
great excellence.
For my part, I look on Mr Allan's choosing my favourite
poem for his subject, to be one of the highest compliments
I have ever received.
I am quite vexed at Pleyel's being cooped up in France,
as it will put an entire stop to our work. Now, and for
six or seven months, I shall be quite in s(»ig, as you shall
see by and by. I got an air, pretty enough, composed by
Lady Elizabeth Heron of Heron, which she caUs ' The
banks of Cree.' Cree is a beautiful romantic stream ; and
as her Ladyship is a particular friend of mine, I have writ-
ten the following song to it :-—
. CORRESPONDENCE. 1^7
HERE IS THE GLEN.
Tune^** Banks of Cree."
Here is the glen, and here the bower.
All underneath the birchen shade ;
The village bell has told the hour,
O what can stay my lovely maid ?
'Tis not Maria's whispering call ;
'Tis but the balmy-breaUiing gale, ^
Mixt with some warbler's dying fall»
The dewy star of eve to hail.
It is Maria*s voice I hear I
So calb the woodlark in the grove.
His little fiiithful mate to cheer,
A| once 'tis music — and 'tis love.
And art thou come ! and art thou true !
O welcome dear to love and me I
And let us all our vows renew,
Along the flowery banks of Cree.
No. LII.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
jHfyf 1794.
Is there no news yet of Pleyel ? Or is your work to be
at a dead stop, until the allies set our modem Orpheus at
liberty from the savage thraldom of democratic discords ?
Alas the day I And woe is me ! That auspicious period,
pregnant with the happiness of millions.* * « « * #
* A portion of this letter has been left out, for reasoBS that
will be easily imagined.
3 o
158 WORKS OF BURNS.
I have presented a copy of your songs to the daughter of
a much-valued and much-honoured friend of mine, Mr
Graham of Fintry. I wrote on the blank side of the
title-page the following address to the young lady :—
Here, where the Scottish muse immortal Aives,
In sacred strains and tuneful numbers join'd.
Accept the gift ; tho* humble he who gives,
Rich is the tribute of the grateful mind.
So may no ruffian-feeling* in thy breast.
Discordant jar thy bosom-chords among ;
But peace attune thy gentle soul to rest.
Or love ecstatic wake his seraph song.
Or pity's notes, in luxury of tears.
As mode^ want the tale of wo reveals ;
While conscious ^rtue all the strain endears.
And heaven-bom piety her sanction seak.
No. LIII.
MR THOMSON TO BURNS.
Edinburgh, lOth August, 1794.
Mt dear Sir,
I OWE you an apology for having so long delayed to ac-
knowledge the favour of your last I fear it will be as you
say, I shall have no more songs from Pleyel till France and
we are friends ; but nevertheless, I am very desirous to be
prepared with the poetry ; and as the season approaches in
which your muse of Coila visits you, I trust I shall, as for-
merly, be frequently gratified with the result of your amor-
ous and tender interviews I
* It were to have been wished, that instead of " ruffian-feel-
ing,** the bard had used a less rugged epithet, e. g, ** ruder."—*
Carrie was not a poet — ^M.
169
No. LIV.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
QOth Auffuttf 1794.
Thb last eveniDg, as I was straying out, and thinking of
' O'er the hills and fiir away/ I spun the following stanza
for it ; but whether my spinning will deserve to be laid up
in store, like the precious thread of the silk-worm, or brush-
ed to the devil, like the vile manu£gtcture of the spider, I
leave, my dear Sir, to your usual candid criticism. I was
pleased with several lines in it at first : but I own that now
it appears rather a flimsy business.
Thb is just a hasty sketch, until I see whether it be worth
a critique. We have many sailor songs, but as far as I at
present recollect, they are mostly the effusions of the jovial
sailor, not the wailings of his love-lorn mistress. I must
here make one sweet exception — * Sweet Annie frae tho
sea-beach came.' Now for the song.
ON THE SEAS AI9D FAR AWAY.
-^O'erthehilV&e.
How can my poor heart be glad,
When absent from my sailor lad ?
How can I the thou^t forego.
He's on the seas to meet the foe ?
Let me wander, let me rove,
Still my heart is with my love ;
Nightly dreams, and thoughts by day.
Are with him that's &r away.
On the seas and < away.
On stormy seas and fiir away ;
Nightly dreams, and thoughts by day,
Are aye with him that's for away,
o 2
160 WOEIB OF BUBirt.
When in summer's noon I faint.
As weary flocks around me pant*
Haply in this scorching sun
My sailor's thundering at his giw :
Bullets, spare my only joy !
Bullets, spare my darling boy !
Fate, do with me what you may,
Spare but him that's far away !
On the seas, &c.
At the starless midnight hour.
When winter rules with boundless power ,*
As the storms the forest tear.
And thunders rend the howling air.
Listening to the doubling roar.
Surging on the rocky shore.
An I can — I weep and pray.
For his weal that's far away.
On the seas. Sec,
Peace, thy olive wand extend,
And bid wild war his ravage end,
Man with brother man to meet.
And as a brother kindly greet :
Tt)en may heaven, with prosperous gales.
Fill my saUor's welcome sails.
To my arms their charge convey.
My dear lad that's &r away.
On the seas and far away.
On stormy seas and far away ;
Nightly dreams, and thoughts by day.
Are aye with liim that's far away.
I give you leave to abuse this song, but do it in the spirit
of Christian meekness.
CORmESPONDBNCB. 161
No, LV.
MR THOMSON TO BURNS.
Edinburgh, IM Sepi. 1794.
Ht dbae Sir,
You have anticipated my opioion of ' Oa the seas and
fiir away ;' I do not think it one of your very happy pro-*
ductions, though it certainly contains stanzas that are
worthy of all acceptation*
The second is the least to my liking, particularly, " Bul-
lets, spare my only joy." Confound the bullets I It might,
perhaps, be objected to the third verse, ** At the starless
midnight hour,** that it has too much grandeur of imagery,
and that greater simplicity of thought would have better
suited the character of a sailor's sweet-heart. The tune, it
must be remembered, is of the brisk, cheerful kind. Upon
the whole, therefore, in my humble opinion, the song would
be better adapted to the tune, if it consisted only of the first
and last verses, with the choruses.
No. LVI.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
SepL 1794.
I SHALL withdraw my ' On the seas and fiur away,' al-
together: 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 to try him.
For that reason I send you the ofispring of my brain,
abortions and all ; and, as such, pray look over them
and forgive them, and bum them.* I am flattered at your
« Thii Tirgilian order of the poet ihoiild, I think, be disobey-
ed with respect to the song in question, the second stansa ex-
cepted. — NoU bjf Mr Thommm.
•* Doctors differ. The objection to the second stanxa does not
o3
lOS WOBKB OF BUEMB.
adopting ' Ga* the yowes to the knowes/ as it was owiiig lo
me that ever it saw the light. About seven years ago I
was well acquainted with a worthy little fellow of a deigy-
man, a Mr Clunie, who sung it charmingly ; and, at my re-
quest, Mr Clarke took it down from his singing. When I
gave it to Johnson, I added some stanzas to the song, and
mended others, but still it will not do for you. In a soli-
tary stroll which I took to-day, I tried my hand on a few
pastoral lines, following up the idea of the chorus, wfaidi I
would preserve. Here it is, with all its crudities and ioK
perfections on its head.
CA' THE YOWES.
Ca' the yowes to the knowes*
Ca* them whare the heather growes,
Ca' them whare the bumie rowes.
My bonnie dearie.
Harki the mavis' evening sang
bounding Glouden's woods amang I*
Then a fiiulding let us gang.
My bonnie dearie.
We'll gae down by Clouden side.
Thro' the hazels spreading wide,
0*er the waves that sweetly glide
To the moon sae dearly.
Ca' the yowes, &c
Yonder Glouden's silent towers.
Where at moonshine midnight hours*
O'er the dewy bending flowers.
Fairies dance sae cheery.
Ca' the yowesy &c«
strike the Editor. So says Dr Carrie, and so respond maaj
•• exqiiisile judges otpo/Ury w Mr Thomion oan pretend to
be.— *M.
« The riyer Qouden, or duden, a iribnUary strsam to tbf
Nltb.
■y^!^— ^^^^iw^g^i^^^— — — ■iiiM i^^^^^^^i^— y»*^y^^^j;y^y^y^^ggHP
CO&EE8PONDENCB. ]^9
Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear ;
Thou'rt to love and heaven sae dear,
Nocht of ill may come thee near.
My bonnie dearie.
Ca' the yowes, &c.
Fair and lovely aa thou art.
Thou hast stown my very heart ;
I can die— but canna part-«
My bonnie dearie.
Ga, the yowes to the knoves,
Ga' them whare the heather growes,
Ga' them whare the buraie rowes.
My bonnie dearie.
I shall give you my opinion of your other newly adopted
songs my first scribbling fit.
No. LVIL
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
Sept, 1794.
Do you know a blackguard Irish song called ' Onagh's
Water-fall ? The air is charming, and I have often regret-
ted the want of decent verses to it. It ia too much, at least
for my humble rustic muse, to expect that eveiy effort of
hers shall have merit $ still I think that it is better to have
mediocre verses to a favourite air, than none at all. On
this principle I have all along proceeded in the Scots Mu-
sical Museum, and as that publication is at its last volume,
I intend the following song, to the air above*«aentioned, for
that work.
If it does not suit you as an editor, you may be pleased
to have verses to it that you can sing before ladies.
wm^m
164 WORKS OF BURNS.
SHE SAYS SHE LO*£S ME BEST OF A*.
TVfM— ^ Onagh'i Water-falL"
Sae flaxen were her ringlets.
Her eye-brows of a darker hue,
Bewitchingly o*er-arching
Twa laughing een o* bonnie blue.
Her smiling sae wyling,
Wad make a wretch forget his woe ;
What pleasure, what treasure*
Unto these rosy lips to grow :
Such was my Chloris' bonnie &ce.
When first her bonpie &ce I saw, -
And aye my Chloris' dearest charm,
.She says she lo'es me best of a'
Like harmony her motion ;
Her pretty ancle is a spy
Betraying fiur proportion.
Wad make a saint forget the sky.
Sae warming, sae charming.
Her faultless form and gracefu* air ;
Ilk feature— «uld nature
Dedar'd that she could do nae mair :
Hers are the willing chains o* love.
By conquering beauty's sovereign law ;
And aye my Chloris' dearest charm»
She says she lo'es me best of a%
Let others love the city.
And gaudy show at sunny noon ;
Gie me the loiiely valley.
The dewy eve, and rising moon
Fair beaming, and streaming.
Her silver light the boug^ amang ;
While foiling, recalling,
The amorous thrush concludes his sang :
COAREBPONDENCK 165
Tiiere, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove
By wimpling bum and leafy b\iblw,
Aud hear my vows o' truth and love.
And say thou lo*es me best of a'.
Not to compare small things with great, my taste in mu«
sic is like the mighty Frederick of Prussia's taste in paint*
ing : we are told that he frequently admired what the con-
noisseurs decried, and always without any hypocrisy confess-
ed 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 ? Many of our straths
speys, ancient and modern, give me most exquisite enjoy-
ment, where you and other judges would probably be show-
ing disgust. For instance, I am just now making verses
for ' Rothemurche*s Rant,' an air which puts me in rap-
tures ; and in fact, unless I be pleased with the tune, I
never can make yerses to it. Here I have Clarke on my
side, who is a judge that I will pit against any of you.
' Rothemurche,' he says, is an air both original and beauti-
ful ; and on his recommendation I have taken the first part
of the tune for a chorus, and the fourth or last part for tlie
song. I am but two stanzas deep in the work, and possibly
you may think, and justly, that the poetry is as little worth
your attention as the music*
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 chorus and the first stanza of the
old song. I do not altogether like the third line of the first
stanza, but cannot alter it to please myself. I am just three
stanzas deep in it Would you have the denouement to be
successful or otherwise ? should she '* let him in*' or not ?
* In the original foUoiv here two stanzas of a song, beginning
'< Lassie wi* the lint-white locks ;** which will be found at full
t^igth afterwards.— Currie.
166 SrOftkB OF BURNS.
Did you not once propose * The Sow's tail to Geordie/
as an air for your work f lam quite delighted with it ; but
I acknowledge that b no mark of its real excellence. I
once set about verses for it, which I meant to be in the aW
temate way of a lover and his mistress chanting together.
I have not the pleasure of knowing Mrs Thomson's chris-
tian name, and yours I am afraid is rather burlesque for
sentiment, else I had meant to have made you the hero and
heroine of the little piece.
How do you like the following epigram, which I wrote
the other day on a lovely young girl's recovery from a fe-
ver ? Doctor Maxwell was the physician who seemingly
saved her from the grave ; and to him I address the follow-^
ing.
TO DR MAXWELL,
ON MISS JESSIE STAIG'S ESCOVEaY.
Maxwell, if merit here you crave.
That merit I deny :
You save &ir Jessy from the grave ? —
An angel could not die.
God grant you patience with this stupid epistle 1
No. LVIIL
MR THOMSON TO BURNS.
I PERCEiVB the sprightly muse is now attendant upon her
fiivourite poet, whose woodnotes wild are become as en-
chanting as ever. ' She says she lo'es me best of a',' is one
of the pleasantest table songs I have seen, and henceforth
shall be mine when the song is going round. 1*11 give Cun-
ningham a copy ; he can more powerfully proclaim its merits
CORRESPOND^irCE* 167
I am far from undervaluing your taste for the strathspejr
music ; on the contrary, I think it highly animating and
agreeable, and that some of the strathspeys, when graced
with such verses as your^, will make very pleasing songs,
in the same way that rough Christians are tempered and
softened by lovely woman, without whom, you know, they
had been brutes. ^
I am dear for having the ' Sow*s tail,' particularly as
your proposed verses to it are so extremely promising.
Geordie, as you observe, is a name only fit for burlesque
composition. Mrs Thomson's name (Katharine) is not at
all poetical. Retain Jeanie therefore, and make the other
Jamie, or any other that sounds agreeably.
Your ' Ga' the ewes' is a precious little morceau. In-
deed I am perfectly astonished and charmed with the end*
less variety of your fiincy. Hero let me ask you, whether
you never seriously turned your thoughts upon dramatic
writing ? That is a field worthy of your genius, in which
it might shine forth in all its splendour. One or two suc-
cessful pieces upon the London stage would make your
fortune. The rage at present is for musical dramas : few
or none of those which have appeared since the ' Duenna,'
possess much poetical merit ; there is little in the conduct
of the &ble, or in the dialogue, to interest the audience.
They oro chiefly vehicles for music and pageantry. I think
you might produce a comic opera in three acts, which
would live by the poetry, at the same time that it would be
proper to take every assbtance from her tuneful sister.
Part of the sopgs of course would be to our fiivourite Scot-
tish airs ; tlie rest might be left to the London composer
— Storace for Drury-lane, or Shield for Covent-garden :
both of them very able and popular musicians. I believe
that interest and manoeuvring are often necessary to have a
drama brought on : so it may be with the namby pamby
tribe of flowery scribblers : but were you to address Mr
Sheridan himself by letter, and send him a dramatic piece,
I am persuaded he would, for the honour of genius, give it
' 16S WORKS OP BUANB. .^
a fiiir and candid trial. Ezcase me for obtruding tliese
hints upon your consideration.*
No. LIX.
MR THOMSON TO BURNS.
£dinbubgb» I4ik Oct, 1794.
The last eight days have been devoted to the re-exami-
nation of the Scottish collections. I have read, and sung,
and fiddled, and considered, till I am half blind, and wholly
stupid. The few airs I have added, are inclosed.
Peter Pindar has at length sent me all the songs I ex-
pected from him, which are in general elegant and beauti-
ful. Have you heard of a London collection of Scottish
airs and songs, just published by Mr Ritson, an English-
man ? I shall send you a copy. His introductory essay on
the subject is curious, and evinces great reading and re-
search, but does not decide the question as to the origin of
our melodies ; though he shows clearly that Mr Tytler, in
his ingenious dissertation, has adduced no sort of proof of
the hypothesis he wished to establish ; and that his classifi-
cation of the airs according to the seras when 'they were
composed, is mere fiincy and conjecture. On John Pinker-
ton, Esq. he has no mercy ; but consigns him to damna-
tion ! He snarls at my publication, on the score of Pindar
being engaged to write songs for it ; uncandidly and un-
justly leaving it to be inferred, that the songs of Scottish
writers had been sent a-packing to make room for Peter's 1
Of you he speaks with some respect, but gives you a pass-
ing hit or two, for daring to dress up a little, some old fo9l-
ish songs for the Museum. His sets of the Scottish airs
are taken, he says, from the oldest collections and best
* Our bard had before received the same advice, and certainly
took it so far into consideration, as to have cast about for a sub-
ject.""" ClOTW.
COa&ESPONDBNCE. \69
aothorities : many of them, howeTer, have such a strange
aspect, and are so unlike the sets which are sung by every
person of taste, old or young, in town or country, tlutt we
can scarcely recognise Uie features of our favourites. By
going to the oldest collections of our music, it does not fol-
low that we find the melodies In their original state. These
melodies had been preserved, we know not how long^ by
oral communication, before being collected and printed ;
and as different persons 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 cUscemment to choose the best they
could hear, (which is far from certain,) still it must evident,
ly be a chance, whether the collections exhibit any of the
melodies in the state they were first ccMnposed. In select-
ing 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
erron on the one hand, and affected graces on the other.
No. LX.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
\9th October 1794,
Mt dbab FaiBNB,
Bt 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. Clarke goes to your town by to-
day^s fly, and I wish you would call on him and take his
opinion in general : you know his taste is a standard. He
will return here again in a week or two : so, please do not
8 p
170 WO&K& or BUEN8.
mm asking for him . One thing I hope he will do— -persuade
you to adopt my fiivourite, ' Craigie-bum Wood/ in your
selection : it is as great a fiiyourite of hb as of njine. The
lady on whom it was made is one of the finest women in
Scotland ; and in fiurt (entre nous) is in a manner to me
what Sterne's Eliza was to him—- a mistress, .or friend, or
what you will, in the guileless simplicity of Platonic love.
(Now don't put any of your squinting constructions on this,
or have any clishmaclaiver about it among our acquaints
ances.) I assure you that to my lovely friend you are in«
debted 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 Iot^ and joy — could fire him with en-
thusiasm, or melt him with pathos, equal to the genius of
your book ? No I no ! — Whenever I want to be more than
ordinary in song ; to be in some degree equal to your di-
viner airs ; do you imagine I iast and pray for the celestial
emanation ? Tout au corUraire 1 I have a glorious recipe ;
the very one that for hb own use was invented by the di-
vinity of healing and poetry, when erst he piped to the
flocks of Admetus. I put myself in a regimen of admiring
a fine woman ; and in proportion to the adorability of hec
charms, in proportion you are delighted with my verses*
The lightning of her eye is the godhead of Parnassus, and
the witchery of her smile the divinity of Helicon I
To descend to business ; if you like my idea of, ' When
she cam ben she bobbit,* the following stanza of mine, al-
tered a little from what they were formerly when set to
another air, may perhaps do instead of worse stanzas :—
SAW YE MY PHELY.
f Qua»i dieat PhUUs.J
7Vme-*« Wheo she cam ben the bobbit.**
O saw ye my dear, my Phely ?
O saw ye my dear, my Phely ?
CORRESPONDENCB. >71
Sbe*8 down i' the grore, she's wi' a new love,
She winna come hame to her Willy.
What says she, my dearest, my Phely ?
What says she, my dearest, my Phely ?
She lets thee to wit that she has thee forgot.
And for ever disowns thee her Willy.
P had I tie*er seen thee, my Phely I
O liad I ne'er seen thee, my Phely !
As light as the air, and fiiuse as thou's fiiir,
Thou*s broken the heart o' thy Willy.
Now for a few miscellaneous remarks. * The Posie' (in
the Museum) is my composition ; the air was taken down
from Mrs Bums's voice.* It is well known in the West
country, but the old words are trash. By the bye, take a
look at the tune again, and tell me if you do not think it is
the original from which ' Roslin Castle' is composed. The
second part, in 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 Edinburgh '
Herald ; and came to the editor of that paper with the
Newcastle post-mark on itf ' Whistle o*er the lave oV is
* < The Posie* will be foand afterwards. This, and the other
poems of which he speaks, had appeared in Johnson's Museum,
and Mr. T. had inquired whether they were ourbard*s. — Currw.
f The reader will be curious to see this poem, so highly prais
ed by Bums. Here it is:—
** Keen blaws the wind o'er Donocht-Head,**
The snaw drives snelly thro' the dale,
The Gaberlunzie tirls my snock*
And shiTering tells his waefu' tale.
* A mountain in the North.
p2
172 W0BK8 OF BI7EN8.
mine : the music said to be by a John Bruce, a celebnted
violin player in Dumfries, about the beginniog of this cen-
tury. This I know, Bruce, who was an honest man, though
a red-wud Highlandman, constantly claimed it ; and by all
the old musical people here, is belicTed to be the author
of it.
' Andrew and his cutty gun.' The song to which this
is set in the Museum is mine, and was composed on Miss
Euphemia Murray, of Lintrose, commonly and deserved-
ly called the flower of Strathmore.
Cauld is the night, O let me in,
And dinna let your minitrel fa\
And dinna let his winding sheet
Be naething but a wreath o* snaw.
« Full ninety winters hae I seen,
And pip*d where gor-cocks whirring flew,
And mony a day IVe danc'd, I ween,
To lilts which fVom my drone I blew.
My Eppie wakM, and soon she cry*d,
Get op goidman, and let him in ;
For weel ye ken the winter night
Was short when he began his din.
" My Eppie*s voice, O wow it's sweet.
Even tho* she bans and scaulds a wee $
But when it's tun'd to sorrow's tale,
O, haith, its doubly dear to me !
Come in, auld carl, FU steer my fire,
ril make it bleeze a bonnie flame ;
Your bluid is thin, ye've tint the gate^
Ye should nae stray sae far frae hame.
<* Nae hame haye I, the minstrel said.
Sad party-strife o*erturned my ha* ;
And, weeping at the eve of life,
I wander thro* a wreath o' snaw."
This affecting poem is apparently incomplete. iTie author
need not be ashamed to own himself. It is worthy of Bums, or
of Maeneill.-r- Ctfm'e.
It was written, we believe, by a gentleman ff( Newcastle, named
Pickering, now deceased.— M.
J
COABB8PONDENCB. 173
^ 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
fiiTourite air, I have taken a stride or two across my room
and have arranged it anew, as you will find on the other
page*
7\(ne— « Cauld Kail in Aberdeen.**
How long and dreary is the night.
When I am frae my dearie I
I restless lie frae e'en to mom,
Tho* I were ne'er sae weary.
For oh, her lanely nights are ]ang ;
And oh, her dreams are eerie ;
And oh, her widow'd heart b sair.
That's absent frae her dearie.
When I think on the lightsome days
I spent wi' thee, my dearie ;
And now what seas between us roar.
How can I be but eerie ?
For oh, &c.
How slow ye move, ye heavy hours ;
The joyless day how dreary !
It was nae sae ye glinted by.
When I was wi' my dearie.
For oh, her lanely nights are lang ;
And oh, her dreams are eerie ;
And oh, her widow'd heart is sair.
That's absent frae her dearie.
»
Tell me how you like this. I differ from your idea of
the expression of the tune. There is, to me, a great deal
of tenderness in it. You cannot, in my opinion, dispense
with a bass to your addenda airs. A lady of my acquain-
tance, a noted performer, plays and sings at the same time
r 8
174 WOBKf OF BUBlfS.
SO charmingly, that I shall never bear to see any of her
song? sent into the world, as naked as Mr What^l'ye-call-
um has done in his London collection.*
These English songi gravel me to death. I have not
that command of the language that I 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 in-
stance :-^
LET NOT WOMAN E'ER COMPLAIN.
Tune^** Dancab Gray.*'
Let not woman e'er complain
Of inconstancy in love ;
Let not woman e'er complain
Fickle man is apt to rove :
Look abroad through nature's range,
Nature*s mighty law is change ;
Ladies, would it not be strange,
Man should then a monster prove ?
Mark the winds, and mark tlie skies ;
Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow :
Sun and moon but set to rise.
Round and round the seasons go.
Why then ask of silly man.
To oppose great nature's plan ?
Well be constant while we can —
You can be no more, you know.
Since the above I have been out in the country taking a
dinner with a friend, where I met with the lady whom I
mentioned in the second page in this odds-and-ends of a
letter. As usual I got into song ; and returning home I torn*
posed the following :-*
* Mr RitsoQ.
C0RBE8F0NDENCB. 175
THE LOVER'S MORNING SALUTE TO HIS MISTRESS.
Tttne— " Deil tak the Wars."
Sleep's! thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature ;
Rosy mom now lifts his eye,
NumberiDg ilka bud which nature
Waters wi' the tears o' joy :
Now thro' the leafy woods,
And by the reeking floods.
Wild nature*8 tenants, freely, gladly stray ;
The lintwhite in his bower
Chants o'er the breathing flower ;
The lav'rock to the sky
Ascends wi' sangs o' joy.
While the sun and thou arise to blesB the day.*
Phoebus gilding the brow o' morning.
Banishes ilk darksome shades
Nature gladdening and adorning ;
Such to me my lovely maid.
When absent frae my fair.
The murky shades o' care
With starless gloom o'ercast my sullen sky ;
But when in beauty's light,
She meets my ransh'd sight,
• Variation:—
Now to the streaming fountain.
Or up the heathy mountain^
The hart, hind, and roe, freely, wUdly-wantott stray i
In twining hazel bowers
His lay the linnet pours ;
The lav'rock to the sky.
Ascends wi' sangs o' joy.
While the sun and thou arise to bless the day.
* CmrrU.
176 WORKS or BUEKS.
When through my very heart
Her beaming glories dart ;
'Tis then I wake to life, to light, and joy.*
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.
I inclose you a musical curiosity, an East Indian air»
which you would swear was a Scottish one. I know the
authenticity of it, as the gentleman who brought it over is
a particular acquaintance of mine. Do preserve me the
copy I send you, as it is the only one I have. Clarke has
set a bass to it, and I intend putting it into the Musical
Museum. Here follow the verses I intend for it : —
THE AULD MAN.
But lately seen in gladsome green
The woods rejoice the day.
Thro* gentle showers the laughing flowen
In double pride were gay :
But now our joys are fled.
On winter blasts awa !
Yet maiden May, in rich array,
Again shall bring than a*.
But my white pow, nae kindly thowe
Shall melt the snaws of age;
My trunk of eild, but buss or bield.
Sinks in time's wintry rage.
• Variation: —
When frae my Chloris parted,
Sad, cheerless, broken hearted,
The night*8 gloomy shades, cloudy, dark, overcast my sky.
But when she charms my sight,
In pride of beauty's light ;
When thro' my very heart
Her beaming glories dart ;
'Tis then, 'tis then I wake to life and joy. CurrU,
eOR&SSPONDBNCB. 177
Oh, age has weary dayt,
And nights o' sleepless |>ain f
Thou golden time o' youthfu' prime,
Why com'st thou not again I
I would be obliged to .you if you would procure me a
fight of Ritson*s collectiou of English songs, which yotl
mention in your letter* I , will thank you for another lUf
formation, and that as speedily as you please : whethet
this miserable drawling hotchpotch epistle has not com-
pletely tired you of my correspondence ?
No. LXI.
MR THOMSON TO BURNS.
Edinbubgh, 27M October, 1794.
I AM sensible, my dear friend, that a genuine poet can
no more exist without his mistress than his meat I wish
I knew the adorable she, whose bright eyes and witching
smiles have so often enraptured the Scottish bard I that I
might drink her sweet health when the toast is going
round. ' Craigie-bum Wood* must certainly be adopted
into my &mily, 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 con-
summation 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 clotlied
and made decent by our friend Clarke.
. I find I am anticipated by the friendly Cunningham in
tending you Ritson's Scottish collection. Permit nk%
therefore, to present you with his English collectioo.
176 %ORK8 OP BURNS.
which you will receive by the coach. I do not find his
historioEd essay on Scottish song intetesting. Your anec-
dotes and miscellaneous remarks will, I am sure^ be much
more so. Allan has just sketched a charming design from
* Maggie Lauder.' She is 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 in-
clined to get a small copy, and to have it engraved in the
style of Ritson*s prints.
P.S.— i-Pray what do your anecdotes say concerning
' Maggie Lauder T was she a real personage, and of what
rank ? You would surely '' spier for her, if you ca*d at
Anstruther town."
No. LXII.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
November, 1794.
Many thanks to you, my dear Sir, for your present ; it
is a book of the utmost importance to me. I have yester-
day 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 arrange-
ment Indeed, as all I have to say consists of unconnect-
ed 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 objections to the song
you had selected for ' My lodging is on the cold ground.'
On my visit the other day to my fiur Chloris, (that is the
poetic name of the lovely goddess of my inspiration,) she
* It does not appear whether Bums oompleted these atieodotes»
4m. «Soinething of the kind (probably the rode drangfato) was
found amongst his papers, and app»«rs elsewhere. — CwrrU*
CORRUSPONDGNCB. 179
fuggested an idea, which I, in my return from the visits
wrought into the following song :— •
CHLORISL
My Chloris, mark how green the groves.
The primrose banks how fair ;
The balmy gales awake the flowers.
And wave thy flaxen hair.
Tlie lav'rock shuns the palace gay»
And o'er the cottage sings :
For nature smiles as sweet, I ween.
To shepherds as to kings.
Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string
In lordly lighted ha' :
The shepherd stops his simple reed.
Blithe, in the birken shaw.
The princely revel may survey
Our rustic dance wi' scorn ;
But are their hearts as light as ours
Beneath the milk-white thorn ?
The shepherd, in the flowery glen.
In shepherd's phrase will woo :
The courtier tells a finer tale.
But is hit heart as true ?
These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd, to deck
That spotless breast o' thine;
The courtier's gems may witness love —
But 'tis na love like mine.
How do you like the simplicity and tenderness of this
pastoral ? I think it pretty well.
I like you for entering so candidly and so kindly into
the story of " ma chere Amie*' 1 assure you I was never
1^ WOEK8 OP BUAMI*
more in earneit Id my life, than io the aocouDt of that af*
fiiir which I sent you in my last.— Conjugal love b a pas-
sion which I deeply feel, and highly venerate ; but, some-
how, it does not make such a figure in poesy as that other
species of the passion,
*' Where Love ii liberty, and Nature law.
Musically speakipg, 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 intellec-
tual modulations of the human soul. Still, I am a very poet
in my entliusiasm of thepassion* The welfare and happiness
of the beloved object is the first and inviolate sentiment that
pervades my soul ; and whatever pleasures I might wish
for, or whatever might be the raptures they would give roe,
yet, if they interfere with that first principle, it is haviug
these pleasures at a dishonest price ; and justice forbids, and
generosity disdains, the purchase I
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 simi-
lar to what I want ; and, with a little alteration, so as to
suit the rhythm of the air exactly, to give you them for
your work. Where the songs have hitherto been but little
noticed, nor have ever 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 Teartable Miscellany, I have cut
down for an English dress to your ' Dainty Davie,* as fol-
lows :-^
IT WAS THE CHARlfINO MONTH OF MAY.
ALTERED FROM AN OLD ENGLISH ONE.
It was the charming nK>nth of May,
When all the flow'rs were fresh and gay.
One morning, by the break of day.
The youthful, charming Chloe ;
CORRESPONDENCE. 181
From peaceful slumber she arose.
Girt on her mantle and her hose.
And o*er the floVry mead she goes.
The youthful, charming Chloe.
Lovely was she by the dawn,
Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe,
Tripping o'er the peariy lawn,
The youthful, charming Chloe.
The feather'd people, you might see
Ferch*d all around on every tree,
In notes of sweetest melody,
They hail the charming Chloe ;
TiU, painting gay the eastern skies.
The glorious sun began to rise,
Out-rivaird by the radiant eyes
Of youthful, charming Chloe.
Lovely was she by the dawn.
Youthful Chloe> charming Chloe,
Tripping o'er the pearly lawn.
The youthful, charming Chloe.
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 ' Rothe-
murche's Rant ;' and you have Clarke to consult as to the
set of the air for singing.
"*
LAS8IE Wr THE LINT- WHITE LOCKS.
-» Rothemurche'i Rant."
Lassie wi* the lint^white locks,
Bonnie lassie, artless lassie.
Wilt thou wi* me tent the flocks ?
Wilt thou be my dearie, O ?
Now nature deeds the flowery lea.
And a* is young and sweet like thee ;
Q
182 WORKS or JURN8.
O wilt thou share its joys wi* me,
' And say thou'lt be my dearie, O ?
And when the welcome simmer shower
Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower,
Well to the breathing woodbine bower
At sultry noon, my dearie, O.
Lassie wi', &c.
When Cynthia lights, wi* siWer ray,
The weary shearer's hameward way ;
Thro* yellow waving fields we*ll stray,
And talk o' love, my dearie, O.
Lassie, wi*, &c.
And when the howling wintry blast
Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest,
Enclasped to my fiiithful breast,
1*11 comfort thee, my dearie, O.*
Lassie wi' the lint-white locks,
Bonnie lassie, artless lassie !
Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks.
Wilt thou be my dearie, ?
This piece has at. least the merit of being a regular pas-
toral : the vernal mom, the summer noon, the autumnal
evening, and tlie winter night, are r^ilarly rounded. If
you like it, well : if not, I will insert it in the Museum.
* In some of the MSS. this stania runs thus : —
And should the howling wintry blast
Disturb my lassie's midnight rest,
ril fauld thee to my fiuthfo* breast.
And comfort thee, my deariei O. Ckitm.
CORRESrONDBNjCE. 183
No. LXIII.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
I AM out of temper that you should set so sweet, so ten-
der an air, as, ' Deil tak the wars,' to the foolish old verses.
You talk of the silliness of * Saw ye my fether ?* by hea-
vens I the odds is gold to brass I Besides, the old song,
though now pretty well modernized into the Scottish lan-
guage, 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 produc-
tion. There is a pretty English song by Sheridan, in the
' Duenna,* to this air, which is out of sight superior to
D^Urfe/s. It begins,
** When sable night each drooping plant restoring.**
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 Green-
wood,* &c.
FAREWELL THOU STREAM.
Farewell thou stream that winding flows
Around Eliza's dwelling !
O mem*ry ! spare the cruel throes
Within my bosom swelling :
Condemn'd to drag a hopeless chain.
And yet in secret languish ;
To feel a fire in ev'ry vein.
Nor dare disclose my anguish. ^
* See the song in its first and best dress in page 175. Our
bard remarks apon it, ** I could easily throw this into an English
moold ; but, to my taste, in the simple and the tender of the pasto-
ral song, a sprinkling of the old Scottish has an inimitable effect.**
-^Currte,
Q 2
184 WORKS OF BURNS.
Love's veriest wretch, unseeD, unknown,'
I fain my griefs would cover :
The bursting sigh, th' unweeting groan,
Betray the hapless lover.
I know thou doom'st me to despair,
Nor wilt, nor canst relieve me ;
But oh ! Eliza, hear one prayer.
For pity*s sake forgive me !
Tiie music of thy voice I heard,
Nor wist while it enslav'd roe ;
I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear*d.
Till fears no more had sav'd* me :
Th* unwary sailor thus aghast,
The wheeling torrent viewing ;
'Mid circling horror? sinks at last
In overwhelming ruin.
There is an air, 'The Caledonian Hunt's delight,' to
which I wrote a song that you will find in Johnson. ' Ye
banks and braes o' bonnie Doon ;' this air, I think, might
find a place among your hundred, as Lear says of his
knights. Do you know the history of the air ? It is curi-
ous 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 talk-
ing of Scottish music. Miller expressed an ardent ambition
to be able to cbmpose a Scots air. Mr Clarke, partly by
way of joke, told him to keep to the black keys of the
haipsichord, and preserve some kind of rhythm ; and he
would in&Uibly compose a Scots air. Certain it is that, in
a few dajTS, Mr Miller produced the rudiments of an air,
which Mr Clarke, with some touches and corrections,
fashioned into the tune in question. Ritson, you know,
has the same story of the black keys ; but this account
which I have just given you, Mr Clarke informed me of se-
veral years ago. Now to show you how difficult it is to
COR&BSPONDENCE. 185
trace the origin of our airs, I liave heard it repeatedly as-
serted that this was aii Irish air; nay, I met with an
Irish gentleman who affirmed he had heard it in Ireland
among the old women ; while, on the other hand, a coun-
tess informed me, that the first person who introduced the
air into this country, was a baronet's lady of her acquain-
tance, who took down the notes from an itinerant piper in
the Isle of Man. How difficult then to ascertain the truth
respecting our poesy and music ! I, myself ha?e lately seeu
a couple of ballads sung through the streets of Dumfries,
with my name at the head of them as the author, though it
was tbe first time I had ever seen them.
I thank you for admitting ' Craigie-bum Wood ;' and I
shall take care to furnish you with a new chorus. In fact,)
the chorus was not my work, but a part of some old verses
to the air. If I can catch myself in a more than ordinarily
propitious moment, I shall write a new * Craigie-bum Wood*
altogether. My heart is much in the theme.
I am ashamed, my dear fellow, to make the request ; 'tis
dunning your generosity ; but in a moment, when I had
forgotten whether I was rich or poor, I promised Chloris a *
copy of your songs. It wrings my honest pride to write
you this : but an ungracious request is doubly so by a tedi-
ous apology. To make you some amends, as soon as I have
extracted the necessary information out of them, I will re-
turn you Ritson's volumes.
The lady is not a little proud that she is to make so dis-
tinguished a figure in your collection, and I am not a little
proud that I have it in my power to please her so much.
Lucky it is for your patience tliat my paper is done, for
when I am in a scribbling humour, I know not when tp
give over.
q3
186 vrORKS OV BtJRSS,
No. LXIV.
MR THOMSON TO BURNS.
l&th November, 1794.
My good Sir,
Since receiving your last, I have had anotlier interview
with Mr Clarke, and a long consultation. He thinks the
' Caledonian Hunt' is more Bacchanalian than amorous m
its nature, and recommends it to you to match the air ac-
cordingly. Pray, did it ever occur to you how peculiarly
wdl the Scottish airs are adapted for verses in the form of
a dialogue ? The first part of the air is generally low, and
suited for a man's voice ; and the second part in many in-
stances cannot be sung, at concert pitch, but by a female
voice. A song thus performed makes an agreeable variety,
but few of ours are written m this form : I wish you would
think of it in some of those that remain. The only one of
the kind you have sent me is admirable, and will be a uni-
versal fiivounte.
Your verses for ' Rothemurche' are so sweetly pastoral,
and your serenade to Chloris, for ' Deil tak the wars,' so
passionately tender, that I have sung myself into raptures
with them. Your song for ' My lodging is on the cold
ground,* is likewise a diamond of the first water ; I am
quite dazzled and delighted by it. Some of your Chlorises
I suppose have flaxen hair, from your partiality for this
colour ; else we differ about it ; for I should scarcely con-
ceive a woman to be a beauty, on reading that she had lint-
white locks I
* Farewell thou stream that winding flows,' I think ex-
cellent, but it is much too serious to come after ' Nancy :'
at least it would seem an incongruity to provide the same
air with merry Scottish and melancholy English verses !
The more that the two sets of verses resemble each other,
in their general character, the better. Those you have
X:ORRESPONDENCE. 187
manufactured for 'Dainty Davie* will answer charmingly.
I am happy to find you have begun your anecdotes : I
care not how long tliey be, for it is impossible that any
thing from your pen can be tedious. Let me beseech you
not to use ceremony in telling me when you wish t6 pre-
sent any of your friends with the songs : the next carrier
will bring you three copies, and you are as welcome to
twenty as to a pinch of snuff.
No. LXV.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
l^ih November t 1794.
You see, my dear Sir, what a punctual correspondent I
am ; tliough indeed you may thank yourself for the tedium
of my letters, as you have so flattered me on my horseman-
ship with my favourite hobby, and have praised the grace
of his ambling so much, that I am scarcely ever off his back.
For instance, this morning, though a keen blowing frost, in
my walk before breakfast, I finished my duet, which you
were pleased to praise so much. Whether I have uniform-
ly succeeded, I will not say ; but here it is for }'ou, though
it is not an hour old.
O PHILLY, HAPPY BE THAT DAY.
2Viie^« The SoVi taU.'
RE.
O Philly, happy be that day
When roving through the gathered hay,
My youthfu' heart was stown away.
And by thy charms, my Philly.
SHE.
O Willy, «ye I bless the grove
Where first I own'd my maiden love.
188 WORKS OF BURNS.
Whilst th9u didst pledge the Powers above
To be my ain d^r Willy.
HK.
As son^ters of tlie early year
Are ilka day roair sweet to hear,
So ilka day to me mair dear
And charming is my Philly.
SHE.
As on the brier the budding rose
Still richer breathes and fairer blows,
So in my tender bosom grows
The love I bear my Willy.
BS.
The milder sun and bluer sky,
That crown my harvest cares wi' joy.
Were ne*er sae welcome to my eye
As is a sight o' Philly.
SHE.
The little swallow's wanton wing,
Tho* wafting o'er the iBowery spring,
Did ne'er to me sic tidings bring.
As meeting o' my Willy.
HE.
The bee that thro' the sunny hour
Sips nectar in the opening flower
Compar'd wi* my delight b poor.
Upon the lijps o* Philly.
SHE.
The woodbine in the dewy weet
When evening sliades in silence meet,
Is nocht sae fragrant or sae sweet
As is a kiss o' Willy.
CORRESPONDENCE. 189
HE.
Let fortune^s. wheel at random rin,
And fools may tyne, and knaves may win ;
My thoughts are a' bound up in ane,
And that's my ain dear Philly.
SHE.
What's a' the joys that gowd can gie !
I care nae wealth a single flie ;
The lad I love's the lad for me,
And that's my ain dear Willy.
Tell me honestly how you like it ; and point out what-
ever you tliink faulty.
I am much pleased with your idea of singing our songs
in alternate stanzas, and regret that you did not hint it to
me sooner. In those that remain, I shall have it in my
eye. I remember your objections to the name Philly ; but
it is the common abbreviation of Phillis. Sally, the only
other name that suits, has to my ear a vulgarity about it,
which unfits it for any thing except burlesque. The legion
of Scottish poetasters of the day, whom your brother editor,
Mr Ritson, ranks with me, as my coevals, have always mis-
taken vulgarity for simplicity; whereas, simplicity is as
much ehignde from vulgaris, on the one hand, as from
affected point and puerile conceit on the other.
I agree with you as to the air, ' Craigie-bum Wood,'
that a chorus would in some degree spoil the effect ; and
shall certainly have none in my projected song to it. It is
not however a case in point with ' Bothemurcbe ;' there, as
in ' Royli Wife of Aldivalloch,' a chorus goes to my taste,
well enough. As to the chorus going first, that is the case
with * Roy's Wife,' as well as ' Rothemurche.' In fiict, in
the first part of both tunes, the rhythm is so peculiar and irw
regular, and on that irregularity depends so much of their
beauty, that we must e'en take them with all their wildness,
and humour the verse accordingly. Leaving out the start-
190 WOUKS OF BCr&NS.
iog note, in both tunes, has, I think, an effect that no re-
gularity could counterbalance th^ want of.
i Roy*8 Wife of AldiFallocb.
^^* I Laaaie wi' the lint-white Jocks.
and "^
•4U ^ Roy*s Wife of AldiTalloch.
compare with, | ^^ ^. ^^ u^t^^^it^ ^^^
Does not the tameness of the prefixed syllable strike you?
In the last case, with the true furor of genius, you strike
at once into the wild originality of the air ; whereas, in the
first insipid method, it is like the grating screw of the pins
before the fiddle is brought into tune. This is my taste;
if I am wrong, I beg pardon of the cognoscenti.
' The Caledonian Hunt' is so charming, that it would
make any subject in a song go down ; but pathos is certain-
ly its native tongue. Scottish Bacchanalians we certainly
want, though the few we have are excellent. For instance,
*■ Todlin hame,' is, for wit and humour, an unparalleled com-
position ; and ' Andrew and his cutty Gun,' is the work of
a master. By the way, are you not quite vexed to think
that those men of genius, for such they certainly were, who
composed our fine Scottish lyrics, should be unknown ? It
has given me many a heartache. Apropos to Bacchanali-
an songs in Scottish ; I composed one yesterday, for an air
I like much — ' Lumps o' pudding.'
CONTENTED WI' LITTLE.
Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair.
Whene'er I forgather wi' sorrow and care,
I gie them a skelp, as they're creepin alang,
Wi' a cog o' guid swats, and an auld Scottish sang.
I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought ;
But nuui is a sodger, and life is a &ught :
My mirth and guid humour are coin in my pouch,
' And my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare touch >
— i
CORRESPONDENCE. 191
A towmond o* trouble, should that be my fa\
A night o* guid fellowship sowthers it a' :
When at the blithe end o* our journey at last,
Wha the dell ever thinks o' the road he has past ?
Blind chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way ;
Be't to me, be*t frae me, e*en let the jade gae :
Come ease, or come travail ; come pleasure or pain,
My warst word is — " Welcome, and welcome again !"
If you do not relish this air, I will send it to Johnson.
No. LXVI.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
Since yesterday's penmanship, I have framed a couple
of English stanzas, by way of an English song to * Roy's
Wife.* You will allow me, that in this instance, my Eng-
Ibh corresponds in sentiment with the Scottish.
CANST THOU LEAVE ME THUS, MY KATY?
7Vn«— «« Roy's Wife.**
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy ?
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy ?
Well thou know'st my aching heart —
And canst thou leave me thus for pity ?
Is this thy plighted, fond regard,
Thus cruelly to part, my Katy ?
Is this thy fiuthful swain*s reward —
An aching, broken heart, my Katy ?
Farewell ! and ne'er such sorrows tear
Tliat fickle heart of thine, my Katy!
Thou may'st find those will love thee dear—
But not a love like mine, my Katy*
192 WORKS OP BURNS,
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy ?
Canst thou leaye me thus, my Katy ?
Well thou know*st my aching heart —
And canst thou leave me thus for pity ? *
• To this address, in the character of a forsaken lover, a reply
Was found, on the part of the lady, among the MSS. of our bard,
evidently in a female hand-writing. The temptation to give it
to the public is irresistible ; and if, in so doing, offence should be
given to the fair authoress, the beauty of her verses must plead
our excuse : —
2Vne— « Roy*s Wife."
Stay my Willie — ^yet believe me.
Stay my Willie— yet believe me.
For, ah ! thou know'st na every pang
Wad wring my bosom shouldst thou leave me.
Tell me that thou yet art true.
And a* my wrongs shall be forgiven,
^ And when this heart proves fause to thee,
Yon sun shall cease its course in heaven.
But to think I was betrayed.
That falsehood e'er our loves should sunder I
To take the flow'ret to my breast.
And find the guilefu' serpent under.
Stay my Willie, &c.
Could I hope thou 'dst ne*er deceive.
Celestial pleasures might I choose 'em^
rd slight, nor seek in other spheres
That heaven Fd find within thy bosom.
Stay my Willie — yet believe me.
Stay my Willie—yet believe me.
For, ah t thou know*st na every pang
Wad wring my bosom shouldst thou leave me.
It may amuse the reader to be told, that on this occasion the
gentleman and the lady have exchanged the dialects of their re-
spective countries. The Scottish bard makes his address in pure
English : the reply on the part of the lady, in the Scottish dia-
lect, is, if we mistake not, by a young and beautiful English-
woman.— Currie.
The accomplished lady who wrot^ the reply was Mrs Riddell.
She and the poet had quarrelled upon some matter of punctilio.
CORAESPONDENCE. 193
Well ! I think this, to be done in two or three turns
across my room, and with two or three pinches of Irish
Blackguard, is not so far amiss. You see I am determined
to have my quantum of applause frpm somebody.
Tell my firiend Allan (for I am sure that we only want
the trifling circumstance of being known to one another, to
be the best friends on earth,) that I much suspect he has,
in his plates, mistaken the figure of the stock and horn. I
have, at last, gotten one ; but it is a very rude instrument.
It is composed of three parts ; the stock, which is the hin-
der thigh-bone of a sheep, such as you see in a mutton
liam ; the horn, which is a common Highland cow's horn,
cut off at the smaller end, until the aperture be large
enough to admit the stock to be pushed up through the
horn, until it be held by the thicker end of the thigh-bone ;
and lastly, an oaten reed exactly cut and notched like that
which you see every shepherd4>oy have, when the corn-
stems are green and full-grown. The reed is not made fast
in the bone, but is held by the lips, and plays loose in the
smaller end of the stock; while the stock with the horn hang-
ing on its larger end, is held by the hands in playing. The
stock has six or seven ventiges on the upper side, and one
back-ventige, like the common flute. This of mine was
made by a man from the braes of Atbole, and is exactly
what the shepherds wont to use in that country.
However, either it is not quite properly bored in the
holes, or else we have not the art of blowing it rightly ; for
we can make little of it. If Mr Allan chooses, I will send
him a sight of mine ; as I look on myself to be a kind of
brother-brush with him. *' Pride in poets is nae sin ;*'
and I will say it, that I look on Mr Allan and Mr Burns
to be the only genuine and real painters of Scottish cos-
tume in tlie world.*
and his offence she punished by maintaining a coldness towards
him for upwards of two years.— M.
* This is an interesting and minute account of an ancient in-
strument of music, well known to the peasantry of Scotland. In
3 R
Id4 WORKS OF BUBNS.
No. LXVII.
MR THOMSON TO BURNS.
28^A November, 1794.
I ACKNOWLEDGE, Diy dear Sir, you are not only the most
punctual, but the most delectable correspondent I ever met
the Complaynt of Scotland, written in 1548, the autboj draws
this graphic picture of the manners of our pastoral ancestors.
« I rais and retumit to the fresche fieldis that I cam fra, quhar
I beheld mony hudit hirdis Uawand ther buc homis and ther
come pipis, calland and convoyand mony fat floe to be fed on the
fieldis. Than the scheiphirdis pat ther scheip on bankis and brais
and on dry hillis, to get ther pastonr. Than I beheld the scheip-
hirdis wyvis and ther childer that brocht there morning bracfast to
the scheiphirdis. Than the scheiphirdis wyris cattit raschis and
seggis and gadrit mony Aragrant grene medoart, with the quhilkis
tha coTurit the end of a leye rig, and syne sat doune altogyddir
to tak there refectione, qahur thai maid grit cheir of evyrie sort
of mylk, baitht of ky mylk, and zoue mylk, sueit mylk, i^nd sour
mylk, cnrdis and quhaye, sourkittis, fresche buttir, and salt but-
tir, reyme, flot quhaye, grene cheis, kym mylk. Evyrie scheip-
hird hed an home spune in the lug of there bonet : thai had na
fareyd but ry caikis and fustean skonnis maid of flour. Than
eftir there disjune, thai began to talk of grit myrrynes that was
rycht plesand to be hard.*'
The things << rycht plesand to be hard/* consisted of *' gudd
tailis and fabillis," and ** sueit melodious sangis of natural music
of the antiquete," after enumerating which our author goes on to
tell the different musical instraments wherewith the shepherds
enliTened the dance. ** Than eftir this sueit celest armonye,
thai began to dance in ane ring ; eyyrie aid scheiphird led his
wyfe be the hand, and eyyrie zong scheiphird led hyr quhome he
luiffit best There was viij scheiphirdis, and ilk ane of them hed
ane syndry instrument to play to the laif. The first hed ane
drone bag pipe, the nyxt hed ane pipe maid of ane bleddir and
of ane reid, the thrid playit on ane tramp, the feyrd on ane come
pipe, the iyft playit on ane pipe maid of ane gait home, the sext
playit on aue recordar, the sevint plait on ane fiddil, and the
last plait on ane quhissil."
The late Dr Leyden, who edited the curious work from which
the above extracts are given, has enriched his edition with a
learned and valuable dissertation, from which we take the follow-
CORRESPONDENCE. 195
ivith. To attempt flattering you never entered my head ;
the truth is, I look back with surprise at my impudence, in
ing passages, as iUustrative of the subject in question, for he has
exhausted all which can be said about it.
** The ' pipe maid of ane gait hom^* is the stock and horn, or
< buck home* of the Scottish peasantry, formed by inserting a
reed, or pipe into a horn, which gives a full and mellow eipres-
sion to the sound. The reed or whistle was often formed of the
excavated elder branch, to which practice there is an allusion in
Cockelby's Sow, where * the pype maid of a borit bourtre,* is
mentioned as the appropriate musical instrument of the ' nolt
hirdis.' The * 8toc*horn* mentioned in the same poem, is merely
a species of bugle, or open oow*s horn, used for giving an alarm,
like the Irish stuic or stoc, a braxen tube formed like the horn
of a cow, and employed as a speaking trumpet. The pib-com,
used in some districts of Wales, seems to be only an improved
species of the stock and horn, from which it differs, in having
both extremities of the pipe or whistle inserted in a horn. The
Welch, according to Higden, employed these * homes of gheet,'
as he terms them, at their funerals. The stock and horn may
likewise be considered as synonymous with the * chalemaulx de
Coroouaille' in the Romaunt of the Rose, rendered by Chaucer,
* hompipes oT Coraewaile.* In Merciai's * Les Vigiles de la mort
du Roi Charles Septiesme,' the Horn pipe is likewise mentioned
as a favourite pastoral instrument.
" Viuent pastoureaulx,
Brebiz & aigneaulx,
Moutons a troppeaux,
Bergiers pastourelles.
A tout leurs gasteaulx,
Farcix de beaulx aulx.
Pastes de naueaulx
Au lart et groiselles.
Comes challumelles,
Danasec sauterelles,
Filles et pucelles,
Prenez voz chappeanlx.
De roses vermeiUes,
Et ses beaulx rainceaulx.
Tons plains de pranelles,
Faictes toumebouelles,
Sur prez & sur treilles,
Au chant des oyseaulx.'*
From the following passage of the Roman de la Rose, the
chalemaulx and chalemelle appear not to have been exactly the
same instruments.
r2
196 WORKS OF BURKS.
SO frequently nibbling at lines and couplets of your incom-
parable lyrics, for which, perhaps, if you had served me
** Pais met in cymbales sa cure,
Puis prent Areteanlx, et ri fretele,
Et ebalemaulxy et chalemelle,
£t pais taboure^ et flute, et tymbre,
Et dtole, et trompe, et cheurie,
£t si psalterionne et viele,
iVane joliete viele ;
Puis preut sa muse et se travaille
Aux instrumeos de CornonaiUe,
Et espringue et sautele et bale."
There can be no doubt but this instrument is the Miltyng
horn* of Chaucer, such
** As haue these little heerde gromes.
That kepen beastes in the bromes."
The stock and horn was so formed, that the parts could be
easily separated, while the horn might be employed as a bugle,
and the pipe, as a simple pipe or whistle. The stock horn, in
the strict sense, is the comet, or crumhom of the Germans, the
shalmey, or chalumeau, used with the trumpet at tilts and tour-
naments. Thus,
" Trumpettis and schalmis with a schout
Played or the rink began.*'
The shalmele is enumerated by Gower among the instruments
of music in the dourt of Venua.
" In suche accorde and such a sowne
Of bumbarde and of clariowne,
With cornemuse and shalmele.
That it was halfe a mannes hele
So glad a noyse for to here. — "
It is curious that the pipe is excluded from * the companie of
Elde,* in the court of Venus.
" But yet I herde no pipes there
To make mirthe in mannes ere ;
But the musike I might knouve
For olde men which sowned lowe,
With harpe and lute and the dtole ;
The none dance and the carole,
In such a wise as lone hath bede,
A softe paas thei daunce and trede." M*
COaRBSPONDENCB. 197
right, you would liave sent me to the devil. On the con-
trary, however^ you have all along condescended to invite my
criticism with so much courtesy, that it ceases to be wonder-
ful, if I have sometimes given myself the airs of a reviewer.
Your last budget demands unqualified praise : all the songs
are charming, but the duet is a chef d^cBuvre. * Lumps o'
pudding* shall certainly make one of my fiunily dishes ;
you have cooked it so capitally, that it will please all
palates. Do give us a few more of this cast when you
find yourself in good spirits ; these convivial songs are more
wanted than those of the amorous kind, of which we have
great choice. Besides, one does not often meet with a
singer capable of giving the proper effect to the latter,
while the former are easily sung, and acceptable to every
body. I participate in your regret that the authors of
some of our best songs are unknown : it is provoking to
every admirer of genius.
I mean to Imve a picture painted from your beautiful
ballad, VTbe Soldier's Return,' to be engraved for on^ of
my frontispieces. The most interesting point of time ap-
pears to me, when she first recognises her ain dear Willie,
" She gaz'd, she redden*d like a rose." The three lines im-
mediately following are no doubt more impressive on tlie
reader's feelings ; but were the painter to fix on these, then
you'll observe the animation and anxiety of her countenance
is gone, and he could only represent her fiunting in the sol-
dier's arms. But I submit the matter to you, and beg
your opinion.
Allan desires me to thank you for your accurate descrip-
tion of the stock and horn, and for the very gratifyuig com-
pliment you pay him in considering him worthy of standing
in a niche by the side of Bums in the Scottish Pantheon.
He has seen the rude instrument you describe, so does not
want you to send it ; but wishes to know whether you
believe it to have ever been generally used as a musical
pipe by the Scottish shepherds, and when, and in what
part of the country chiefly. I doubt much if it was capa-
Rd
198 WORKS OF BURNS.
ble of any thing but routing and roaring. A friend of mine
says he remembers to have heard one in his younger days,
made of wood instead of your bone, and that the sound was
abominable.*
Do not, I beseech you, return any books.
No. LXVIII.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
DecatAer^ 1794.
It is, I assure you, the pride of my heart, to do any thing
to forward, or add to the value of your book ; and as I
agree with you that the Jacobite song in the Museum, to
'There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame,' would
not so well consort with Peter Pindar's ezceUent love-song
to that air, I have just framed for you the following : —
MY NANNIE'S AWA.
Twn/t — " Therell never be peace," &c.
Now in her green mantle blithe nature arrays.
And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes,
While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw ;
But to me it's delightless — my Nannie's awa.
The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands adorn,
And violets bathe in the weet o' the mom ;
They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw.
They mind me o' Nannie — and Nannie's awa.
* The query put by Mr Thomson, is sufficiently answered by
the lengthened note, appended to No. LXYI. ; the interest which
erery one, curious in the history of Scottish music, must attach
to it, will excuse its prolixity. — M.
COBRESPONDBNCE. 199
Thou laY'rock that springs fiae the dews of the lawn.
The shepherd to warn o' the grey-breaking dawn.
And thou tinellow mavis that hails the night fa',
Give over for pity — ^my Nannie's awa.
Come, autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and grey,
And soothe me wi' tidings o' nature's decay :
The dark, dreary winter, and wild-driving snaw,
Alane can delight me-«now Nannie's awa.*
How does this please you ? As to the point of time for
the expression, in your proposed print from my ' Sodger*s
Return,' it must certainly be at — " She gaz'd." The in-
teresting dubiety and suspense taking possession of her
countenance, and the gushing fondness, with a mixture of
roguish playfulness in his, strike me as things of which a
master will make a great deal. In great haste, but in great
truth, yours.
No. LXIX.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
January, 1795.
I FEAR for my songa ; however, a few may please, yet
originality is a coy feature in composition, and in a multi-
plicity of efforts in the same style, disappears altogether.
For these three thousand years, we poetic folks have been
describing the spring, for instance ; and as the spring con-
tinues the same, there must soon be a sameness in the
imagery, &c. of these said rhyming folks.
A great critic (Aikin) on songs says that love and wine
are the exclusive themes for song-writing. The following
is on neither subject, and consequently is no song ; but
* The heroine of this pastoral song is supposed to be Clarinda,
otherwise Mrs M'llfaose. — M,
200 WOBKS OF fiUBNS.
will be allowed, I think, to be two or tliree pretty good
prose thoughts inverted into rhyme :— <
IS THERE FOR HONEST POVERTY.
2\|]M— « For a* that and a' that.'*
Is there, for honest poverty,
That hangs his head, and a' that ;
The coward-slave, we pass him by.
We dare be poor for a' that !
'For a' that, and a' that.
Our toil's obscure, and a* that,
Tbe rank is but the guinea's stamp.
The man*8 the gowd for a' that
What tho* on hamely &re we dine.
Wear hoddin grey, and a' that ;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A man*s a man for a' that ;
For a' that, and a' that.
Their tinsel show, and a' that;
The honest man, though e'er sae poor,
Is king o* men for a* that
Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,
Wha struts, and stares, and a' that ;
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof for a' that :
For a' that, and a' that.
His riband, star, and a' that,
The man of independent mind.
He looks and laughs at a' that.
A king can mak a belted knight,*
A marquis, duke, and a' that ;
* In some editions this line runs thus : —
A prince can mak a belted knight.
CORRESPONDENCE. ' 201
But an honest man*s aboon his might,
Guid faith he maunna fa' that !
For a' that, and a* that.
Their dignities, and a' that.
The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth,
Are higher ranks than a' that.
Then let us pray that come it may,
As come it will for a' that,
Tliat sense and worth, o*er a' the earth,
May bear the gree, and a' that.
For a' that, and a' that.
It's coming yet for a' that,
Tliat man to man, the warld o'er,
Shall brothers be for a* that.
I do not give you the foregoing song for your book, but
merely by way of vive la bagatelle ; for the piece is not
really poetry. How will die following do for * Craigie-
burn Wood?'
CRAIGIE-BURN WOOD.*
Sweet &'s the eve on Cragie-burn,
And blithe awakes the morrow, '
But a' the pride o' spring's return
Can yield me nodit but sorrow.
* This sweet little song savours much of the secret love dis-
played in the following old verses :-—
Dinna ask me gin I luve thee ?
Deed I darena tell ;
Dinna ask me gin I luve thee ?
Ask it o' yourseU.
When ye eome to yon town end,
Fu' mony a lass ye'il see ;
Dinna, dinna, look at them.
For fear ye mindna me.
O dinna look at me sae aft,
Sae weel as ye may trow ;
202 WP&KS OF BURNS.
I see the flowers and spreading trees«
I hear the wild birds singing ;
But what a weary wight can please.
And care his bosom wringing ?
Fain, fain would I my griefs impart.
Yet darena for your anger ;
But secret love will break my heart.
If I conceal it.langer.
If thou refuse to pity me.
If thou shalt love anither,
When yon green leaves fade frae the tree.
Around my grave they'll wither.*
Farewell ! God bless you.
For when ye look at me sae aft,
I canna look at you.
Dinna ask me^ &c.
Little ken ye but mony ane,
Will say they fancy thee ;
But only keep your mind to them
That fancies nane but thee.
Dinna ask me gin I luve thee, —
Deed I darena tell ;
Dinna ask me gin I luve thee, —
Ask it o* youTsell. B.
* Craigie-burn Wood is situated on the banks of the river
Moffat, and about three miles distant from the village of that
name, celebrated for its medicinal waters. The woods of Craigie-
burn and of Dumcrief, were at one time favourite haunts of oar
poet. It was there he met the " Lassie wi' the lint-white locks,"
and that he conceived several of his beautiful lyrics. — Okitm.
^
dORRESPONDEKCE. 20^
No. LXX.
MR THOMSON TO BURNS.
Edinburgh, dOCAJbn. 1795.
Mt dear Sir,
I THANK you heartily for ' Nannie's awa,' as well as for
* Craigie-burn,' which I think a very comely pair. Your
observation on the difficulty of original writing in a num-
ber of efforts in the same style, strikes me very forcibly ;
and it has again and again excited my wonder to find you
continually surmounting this difficulty in the many delight-
ful songs you have sent me. Your vive la bagatelle song.
For a* that,* shall undoubtedly be included in my list.
No. LXXI. .
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
February f 1795.
Herb is another trial at your favourite air : —
TuM — "Let me in this ae night.*'
O lassie, art thou sleeping yet.
Or art thou wakin, I would wit ?
For love has bound me hand and foot,
And I would &in be in, jo.
O let me in this ae night,
This ae, ae, ae night ;
For pity's sake this ae night,
O rise and let me in, jo !
Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet,
Nae star blinks thro' the driving sleet ;
V
204 WORKS OF BUANS.
Tak pity on my weary feet.
And shield me frae the rain, jo.
O let me in, &c.
The bitter blast that round me blaws
Unheeded howls, unheeded Gbls ;
The cauldness o' thy heart's the cause
Of a' my grief and pain, jo.
let me in thb ae night,
This ae, ae, ae night ;
For pity's sake this ae night,
rise and let me in, jo I
HER ANSWER.
O tell na me o' wind and rain.
Upbraid na me wi* cauld disdain I
Gae back the gaft ye cam again,
I winna let you in, jo.
1 tell you now this ae night.
This ae, ae, ae night.
And ance for a' this ae night,
1 winna let you in, jo !
The snellest blast, at mirkest hours.
That round the pathless wandVer pours.
Is nocht to what poor she endures.
That's trusted Pithless man, jo.
I tell you now, &c.
The sweetest flower that deck'd the mead.
Now trodden like the vilest weed ;
Let simple maid the lesson read.
The weird may be her ain, jo.
I tell you now, &c.
The bird that charm'd his sumn)er-day.
Is now the cruel fowler's prey ;
CO&RESfONDENCE. 205
Let witless, trusting, woman say
How aft her fkte^s the same, jo
I tell you now this ae night,
This ae, ae, ae night,
And ance for a* this ae night,
I winna let you in, jo !♦
I do not know whether it will do.
* The greater part of this song is almost literally copied from
old Terses, which, under the same title, appear in Herd's collec-
tion. We subjoin part of the elder lyric : —
LET ME IN THIS AE NIGHT.
lassie, art thou sleeping yet ;
Or are you waking I would wit ?
For love has bound me hand and foot.
And I would fain be in, jo.
O let me in this ae night,
This ae, ae, ae night,
O let me in this ae night.
And ril ne'er come back again, jo.
The mom it i» the term-day,
1 maun away, I canna stay,
! pity me before I gae,
And rise and let me in, jo.
O let me in, &c.
The night it is baith cauld and weet ;
The morn it will be snaw and sleet.
My shoon are frozen to my feet,
Wi' standing on the plain, jo.
O let me in, &c.
I am the laird of Windy-wa*s,
I come na here without a cause.
And I hae gotten mony fa's
Upon a naked wame, jo.
O let me in, &o.
My father's wa'king on the street,
My mither the chamber-keys does keep ;
My chamber-door does chirp and cheep,
And I dare nae let you in, jo.
3 s
206 WORKS OF BURNS.
No. LXXII.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
ECCLEFECHAN, 1th Feb. 1795.
Mt dear Thomson,
You cannot have any idea of the predicament in which
I write to you. In the course of my duty as Supervisor,
(in which capacity I have acted of late,) I came yesternight
to this unfortunate, wicked, little village. I have gone
forward, but spows of ten feet deep have impeded my pro-
gress ; I have tried to " gae back the gait I cam again,"
but the same obstacle has shut me up within insuperable
bars. To add to my misfortune, since dinner, a scraper
has been torturing catgut, in sounds that would have in-
sulted the dying agonies of a sow under the hands of a
butcher, and thinks himself, on that very account, exceed-
ing good company. In fiict, I have been in a dilemma,
either to get drunk, to forget these miseries ; or to hang
myself, to get rid of them; like a prudent man, (a character
congenial to. my every thought, word, and deed,) I, of two
evils, have chosen the least, and am, very drunk at your
service !*
»
O gae your ways this ae night,
This ae, ae, ae night,
O gae your ways this ae night,
For I dare nae let you in, jo.
But ni come stealing saftly in,
And cannily make little din ;
And then the gate to you Til find,
If you*ll but direct me in, jo.
O let me in this ae night.
This ae, ae, ae night, -
O let me in this ae night.
And ril ne*er come back again, jo. M.
* « The bard must have been tipsy indeed, to abuse sweet
Ecclefechan at this rate/'-^-so says Dr Currie, and our ingenious
COa&ESPONDENCE. 207
I wrote to you yesterday from Dumfries. I had not
time then to tell you all I wanted to say ; and. Heaven
knows, at present I have not capacity.
Do you know an air — I am sure you must know it-^
' We'll gang nae mair to yon town ?' I think, in slowish
time, it would make an excellent song. I am highly
delighted witli it ; and if you should think it worthy of
your attention, I have a fair dame in my eye to whom I
would consecrate it.
As I am just going to bed, I wish you a good night.
No. LXXIII. i
MR THOMSON TO BURNS,
25th February f 1795.
I HAVE to thank you, my dear Sir, for two epistles, one
containing ' Let me in thisae night ;' and the other from Ec-
friend Allan Cunningham, who is quite at home in all connect-
ed with that interesting district of Scotland which claims him as
one of her gifted sons of song, contributes in his edition of Burns
the following lively anecdote : — ** Ecclefechan is a little thriving
village in Annandale : taor is it more known for its hiring fairs
than for beautiful lassies and active young men. The latter,
when cudgeL-playing was regularly taught to the youth of the
Scottish lowlands, distinguished themselves by skill and courage ;
they did not, however, enjoy their fame without contention : they
had frequent feuds with the lads of Lockerby, and their laurels
were put in jeopardy. On an old New Year's-day, some thirty
years ago, Ecclefechan sent some two hundred 'sticks* against
Lockerl^ : they drew themselves up beside an old fortalice, and
intimated their intention of keeping their post till the sun went
down : — they bit their thumbs, flourished their oak saplings, and
said, * We wad like to see wha wad hinder us.' This was a mat-
ter of joy to the lads of Lockerby : an engagement immediately
took place, and Ecclefechan seemed likely to triumph, when — I
grieve to write it — a douce elder of the kirk seizing a stick from
one who seemed unskilful in using it, rushed forward, broke the
enemy*s ranks, pushed the lads of Ecclefechan rudely out of the
place, and exclaimed, * That's the way we did lang syne V The
Poet paid Ecclefechan many a visit, friendly and official, and even
wrought its almost unpronounceable name into a couple of songs."
82
208 WORKS OF BURNS.
clefeclian, proving, that drunk or sober, your *' mind is never
muddy/' You have displayed great address in the above
song. Her answer is excellent, and at the same time takes
away the indelicacy that otherwise would have attached to
his entreaties. I like the song as it now stands very much-
I had hopes you would be arrested some days at Eocle-
fechan, and be obliged to beguile the tedious forenoons
by song-making. It will give me pleasure to receive the
verses you intend for * O wat ye wha's in yon town ?*
No. LXXIV.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
Maj/f 1795.
ADDRESS TO THE WOOD-LARK.*
rwiic— "Where*ll bonnie Ann lie."
Or, " Locb^Eroch side.'
«*
O STAY, sweet warbling wood-lark, stay,
Nor quit for me the trembling spray,
A hapless lover courts thy lay,
Tliy soothing fond complaining.
* The tune to which this address was written, * Where will
bonnie Annie lie ?* is sweet ; and happily allied to words sim-
ple and unaffected, particularly if we take into account the
exalted personages who formed the hero and heroine of the
song — ^viz. James, fifth duke, and Ann, duchess of Hamilton.
It was written by Allan Ramsay on the eve of their marriage.
The following are the two first stanzas : —
HE.
" Where wad bonny Annie lie ?
Alane nae mair ye maun lie ;
Wad yo a goodman try ?
Is that the thing ye're laking ?
COBRESPONDENCE. 209
Again, again that tender part,
That I may catch thy melting art ;
For surely that wad touch her heart,
Wha kills me wi' disdaining,
SHE.
Can a Ibbs sae young as I,
Venture on the bridal tie,
Syne down with a goodman lie ?
Vm flee*d he keep me wauking.**
A later version of the song runs as follows : —
Where will bonnie Ann lie ?
Where will bonnie Ann lie ?
Where will bonnie Ann lie,
r the cauld nigbU o' winter, O !
Where but in her true love's bed ;
Arms of love arqund her spread ;
Pillow*d on his breast her head,
r the cauld nights o* winter, O !
There will bonnie Ann lie.
There will bonnie Ann lie.
There will bonnie Ann lie ,
r the cauld nights o* vrinter, O !
When the storm is raging high.
Calm she'll list it whistling bye I
While cozie in his arms shell lie,
I' the cauld nights o* vnnter, O.
Where will bonnie Ann lie ?
Where will bonnie Ann lie ?
Where vrill bonnie Ann lie,
r the cauld nights o* winter, O !
In the arms of wedded love,
Breathing thanks to Him above.
Whose care and goodness she does prove,
I* the cauld nights o' winter, O !
sd
210 WORKS OF BURNS.
Say, was thy little mate unkind,
And heard thee as the careless wind ?
Oh, nocht but love and sorrow joined.
Sic notes o* wo could wauken.
Thou tells o' never-ending care ;
O' speechless grief, and dark despair ;
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair !
Or my poor heart is broken !
Let me know, your very first leisure, how you like this
song.
ON CHLORIS BEING ILL.
Tune^'* Aye wakin, O.''
Long, long the night,
Heavy comes the morrow,
While my foul's delight-
Is on her bed of sorrow.
Can I cease to care ?
Can I cease to languish ?
While my darling fair
Is on the couch of anguish ?
Every hope is fled.
Every fear is terror ;
Slumber even I dread,
Every dream is horror.
Long, long the night.
Heavy comes the morrow,
Wliile my soul's delight
Is on her bed of sorrow.
Hear me, Pow'rs divine I
Oh, in pity hear me !
Take aught else of mine.
But my Chloris spare me I
CORRESPONDENCE. 211
Long, long the night,
Heavy comes the morrow,
While my soul's delight.
Is on her bed of sorrow.
How do you like the foregoing ? The Irish air, ' Hu-
mours of Glen,' is a great fitvourite of mine, and as, except
tlie silly stuff in the ' Poor Soldier,' there are not any de-
cent verses for it, I have written for it as follows :
CALEDONIA.
Tune—" Humours of Glen."
Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon,
Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume,
Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan,
Wi' the bum stealing under the lang yellow broom.
Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers,
Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen :
For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers,
A listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean.
Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys,
And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave ;
Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace,
What are they ? The haunt of the t3rrant and slave !
The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains,
The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain ;
He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains.
Save love's willing fetters, the chains o' his Jean.
'TWAS NA HER BONNIE BLUE EE.
Tune — " Laddie, lie near me,'*
'Twas na her bonnie blue e'e was my niin ;
Fair tho' she be« that was ne'er my undoing :
212 WOBKS OF BURNS.
'Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us,
'Twas the bewitching, sweet stown ^nce o* kindness.
Sair do I feat that to hope is denied me,
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me !
But tho' fell fortune should &te us to sever.
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever.
Mary, Tm thine wi' a passion sincerest.
And thou hast plighted me love o' the dearest !
And thou'rt the angel that never can alter.
Sooner the sun in his motion would falter.
Let me hear from you.
No. LXXV.
MR THOMSON TO BURNS.
You must not think, my good Sir, that I have any inten-
tion to enhance the value of my gift, when I say, in justice
to the ingenious and worthy artist, that the design and ex-
ecution of the Cotter's Saturday Night is, in my opinion,
one of the happiest productions of Allan's pencil. I shall
be grievously disappointed if you are not quite pleased
with it.
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 femily 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,
tiiough not equal to these, is very pleasing.
CORBESPONDENC£. 213
No. LXXVI.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
HOW CRUEL ARE THE PARENTS.
Tune — *« John Anderson, my jo."
How cruel are the parents,
Who riches only prize,
And to the wealthy booby,
Poor woman sacrifice.
Meanwhile the hapless daughter
Has but a choice of strife ;
To shun a tyrant father's hate,
Become a wretched wife.
The ravening hawk pursuing,
The trembling dove thus flies
To shun impelling ruin
A while her pinions tries ;
Till of escape despairing,
No shelter or retreat.
She trusts the ruthless falconer,
And drops beneath his feet.
MARK YONDER POMP.*
2\tne— «* Deil Uk the wars."
Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion
Round the wealthy, titled bride :
But when compared with real passion,
Poor is all that princely pride.
^ I am the last person in the world who would wish to deprive
any man of his right, far less a literary one of his merit. My ob-
ject is not to lessen the talents of my favourite bard, but to illus-
trate, as far as in me lies, the pieces he has given to the world.
214 W0*K8 OF BUANS.
What are the showy treasures ?
What are the noisy pleasures ?
The gay gaudy glare of vanity and art :
The polished jewel's blaze
May draw tlie wondering gaze.
And courtly grandeur bright
The fancy may delight.
But never, never can come near the heart.
But did you see my dearest Chloris
In simplicity's array ;
Lovely as yonder sweet opening flower is,
Shrinking from the gaze of day ?
O then, the heart alarming.
And all resistless charming,
In Love's delightful fetters she chains the willing soul !
Ambition would disown
The world's imperial crown.
Even Avarice would deny
His worsliipp'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
Were he alive at this moment, or his revered shade watching
over every sentence as it falls from my pen, I am convinced he
would not be displeased with my freedom, nor the candour with
which I have pointed out what was, and what really was not, of
his composition. The ideas of the first stanza of this song ap-
pears to me to have been borrowed from the old love verses that
follow : —
<< Love's a genUe gen'rous passion 1
Source of all sublime delight ;
When, with mutual inclination.
Two fond hearts in one unite.
What are titles, pomp» or riches.
If compared with true content ?
That false joy which now bewitches,
When too late, we may repent.** B.
CORRESPONDENCE. 2 \ 5
now in a high fit for poetizing, provided tliat the strait
jacket of criticism don't cure me. If you can in a post or
two administer a little of the intoxicating portion of your
applause, it will raise your humble servant's frenzy to any
height you want. I am at this moment " holding high con-
verse** with the Muses, and have not a word to throw away
on such a prosaic dog as you are.
No. LXXVIL
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
May, 1795.
Ten thousand thank^ 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
kindness. I have shown 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 dis-
position, 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.*
* In matters of art we are iDclined always to defer to the
taste of Allan Cunningham, who says of the picture in question :
— " The picture alluded to was painted from the * CJotter's Satur*
216 WORKA OF BO&NS.
Give the inclosed epigram to my much-valued (neai
CuDDingbam, and tell him that on Wednesday I go to
visit a friend of his, to whom his friendly partiality ia
speaking of me, in a manner introduced me — I mean i
well-known military and literary character. Colonel Dirom.
You do not tell me how you liked my two last soog^
Are they condemned ?
No. LXXVIII.
MR THOMSON TO BURNS.
13ih May, 1795.
It gives me great pleasure to find that you are all so
well satisfied with Mr Allan's production. The chance re-
semblance of your little fellow, whose promising dispteitioo
appeared so very early, and suggested whom he should be
named after, is curious enough. I am acquainted with
that person, who is a prodigy of learning and genius, and a
pleasant fellow, though no saint.
You really make me blush when you tell me you have
not merited the drawing from me. I do not think I cao
ever repay you, or sufficiently esteem and respect you for
the liberal and kind manner in which you have entered into
day Night :' it displays at onoe the talent and want of taste of
the ingenious artist. The scene is a solemn one : but the seren-
ity of the moment is disturbed by what 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 compodtioiis :
Bums was a great master in it ; he introduced true lore, domestic
gladness, and lote 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 touches — alt is
as much in keeping as in the best conceived picture." — M.
CORRESPONDENCE. 217
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 poetizing. Long may it
last I Clarke has made a fine pathetic air to Mallet's super-
lative ballad of ' William and Margaret^ And is to give it
to me, to be enrolled among the elect.
No. LXXIX.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
In ' Whistle, and V\l 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 V\\ come to ye, my lad ;
O whistle, and Vl\ come to ye, my lad ;
Tho' fjDkther and mother, and a* should gae mad,
Thy Jeany will venture wi* ye, my lad«
In fact, a £ur 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 Itoves
have armed with lightning, a fair one, herself the heroine
of the song, insists on the amendment ; and dispute her
commands if you dare !
THIS IS NO MY AIN LASSIE-f
2\(ne— »« This is no nly ain house."
O this is no my ain lassie.
Fair tho' the lassie be ;
* Mr Thomson never said a truer word in his life. — M.
f There is an old song to this tune in Ramsay's Miscellany
oeginning, —
** This is no mine ain house,
I ken by the rigging o*t ;
3 T
218 WORKS OF BUENI.
O weel ken I my ain lassie,
Kind love is in her e*e.
I see a form, I see a &ce.
Ye weel may wi* the fairest place :
It wants, to me, the witching grace,
The kind love that's in her e*e.
O this is no, &c.
She's bonnie, blooming, straight, and tall.
And lang has had my heart in thrall ;
And aye it channs my very sauI,
The kind love tha^s in her e'e.
O this is no, &c.
A thief sae pawUe is my Jean,
To steal a blink, by a' unseen ;
But ^eg as lig^t are lovers een.
When kind love is in the e'e.
O this is no, &c.
It may escape the courtly sparks.
It may escape the learned clerks ;
But weel the watching lover marks
The kind love that's in her e'e.
Since with my love IVe changed vows,
I dinna like the bigging o-t."
Another Jacobite song mns thus :—
** This is nae my plaid.
My plaid, my plaid ;
This is nae my plaid,
Bonny tho* the colour be.
The grounds o* mine were mix*d wi* blue»
I gat it frae the lad I lue ;
He ne'er has gien me cause to rue,
And oh his plaid is dear to me.**
•'
CORRBSPONDENCE. 12 1 9
O this is no my ain lassie^
Fair tho' the lassie be ;
O weel ken I my ain lassie.
Kind love is in her e'e.
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 inclosed sheet contains 'two songs for him, which
please to present to my valued firiend Cunningham.
1 inclose the sheet open, both for your inspection, and
that you may copy the song, * O 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 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
£rskine*s English lines may follow.
I inclose you a 'For a* that and a' that,' which was
never in print: it is a much superior song to mine. I
have been told that it was composed by a lady :^
TO MR CUNNINGHAM*
NOW SPRING HAS CLAD THE GROVE IN GREEN.
SCOTTISH SONG.
Now spring has dad the grove in green.
And strew*d the lea wi' flowers :
The furrow'd, waving com is seen
Rejoice in fostering showers ;
While ilka thing in nature join
Their sorrows to forego,
O why thus all alone are mine
The weary steps of wo ?
The trout within yon wimpling burn
Glides swift, a silver dart,
T 2
'220 • WORKS OF BURNS.
And safe beneath the shady thorn •
Defies the angler's art ;
My life was anoe that careless stream.
That wanton trout was I ;
But love, wi* unrelenting beam.
Has scorched my fountains dry.
The little floweret's peaceful lot,
In yonder cliff that grows,
Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot,
Nae ruder visit knows.
Was mine ; till love has o*er me past,
And blighted a* my bloom,
And now beneath the withering blast
My youth and joy consume.
The waken*d laverock warbling springs.
And climbs the early sky,
Winnowiijg blithe her dewy wings
In morning's rosy eye ;
As little reckt I sorrow's power.
Until the flowery snare
O* witching love, in luckless hour.
Made me the thrall o' care.
f
O had my &te been Greenland snows.
Or Afric's burning zone,
Wi' man and nature leagu'd my foes.
So Peggy ne'er Fd known I
The wretch whase doom is, '*hope nae mair,'
What tongue his woes can tell !
Within whase bosom, save despair,
Nae kinder spirits dwell.
O BONNIE WAS YON ROSY BRIER.
O bonnie was yon rosy brier.
That blooms sae far frae haunt o* man :
CORRESPONDENCB. 82*1
And bonnie she, and ah, how dear I
It shaded frae the e'enin sun.
Yon rosebuds in the morning dew,
How pure amang tne leaves sae green ;
But purer was the lover^s vow
They witness*d in their shade yestreen.
»
All in its rude and prickly bower,
That crimson rose, how sweet and fair !
But love is fiur a sweeter flower
Amid life's thorny path o' care.
The pathless wild, and wimpling bum,
Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine ;
And I the world, nor wbh, nor scorn.
Its joys and griefi alike resign.
Written on Ae blank leaf of a copy of the last edition
of my poems, presented to the lady, whom, in so many
fictitious reyeries of passion, but with the most ardent
sentiments of real friendship, I have so often sung under
the name of Chloris : —
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 youtli and charms,
Must bid the world adieu,
(A world 'gainst peace in constant arms)
To join the friendly few,
T 3
222 WORKS OF BURNS.
Since, thy gay mora of life o*ercast.
Chill came the tempest's lower ;
(And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast
Did nip a fairer flower.)
Since life's gay scenes most charm no more,
Still much is left behind ;
Still nobler wealth hast thou in store.
The comforts of the mind I
Thine is the self-approving glow.
On conscious honour's part ;
And, dearest gift of heaven below,
Thine friendship's truest heart.
The joys refin'd of sense and taste.
With every muse to rove :
And doubly were the poet blest
These joys could he improve.
Une bagatelle de Vamitid, — Coila.
No. LXXX.
MR THOMSON TO BURNS.
BniNBURGH, Qd August^ 1 795.
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 acquain-
tance. 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 accepta-
tion.
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
CORRESPONDENCE. 223
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 m come to ye, my lad, to the prosaic line, ' Thy
, Jenny 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 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 befpre
dinner, or was it a midnight vow made over a bowl of
punch with the bard ?
I shall not £bli\ 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 tnore to be compared to yours than I to
Hercules.
No. LXXXI.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
FORLORN, MY LOVE, NO COMFORT N^AR.
Tune — " Let me in this ae night."
Forlorn, my love, no comfort near,
Far, far from thee, I wander here ;
Far, far from thee, the fate severe
At which I most repine, love.
* Dr Currie says, he that 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 unreasonable. If we mistake not,
this is the same lady who produced the lines to the tune of
' Roy's Wifc'—M.
224 WO&K8 or burns.
O wert thou, love, but near me ;
But near, near, near me;
How kindly thou wouldst cheer me.
And mingle sighs with mine, love.
Around me scowls a wintry sky,
Hiat blasts each bud of hope and joy ;
And shelter, shade, nor home have I,
Save in those arms of thine, love.
O wert thou, love, &c.
Cold, alter'd friendship's cruel part.
To poison fortune's ruthless dart —
Let me not break thy faithful heart.
And say that fate is mine, love.
O wert thou, love, &c.
But dreary tho' the moments fleet,
O let me think we yet shall meet !
That only ray of solace sweet
Can on thy Chloris shine, love.
O wert thou, love, but near me ;
But near, near, near me ;
How kindly thou wouldst cheer me.
And mingle sighs with mine, 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 ?
CORAESPONDENCE. 225
ft
No. LXXXII.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER.
2\cne— « The Lothian Lassie."
Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen,
And sair wi' his love he did deave me ;
I said there was naething I hated like men,
The deuce gae wi*m, to believe me, believe me,
The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me !
He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black een,
And vow'd for my love he was dying ;
I said he might die when he liked, for Jean,
The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying.
The Lord forgie me for lying !
A weel-stocked mailen, himself for the laird.
And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers :
I never loot on that I kenn*d it, or car*d,
But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers,
But thought I might hae waur offers.
But what wad ye think ? in a fortnight or less.
The deil tak his taste to gae near her!
He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess,*
* In the original MS. this line runs, '* He up the Gateslack to
my black cousin Bess.*' Mr Thomson objected to this word, as
well as to the word Dalgamoek in the next verse. Mr Burns re-
plies as follows : —
" Gateslack is the name of a particular place, a kind of passage
up among the Lawther hills, on &e confines of this county, Dal-
garnock is also the name of a romantic spot near the Nith, where
are still a ruined church and a burial-ground. However, let the
first line run, ' He up the lang loan,'" &c.
It is always a pity to throw out any thing that gives locality to
' our poet's verses.— Cwrrie.
226 WOEKS OF BURNS*
Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her, could bear ber»
Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her.
But a* the Diest week as I fretted wi* care,
I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgamock»
And wha but my fine fickle lover was there,
I glowr*d as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock,
I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock.
But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink.
Least neebors might say I was saucy ;
My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink.
And yow*d I was his dear lassie, dear lassie.
And vow'd I was his dear lassie.
I spier*d for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet.
Gin she had recovered her hearin.
And how her new shoon fit her auld shachPt feet.
But, heavens ! how he fell a swearin, a sweariu.
But, heavens ! how he fell a swearin I
He begged, for Gudesake ! I wad be his wife.
Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow :
So e'en to preserve the poor body in life,
I think I maun wed him to-morrow> to-morrow,
I think I maun wed him to-morrow
FRAGMENT.
CHLORIS.
Tune--*' The Caledonian Hunt's Delight."
Why, why tell thy lover.
Bliss he never most enjoy ?
Why, why undeceive him.
And give all his hopes the lie ?
COBRE8FONDENCE 227
O why, while &xicy, raptur*d, slumbers,
Chloris, Chloris all Ihe theme,
Why, why wouldst thou cruel.
Wake thy lover from his dream ?
Such is the peculiarity of the rhythm of this air, that I
find it impossible to make another stanza to suit it.
I am at present quite occupied with the charming sensa-
tions of the tooth-ach, so have not a word to spare.
No. LXXXIII.
MR THOMSON TO BURNS.
QdJune, 1795.
Mt dbab Sib,
Youm Englbh verses to ' Let me in this ae night,' are
tender and beautiful ; and your ballad to the ' Lothian
Lassie,' is a master-piece for its humour and naivet^. 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. 1 would rather, as I said before,
have bad Bacchanalian words, had it so pleased the poet ;
but, nevertheless, for what we have received. Lord, make us
tliankful!
No. LXXXIV.
MR THOMSON TO BURNS.
tith Feb, 1796.
O Robby Bums, are ye sleeping yet?
Or are ye wauking, I would wit ?
The pause you have made, my dear Sir, is awful ! Am
I never to hear from you again ? I know and I lament
228 WORKS OF BURNS*
how much you have been afflicted of late, but I trust that re-
turniog health aud 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 im-
mortal verse." We have several true born Irishman on the
Scottish list ; but they are now naturalized, and reckoned
our own good subjects. Indeed, we have none better. I
believe I before told you that I have been much urged by
some friends to publish a collection of all our favourite airs
and songs in octavo, embellished with a number of etchings
by our ingenious friend Allan ; what is your opinion of ,
this ?
No. LXXXV.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
February t 1796.
Mant thanks, my dear Sir, for your handsome, elegant
present to Mrs Bums, and for my remaining volume 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 find-
ing 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 melody, which I admire much.
HEY FOR A LASS WT A TOCHER.
Tune — " Balinamona ora.
Awa wi' your witchcraft o* beauty's alarms.
The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms :
CORRESPONDENCE. 229
O, gie me the lass that has acres o* charms,
O, gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms.
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher.
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher.
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher ;
The nice yellow guineas for me.
Your heauty's a flower, in the morning that blows,
And withers the faster, the faster it grows ;
But the rapturous charm o' the bonnie green knowes,
Ilk spring they're new deckit wi' bonnie white yowes.
Then hey for a lass, &c.
And e'en when this beauty your bosom has blest,
The brightest o' beauty may cloy, when possest ;
But the sweet yellow darlings wi' Geordie imprest.
The langer ye hae them — ^the mair they're carest.
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher,
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher.
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher.
The nice yellow guineas for me.
If this will do, you have now four of my Irish engage-
ment. In my by-past songs I dislike one thing ; the name
Chloris — I meant it as the fictitious name of a certain lady :
but, on second thoughts, it is a high incongruity to have
a Greek appellation to a Scottish pastoral ballad. — Of this,
and some things else, in my next : I have more amend-
ments to propose. — What you once mentioned of " flaxen
locks" is just : they cannot enter into an elegant descrip
tion of beauty. Of this also again — God bless you !*
* " Our Poet never explained Whut name he wouM have sub-
stituted for Chloris." — Note by Mr Thomson. We agree with
his good taste, however, in resolving to reject it. — M.
230 WORKS OP BURNS.
No. LXXXVI.
MR THOMSON TO BURNS.
Your ' Hey for a lass 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 tbb respect
he himself says, they will &r 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 character-
istic and natural than the Scottish figures in those etchings.
No. LXXXVII.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
AprU, 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 sick-
ness, and have counted time by the repercussions of pain t
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 Fergusson —
'* Say wherefore has an all-indulgent Heaven
Light to the comfortless and wretched given ?"*
CORRBSfONDENCB. 231
This will be delivered to you by a Mrs Hyslop, landlady
of the Globe Tavern here, which for these many years has
been my howff, and where our friend Clarke and I have had
many a merry squeeze.* I am highly delighted with Mr
* Like the Boards Head in Ea8tcheap» and the Mermaid in
Friday-street, London, immortalized as these have been by the
genius and wit of Shakspeare, Beaumont, Fletcher, and Ben
Jonson, and many otlnr of the prime spirits of their age, so the
Globe Tavern in Dumfries, the favourite haunt of our Poet,
while resident in that town, appears to be destined to a similar
acceptation in the eyes of posterity. Unacquainted as we are
with the localities of Dumfries, we are constrained to borrow
from Allan Cunningham's edition of Burns* works, the following
description of the tavern in question, and anecdote respectii^
the Poet : — ** The * howfT of which Burns speaks, was a small,
comfortable tavern, situated in the mouth of the Globe close,
and it held at that time the rank as third among the houses of
public accommodation in Dumfries. The excellence of the drink
and the attentions of the proprietor were not, however, all its at-
tractions : * Anna with the gowden locks' was one of the minister-
ing damsels of the establishment : customers loved to be served by
one who was not onlf cheerful, but whose charms were celebrated
by the Bard of Kyle. On one of the last visits paid by the Poet,
the wine of the * howfT was more than commonly strong — or,
served by Anna, it went more glibly over than usual ; and when
he rose to begone, he found he could do no more than ke^ his
balance. The night was frosty and the hour late -. the Poet sat
down on the steps of a door between the tavern and his own
house, fell asleep, and did not awaken till he was almost dead
with cold. To this exposure his illness has been imputed ; and
no doubt it contributed, with disappointed hope and insulted
pride, to bring him to an early grave.*'
On the panes of glass in the Globe, Bums was frequently in
the habit of writing many of his witty jeux detpriiy as weU as
•^fragmentary portions of his most celebrated songs. We fear
these precious relics have now been wholly abstracted by the
lovers and collectors of literary rarities, in the possession of
John Speirs, Esq. of this city, we have seen one of these panes
of glass, upon which is written in Bums* autograph, the following
verse of * Sae flaxen were her ringlets,' a song given in a preced-
ing portion of this volume ; —
Hers are the willing chains of love.
By conquering Beauty's sovereign law ;
But still my Chloris* dearest charm.
She says she lo'es me best of a I M.
u2
282 WORKS OF BDBN8.
Allan's etchings . *' Woo'd and married an' a*, is admirable .
The grouping is beyond all praise. The expression of the
figures, conformable to the story in the baUad, is absolutely
faultless perfection. I next admire ' Tumimspike.' What
I like least is, ' Jenny said to Jocky.' Besides the female
being in her appearance • • # # • if you take her stooping
into the account, she is at least two inches taller than her
lover. Poor Cleghom I I sincerely sympathize with him !
Happy I am to think that he yet has a well-grounded hope
of health and enjoyment in this world. As for me — ^but
that is a damned subject !
No. LXXXVIII.
MR THOMSON TO BURNS.
4tth May, 1796.
I NEED not tell you, my good Sir, wfiat concern the re-
ceipt 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 fiimily, 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. "^
* Regarding this seal Mr CunniDgham has the following inter-
esting notice : — " On this gold seal the Poet caused his coat of
arms to be engraven : — mz, a small bush ; a bird singing ; the
legend * woodnotes wild,* with the motto ' better hae a wee bush
than nae bield.' This precious relic is now in the proper keep-
ing of the Poet's brother-in-law, Robert Armour, of Old 'Change,
London." — M.
^mmtm^mi
CORRESPONDENCE. 2^3
No. LXXXIX.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
Mt dear Sir,
I ONCE mentioned to you an air which I have long ad-
mired — ' Here's a health to tliem that's awa, hiney/ but I
forget if you took any notice of it. I have just been try-
ing to suit it with verses ; and I beg leave to recommend
the air to your attention once more. I have only begun
it.
I
JESSY.
2\i]ie— « Here*8 a health to them that's awa.*'
Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear.
Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear;
Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet,
And soft as their parting tear — Jessy !
Altho' thou maun never be mine,
Altho' even hope is denied ;
'Tis sweeter for thee despairing.
Than aught in the world beside — Jessy !
Here's a health, &c.
1
I mourn thro' the gd^y, gaudy day.
As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms ;
But welcome the dream o* sweet slumber,
For then I am lockt in thy arms — Jessy !
Here's a health, &c.
I guess by the dear angel smile,
I guess by the love-rolling e'e ;
But why urge the tender confession
'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree — Jessy I /
u 3 i
234 WORKS OF BUBNB.
Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear,
Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear ;
Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet,
And soft as their parting tear — Jessy ! *
No. XC,
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
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 re-
view 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.f 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.
* In the letter to Mr Thomson, the three first stanzas only are
given, and Mr Thomson supposed our poet had never gone
farther. Among his MSS. was, however, found the fourth
stanza, which completes this exquisite song, the last finished
offspring of his muse. ^Curric.
The heroine of this beautiful lyric was Miss Jessie Lewars,
now Mrs Thomson of Dumfries, whose kind attentions smoothed
the pillow of the Poet in his latter days of illness, anguish, and
despair. — M.
f It is needless to say, that this revisal Burns did not live to
perform. — Currie»
CORRESPOZmENCE. 235
No. XCI.
BURNS TO MR THOMSON.
Brow, on the Solway-frith, \2th July, 1796.
After all my boasted independence, curst necessity com-
pels me to implore you for five pounds. A cruel bitch oi
a haberdasher, to whom I owe an account, taking it into
his head that I am dying, has commenced a process, and
will infallibly put me into jail. Do, for God*s sake, send
me that sum, and that by return of post. Forgive me this
earnestness, but the horrors of a jail have made me half dis-
tracted. I do not ask all this gratuitously ; for, upon re-
turning health, I hereby promise and engage to furnish
you with five poimds worth of the neatest song genius you
have seen. I tried my hand on * Rothemurche' this morn-
ing. The measure is so difficult, that it is impossible to
infuse much genius into the lines ; they are on the other
side. Forgi\e, forgive me !
FAIREST MAID ON DEVON BANKS.
Tune — " Rothemuiche.**
Fairest maid on Devon banks,
Crystal Devon, winding Devon,
Wilt thou lay that frown aside.
And smile as thou were wont to do ?
Full well thou know'st I love thee dear,
Couldst thou to malice lend an ear !
O, did not love exclaim, " Forbear,
Nor use a faithful lover so.**
Then come, thou fairest of the &ir.
Those wonted smiles, O let me share ;
And, by thy beauteous self I swear,
No love but thine my heart shall know.
236 WORKS OF BURNS.
Fairest maid on Devon banks.
Crystal Devon, winding Devon,
Wilt thou lay that frown aside.
And smile as thou were wont to do ?*
No. XCII.
MR THOMSON TO BURNS.
14^ JttZy, 1796.
Mt dear Sir,
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 offending your in-
dependent spirit, checked my resolution. I thank you hearti-
ly therefore for the frankness of your letter of the 12th,
and with great pleasure inclose a draft for the very sum I
proposed sending. Would I were Chancellor of the Ex-
chequer but for one day, for your sake If
* These verses, and the letter inclosing them, are written in
a character that marks the very feeble state of Bums* bodily
strength. Mr Syme is of opinion that he could not have been in
any danger of a jail at Dumfries, where certainly he had many
firm friends, nor under any such necessity of imploring aid from
Edinburgh. But about this time his reason began to be at times
unsettled, and the horrors of a jail perpetually haunted his ima-
gination. He died on the 2l8t of this month.^ C«me.
j^ Mr Thomson has been very much abused about this transac-
tion, and, I confess, I do not know well what to say about it ; but
it must ever be regretted that Greorge Thomson did not contrive
to send him more at this dismal period than just the bare
five pounds, when he could not but perceive the gloomy and
altered state of the Poet^s mind. After Burns' letter of July,
]79d, I exculpate Mr Thomson from making any attempts at
remuneration, previous to the receiving this letter from Brow.
But, all things considered, I wish to God he had sent him at least
ten or twenty^ pounds^ for his own honour, and that of the literary
CORRESPONDENCE. 237
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 manu-
scripts, and take upon him the task of Editor. In the
mean time, it could be advertised to be published by sub-
scription. 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 im-
pute any thing I say to an unworthy motive. Yours faith-
fully.
The verses to * Rothemurche* will answer finely. I am
happy to see you can still tune your lyre.
and musical character. I am quite aware that Mr Thomson, at
that period, could not have made any money off Burns* songs, but
that on the contrary, he must have been much money out of
pocket, considering the efficient and costly way he took of bring-
ing out the work. But then the songs were his, and poor Burns
had toiled for him, while at the same time the speculation was
certain and sure. Upon the whole I cannot account for Mr
Thomson^s parsimony here ; for I know him well, and he is any
thing but a close-fisted niggardly gentleman. In fact, he is quite
the reverse, a kind open hearted fellow, who entertains literary
and musical people most liberally, as many of my acquaintances
can witness. I have written a good many songs for him myself,
and it was not for want of remuneration that I did not write far
more ; but then he is the most troublesome devil to write songs
for that ever was created, for he is always either bothering one
with alterations^ or else popping them in himself. But, as to
niggardliness in remuneration, I can bear testimony that he
rather errs on the other side ; and, as an instance, I was once out
of pure shame obliged to return him a violin, which I was told
was valued at j£dd, on pretence that I had a better one, and
could not be plagued with another. Both Mrs Hogg and I, had
previously got presents of sterling value. George rfhomson is a
pragmatical but real good man. What was done cannot be re-
called ; but it has been compensated since by every kindness in
his power to bestow. — H.
238 WORKS OF BURNS.
Thus terminated the correspondence of Bums with Thomson,
in a manner as melancholy as it commenced joyously, — ^it ended
in the death of one who was, and we believe, ever will be, con-
sidered the first lyrist of his native land. On the willows of the
winding Devon, the dying Bard suspended the harp of Ck>ila, and
long we fear is it destined to remain mute; for what masterhand
can again touch its strings with such exquisite simplicity, skill,
pathos, passion, and truth ?
In closing this portion of Bums* works, we can scarcely trast
ourself to the expression of our own individual feelings. Men
differently constituted feel and think differently; and hence,
were we on this occasion to say what, on a review of the corres-
pondence now before us, we both feel and think, our sentiments
perhaps would merely represent our own peculiar idiosyncracies,
instead of reflecting the sentiments and emotions of the greater
bulk of mankind. Still it is a deeply affecting sight to behold a
fellow-being of exalted genius, of a proud and peculiarly sensitive
spirit, and a traly generous heart, in the very prime of his days
smitten with disease, slighted or shunned in a great measure by
former friends or those he deemed such, involved in misfortunes,
and, by causes which need not be enumerated, steeped compara-
tively to the lips in poverty, stretched upon the bed of sickness,
of suffering, and death, in circumstances so hapless and forlorn,
BO totally cheerless and desolate, as almost to leave no tender
regret in his bosom at parting with all he once held dear or
esteemed lovely on earth ; — or, using his own emphatic words, to
sing, broken in spirit and withered at heart.
Farewell thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies.
Now gay with the bright setting sun ;
Farewell loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties.
Our race of existence is mn.
We attach blame to no one and to no party ; but we cannot
conceal from ourself the mournful fact, knowing, as we almost
fancy we do, the writhings and workings of such a mind as Burns
was endowed with, that he literally died of a broken heart.
With our friend the Shepherd, we must ever regret that Mr
Thomson was so exactly mercantile as to inclose to the dying poet
precisely the sum which he sought the loan of, and what is still
more curious, the precise sum which he, Mr Thomson, ** proposed
sending" apparently before ; as may be inferred from his own
words, he was aware of Bums' peculiarly embarrassed pecuniary
circumstances, and almost hopeless state of health. Alluding to
this subject, Mr Lockhart, in his admirable Life of the Poet, says,
and we agree viith him in opinion : ** Why Burns, who was of
opinion when he wrote his letter to Mr Garfrae, that * no profits
are more honourable than those of the labours of a man of
genius,* and whose own notions of independence had sustained
no shock on the receipt of hundreds . of pounds from Creech,
CO&BESPONDfiNCB. 239
should have spurned the suggestion of pecuniary recompense from
Mr Thomson, it is no easy matter to explain : nor do I profess '
to understand why Mr Thomson took so little pains to argue the
matter in limine with the poet, and convince him that the time
which he himself considered as fairly entitled to be paid for by a
common bookseller, ought of right to be valued and acknowledg-
ed on similar terms by the editor and proprietor of a book con-
taining both songs and music."
Thus far Mr Lockhart ; but to complete the history of the point
under discussion, and in justice to Mr Thomson, we deem it right
to subjoin also the observations of our late much esteemed friend.
Professor Walker, who drew up the Life prefixed to Morrison of
Perth's edition of the Poet's works. His history of the transac-
tion is this :
** In 1792, Mr Thomson solicited Bums to supply him with
twenty or thirty songs, for the great musical work in which he
was then engaged, with an understanding distinctly specified, that
the Bard should receive a regular pecuniary remuneration for his
contributions. With the first part of the proposal Bums instant-
ly complied, but peremptorily rejected the last. His motive for
this rejection, and for his subsequent refusal of an offer from the
editor of the Morning Chronicle, to allow him £bO per annum,
for a periodical copy of verses, must have been some perplexed
and ill-regulated sentiments of pride. It was equally creditable
to receive a compensation for his mental as for his manual labour;
nor was the work of his pen less entitled to reward than the
work of his plough, on which he was fond of resting his claim to
independence. But, whatever were his motives, he entered on
his gratuitous task with an eagerness and delight which showed
that, though he might, perhaps, not have prescribed it for him-
self, yet when turned to it by the gentle compulsion of a friend's
entreaty, he found it still possessed of its original attractions.
Through the whole of his remaining years he continued supply-
ing Mr Thomson with songs, of which many are singularly ex-
cellent ; and even the most careless, like the shortest letters of
Dr Johnson, contain some turn of thought or expression which
is characteristic of their author, and which serves to stamp them
as the productions of Bums.
" This employment led him into a close correspondence with Mr
Thomson ; and that gentleman, a few months after its commence-
ment, ventured, notwithstanding the original prohibition, to ac-
knowledge his services by a pecuniary present, which the Poet
with some difiQculty restrained himself from returning, but inti-
mated very expliciUy, that a repetition of the measure should be
a rupture of their connection. Mr Thomson had therefore no
alternative, but that of losing entirely the valuable aid of Bums,
or of putting a force on his just and anxious desire to reward it ;
and all that he could do, after what had passed, was to send occa-
sionally some presents of a nature at which he thought the punc-
240 WORKS OF BURNS. ,
tilious delicacy of the Poet would be least disposed to take offence.
A few days before Burns expired be applied to Mr Thomson for
a loan of £b, in a note which showed the irritable and distracted
state of his mind, and his commendable judgment instantly re-
mitted the precise sum, foreseeing that had he, at that moment,
presumed to exceed the request, he would have exasperated the
irritation and resentment of the haughty invalid, and done him
more injury, by agitating his passions, than could be repaired by-
administering more largely to his wants.
'< These particulars are stated chiefly to create occasion for no-
ticing a harsh and calumnious attack which has been lately made
against Mr Thomson for his selfish and illiberal treatment of
Bums. This attack is introduced into a novel with the title of
Nubilia, and is indeed almost the only novelty which it contains.
When the author charges Mr Thomson with 'having enriched him-
self with the labour of Bums,' without a disposition to reward
it, he betrays a gross inattention to their correspondence, every
line of w^ich he ought to have considered before renturing on
his invective; and discovers incapacity to penetrate the sinu-
osities of the Poet's character, which ought to have deterred him
from the attempt. Bums had all the unmanageable pride of
Samuel Johnson, and if the latter threw away with indignation
the new shoes which had been placed at his chamber-dooi*,
secretly and collectively by his companions, the former would
have been still more ready to resent any pecuniary donation with
which a single individual, after his peremptory prohibition, should
avowedly have dared to insult him. He would instanUy have
constmed such conduct into a virtual assertion, that his prohibi-
tion was insincere and his independence affected ; and the more
artfully the transaction had been disguised, the more rage it would
have excited, as implying the same assertion with the additional
charge, that if secretly made it would not be denied. But on this
subject the public may have an opportunity of hearing Mr Thom-
son himself, who, in a letter to the author of the present memoir,
expresses himself thus : —
*< In a late anonymous novel I have been attacked with much
bitterness, and accused of not endeavouring to remunerate Bums
for the songs which he wrote for my collection, although there is
the clearest evidence of the contrary, both in the printed corres-
pondence between the poet and me, and in the public testimony
of Dr Currie. My assailant too, without knowing any thing of
the matter, states that I had enriched myself by the labours of
Burns ; and, of course, that my want of generosity was inex-
cusable.
'* Now the fact is, that, notwithstanding the united labours of
all the men of genius who have enriched my collection, I am not
even yet compensated for the precious time consumed by me in
poring over musty volumes, and in corresponding viith every
CORRE8PONDBN(*.K. 241
amateur and poet by whose means I expected to make any val-
uable additions to our national music and song ; — for the exertion
and money it cost me to obtain accompaniments from the greatest
masters of harmony in Vienna ; — and for the sums paid to en-
gravers, printers, and others. On this subject the testimony of
Mr Preston in London, a man of unquestionable and well known
character, who has printed the music fbr every copy of my work,
may be more satisfactory than any thing I can say. In August
1809, he wrote me as follows :
'* * I am concerned at the very unwarrantable attack which has
been made upon you by the author of Nubilia : nothing could be
more unjust than to say that you had enriched yourself by Burns'
labours : for the whole concern, though it includes the labours of
Haydn, has scarcely afforded a compensation for the various expen-
ses and for the time employed on the work. When a work attains
any celebrity, publishers are generally supposed to derive a profit
ten times beyond the reality : the sale is greatly magnified, and
the expenses are not in the least taken into consideration. It is
truly vexatious to be so grossly and scandalously abused for con-
ductf the very reverse of which has been manifest through the
whole transaction/'*
** Were I the sordid man that the anonymous author calls me, I
had a most inviting opportunity to prof t much more than I did by
the lyrics of our great Bard. He had written above fifty songs ex-
pressly for my work ; they were in my possession unpublished at his
death ; I had the right and the power of retaining them till I was
ready to publish them ; but when I was informed that an edition
of the Poet's works was projected for the benefit of his family, I put
them in immediate possession of the whole of his songs, as well
as letters, and thus enabled Dr Carrie to complete the four vol-
umes which were sold for the family's behoof to Messrs Gadell &
Davies. And I have the satisfaction of knowillg, that the most
zealous friends of the family, Mr Cunningham, Mr Syme, Dr
Currie, and the Poet's own brother, considered my sacrifice of the
prior right of publishing the songs as no ungrateful return for the
disinterested and liberal conduct of the Poet. Accordingly, Mr
Gilbert Bums, in a letter to me, which alone might suffice for an
answer to all the novelist's abuse, thus expresses himself : — ' If ever
I come to Edinburgh, I will certainly call on a person whose hand-
some conduct to my brother's family has secured my esteem, and
confirmed me in the opinion, that musical taste and talents have
a close connection with the harmony of the moral feelings.'
<' Nothing is farther from my thoughts, than to claim any merit
for what I did ; I never would have uttered a word on the subject,
but for the harsh and groundless accusation which has been brought
forward, either by ignorance or animosity, and which I have long
suffered to remain unnoticed from my great dislike to any public
appearance.
3 X
242 WORKS OF BURNS.
" This statement supersedes the necessity of any additional n*
mark. When the public is satisfied ; when the relations of Buim
are grateful; and, above all, when the delicate mind of Mr
Thomson is at peace with itself, in contemplating hia conduct,
there can be no necessity for a nameless novelist to oontiadict
them all, and to work himself into a fever of malignant benero-
lence to relieve the general tameness of his performance.**— IC.
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE.
X 2
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE.
Wb have now reached the General Correspondence of the
Poet, which we have arranged as nearly as positive dates
and other means of evidence would enable us to do, in
chronological order. In some cases it is likely we may
have erred, although unintentionally, as well as differed
irom former editors in our arrangement : but this deviation
has never arisen but from a patient consideration of every
fact and circumstance, calculated to throw light upon the
individual point under investigation.
The letters of Bums, — addressed as they are, to persons
moving in the higher as well as the middling and lower
ranks of society, embracing as they do, a great variety of
topics, and containing much connected with his own pri-
vate and domestic concernments, his feelings and opinions,
under peculiar circumstances, either of adversity or pros-
perity, as well as detailing his progress in literary attain-
ments, and exhibiting the progressive developement of the
powers of that extraordinary genius, which was feted briefly
but brightly to illumine his native land with a splendour,
which, if equalled, was never surpassed by any one who
ever struck the Scottish lyre, — are peculiarly valuable as
forming the best of all narratives of the outgoings and
x3
246 WORKS OF lURKS.
incoAiings, nay, even the shortcomings, waywardnesses, and
wanderings of that most original, ettraordinary, and master
spirit. Respecting the literary merit of these letters, we
prefer recording the opinions of eminent critics, to any
thing we ourselves could say. We begin with Hazlitt,
who says : — " His prose epistles are sometimes tinctured
with affectation. They seem written by a man who has
been admired for his wit, and is expected on all occasions
to shine. Those in which he expresses his ideas of natural
beauty, in reference to Alison's Essay on Taste, and advo-
cates the keeping up the remembrance of old customs and
seasons, are most powerfully written." It would be unjust
to omit here what the late amiable Dr Currie, the first
editor of Bums* works, has said of his prose letters in the
** Advertisement," prefixed to the volume containing liis
correspondence : — " It is impossible," says he, " to dismiss
this volume of the correspondence of our Bard, without
some anxiety as to the reception it may meet with. The
experiment we are making has not often been tried ; per-
haps on no occasion has so large a portion of the recent
and unpremeditated effusions of a man of genius been
committed to the press.
*' Of the following letters of Burns, a considerable number
were transmitted for publication by the individuals to whom
they were addressed ; but very few have been printed entire.
It will easily be believed, that, in a series of letters^ written
without the least view to publication, various passages were
found unfit for the press, from different considerations. It
will also be readily supposed, that our Poet, writing nearly
at the same time, and under the same feelings to different
individuals, would sometimes ^1 into the same train of
sentiment and forms of expression. To avoid, therefore
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 247
the tediousness of such repetitions, it has been found ne-
cessary to mutilate many of the individual letters, and some-
times to exscind parts of great delicacy — ^the unbridled effu-
sions of vpanegyrie and regard. But though many of the
letters are printed from originals furnished by the persons
to whom they were addressed, others are printed from
first draughts, or sketches, found among the papers of our
Bard. Though in general no man committed his thoughts
to his correspondents with less consideration or effort than
Bums, yet it appears that in some instances he was dis-
satisfied with his first essays, and wrote out his communica-
tions in a fairer character, or perhaps in more studied lan-
guage. In the chaos of his manuscripts, some of the origi-
nal sketches were found : and as these sketches, though less
perfect, are feirly to be considered as the ofl&pring of his
mind, where they have seemed in themselves worthy of
a place in this volume, we have not hesitated to insert
them, though they may not always correspond exactly
with the letters transmitted, which have been lost or
witliheld.
" Our author appears at one time to have formed an in-
tention of making a collection of his letters for the amuse*
ment of a friend. Accordingly he copied an inconsider-
able number of them into a book, which he presented to
Robert Riddel, of Glenriddel, Esq. Among these was the
account of his life, addressed to Dr Moore, and printed in
the first volume. In copying from his imperfect sketches
(it does not appear that he had the letters actually sent to
his correspondents before him), he seems to have occasion-
ally enlarged his observations, and altered his expressions.
In such instances his emendations have been adopted ;
but in truth there are but five of the letters thus selected
248 WORKS OF BURNS.
by the Poet, to be found in the present volume, the rest
' being thought of inferior merit, or otherwise unfit for the
public eye.
" In printing this volume, the Editor has found some cor-
rections of grammar necessary ; but these have been very
few, and such as may be supposed to occur in the careless
effusions, even of literary characters, who have not been
in the habit of carrying their compositions to the press.
These corrections have never been extended to any habitual
modes of expression of the poet, even where his phraseology
may seem to violate the delicacies of taste ; or the idiom
of our language, which he wrote in general with great accur-
acy. Some difference will indeed be found in this respect in
his earlier and in his later compositions ; and this volume will
exhibit the progress of his style, as well as the history of
his mind. In the fourth edition, several new letters were
introduced, and some of inferior importance were omitted."
What is stated in the above extract with regard to the
letters omitted in the fourth edition as of ** inferior impor-
tance," have, in the present complete edition, been restored,
as well as many of the passages in others which Dr Currie
thought proper to exscind for reasons not very obvious to
us, or at any rate, which do not now exist to warrant their
suppression.
Of his correspondence, Mr Lockhart thus speaks with
all the generous feeling of a congenial and sympathising
mind : —
'* From the time that Burns settled himself in Dum-
friesshire, he appears to have conducted with much care
the extensive correspondence in which his celebrity had
engaged him ; it is, however, very necessary in judging of
these letters, and drawing inferences from their language as
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 249
to the real seDtiments and opinions of the writer, to take
into consideration the rank and character of the persons to
whom they were severally addressed, and the measure of
intimacy which really subsisted between them and the Poet.
In his letters, as in his conversation, Bums, in spite of all
his pride, did something to accommodate himself to his
company : and he who did write the series of letters ad-
dressed to Mrs Dunlop, Dr Moore, Mr Dugald Stewart,
Miss Chalmers, and others, eminently distinguished as
these are by purity, and nobleness of feeling, and perfect
propriety of language, presents himself, in other effusions
of the same class, in colours which it would be rash to call
his own. In a word, whatever of grossness of tliought, or
rant, extravagance, and fustian in expression may be found
in his correspondence, oughti I cannot doubt, to be mainly
ascribed to his desire of accommodating himself, for the
moment, to the habits and taste of certain buckish trades-
men of Edinburgh, and other such like persons, whom, from
circumstances already sufficiently noticed, he numbered
among his associates and friends. That he should have
condescended to any such compliance, must be regretted ;
but, in most cases, it would probably be quite unjust to
push our censure further than this.**
The critique upon his prose writings by Professor
Walker, which we subjoin, is equally worthy of perusal : —
" The prose writings of Burns consist almost solely of
his correspondence, and are therefore to be considered as
presenting no sufficient Criterion of his powers. Epistolary
effusions, being a sort of written conversation, participate
in many of the advantages and defects of discourse. They
materially vary, both in subject and manner, with the
character of the person addressed, to which the mind of
250 vrl/RKS OF BURNd.
tlieir author for the moment assumes an affinity. Tc
equals they are familiar and negligent, and to superior*
they can scarcely avoid that' transition, to careful effon
and studied correctness, which the behaviour of the writer
would undergo, when entering the presence of those to
whom his talents were his only introduction. Bums, from
the lowness of his origin, found himself inferior in rank to
all his correspondents, except his father and brother ; and
although the superiority of his genius should iiave done
more than correct this disparity of condition, yet between
pretensions so incommensurable it is difficult to prodnce
a perfect equality. Bums evidently labours to reason
himself into a feeling of its completeness, but the very
frequency of his efforts betrays his dissatis&ction with
their success, and he may therefore be considered as writ-
ing under the influence of a desire to create or to preserve
the admiration of his correspondents. In this object he
must certainly have succeeded ; for if his letters are de-
ficient in some of the charms of epistolary writing, the de-
ficiency is supplied by others. If they occasionally fail
in colloquial ease and simplicity, they abound in genius,
in richness of sentiment, and strength of expression. The
taste of Bums, according to the judgment of Proiessor
Stewart, was not sufficiently correct and refined to relish
diaste and artless prose, but was captivated by writers who
labour their periods into a pointed and antithetical bril-
llaiicy. What he preferred he would naturally be ambi-
^oiB to imitate ; and though he might have chosen better
models, yet those which were his choice he has imitated
^ith success. Even in poetiy, if we may judge from bis
few attempts in English herov ^ as far from
attaining, vA perhaps from - flowing
GENERAL COARESPONOENCE. 251
sweetness of Goldsmith, as he is in his letters from aiming
at the graceful ease of Addison,- or the severe simplicity of
Swift. Burns in his prose seems never to have forgot
that he was a poet ; but, though his style may be taxed
with occasional luxuriance, and with the admission' oi
crowded and even of compounded epithets, few will deny
that genius is displayed in their invention and application
as few will deny that there is eloquence in the harangue
of an Indian Sachem, although it be not in the shape to
which we are accustomed, nor pruned of its flowers by the
critical exactness of a British orator.
" It is to be observed, however, that Burns could diversify
his style with great address to suit the taste of his various
correspondents ; and that when he occasionally swells it
into declamation, or stiffens it into pedantry, it is for the
amusement of an individual whom he knew it would
amuse, and should no,t be mistaken for the style which he
thought most proper for the public. The letter to his
father, for whom h^ had a deep veneration, and of whose
applause he was no doubt desirous, is written with care,
but with no exuberance. It is grave, pious, and gloomy,
like the mind of the person who was to receive it. In his
correspondence with Dr Blair, Mr Stewart, Mr Graham,
and Mr Erskine, his style has a respectful propriety, and a
regulated vigour, which show a just conception of what
became himself, and suited his relation with the persons
whom he addressed. He writes to Mr Nicol in a vein of
strong and ironical extravagance, which was congenial to
the manner, and adapted to the taste, of his friend. To
his female correspondents, without excepting the venerable
Mrs Dunlop, he is lively, and sometimes romantic ; and a
skilful critic may perceive his pen under the influence of
252 WO&KS OF BURNS. t
that tenderness for the feminine character, which has been al-
ready noticed. In short, through the whole collection, we see
various shades of gravity and care, or of sportive pomp and
intentional affectation, according to the familiarity which
subsisted between the writer and the person for whose ex-
clusive perusal he wrote : and before we estimate the merit
of any single letter, we should know the character of both
correspondents, and the measure of their intimacy. These
remarks are suggested by the objections of a distinguished
critic, to a letter which was communicated to Mr Cromek,
without its address, by the author of this memoir, and
which occurs at page 1 16 of the ' Rellques.' The cen-
sure would perhaps have been softened, had the critic
been aware that the tumidity which he blames, was no
serious attempt at fine writing, but merely a playful ef-
fusion in mock-heroic, to divert a friend whom he had for-
merly succeeded in diverting with similar saUies. Bums
was sometimes happy in short complimentary addresses, of
which a specimen is subjoined. It is inscribed on the blank-
leaf of a book presented to Mrs Oraham of Fintry, from
which it was copied, by that lady's permission : —
TO MRS GRAHAM OF FINTRY.
'* ' It is probable. Madam, that this page may be read
when the hand that now writes it shall be mouldering in
the dust: may it then bear witness that I present you
these volumes as a tribute of gratitude, on my part ardent
and sincere, as your and Mr Graham's goodness to me has
been generous and noble ! May every child of yours, in
the hour of need, find such a friend as I shall teach every
child of mine, that their fiither found in you.
ROBERT BURNS.'
GENERAL COBJ&ESPONOENCE. 253
" The letters of Burns may od tlie whole be regarded as a
valuable offering to the puji>lic. They are curious, as evi-
dences of his genius, and interesting as keys to his charac-
ter ; ^nd they can scarcely fail to command the admiration
of ail who do not measure their pretensions by an unfair
standard.'*
These remarks we look upon as peculiarly just and per-
tinent ; other critics, however, express tliemselves in a some-
what different strain. Of these, we think the most unjust
has been Jeffrey, in bis review of Cromek's Reliques of
Binms, where l^e says — ** The prose wxMrks of Burns consist
almost entirely of his letters. They bear, as well as his
poetry, the seal and the impress of his genius ; but they
contain much piore bod taste, anda^e written wUh far more
apparent labour. His poetry was almost all primarily from
feeling, and only secondarily from ambition. His letters
seem to have beisn pearly all cojipposed as exercises, and
for display. There are few pf them written with sim-
plicity or plainness; and, though na,tural enough as to
the sentiment, they are generally very strained aod elabor-
ate in the expressioa. A very great proportion of them
top, relate neither to facts por feeliiiigs peculiarly connected
with the author or his correspondent — ^but are made up of
general declamation, moral reflections, apd vague discus-
sions, — ^all evidently composed for the saf^e of effect, and
frequently i^rpduced with long complaints of having no-
thing to say, and of the necessity and difOfiulty of letter-
writiv^g." In this opinion, so iinqi^alifiedly given by one of
our irst arhUers of .taste in matteis literary, we are not
aware that many ha^e concurred ; and we believe a larger
propoi^ion wi^l subscribe to the more mild judgment
pronounced by Sir Walter Scott. " The letters of Burns,"
3 Y
254 WORKS OF BURNS.
says he, " although containing passages of great eloquence,
b ear occasionally strong marks of affectation, with a tine*
tu re of pedantry rather foreign to the Bard*s character and
ed iication. They are written in various tones of feeling
and moods of mind : in some instances exhibiting all the
force of the writer*s talents, in others only valuable because
they bear his signature."
And are they not valuable inasmuch as they do bear that
signature ? The devotion with which the memory of Burns
is cherished by his countrymen has rendered the meanest
trifle which he penned inestima(>le in their eyes, and the
same may be said with regard to the lightest and most care-
less effusions of the gifted spirit whom we have quoted,
now since he has been called to mingle with ancestral dnst
within the hallowed precincts of Dryburgh abbey.
We conclude our extracts on this subject with what
Professor Wilson, in an eloquent article on Lockliart's Life
of Burns, has delivered as his deliberate sentiments regard-
ing the Poet's correspondence : — *' Not a few absurd things,"
says the noble-hearted author of the Isle of Palms, *' have in
our opinion been said of Bums* epistolary composition.
His letters are said to be too elaborate, the expression
more studied and artificial than belongs to that species of
composition. Now the truth is, that Bums never con-
sidered letter-writing 'a species of composition,' subject
to certain rules of taste and criticism. That had never
occurred to him — and so much the better. Accordingly his
letters are often full of all sorts of rant and rhodomon-
tade, which to us, reading them coldly in our closets,
and but little acquainted, and still less perhaps, sympathis-
ing with the facetious persons to whom they were written,
not unfrequently appear too extravagant for common use.
GENERAL COitRESPONDENCE. 255
and not even either humorous or witty. But such strange
stuffsuited those to whom it was sent ; and Burns, with all
his own true and genuine humour and wit, enjoyed — and it is
a proof of his original genius that he did so^^whatever sort of
absurdity happened to be popular among his friends and boon
companions. Besides, there can be no doubt that he was
often tipsy when engaged in penning epistles, and, we do not
fear to say it, intoxicated ; on one occasion we know — the
letter we believe is to Nicol, ' that strong inknee'd soul of
a schoolmaster' — ^perfectly drunk. Vast numbers of his
letters were after-dinner effusions — many after-supper ones ;
and we beg that our forenoon and small-beer critical
brethren will, if possible, attend to that peculiarity in
Burns' character as a complete letter-writer in all their fu-
ture octavos. But hundreds even of his most familiar let-
ters are perfectly artless, though still most eloquent com-
positions. Simple we may not call them, so rich they are
in fancy, so overflowing in feeling, and dashed off, every
other paragraph, with the easy boldness of a great master
conscious of his strength, even at times when, of all things
in the world, he was least solicitous about display. While
some there are so solemn — so sacred — so religious — that
he who can read them with an unstirred heart, as he knows
that they were written in the prospect of near and certain
death, can have no trust — ^no hope of the immortality of
the souL"
The exhibition of the conflicting opinions expressed by
various distinguished literary characters regarding the mer-
its of Burns' epistolary writings, if not altogether satisfac-
tory, is at least useful in directing the attention of the
general reader to a more minute and careful consideration
of those material points, upon which doctors have chosen
t2
256 WORKS OF BURNS.
to disagree, and thereafter to decide for themselves. Con-
troversy about matters of taste is endless, and seems never
destined to be governed by any fixed rules, or decided by
leference to any generally acknowledged or indisjjutable
standard of truth and purity.— M.
GENERAL COURESPONDENCE. 2-j7
No. I.
TO WILLIAM BURNESS *
Irvine, Dec. 21th, 1781.
Honoured Sir,
I RAYB purposely delayed writing, in the hope that I
should have the pleasure of seeing you on New- Year's
day; but work comes so hard upon us, that I do not
* At the time Burns wrote this melancholy letter, he had be-
gun the world as a flaxdresser in Irvine, along with another young
man, and four days afterwards their whole worldly means were
accidentally destroyed by fire, an event in the life of the Poet
alluded to in a preceding volume. Burns, like most poets, in-
herited with his genius constitutional hypochondriasm, and
this showed itself at a very early period, and clouded his mind
with many gloomy presentiments of the future, in his case too
truly fulfilled. In the scanty praise bestowed generally on the
poet's correspondence by the Edinburgh Reviewer, the above let-
ter comes in for a special notice, and, we think, with great justice.
" One of the most striking letters in the Collection," (Cromek's
Reliques of Burns,) says Mr Jeffrey, " and to us, one of the most
interesting^ is the earliest of the whole* series ; being addressed
to his father in 1781, six or seven years before his name had
been heard out of his own family. The author was then a com-
mon flaxdresser, and his father a poor peasant^ — yet there is not
one trait of vulgarity, either in the thought or expression ; but
on the contrary, a dignity and elevation of sentiment, which must
have been considered as of good omen in a youth of much higher
condition."
** This letter,** says Dr Currie, " written several years before
the publication of his poems, when his name was as obscure as his
condition was humble, displays the philoeophic melancholy which
so generally forms the poetical temperament, and that buoyant
and ambitious' spirit, which indicates a mind conscious of its
strength. At Irvine, Bums at this time possessed a single room
for his lodgin)2;s, rented perhaps at the rate of a shilling a-week.
He passed his days in constant labour, as a flaxdresser, and
his food consisted chiefly of oatmeal, sent to him from his
father's family. The store of this humble though wholesome
nutriment, it appears, was nearly exhausted, and he was about
to borrow till he should obtain a supply. Yet even in this situ-
ation his active imagination had formed to itself pictures of
eminence and distinction. His despair of making a figure in
the world, shows how ardently he wished for honourable fame ;
y3
258 WORKS OF BURNS.
choose to be absent on that account, as well as for some
other little reasons which I shall tell you at meeting. My
health is nearly the same as when you were here, only my
sleep is a little sounder, and on the whole I am rather bet^
ter than otherwise, though I mend by very slow degrees.
The weakness of my nerves has so debilitated my mind,
that I dare neither review past wantd, nor look forward into
futurity ; for the least anxiety or perturbation in my breast
produces most unhappy efi^scts oh my whole frame. Some-
times, indeed, when for an hour or two my spirits are a little
lightened, I glimmer a little into futurity ; but my princi-
pal, and indeed my only pleasurable employment is looking
backwards and forwards in a moral and religious way ; I
am quite transported at the thought, that ere long, perhaps
very soon, I shall bid an eternal adieu to all the pains, and
uneasiness, and disquietudes of this weary life ; for I assure
you I am heartily tired of it ; and if I do not very much
deceive myself, I could contentedly and gladly resign it.
" The soul, uneasy, and confined at home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.**
It is for this reason I am more pleased with the 15th, 16th,
and 17th verses of the 7th chapter of Revdation, than
with any ten times as many verses in the whole Bible, and
would not exchange the noble enthusiasm with which they
inspire me for all 'that this world has to offer. As for this
world, I despair of ever making a figure in it. I am not
formed for the bustle of the busy, nor the flutter of the gay.
1 shall never again be capable of entering into such scenes.
Indeed I am altogether unconcerned at the thoughts of
this life. I foresee that poverty and obscurity probably
await me, and I am in some measure prepared, and daily
and his contempt of life, founded on this despair, is the genuine
expression of a youthful and generous mind. In such a state of
reflection and of sufTering, the imagination of Bums naturally
passed the dark boundaries of our earthly horizon, and rested oa
those beautiful creations of a better world, where there is neither
thirst, nor hunger, nor sorrow, and where happiness shall be in
proportion to the capacity of happiness,** — ^M.
T' L"v» — ' " ■"" I . ■ . . --• iiiiiii i ■■• I _ III I v>W^^^HB^W>^ipiB ■■
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 259
prepariog to meet them. I have but just time and paper
to retarn you my grateful thanks for the lessons of virtue
and piety you have given me, which were too much ne-
glected at the time of giving them, but which I hope have
been remembered ere it is yet too late. Present my duti-
ful respects to my mother, and my compliments to Mr and
Mrs Muir ; and with wishing you a merry New-Year*s day
I shall conclude. I am, honoured sir, your dutiful son,
ROBERT BURNESS.
P. S. My meal is nearly out, but I am going to borrow
till I get more.
No. II.
TO MR JOHN MURDOCH, SCHOOLMASTER,
STAPLES INN BUILDlNOS, LONDON.*
LoCHLEA, Ibth January, 1783.
Dear Sir,
As I have an opportunity of sending you a letter with-
out putting you to that expense, which any production of
* As exhibiting the progreis of the Poet's studies, as well as
the names of his fayourite authors, this letter, addressed to his
old teacher at Lochlea, Mr Murdoch, is very interesting, and af-
fords us an insight into the origin of part of that sentitnentalism
and exaggeration of feeling which are occasionally perceptible,
both in his prose and poetical works. After this confession, it is
no marvel to us, that the muse of Coila, when she presented her-
self to the imaginings of her only and choicest son^ when sitting
^'lanely by the ingle cheek," had "a hair-brained sentimental trace
strongly marked in her face." Burns, at this period, however,
had a full consciousness of his own innate powers, and the pride
of genius breaks out in almost every line. The glorious triumph
does indeed swell his heart, and in his confidential letter to
his early preceptor, he makes no attempt to conceal it. Mr
Murdoch, Allan Cunningham informs us, lived to a good old age,
and died in London several years ago, respected^ but poor.— M.
200 WORKS OF BURNS.
mine would but ill repay, I embrace it with pleasure, to
tell you that I have not forgotten, nor ever will forget,
the many obligations I lie under to your kindness and
friendship.
I do not doubt. Sir, but you will wish to know what has
been the result of all the pains of an indulgent father, and
a masterly teacher ; and I wish I could gratify your curi-
osity with such a recital as you would be pleased with ;
but that is what I am afraid will not be the case. I have,
indeed, kept pretty clear of vicious habits; and, in this
respect, I hope, my conduct will not disgrace the education
I have gotten ; but, as a man of the world, I am most mis-
erably deficient. One would have thought that, bred as I
have been, under a father, who has figured pretty well as
un homme des affaires, I might have been, what the world
calls, a pushing, active fellow ; but to tell you the truth.
Sir, tliere is hardly any thing more my reverse. I seem to.
bet)ne sent into the world, to see and observe ; and I very
easily compound with tlie knave who tricks me of my
money, if there be any thing original about him, which
shows me human nature in a different light from any thing
I have seen before. In short, the joy of my heart is to
" study men, their manners, and their ways ;" and for this
darling subject, I cheerfully sacrifice every other consider-
ation. I am quite indolent about those great concerns that
set the bustling, busy sons of care agog ; and if I have to
answer for the present hour, I am very easy with regard to
any thing further. Even the last, worst shifb of the unfor-
tunate and the wretched does not much terrify me: I
know that even then, my talent for what country folks call
" a sensible crack," when once it is sanctified by a hoary
head, would procure me so much esteem, that even then —
I would learn to be happy.* However, I am under no ap-
prehensions about that ; for though indolent, yet so far as
* The last shift alluded to here must be the condition of an
itinerant beggar.
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 261
an extremely delicate constitution permits, I am not lazy ;
and in many things, especially 16 tavern matters, I am a
strict economist ; not, indeed, for the sake of the money ;
but one of the principal parts in my composition is a kind
of pride of stomach ; and I scorn to fear the face of any
man living : above every thing, I abhor as hel], the idea of
sneaking in a corner to avoid a dun — possibly some pitiful,
sordid wretch, who in my heart I despise and detest. 'Tis
this, and this alone, that endears economy to me. In the
matter of books, indeed, I am very profuse. My favourite
authors are of the sentimental kind, such as Shenstone,
particularly his " Elegies ;" Thomson ; " Man of Feeling**
— a book I prize next to the Bible ; " Man of the World ;**
Sterne, especially his " Sentimental Journey ;" Macpher-
son's " Ossian," &c. ; these are the glorious models after
which I endeavour to form my conduct, and 'tis incongru^
ous, 'tis absurd to suppose that the man whose mind glows
with sentiments lighted up at their sacred flame — ^the man
whose heart distends with benevolence to all the human
race — he " who can soar above this little scene of things"—
can he descend to mind the paltry concerns about which
the terreefilial race fret, and fume, and vex themselves I O
how the glorious triumph swells my heart I I forget that I
am a poor, insignificant devil, unnoticed and unknown,
stalking up and down fairs and markets, when I happen to
be in them, riding a page or two of mankind, and " catch-
ing the manners living as they rise," whilst the men of
business jostle me on every side, as an idle incumbrance in
their way. — But I dare say I have by this time tired your
patience ; so I shall conclude with begging you to give Mrs
Murdoch — not my compliments, for that is a mere common-
place story ; but my warmest, kindest wishes for her wel-
fare ; and accept of the same for yodibelf, from.
Dear Sir, yours. — R. B.
t262 WORKS OF BUANB.
No. III.
TO MR JAMES BURNESS,
WRITER, MONTROSE.*
LocHLEAy 2l8tJune, 1789.
Dear Sir,
My father received your favour of the 10th current, and
as he has heen for some moftths very poorly in health, and
is in his own opinion (and, indeed, in almost every body's
* This gentleman (the 3on of an elder brother of my father's),
when he was very young, lost his father, and having discovered
in his father's repositories some of my father's letters, he request-
ed that the correspondence might be renewed. My father con-
tinued till the last year of his life to correspond with his nephew,
and it was afterwards kept up by my brother. Extracts from some
of my brother's letter's to his cousin, are introduced in this edition
for the purpose of exhibiting the Poet before he had attracted
the notice of the public, and in his domestic family relations
afterwards. — Gilbert Bums,
We are informed by Mr Cunningham, in his recent edition of
Burns* works, that ** James Burness, son of the Poet's uncle,
lives at Montrose, and has seen fame come to his house in a two-
fold way ; viz. through his eminent cousin Robert, and dearer
still, through his own grandson, Lieutenant Burnes, with whose
talents and intrepidity the world is well acquainted. He is now,
as may be surmised, says our authority, descending into the vale of
years ; his faculties are still unimpared, and his love of his own
ancient name nothing lessened. He adheres — and we honour him
for it — to the spelling of his ancestors ; and is not at all pleased
at the change made in the name, and even sighs, it is said, be-
cause his grandsons have adopted, in part, the Poet's modifica-
tion.'' It is a hateful affectation this of altering the ancient
spelling of either surname or place, but it is one very common,
and one which is calculated to breed inextricable confusion,
in tracing family history, or ascertaining with precision, localities.
The letter before us e|^ibits Burns in the character of a roan of
business, and we humbly think he writes upon the evils of paper
currency, the depression of trade, and the decay of the agricul-
tural interests, with the best political economist of the present
day. He has generally been supposed to be a very indifferent
farmer, but the following compliment paid to his observation in
dairy matters, by no incompetent judge, we think right to insert.
-1
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 263
else) in a dying condition, he has only, with great difficulty,
written a few farewell lines to each of his brothers-in-law.
For this melancholy reason, I now hold the pen for him to
thank you for your kind letter, and to assure you. Sir, that
it shall not be my fault if my father*s correspondence in the
north die with him. My brother writes to John Caird,
and to him I must refer you for the news of our
family.
I shall only trouble you with a few particulars relative
to the wretched state of this country. Our markets are ex-
ceedingly high ; oatmeal, I7d, and 18^. per peck, and not
to be got even at that price. We have indeed been pretty
well supplied with quantities of white pease from England
and elsewhere, but that resource is likely to fiiil us, and
what will become of us then, particularly the very poorest
sort, Heaven only knows. This country, till of late, was
flourishing incredibly iif the manufacture of silk, lawn, and
carpet-weaving ; and we are still carrying on a good deal
in that way, but much reduced from what it was. We had
also a fine trade in the shoe way, but now entirely ruined,
and hundreds driven to a starving condition on account of
it. Farming is also at a very low ebb with us. Our lands,
generally speaking, are mountainous and barren ; and our
landholders, full of ideas of farming gathered from the
English and the Lothians, and other rich soils in Scotland,
make no allowance for the odds of the quality of land, and
consequently stretch us much beyond what in the event we
will be foimd able to pay. We are also much at a loss for
In a note to a General View of the Agriculture of the County of
Ayr, by Colonel Fullarton, of FuUarton, drawn up for the con-
sideration of the Board of Agriculture, and internal improvement,
and published at Edinburgh, 1 793» the author says at p. 58.
" In order to prevent the danger arising from horned cattle in
studs and straw yards, the best mode is to cut out the budding
knob, or root of the horn, while the calf is very young. This
was si:^ested to me by Mr Robert Bums, whose general talents
are no less conspicuous, than the poeti6 powers which have done
so much honour to the county where he was bom." — M.
264 WORKS OF BURNS.
want of proper methods in oiir improvements of Arming.
Neceasity compeb us to leave onr old schemes, and few of
us have opportunities of being well informed in new ones.
In ahort, my dear Sir, since the unfortunate beginning of
this American war, and its as unfortunate conclusion, this
country has been, and still is, decaying very fast Even in
higher life, a couple of our A3rrshire noblemen, and the
major part of our knights and squires are all insolvent. A
miserable job of a Douglas, Heron, and Co/s bank, which
no doubt you heard of, has undone numbers of them ; and
imitating English and French, and other foreign luxuries
and fopperies, has ruined as many more. There is a great
trade of smuggling carried on along our coasts, which, how-
ever destructive to the interests of the kingdom at large, -
certainly enriches this corner of it, but too often at the ex-
pense of our morals. However, it enables individuals to
make, at least for a time, a splendid appearance : but For-
tune, as is usual with her when she is uncommonly lavish
of her fiwours, b generally even with them at the last ; and
happy were it for numbers of them if she would leave them
no worse than when she found them.
My mother sends you a small present of a cheese, 'tis
but a very little one, as our last year's stock is sold off ;
but if you could fix on any correspondent in Edinburgh or
Glasgow, we would send you a proper one in the season.
Mrs Black promises to take the cheese under her care so
&r, and then to send it to you by the Stirling carrier.
I shall conclude this long letter with assuring you that I
shall be very happy to hear from you, or any of our friends
in your country, when opportunity serves.
My father sends you, probably for the last time in this
world, his warmest wishes for your wel&re and happiness .;
and my mother and the rest of the family desire to inclose
their kind compliments to you, Mrs Burness, and the rest
of your family, along with those oj^
Dear Sir,
Your Affectionate Cousin, — R. B.
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 265
No. IV.
TO MISS E.*
LOCHLEA, 1783.
I VERILY believe, my dear E., that the pure genuine feel-
ings of love are as rare in the world as the pure genuine
principles of virtue and piety. This I hope will account
for the uncommon style of all my letters to you. By un-
common, I mean their being written in such a hasty man-
ner, which, to tdl you the truth, has made me often afraid
lest you should take me for some zealous bigot, who con-
versed with his mistress as he would converse with his
minister. I don't know how it is, my dear, for though,
except your company, there is nothing on earth gives me
so much pleasure as writing to you, yet it never gives me
those giddy raptures so much talked of among lovers. I
have often thought that if a well-grounded affection be not
really a part of virtue, 'tis something extremely akin to it.
Whenever the thought of my E. warms my heart, every
feeling of humanity, every principle of generosity kindles
in my breast. It extinguishes every dirty spark of malice
and envy which are but too apt to infest me. I grasp every
creature in the arms of universal benevolence, and equally
participate 'm the pleasures of the happy, and sympathize
with the miseries of the unfortunate. I assiu'e you, my
dear, I often look up to the Divine Disposer of events with
an eye of gratitude for the blessing which I hope he intends
* 'Riis and tbe three foflowiBg letters -appeared in Dr Curriers
firat edition of the Poet's posthumDos works, bvt in subsequent
editiMW were suppressed, to make room &>i what the editor con-
ceived more important matter. The name of the lady to whom
they were addressed, and who was also the heroine of several of
the Poet's hest lyrics, has not transpired. Burns in these letters
moralizes ooeasionally veiy happily on love and marriage. They
are in fact the only sensible love letters we have ever seen, yet
they have an air of task-work and constraint about them that is
far from natural. — M.
3 z
266 WORKS OF BURNS.
to bestow on me in bestowing you. I sincerely wish that
he may bless my endeayours to make your life as comforta-
ble and happy as possible, both in sweetening the rougher
parts of my natural temper, and bettering the unkindly cir-
cumstances of my fortune. This, my dear, is a passion, at
least in my view, worthy of a man, and I will add worthy
of a Christian. The sordid earth-worm may profess love
to a woman's person, whilst in reality his affection is cen-
tered in her pocket ; and the slavish drudge may go a-woo-
ing as he goes to the horse-market to choose one who is
stout and firm, and, as we may say of an old horse, one
who will be a good drudge and draw kindly. I disdain
their dirty, puny ideas. I would be heartily out of humour
with mjrself, if I thought I were capable of having so poor
a notion of the sex, which were designed to crown the
pleasures of society. Poor devils ! I don't envy them their
happiness who have such notions. For my part I propose
quite other pleasures with my dear partner.— R, B.
No. V.
TO THE SAME.
LOCHLEA, 1783.
My dear E. :
I DO not remember, in the course of your acquaintance
and mine, ever to have heard your opinion on the ordinary
way of falling in love, amongst people of our station in life :
I do not mean the persons who proceed in the way of bar-
gain, but those whose affection is really placed on the
person.
Though I be, as you know very well, but a very awkward
lover myself, yet as I have some opportunities of observing
the conduct of others who are much better skilled in the
affair of courtship than I am, I often think it is owing to
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 267
lucky chance more than to good management, that there
are not more unhappy marriages than usually are.
It is natural for a young fellow to like the acquaintance
of the females, and customary for him to keep them com-
pany when occasion serves : some one of them is more agree-
able to him than the rest ; there is something, he \nows
not what, pleases him, he knows not how, in her company.
This I take to be what is called love with the greater part
of us ; and I must own, my dear £., it is a hard game such
a one as you have to play when you meet with such a lover
You cannot refuse but he is sincere, and yet though you
use him ever so favourably, perhaps in a few months, or at
farthest in a year or two, the same unaccountable fancy
may make him as distractedly fond of another, whilst you
are quite forgot. I am aware that perhaps the next time
I have the pleasure of seeing you, you may bid me take
my own lesson home, and tell me that the passion I have
professed for you is perhaps one of those transient flashes
I have been describing ; but I hope, my dear £., you will
do me the justice to believe me, when I assure you that the
love I have for you is founded on the sacred principles of
virtue and honour, and by consequence so long as you
continue possessed of those amiable qualities which first in-
spired my passion for you, so long must I continue to love
you. Believe me, my dear, k is love like this alone which
can render the marriage state happy. People may talk of
flames and raptures as long as they please, and a warm fancy,
with a flow of youthful spirits, may make them feel some-
thing like what they describe ; but sure I am the nobler
faculties of the mind, with kindred feelings of the heart, can
only be the foundation of friendship, and it has always been
my opinion that the married life was only friendship in a
more exalted degree. If you will be so good as to grant
my wishes, and it should please Providence to spare us to
the latest period of life, I can look forward and see that
even then, though bent down with wrinkled age ; even
tlien, when all other worldly circumstances will be iudif-
z 2
266 WORKS Oj< burns.
ferent to me, I will regard my E. with the teoderest affec-
tion, and for this plain reason, because she is still possessed
of those noble qualities, improved to a much higher degree,
which first inspired my affection for her.
, '* O I happy state when souls each other draw,
When lore is libertj^ and nature law.**
I know were I to speak in such a style to many a girl,
who thinks herself possessed of no small share of sense, she
would think it ridiculous ; but the language of the heart
is, my dear E., the only courtship I shall ever use to you.
When I look over what I have written, I am sensible it
is vastly different from the ordinary style of courtship, but
I shall make no apology — I know your good nature will
excuse what your good sense may see amiss.
R. B.
No. VI.
TO THE SAME.
LOCHLEA, 17d3.
I HAVB oflen thought it a peculiarly unlucky circum-
stance in love, that though, in every other situation in life,
telling the truth b not only the safest, but actually by far
the easiest way of proceeding, a lover is never under greater
difficulty in acting, or more puzzled for expression, than
when his passion is sincere, and his intentions are honour-
able. I do not think that it is very difficult for a person of
ordinary capacity to talk of love and fondness, which are
not felt, and to make vows of constancy and fidelity, which
are never intended to be performed, if he be villain
enough to practise such detestable conduct : but to a man
whose heart glows with the principles of integrity and truth,
and who sincerely loves a woman of amiable person, un-
common refinement of sentiment and purity of manners —
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 269
to such a one, in such circumstances, I can assure you, my
dear, from my own feelings at this present moment, court-
ship is a task indeed. There is such a number of forebod-
ing fears, and distrustful anxieties crowd into my mind
when I am in your company, or when I sit down to write
to you, that what to speak or what to write I am altogether
at a loss.
There is one rule which I have hitherto practised, and
which I shall invariably keep with you, and that is, honest-
ly to tell yoo the plain truth. There is something so mean
and unmanly in the arts of dissimulation and falsehood, that
I am surprised they can be acted by any one in so noble, so
generous a passion, as virtuous love. No, my dear £., I
shall never endeavour to gain your favour by such detesta-
ble practices. If you will be so good and so generous as
to admit me for your partner, your companion, your bosom
friend through life, there is nothing on this side of eternity
shall give me greater transport ; but I shall never think of
purchasing your hand by any arts unworthy of a man, and
I will. add, of a Christian. There is one thing, my dear,
which I earnestly request of you, and it is this ; tliat you
would soon either put an end to my hopes by a peremptory
refusal, or cure me of my fears by a generous consent.
It would oblige me much if you would send me a line or
two when convenient. I shall only add further, t|iat, if a
behaviour regulated (though perhaps but very imperfectly)
by the rules of honour and virtue, if a heart devoted to
love and esteem you, and an earnest endeavour to promote
your happiness ; if these are qualities you would wish in a
friend, in a husband, I hope you sliall ever iind them in
your real friend and sincere lover,
R* B.
c9
270 ^OKKS OP BUnNS.
No. VII.
TO THE SAME.
LOCHLEA, 1763.
I OUGHT, in good manners, to have acknowledged the
receipt of your letter before this time, but my heart was so
shocked with the contents of it, that I can scarcely yet col-
lect my thoughts so as to write you on die subject. I will
not attempt to describe what I felt on receiving your letter.
I read it over and over, again and again, and though it was
in the politest language of refusal> still it was peremptory ;
*'you were sorry you could not make me a return, but you
wish me," what, without you, I never can obtain, ** you
wish me all kind of happiness.'' It would be weak and
unmanly to fay that, without you I never can be happy ;
but sure I am, that sharing life with you would have given
it a relish, that, wanting you, I can never taste.
Your uncommon personal advantages, and your superior
good sense, do not so much strike me ; these, possibly, may
be met with in a few instances in others ; but that amiable
goodness, that tender feminine softness, that endearing
sweetness of disposition, with all the charming offspring
of a warm feeling heart>^these I never again expect to
meet with, in such a degree, in this world. AH these
charming qualities, heightened by an education much be-
yond any thing I have ever met in any woman I ever
dared to approach, have made an impression on my heart
that I do not think the world can ever e£&oe. My im-
agination has fondly flattered myself with a wish, I dare
not say it ever reached a hope, that possibly I might
one day call you mine. I had formed the most delightful
images, and my fancy fondly brooded over them ; but now
I am wretched for the loss of what I really had no right to
expect I must now think no more of you as a mistress ;
still I presume to ask to be admitted as a friend. As such
GENERAt. CORRESPONDENCE. 271
I wish to be allowed to wait on you; and as I expect to re-
move in a few days a little further off, and you, I suppose,
will soon leave this place, I wish to see or hear from you
soon ; and if an expression should perhaps escape me,
rather too warm for friendship, I hope you will pardon it
in, my dear Miss — (pardon me the dear expression for
once) ♦ • • •
R. B.
No. VIII.
TO ROBERT RIDDEL, Esq.
My dear Sir,
On rummaging over some old papers I lighted on a MS.
of my early years, in which I had determined to write my«
self out ; as I was placed by fortune among a class of men
to whom my ideas would have been nonsense. I had
meant that the book should have lain by me, in the fond
hope, that some time or other, even after I was no more,
my thoughts would fall into the hands of somebody capa-
ble of appreciating their value. It sets off thus : —
'* Observations, Hints, Songs, Scraps of Poetry, &c
by Robert Burness ; a man who had little art in making
money, and still less in keeping it ; but was, however, a
man of some sense, a great deal of honesty, and unbounded
good-will to every creature, rational and irrational. — As he
was but little indebted to scholastic education, and bred at
a plough-tail, his performances must be strongly tinctured
with his unpolished, rustic way of life ; but as I believe
tliey are really \m own, it may be som^ entertainment to a
curious observer of human nature to see how a ploughman
thinks, and feels, under the pressure of love, ambition,
anxiety, grief, with the like cares and passicnss, which,
howev^er diversified by the modes and manners of life,
operate pretty much alike, 1 believe, on all the species.'*
272 WOKKS OF BUBN3.
<* There are numbers in the world who do not want sense to
make a figure so much as an opinion of their own abilities to
put them upon recording their observations, and allowing them
the same importance which they do to those which appear in
pri nt. " — ShentUme,
** Pleasing, when youth is long expired, to trace
The forms our pencil^ or our pen designed !
Such was our youthful air, and shape, and face.
Such the soft image of our youthful mind." — Ibid,
April, 1783.
Notwithstanding all that has been said against love, re-
specting the folly and weakness it leads a young inexperi-
enced mind into ; still I think it in a great measure deserves
the highest encomiums that have been passed upon it. If
any thing on earth deserves the name of rapture or trans-
port, it is the feelings of green eighteen in the company of
the mistress of his heart, when she repays him with an equal
return of affection.
Augtist
There is certainly some connexion between love and
music, and poetry ; and, therefore, I have always thought
it a fine touch of nature, that passage in a modern love-
composition : —
" As towards her cot he jogg*d along.
Her name was frequent in his song."
For my own part I never had the least thought or inclina-
tion of turning poet till I got once heartily in love, and
then rhyme and song were, in a manner, the spontaneous
language of my heart. The following composition was the
first of my performances, and done at an early period of
life, when my heart glowed with honest warm simplicity ;
unacquainted and uncorrupted with the ways of a wicked
world. The performance is, indeed, very puerile and silly ;
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 273
but I am always pleased with it, as it recalls to my mind
those happy days when my heart was yet honest, and my
tongue was sincere. The subject of it was a young girl
who really deserved all the praises I have bestowed on her.
I not only had this opinion of her then — ^but I actually think
so still, now that the spell is long since broken, and the
enchantment at an end.
Tune — " I am a man unmarried.*'
O once I lov'd a bonnie lass,
Ay, and I love her still.
And whilst that honour warms my breast
rU love my handsome Nell.
Fal lal de ral, &c.
As bonnie lasses I liae seen.
And mony full as braw,
But for a modest gracefu* mien
The like I never saw.
A bonnie lass, I will confess, •
Is pleasant to the e'e.
But without some better qualities
She*s no a lass for me.
But Nelly's looks are blythe and sweet,
And what is best of a',
Iler reputation is complete,
And fair without a flaw.
She dresses aye sae dean and neat,
Both decent and genteel :
And then there's something in her gait
Gars ony dress look weel.
A gaudy dress and gentle air
May slightly touch the heart.
274 WORKS OF BURNS.
But :t*s innocence and modestv
That polishes the dart.
'Tis thb in Nelly pleases me,
'Tis this enchants my soul ;
For absolutely in my breast
She reigns without controL
Fal lal de ral, &c
Lest my works should be thought below criticism ; or
meet with a critic who, perliaps, will not look on them with
so candid and favourable an eye ; I am determined to criti-
cise them myself.
The first distich of the first stanza is quite too much in
the flimsy strain of our ordinary street ballads ; and, on the
other liand, the second distich is 'too much in the other
extreme. The expression is a little awkward, and the sen-
timent too serious. Stanza the second I am well pleased
with ; and I think it conveys a fine idea of that amiable part
of the sex — ^the agreeables : or what in our Scotch dialect
we call a sweet sonsy lass. The third stanza has a little of the
flimsy turn in it : and the third line has rather too serious a
cast. The fourth stanza is a very indifferent one ; the first
line is, indeed, all in the strain of the second stanza, but the
rest is mere expletive. The thoughts in the fifth stanza come
finely up to my favourite idea — a sweet sonsy lass : the
last line, however, halts a little. The same sentiments are
kept up with equal spirit and tenderness in the sixth stanza :
but the second and fourth lines ending with short syllables
hurt the whole. The seventh stanza has several minute
faults ; but I remember I composed it in a wild enthusiasm
of passion, and to this hour I never recollect it but my heart
melts, my blood sallies, at the remembrance.
Sej^ember*
I entirely agree with that judicious philosopher, Mr
Smith, in his excellent Theory of Moral Sentiments, that
GENERAL COURESFONDENCE. 275
remorse is the most painful sentiment that can imbitter the
human bosom. Any ordinary pitch of fortitude may bear
up tolerably well under those calamities; in the procure-
ment of which we ourselves have had no hand ; but when
our own follies, or crimes, have made us miserable and
wretched, to bear up with manly firmness, and at the same
time have a proper penitential sense of our misconduct, is
a glorious effort of self-command.
" Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace,
That press the soul, or vrring the mind with anguish*
Beyond comparison the worst are those
That to our folly or our guilt we owe.
In every other circumstance, the mind
Has ithis to say — * It was no deed of mine ;'
But when to all the evil of misfortune
This sting is added — * Blame thy foolish self!*
Or worser far, the pangs of keen remorse ;
The torturing, gnawing, consciousness of guilt —
Of guilt, perhaps, where we've involved others ;
The young, the innocent, who fondly lov'd us,
Nay, more, that very love their cause of ruin !
O burning hell ! in all thy store of torments.
There's not a keener lash I
Lives there a man so firm, who, while his heart
Feels all the bitter horrors of his crime.
Can reason down its agonizing throbs ;
And, after proper purpose of amendment,
Can firmly force his jarring thoughts to peace ?
O, happy ! happy ! enviable man !
O glorious magnanimity of soul !"*
March, 1764.
I have often observed, in the course of my experience of
human life, that every man, even the worst, has something
good about him ; though very often nothing else than a
happy temperament of constitution inclining him to this or
that virtue. For this reason^ no man can say in what
* This is one strong instance among many, how hardly Burns
in his youth struggled against his besetting sin, and what grief
and misery the indulgence cost him. — H.
276 WORKS OF BURNS.
degree any other person, besides himself, can be, with strict
justice, called wicked. Let any of the strictest character
for regularity of conduct among us, examine impartially
how many vices he has never been guilty of, not from any
care or vigilance, but for want of opportuni^, or some ac-
cidental dfcnmstance intervening ; how many of the weak-
nesses of mankind he has escaped, because he was out of
the line of such temptation ; and, what often, if not always,
weighs more than all the rest, how much he is indebted to
the world's good opinion, because the world does not know
all : I say, any man who can thus think, will scan the fail-
ings, nay, the faults and crimes, of mankind around him»
with a brother's eye.
I have often courted the acquaintance of that part of
mankind, commonly known by the ordinary phrase of black-
guards, sometimes fartlier than was consistent with the
safely of my cfaarKter ; those who, by thoughtless prodi-
gality or headstrong passions, have been driven to ruin.
Though disgraced by follies, nay, sometimes stained with
guilt, I have yet found among them, in not a few instances,
some of the noblest virtues, magnanimity, generosity, dis-
interested friendship, and even modesty.
jipril.
As I am what the men of the world, if they knew such
a man, would call a whimsical mortal, I have various sources
of pleasure and enjoyment, which are, in a manner, pecu-
liar to myself, or some here and there such other out-of-the
way person. Such is the peculiar pleasure I take in the
season of winter, more dian the rest of ^e year. This, I
believe may be partly owing to my misfortunes giving my
mind a melancholy oast : but there is something even in the —
*< Mighty tempest, and the hoary waste,
Alwupt and deep, stretched o'er the buried earth,** —
which raises the mind to a serious sublimity, favourable- to
GENERAL CORRESPOI9DENCE. 277
every diing great and noble. Thore is scarcely any earthly
object gives me more—- >I do not know if I shoukl call it
pleasure— but something which exahs me, something which
enraptures me-— than to walk in the sheltered side of a
wood, or high plantation, in a cloudy winter^day, and hear
the stormy wind howling among the trees, and raving over
the plain. It is my best season for devotion : my mind is
wrapt up in a kind of enthusiasm to Him, who, in the
pompous language of the Hebrew bard, "walks on the wings
of the wind." In one of these seasons, just after a train of
misfortunes, I composed the following : —
The wintry west extends his blast*
Shenstone finely observes, that love-verses, writ without
any real passion, are the most nauseous of all conceits ; and
I have often thought that no man can be a proper critic of
love-composition, except he himself, in one or more instan-
ces, have been a warm votary of this passion. As I have
been all along a miserable dupe to love, and have been led
into a thousand weaknesses and follies by it, for that reason
I put the more confidence in my critical skill, in distin-
gubhing foppery and conceit from real passion and nature.
Whether the following song will stand the test, I will not
pretend to say, because it is my own ; only I can say it was,
at the time, genuine from the heart : —
Behind yon hills where Lugar flows, f
Marah, 1784.
There was a certain period of my life that my spirit was
broke by repeated losses and disasters, which threatened,
and indeed effected, the utter ruin of my fortune. My
body, too, was attacked by that most dreadfol distemper, a
• Vol. I. p. «88. t Vol. II. p. 94.
3 2 a
278 woRks or burns.
hypochondria, or confirmed melancholy. In this wretciied
state, the recollection of which makes me yet shudder, I
hung my harp on the willow trees, except in some lucid in-
tervals, in one of which I composed the following :^-
O thou Great Being ! what thou art*
April
The following song is a wild rhapsody, miserably defi*
cient in versification ; but as the sentiments are tiie genuine
feelings of my heart, for that reason I have a particular
pleasure in conning it over.
Tune—" The Weaver and his Shuttle, O.**
My &ther was a &rmer
Upon the Carrick border, 0,
And carefully he bred me
In decency and order, O ;
He bade me act a manly part.
Though I had ne'er a farthing, O,
For without an honest manly heart
No man was worth regarding, O.
Then out into the world
My course I did determine, O,
Tho* to be rich was not my wish.
Yet to be great was charming, :
My talents they were not the worst.
Nor yet my education, O ;
Resolvjd was I, at least to try,
To mend my situation, O.
In many a way, and vain essay,
I courted fortune^s favour, 0,
* Vol. I. p. 32.
I
I
GENERAL CORRESPONDBNCB. 279
Some causie unseen still stept between
To frustrate each endeavour, O ;
Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd,
Sometimes by friends forsaken, O*
And when my hope was at the top,
I still was worst mistaken, 0.
Then sore harass*d, and tir*d at last.
With fortune's vain delusion, O,
I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams.
And came to this conclusion, O ;
The past was bad, and the future hid ;
Its good or ill untried, O,
But the present hour was in my pow'r.
And so I would enjoy it, O.
No help, nor hope, nor view had I,
Nor person to befriend me, O ;
So I must toil, and sweat and broil.
And labour to sustain me, O.
To plough and sow, to reap and mow.
My father bred me early, O,
For one, he said, to labour bred,
Was a match for fortune &irly, O,
Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor.
Thro' life I'm doom'd to wander, O,
Till down my weary bones I lay
In everlasting slumber, O :
No view nor care, but shun whatever
Might breed me pain or sorrow, O,
I live to-day as well's I may.
Regardless of to-morrow, O.
But cheerful still, I am as well.
As a monarch in a palace, O,
Tho* fortune's frown still hunts me down.
With all her wonted malice, O.
2 a2
280 ' WORKS or bu&nb.
I make, indeed, my daily bread.
But ne'er can make it &rther, O ;
But as daily bread is all I need,
I do not much regard her, O.
When sometimes, by my labour,
I earn a little money, O,
Some unforeseen misfortune
Comes generally upon me, O ;
Mischance, mistake, or by neglect,
Or my good-natur'd folly, 0,
But come what will, I've sworn it still,
rU ne'er be melancholy, O.
All you who follow wealth and power ■
With unremitting ardour, O,
The more in this 3rou look for bliss.
You leave your view the &rther, O ;
Had you the wealth Potosi boasts,
Or nations to adore you, O,
A cheerful honest*hearted down
I will prefer before you, O.
Aprit.
I think the whole species of young men may be naturally
enough divided into two grand classes, which I shall call the
grave and the merry ; though, by the bye, these terms do not
with propriety enough express my ideas. The grave I shall
cast into tlie usual division of those who are goaded on by the
love of money, and those whose darling wish is to make a
figure in the world. The merry are the men of pleasure of
all denominations ; the jovial lads, whd have too much fire
and spirit to have any settled rule of action ; but, without
much deliberation, follow the strong impulses of nature :
the thoughtless, the careless, the indolent — ^in particular he
who, with a happy sweetness of natural temper and a cheer-
ful vacancy of thought, steals through life — ^generally, in-
deed, in poverty and obscurity ; but poverty anjd obscurity are
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 281
only evils to him who can sit gravely down and make a re-
pining comparison between his own situation and that of
others ; and lastly, to grace the quorum, such are, generally,
those whose heads are capable of &11 the towerings of genius,
and whose hearts are warmed with all the delicacy of feeling
Augtui,
The foregoing was to have been an elaborate dissertation
on the various species of men ; but as I cannot please my-
self in the arrangement of my ideas, I must wait till farther
experience and nicer observation throw more light on the
subject. — In the mean time I shall set down the following
fragment, which, as it is the genuine language of my heart,
will enable any body to determine which of the classes I
belong to : —
There's nought but care on ev'ry han'.
In ev'ry hour that passes, O.*
As the grand end of human life is to cultivate an inter-
course with that Being to whom we owe life, with every
enjoyment that renders life delightful ; and to maintain an
integritive conduct towards our fellow-creatures ; that so by
forming piety and virtue into habit, we may be fit members
for that society of the pious and the good, which reason and
revelation teach us to expect beyond the grave, I do not see
that the turn of mind, and pursuits of such a one as the above
verses describe — one who spends the hours and thoughts
which the vocations of the day can spare with Ossian, Shak-
speare, Thomson, Shenstone, Sterne, &c. ; or, as the mag-
got takes him, a gun, a fiddle, or a song to make or mend ;
and at all times some heart*s-dear bonnie lass in view — I
say I do not see that the turn of mind and pursuits of such
an one are in the least more inimical to the sacred interests
of piety and virtue, than the even lawful, bustling and strain-
• Vol. II. p. 97.
2 a3
282 WORKS or burns.
ing after the world's riches and hooourB : and I do not see
bat he may gain heaven as well — ^which, by the bye, is no
mean coosideration — ^who steak through the vale of life,
amusing himself with every Httle flower that fortune throws
in his way» as he, who, straining straight forward, and per*
haps spattering all about him, gains some of life's little emi-
nences, where, after all, he can only see and be seen a little
more conspicuously than what, in the pride of his heart, he
is apt to term the poor, indolent devil he has left behind
him.
A Prayer, when fiiinting fits, and other alarming symp*
toms of a pleurisy or some other dangerous disorder, which
indeed still threatens me, first put nature on the alarm : —
O thou unknown, Almighty cause
Of all my hope and fear !*
EGOTISMS FROM MY OWM SENSATIONS.
I dont well know what is the reason of it, but some how
or other, though I am, when I have a mind, pret^ generally
beloTed, yet, I never could get the art of commanding re*
spect.f I imagine it is owing to ray being deficient in what
• Vol. L p. 143.
t Cromek on this passage remarks, — « There is no doubt that
if Burns at any time really laboured under this infirmity, he was
successful in inquiring into its causes, and ako in his efforts to
amend it. When he was, at a later period of life, introduced
into the superior circles of society, he did not appear then as a
cypher, nor did he, by any violation of the dictates of common
sense, give any occasion, even to those who were superciliously
disposed to look upon him with contempt. On the contrary, he
was conscious of his own moral and intellectual worth, and never
abated an inch of his just claims to due consideration. The
GEMCRAL CORRESPONDENCE. 283
Sterne calls '* that uoderstrappiog virtue of discretion.** — I
am so apt to a lapsus lin§fu<9, that I sometimes think the
character of a certain great man I have read of somewhere
is very much apropos to myself-^that he was a compound
of great talents and great foUy. — N. B. To try if I can
discover the causes of this wretched infirmity, and, if possi-
ble, to mend it.*
August*
However I am pleased with the works of our Scotch
poets, particularly the excellent Ramsay, and the still more
excellent Fergusson, yet I am hurt to see other places of
Scotland, their towns, rivers, woods, haughs, &c immortal-
ized in such celebrated performances, while my dear native
country, the ancient bailieries of Carrick, Kyle, and Cun-
ningham, famous both in ancient and modem times for a
gallant and warlike race of inhabitants ; a country where
civil, and particularly religious liberty have ever found their
first support, and their last asylum ; a country, the birth-
place of many famous philosophers, soldiers, and statesmen,
following extract of a letter from his great and good biographer,
who was an excellent judge df human character, bears an honour-
able testimony to the habitual firmoeas, decisioii) and indepen-
dence of his mind, which constitute the onfy solid basis of re-
spectability.
« < Bums was a very singular man in the strength and yariety of
his faculties. — I saw him, and once only, in the year 1792. We
conyersed together for about an hour in the street of Dumfries,
and engaged in some very animated conversation. We differed
in our sentiments sufficiently to be rather Tehemently engaged —
and this interview gave me a more lively as well as forcible im-
pression of his talents than any part of bis writings. — He was a
great orator, — an original and very versatile genius.'*' — M.
3 October, 1799.
* At this place in the manuscript of the Poet are inserted the
song, ** Though cruel fate should bid us part ;'' the fragment, be-
inning, " One night as I did wander ;" the song, ** There was a
ad was born in Kyle ;** and the " Elegy on the death of Robert
284 WORKS OF BUBM9.
and the scene of manjr important events recorded in Scottish
history, particularly a great many of the actions of the
glorious Wallace, the Saviour of his country ; yet, we
have never had one Scotch poet of any eminence, to make
the fertile banks of Irvine, the romantic woodlands and se-
questered scenes on Ayr, and the heathy mountainous
source and winding sweep of Doon, emulate Tay, Forth,
Ettrick, Tweed, &c. This is a complaint I would gladly
remedy, but, alas ! I am far unequal to the task, both in
native genius and education. Obscure I am, and obscure
I must be, though no young poet, nor young soldier's heart,
ever beat more fondly for fame than mine —
" And if there is no other scene of being
Where my insatiate wish may have its fill,—
This something at my heart that heaves for room.
My best, my dearest part, was made in vain.'*
Awjfust.
A FRAGMENT.
Tune — " I had a horse, I had nae mair."
When first I came to Stewart Kyle,
My mind it was nae steady.
Where'er I gaed, where'er I rade
A mistress still I had aye.
But when I came roun' by Mauchline toun.
Not dreadin' any body.
My heart was caught before I thought.
And by a Mauchline lady.
Ruisseaux,'' a play on his own name : but as they are all inserted
in a previous volume at length, it is needless to repeat them here*
— M.
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 285
September.
There is a great irregularity in tl^e old Scotch songs, a
redundancy of syllables with respect to that exactness of
accent and measure that the English poetry requires, but
which glides in, most mdodipusly, with the respective tunes
to which they are set* For instance* the 6ne old song oi
' The Mill, Mill, 0/ to give it a plain, prosaic reading, it
halts prodigiously out of measure : on the other hand, the
song set to the same tune in Bremner*s collection of Scotch
songs, which begins ' To Fanny fair could I impart,' &c.
it is most exact measure, and yet, let them both be sung
before a real critic, one above the biasses of prejudice, but a
thorough judge of nature,-— how flat and spiritless will the
last appear, how trite, and lamely methodical, compared
with the wild-warbling cadence, the heart-moying melody
of the first ! — This is particularly the ea$e with all those airs
which end witli a hypermetrical syllable. Tiiere is a degree
of wild irregularity in many of the compositions and frag-
ments which are daily sung to them by my compeers, the
common people — a certain happy arrangement of old Scotch
syllables, and yet, very frequently, nothing, not even like
rhyme, or sameness of jingle, at the ends of the lines. This
has made me sometimes imagine l^at, perhaps it might be
possible for a Scotch poet, with a nice judicious ear, to set
compositions to many of our most favourite air^, particularly
that class of tiiem mentioned above, independent of rhyme
altogether.
There is a noble sublimity, a heart-melting tenderness,
in some of our ancient ballads, which show them to be the
work of a masterly hand : and it has often given me many
a heart-ache to reflect that such glorious old bards — ^bards
who very probably owed all their talents to native genius,
yet have described the exploits of heroes, the pangs of dis-
266 WORKS OF BURNS.
appointment, and the meltings of love, with such fine
strokes of nature — that their very names (O how mortifying^
to a bard's vanity !) are now " buried among the wreck of
things which were.*'
O ye illustrious names unknown! who could feel so
strongly and describe so well : the last, the meanest of tlie
muses' train— one who, though far inferior to your flights,
yet eyes your path, and with trembling wing would some-
times soar after you — a poor rustic bard unknown, pays this
sympathetic pang to your memory ! Some of you tell us,
with all the charms of verse, that you have been unfortunate
in the world — unfortunate in love : he, too, has felt the loss
of his little fortune, the loss of friends, and, worse- than all,
the loss of the woman he adored. Like you, all his conso-
lation was his muse : she taught him in rustic measures to
complain. Happy could he have done it with your strength
of imagination and flow of verse I May the turf lie lightly
on your bonesj and may you now enjoy that solace and
rest which this world rarely gives to the heart tuned to all
the feelings of poesy and love !
Sept.
The following fragment is done« something in imitation
of the manner of a noble old Scottish piece called McMil-
lan's Peggy, and sings to the tune of Galla Water. — My
.Montgomerie's Peggy was my deity for six or eight months.
She had been bred (though as the world says, without any
just pretence for it), in a style of life rather elegant — ^but
as Vanburgh says in one of his comedies, My ** damn'd star
found me out" there too ; for though I began the afiair
merely in a gaietd de coeur, or to tell the truth, which will
scarcely be believed, a vanity of showing my parts in court-
* This passage explains the love-letters to Peggy, given in a
preceding part of this volume, as well as justifies the slight criti-
cism we passed upon them. — M.
GENERAL COKRESPONDENCE. 287
ship, particularly my abilities at a biHet-doux, which I
always piqued myself upon, made me lay siege to her ; and
when, as I always do in my foolish gallantries, I had bat-
tered m3^elf into a very warm affection for her, she told
me, one day, in a flag of truce, that her fortress had been
for some time before the rightful property of another ; but,
with the greatest friendship and politeness, she offered me
every alliance except actual possession. I found out after-
wards that what she told me of a pre-engagement was
really true; but it cost me. some heart-achs to get rid of
the affair.
I have even tried to imitate, in this extempore thing,
that irregularity in the rhyme, which, when judiciously
done, has such a fine effect on the ear.— -
FRAGMENT.
Tune—*' Galla Water."
Altho' my bed were in yon muir,
Amang the heather, in my plaidie.
Yet happy, happy would I be
Had I my dear Montgomerie's Peggy.
When o'er the hill beat surly storms.
And winter nights were dark and rainy ;
I'd seek some dell, and in my arms
Fd shelter dear Montgomerie's Peggy.
Were I a baron proud and high.
And horse and servants waiting ready, ,
Then a' 'twad gi« o' joy to me.
The sharin't with Montgomery's Peggy.
September.
There is a fragment in imitation of an old Scotch song,
well known among the country ingle sides. I cannot tell
288 woaKs or BvaNs.
the name, neither of the song nor the tune, but they are in
fine unison with one another.--^By the way, these old
Scottish airs are so nobly sentimental, that when one would
compose to them, to ** south the tune,'* as onr Scotch phnwe
is, over and oter, is the readiest way to calch the inspira-
tion, and raise the bard into that glorious enthusiasm so
strongly characteristic of our old Scotch poetry. I shall
here set down one verse of the piece mentioned above,
both to mark tiie song and tune I mean, and likewise as a
debt I owe to the author, as the repeating of that verse has
lighted up my flame a thousand times : —
When clouds in skies do cotne together
To hide the brightness of the weather.
There will surely be some pleasant weather
When a* their storms are past and gone.*
Though fickle fortune has deceived me.
She promis'd lair and peiformd but ill $
Of mistress, ftiends, and wealth bereav'd me.
Yet I bear a heart shall support me stilL
1*11 act with prudence as far*s Pm able,
But if success I must never find.
Then come misfortune, I bid tftiee w^ome,
I'll meet thee irith an undaunted mind.
The above was an extempore, under the pressure of a
heavy train of misfortunes, which. Indeed, threatened to
undo n&e altogether. It was just at the dose of that dread-
ful period mentioned p. viii.f and though the weather has
brightened up a little wHh me, yeft there has always been
since a tempest brewing round me in the grim sky of
* Alluding to the misfortunes he feelingly laments before this
verse. (This is the authoi^s note.)
t Of the original MS. ; see the remark, Bfarch, 1 784, begin-
ning, There wtu a certain period, &c.— -M.
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 289
futurity, which I pretty plainly see will some time or other,
perhaps ere long, overwhelm me, and drive me into some
doleful! dell, to pine in solitary, squalid wretchedness.
However, as I hope my poor country muse, who, all rustic,
awkward, and unpolished as she is, has more charms for me
than any other of the pleasures of life beside — as I hope
she will not then desert me, I may even then learn to be,
if not happy, at last easy, and south a sang to soothe my
misery.
'Twas at the same time I set about composing an air in
the old Scotch style. — I am not musical scholar enough to
prick down my tune properly, so it can never see the light,
and perhaps 'tis no great matter ; but the following were
the verses I composed to suit it : —
O raging fortune's withering blast
Has laid my leaf full low, O I
O raging fortune's withering blast,
Has laid my leaf full low ! O.
My stem was fair, my bud Was green,
My blossom sweet did blow ; O,
The dew fell fresh, the sun rose mild.
And made my branches grow ; O.
But luckless fortune's northern storms
Laid a' my blossoms low, O,
But luckless fortuned northern storms
Laid a' my blossoms low, O.
The tune consisted of three parts, so that the above
verses just went through the whole air.
October, 1785.
If ever any young man, in the vestibule of the world,
chance to throw his eye over these pages, let him pay a
3 2 b
290 IVURKi OF BURNS.
warm attention to the following observations, as I assure
him they are the fruit of a poor devil's dear-bought ex-
perience. — I have literally, like that great poet and great
gallant, and by consequence, that great fool, Solomon,
*' turned my eyes to behold madness and folly.** Nay, I
have, with all the ardour of lively, fenciful, and whimsical
imagination, accompanied with a warm, feeling, poetic heart,
shaken hands with their intoxicating friendship.
In the first place, let my pupil, as he tenders his own
peace, keep up a regular, warm intercourse with the
Deity. R. B.*
No. IX.
TO MR JAMES BURNESS, MONTROSE.
LOCHLEA, nth Feb. 1784.
Dear Cousin,
I WOULD have returned you my thanks for your kind
favour of the ISth of December sooner, had it not been that
I waited to give you an account of that melanchply event,
which, for some time past, we have from day to day ex-
pected.
On the 13th current I lost the best of fathers. Though,
* Dr Currie, in his edition of the Poet's works, published only
portions of this interesting commonplace, or scrap-book, which
Bums had begun in April, 1783, and abruptly finished in October,
1785 ; but Mr Cromek, in his Reliques, very judiciously we think,
though the critic in the Edinburgh Review thinks differently,
presented the public with the whole of its contents. Speaking
of the Reliques, the editor says, " It has been the chief object in
making this collection, not to omit any thing which might illus-
trate the character and feelings of the Bard at different periods
of his life. Hence these * Observations' are given entire from his
manuscript. A small portion appears in Dr Curriers edition ; but
the reader will pardon the repetition of it here, when he con-
siders how much so valuable a paper would lose by being given
in fragments." — M.
n
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 291
m
to be sure, we have had long warning of the' impending
stroke ; still the feelings of nature claim their part, and
I cannot recollect the tender endearments and parental
lessons of the best of friends and ablest of instructors, with-
out feeling what perhaps the calmer dictates of reason
would partly condemn.
I hope my &ther's friends in your country will not let
their connexion in this place die with him. For my part
I shall ever with pleasure — with pride, acknowledge my
connexion with those who were allied by the ties of blood
and friendship to a man whose memory I shall ever honour
and revere.
I expect, therefore, my dear Sir, you will not neglect any
opportunity of letting me hear from you, which will very
much oblige,
My dear Cousin, yours sincerely,
R. 6.
No. X.
TO MR JAMES BURNESS, MONTROSE.
MOSSGIEL, Jugtut, 1784.
We have been surprised with one of the most extraor-
dinary phenomena in the moral world which, I dare say,
has happened in the course of tliis half century. We have
had a party of Presbytery relief, as they call themselves, for
some time in this country. A pretty thriving society of
them has been in the burgh of Irvine for some years past,
till about two years ago a Mrs Buchan from Glasgow came
among them, and began to spread some fanatical notions of
religion among them, and, in a short time, made many con-
verts ; and, among others, their preacher, Mr Whyte, who,
upon that account, has been suspended and formally de-
posed by his brethren. He continued, however, to preach
in private to his party, and was supported, both he, and
2b2
292 WORKS OF BUANS.
their spiritual mother, as they affect to call old Budian, by
the contributions of the rest, seyeral of whom were in good
circumstances ; till, in spring last, the populace rose and
mobbed Mrs Buchan, and put her out of the town ; on
which, all her followers voluntarily quitted the place like-
wise, and with such precipitation, that many of them never
shut their doors behind them ; one left a washing on the
green, another a cow bellowing at the crib without food, or
any body to mind her, and after several stages, they are
iijced at present in the neighbourhood of Dumfries. Their
tenets are a strange jumble of enthusiastic jargon ; among
others, she pretends to give them the Holy Ghost by breath-
ing on them, which she does with postures and practices
that are scandalously indecent ; they have likewise disposed
of all their effects, and hold a community of goods, and live
nearly an idle life, carrjring on a great farce of pretended
devotion in barns and woods, where they lodge and lie all
together, and hold likewise a community of women, as it is
another of their tenets that they can commit no moral sin.
I am personally acquainted with most of them, and I can
assure you the above mentioned are facts.*
* We abridge from the Christian Jounial the account given in
that periodical of the rise and extinction of this sect of fanatics :
— '* This party of religious enthusiasts arose in Irvine in 1788.
The leaders were Mr White, minister of the Relief congregation
there, and Mrs Buchan, from whom they derived their name.
Tliough but half a century has elapsed since this delusion com-
menced, it has become very difficult to procure authentic informa-
tion respecting it. Mr White was a native of St Ninians, and a
licentiate of the Church of Scotland. He has often preached
both in the High and Low Churches of Paisley ; and it is said
dwelt much on the terrors of the law. His preaching was ac-
ceptable ; but he is described as having been a man of very slen-
der parts, and extremely vain. What induced him to leave the
Establishment, and join the Relief body, has not been ascertained.
His acquaintance with Mrs Buchan commenced on his coming to
Glasgow, in April, 1783, to assist at dispensing the Lord's Supper.
The maiden name of this artful enthusiast was Elspet Simson :
she was bom about 1 740 ; and her father kept an inn about half
way betwixt Banff and Portsoy. When little more than twenty
yoars of age, she came to Glasgow, where she was engaged as a
1
GKNEEAL CORRESPONDBNCB. 293
This, my dear Sir, is one of the many instances of the
folly of leaving the guidance of sound reason and common
sense in matters of religion.
Whenever we neglect or despise these sacred monitors,
senrant. A short time after she married Robert Bachan, a work-
man at the Delf work in Glasgow, at which time she belonged to
the Scottish Episcopalians ; but her husband being a Burgher-
Seceder, she adopted his principles, and was admitted into com-
munion with that body. She had several children, but only three
were alive when she left her husband — ^a son and two daughters.
'* For several years previous to her delusions becoming public
she had been unsettled in her religious belief, and she had adopted
many extraordinary and visionary doctrines. She fancied herself
the woman foretold in Rev. ch. xii. , clothed with the sun, and
having the moon under her feet, and on her head a crown of
twelve stars. She does not appear in the beginning of her career
to have made any proselytes, and Mr White is the first recorded.
Having heard him preach on the sacrament Monday, she pre-
tended she had at once discovered in him a kindred spirit She
addressed a letter to him, expressive of her admiration of his dis-
course ; had a personal interview with him, and by her flatteries .
gained an entire ascendancy over him. In a few days she followed
him to Irvine, becoming an inmate of his house. A change in
his doctrine was observed the next Sabbath ; and this becoming
greater each week, Mrs B. was considered to be the cause of it.
He was requested to dismiss her; but he answered he would
sooner cut off his right hand. Certain queries were proposed to
him, to which he gave written answers. These left no doubt of
his deviations from the faith ; and the matter was brought before
the Presbytery of Glasgow. He was cited before them and ap-
peared. He made no attempt to deny or palliate his errors ; and
a sentence of suspension was pronounced against him, to which
he paid no attention, but continued to preach and disseminate
his doctrines. He was then Ubelled by the Presbytery, appeared
in person, defended his doctrines, and was dei)osed in October,
1788.
** Subsequently to this, Mr White and Mrs Buchan publisheil
several pamphlets on their peculiar delusions : one of which is
entitled * The Divine Dictionary, or a treatise indited by holy
inspiration, containing the faith and practice of the people called
Bttchanites ; who are actually waiting for the second coming of
our Lord, and who believe that they alive shall be changed and
translated into the clouds to meet the Lord in the air.' This
was only the first number of a large work White intended to pub-
lish. In it he calls Mrs B. the woman prophesied of in Rev. ch.
xii. i says she is God's only vicegerent on earth in this genera-
2 Jta
294 WORKS OP BURNS.
the whimsical notions of a perturbated brain are taken for
the immediate influences of the Deity, and the wildest
fanaticism, and the most inconstant absurdities, will meet
with abettors and converts. Nay, I have often thought,
tion ; and professes to have learned the sentiments in his work
from her, * though not told,* says he, 'with the same divine
simplicity as she declared them.* The style of this work is very
poor ; in many parts it is obscure, confused, and scarcely intelli-
gible, and indicates a total departure from the truth. Mr W.
still continued to reside in Irvine, where he preached first in a
tent, and afterwards in his house, and zealously propagated the
tenets of Mrs Bucban. Converts were made, mostly inhabitants
of the town, who had been members of the Relief body, but some
also from places at a distance. They met in the night, and were
instructed by the prophetess. Strange accounts were given of
their doctrine and manner of worship, which drew the indigna-
tion of the populace upon them. The house where they met
was several times surrounded, the windows and furniture broken,
and greater extremities would have been used, but for the inter-
vention of the magistrates ; who at length thought it prudent to
dismiss her from the place, which was done in May, 1784. To
protect her, they accompanied her a mile out of town ; but not-
withstanding she was grossly maltreated. She stopped that night
with some of her followers near Kilmaurs, and, being joined by
Mr White and others in the morning, the whole, about forty in
number, proceeded, singing hymns as they went, to Mauchline, and
thence by Cumnock, to Closebum in Dumfriesshire. There they
halted, and took possession of the offices of a farm-house, paying
for it, and all they asked for.
** This sect paid great attention to their Bible, having it always
at hand ; spent a great deal of time in singing hymns in which
their peculiar tenets were expressed, and in cotiversing about re-
ligion. They believed the last day was at hand — that none of
their number should die, but would soon hear the sound of the
last trumpet, when all the wicked should be struck dead, and re-
main so for a thousand years, while they should live and reign
with Christ on the earth. They neither married nor gave in
marriage, professing to live a holy life as the angels of God,
having one common purse* and regarding one another as brothers
and sisters. When asked if they had communications for their
fiiends and relations, they answered, they minded not former
things or connections, but that their whole attention was devoted
to their fellow-saints. Many gross reports were circulated con-
cerning them ; but these were generally considered calumnies.
For some time they followed no industry, or if they worked, re-
fused all wages, declaring their object in doing so was to mix
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 295
chat the more out-of-the»way and ridiculous the fancies are,
if once they are sanctified under the sacred name of religion,
tlie unhappy mistaken votaries are the more firmly glued
to them.
R. B.
No. XI.
TO MISS —
My deae Cocnteywoman,
I AM so impatient to show you that I am once more at
peace with you, that I send you the book I mentioned di-
rectly rather than wait the uncertain time of my seeing you.
I am afraid I have mislaid or lost Collins' Poems, which I
promised to Miss Irvin. If I can find them, I will forward
them by you ; if not, you must apologize for me.
I know you will laugh at it when I tell you that your
piano and you together have played the deuce somehow
about my heart. My breast has been widowed these many
with others, and inculcate their doctrines. Afterwards, boweyer,
they changed their minds, and, removing from Closeburn to the
parish of Kirkpatrick-Durham, they rented a considerable farm,
which they cultivated in common. In course of time several
withdrew and returned to their relations; and, at last, Mrs
Buchan died, contrary to her own predictions. On this Mr
White acted very disingenuously. He pretended at first she was
only in a trance; and afterwards he had her buried privately
without the knowledge of her votaries, alleging she was taken up
to heaven. A magistrate, however, to his great mortification,
obliged him to produce the body, on which he was so affronted,
and felt his character so disgraced, that he went off to America.
These circumstances must have proved sad blows to the delusion ;
and accordingly the party gradually disoersed, and dropped out
of public view." — M.
* Cromek assigns the composition of this letter to the year
1 784, and hazards the conjecture that it may have been address-
ed to the Peggy alluded to by Burns in his commonplace book.
— M.
mmmmmmtmmmt^
296 WORKS OF BURNS.
months, and I thought myself proof against the fascioating
witchcraft ; but I am afraid you will " feelingly convince
me what I am." I say, I am afmid, because I am not sure
what is the matter with me. I have one miserable bad
symptom ; when you wliisper, or look kindly to another, it
gives me a draught of damnation. I have a kind of wayward
wish to be with you ten minutes by yourself, though what
I would say, Heaven above knows, for I am sure I know
not I have no formed design in all this ; but just, in the
nakedness of my heart, write you down a mere matter-of-
fact story. You may perhaps give yourself airs of distance
on this, and that will completely cure me ; but I wish you
would not ; just let us meet, if you please, in the old beat-
en way of friendship.
I will not subscribe myself your humble servant, for that
is a phrase I think, at least fifty miles off from the heart ;
but I will conclude with sincerely wishing that the Great
Protector of innocence may shield you from the barbed
dart of calumny, and hand you by the covert snare of deceit.
R. B*
No. XII.
rO MB JOHN RICHMOND, EDINBURGH.*
MOSSGIEL, Feb, 17, 1786.
Mt dear Sir,
I HAVE not time at present to upbraid you for your silence
and neglect ; I shall only say I received yours with great
* Mr Richmond was an early friend of the Poet, and it was
with him he lodged, when be first went to Edinburgh, and to
bim we are indebted for many valuable reminiscences of Burns*
early efforts in poetry. Gonnell was the Mauchline carrier, and
Smith was then a shopkeeper in Mauchline. It was to this James
Smith that Burns addressed one of his performances, beginning
''Dear S , the sleest paukie thief." He died in the West
GENERAL CORUESPONDENCE. 297
pleasure. I have iDclosed you a piece of rhyming ware for
your perusal. I have been very busy with the muses since
I saw you, and have composed, among several others, * The
Ordination/ a poem on Mr M'Kinlay's being called to
Kilmarnock ; * Scotch Drink,' a poem ; * The Cottar's
Saturday Night ;' * An Address to the Devil,* &c. I
have likewise completed my poem on the * Dogs,* but
have not shown it to the world. My chief patron now is
Mr Aikin in Ayr, who is pleased to express great approba-
tion of my works. Be so good as send me Fergusson, by
Connel, and I will remit you the money. I have no news
to acquaint you with about Mauchline, they are just going
on in the old way. I have some very important news with
respect to myself, not the most agreeable — news that I am
sure you cannot guess, but I shall give you the particulars
another time. I am extremely happy with Smith ; he is
the only friend I have now in Mauchline. I can scarcely
forgive your long neglect of me, and I beg you will let me
hear from you regularly by ConneL If you would act your
part as a friend, I am sure neither good nor bad fortune
should strange or alter me. Excuse haste, as I got yours
but yesterday.
I am, my dear Sir,
Yours,
ROBERT BURNESS.
Indies. Cromek, who first gave this letter to the public, says,
this is the only letter he had met with in which the Poet added
the termination, ess, to his name as his father and family liad
spelled it ; but in the letter immediately following, it will be
seen that at its date he still adhered to the ancient orthography
— M.
298 WORKS OF BU&HS.
No. XI 11.
TO MB JOHN KENNEDY.
MOSSGIEL, 9d March, 1786.
Sir,
I HAVE done myself the pleasure of complying with your
request in sending you my Cottager. If you have a leisure
minute, I should be glad you would copy it and return
me either the original or the transcript, as I have not a
copy of it by me, and I have a friend who wishes to see it
Now Kennedy, if foot or horse
E'er bring you in by Mauchline Corse,
Lord, man, there*s lasses there wad force
A hermit's fancy ;
And down the gate in faith they're worse,
And mair unchancy.
But, as I'm sayin', please step to Dows,
And taste sic gear as Johnnie brews.
Till some bit callan bring me news
That you are there ;
And if we dinna baud a bouze '
Ise ne'er drink mair.
It's no I like to sit and swallow.
Then like a swine to puke and wallow ;
But gie me just a true good fallow,
Wi' right engine.
And spunkie ance to make us mellow.
And then we'll shine.
Now, if ye're ane o' warld's folk,
Wha rate the wearer by the cloak.
And sklent on poverty their joke,
Wi bitter sneer.
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 299
Wi* you no friendship will I troke.
Nor cheap nor dear.
But if, as I'm informed weel.
Ye hate, as ill's the vera deil.
The flinty heart that canna feel.
Come, Sir, here's tae you !
Hae, there's my haun', I wiss you weel.
And gude be wi* you !
R. B.
No. XIV.
TO MR ROBERT MUIR, KILMARNOCK.*
MOSSGIEL, 20th March, } 786.
Dear Sir,
I AM heartily soriy I had not the pleasure of seeing you
as you returned through Mauchline ; but as I was engaged,
I could not be in town before the evening.
I here inclose you my * Scotch Drink/ and ** may the
— follow with a blessing for your edification." I hope,
sometime before we hear the gowk, to have the pleasure of
seeing you at Kilmarnock, when I intend we shall have a
gill between us, in a mutchkin-stoup ; which will be a
great comfort and consolation to.
Dear Sir,
Your humble servant,
ROBERT BURNESS.
* Mr Muir was a staunch friend of Bams, and did him many
good offices. When the Edinburgh edition of his poems was
announced, Muir subscribed for 40 copies, as well as lued his in*
fluenoe among his friends and acquaintances to induce them to
be equally liberal.— >M.
«■
330 WORKS OF BUBNS.
No. XV.
TO MR AIKIN.
MosSGlElf, dd April, 1786.
Dkar Sir,
I RECEiYED your kind letter with double pleasure on ac-
count of the second flattering instance of Mrs C.'s notice
and approbation. I assure you I
" Turn out the brunt side o' my shin/'
as the famous Ramsay, of jingling memory, says, at such a
patroness. Present her my most grateful acknowledg-
ments in your very best mannei' of telling truth. I have
inscribed the following stanza on the blank leaf of Miss
Mores' work.
Thou flattering mark of friendship kind,
Still may thy pages call to mind
The dear the beauteous donor :
Though sweetly female every part.
Yet such a head, and more the heart,
Does both the 3exes honour.
She show'd her taste refined and just
When she selected thee.
Yet deviating own I must.
For so approving me.
But kind still, I mind still.
The giver in the gift,
ril bless her, and wiss her
A friend above the Lift.
My proposals for publishmg I am just going to send to
press. I expect to hear from you by the first opportunity.
I am» ever dear Sir, yojirs,
ROBERT BURNESS.
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 301
No. XVI.
TO MR M'WHINNIE, WRITER, AYR.*
MosSGiEL, nth April, 1786.
It is injuring some hearts, those hearts that elegantly
bear the impression of the good Creator, to say to them
you give them the trouble of obliging a friend ; for this
reason, I only tell you that I gratify my own feelings in re-
questing your friendly offices with respect to the inclosed,
because I knpw it will gratify yours to assist me in it to
the utmost of your power.
I liave sent you four copies, as I have no less than eight
dozen, which b a great deal more than I shall ever need.
Be sure to remember a poor poet militant in your prayers.
He looks forward with fear and trembling to that, to him,
important moment which stamps the die with — ^with — with,
perhaps, the eternal disgrace of.
My dear Sir, •
Your humble,
afflicted, tormented,
ROBERT BURNS.
No. XVII.
TO MR ROBERT MUIR, KILMARNOCK.
MO886IEL, Friday Morning.
My Friend, mt Brother,
Warm recollection of an absent friend presses so hard
upon my heart, that I send him the prefixed bagatelle (the
* This letter inclbsed some subscription lists for his poems,
and it is gratifying to know that this gentleman, as well as the
rest of the Poet's friends, were not backward in falflUing the
Poet's wishes. — M.
3 2c
i)02 WORKS OF BURKS.
Calf), pleased with the thought that it will greet the man
of my bosom, and be a kind of distant language of friend-
ship.
You will have heard that poor Armour has repaid me
double. A very fine boy and a girl have awakened a thought
and feelings that thrill, some with tender pressure and some
with foreboding anguish, through my soul.
The poem was nearly an extemporaneous production, on
a wager with Mr Hamilton, that I would not produce a
poem ou the subject in a given time.
If you think it worth while, read it to Charles and Mr
W. Parker, and if they choose a copy of it, it is at their
service, as they are men whose friendship I shall be proud
to daim, both in this world and that which is to come.
I believe all hopes of staying at home will be abortive ;
but more of this when, in the latter part of next week, you
shall be troubled with a visit from.
My dear Sir,
Your most devoted,
R.B.
No. XVIII.
TO MR JOHN KENNEDY.
MOSSGTEL, 20th April, 1786.
Sir,
By some neglect in Mr Hamilton, I did not hear of your
kind request for a subscription paper till this day. I will
not attempt any acknowledgment for this, nor the manner
in which I see your name in Mr Hamilton's subscription list.
Allow me only to say, Sir, I feel the weight of the debt.
I have here, likewise, inclosed a small piece, the very
latest of my productions.* I am a good deal pleased with
* The piece alluded to was the < Moan tain Daisy;' in the
MS. it 18 enUtled, *The Gowan.'— M.
GENERAL CORRESPOliriDENCE. 303
some sentiments myself as they are just the native queru-
lous feelings of a heart, which, as the elegantly melting
Gray says, " melancholy has marked for her own/*
Our race comes on apace — ^that much expected scene of
revdry and mirth — ^but to me it brings no joy equal to that
meeting with which your last flattered the expectation of.
Sir, your indebted humble servant,
R. B.
No. XIX.
TO MR JOHN KENNEDY.
MOSSGTEL, llth May, 1786.
Dbar Sir,
I HATE sent you the above hasty copy as I promised.*
In about three weeks I shall probably set the press agoing.
I am much hurried at present, otherwise your diligence so
very friendly in my subscription should have a more
lengthened acknowledgment
Dear Sir,
Your obliged servant,
R. B.
No. XX.
TO MONS. JAMES SMITH, MAUCHLINE.f
Monday Morning, MoBSGlEL, 1786.
Mt dear Sir.
I WENT to Dr Douglas yesterday, fully resolved to take
the opportunity of Captain Smith ; but I found the Doc-
* This was a copy of the well-known epistle to Rankine. — ^M.
^ -I* It is mentioned before that Smith died in Jamaica, to which
' colony he had gone for the purpose of improying bis worldly
prospects after they had been rained in this oountry. — M.
2c2
904 WORKS OF BURNS. '
tor with a Mr and Mrs White, both Jamaicans, and they
have deranged my plans altogether. They assure him that
to send me from Savannah la Mar to Port Antonio, will
cost my master, Charles Douglas, upwards of fifty pounds ;
besides running the risk of throwing myself into a pleuritic
fever in consequence of hard travelling in the sun. On these
accounts, he refuses sending me with Smith ; but a vessel
sails from Greenock the first of September, right for the
place of my destination. The Captain of her is an intim-
ate friend of Mr Gavin Hamilton's, and as good a fellow as
heart could wish : with him I am destined to go. Where
I shall shelter, I know not, but I hope to weather the
storm. Perish the drop of blood of mine that fears them !
I know their worst, and am prepared to meet it : —
** III laugh, and sing, and shake my leg,
As lang's I dow."
On Thursday morning, if you can muster as much self-
denial as to be out of bed about seven o'clock, I shall see
you as I ride through to Cumnock. After all. Heaven
bless the sex ! I feel there is still happiness for me among
them : —
** O woman, lovely woman I Heaven designed you
To temper man ! — we had been brutes without you !**
R. B.
No. xxr.
TO MR DAVID BRICE.*
MOSSGIEL, June 12, 1786.
Dear Brice,
I RECEIVED your message by G. Paterson, and as I am
not very throng at present, I just write to let you know
* Brice was to trade a shoemaker, and when he received Ihig
letter he was working in Glasgow. — M.
GENEAAL CORkESPONDENCE. SOd
that there is such a worthless, rhyming reprobate, as your
humble servant, still in the land of the living, though I can
scarcely say, in the place of hope. I have no news to tell
you that will give me any pleasure to mention, or you to hear.
Poor ill-advised, ungrateful Armour came home on Friday
last. You have heard all the particulars of that affair, and
a black affair it is. What she thinks of her conduct now
I don't know ; one thing I do know — she has made me
completely miserable. Never man loved, or rather adored
a woman more than I did her ; and, to confess a truth
between you and me, I do still love her to distraction after
all, though I won't tell her so if I were to see her, which I
don't want to do. My poor dear unfortunate Jean ! how
happy have I been in thy arms ! It is not the losing her
that makes me so unhappy, but for her sake I feel most
severely : I foresee she is in the road to, I am afraid, eter-
nal ruin.
May Almighty God forgive her ingratitude and perjury
to me, as I from my very soul forgive her ; and may his
grace be with her and bless her in all her future life I I
can have no nearer idea of the place of eternal punishment
than what I have felt in my own breast onlier account I
have tried often to forget her ; I have run into all kinds of
dissipation and riots, mason-meetings, drinking-matches,
and other mischief, to drive her out of my head, but all in
vain. And now for a grand cure ; the ship is on her way
home that is to take me out to Jamaica; and then, fere-
well dear old Scotland ; and farewell dear ungrateful Jean I
for never, never will I see you more.
You will have heard that I am going to commence poet
in print ; and to-morrow my works go to the press. I expect
it will be a volume of about two hundred pages — it is just
the last foolish action I intend to do ; and then turn a
wise man as fast as possible.
Believe me to be, dear Brice,
Your friend and well-wisher,
R. B.
2 r. 3
•SOG WUHKii UK 15 1' UN'S.
No. XXII.
TO MR ROBERT AlKIN.*
Ayrshire, 1786.
Sir,
I WAS with Wilson, my printer, t'other day, and settled
all our by-gone matters between us. After I had paid him
all demands, I made him the offer of the second edition, oa
the hazard of being paid out of the first and readiest, which
he declines. By his account, the paper of a thousand copies
would cost about twenty-seven pounds, and the printing
about fifteen or sixteen : he offers to agree to this for the
printing, if I will advance for the paper, but this, you know,
is out of my power ; so farewell hopes of a second edition
Hill I grow richer ! an epocha which, I think, will arrive at
the payment of the British national debt.
There is scarcely any thing hurts me so much in being
disappointed of my second edition, as not having it in my
power to show my gratitude to Mr Ballantine, by publish-
ing my poem of * The Brigs of Ayr.* I would detest my-
self as a wretch, if I thought I were capable in a very
long life of forgetting the honest, warm, and tender deli-
cacy with which he enters into my interests. I am some-
times pleased with myself in my grateful sensations ; but
I believe, on the whole, I have very little merit in it, as
my gratitude is not a virtue, the consequence of reflection ;
but sheerly the instinctive emotion of my heart, too inat-
tentive to allow worldly maxims and views to settle into
selfish habits.
* Dr Carrie says, " This letter was evidently written under the
distress of mind occasioned by our Poet's separation from Mrs
Bums.** It was to Mr Aikin that the Poet inscribed his * Cotter*8
Saturday Night.' Betwixt the law7er — for that was Mr Aikin's
profession — and the Poet, some estrangement of feeling afterwards
took place in consequence of the different views each was inclin-
ed to take regarding the delicate case of Jean Armour. — M.
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 307
I have been feeling all the various rotations and move-
ments within, respecting the excise. There are many
things plead strongly against it ; the uncertainty of getting
soon into business -, the consequences of my follies, which
may perhaps make it impracticable for me to stay at home ;
and besides I have for some time been pining under secret
wretchedness, from causes which you pretty well know —
the pang of disappointment, the sting of pride, with some
wandering stabs of remorse, which never &il to settle on
my vitals like vultures, when attention is not called away
by the calls of society, or the vagaries of the muse. Even,
in the hour of social mirth, my gaiety is the madness of an
intoxicated criminal under the hands of the executioner.'
All these reasons urge me to go abroad, and to all these
reasons I have only one answer — the feelings of a &ther.
This, in the present mood I am in, overbalances every thing
that can be laid in the scale against it.
You may perhaps think it an extravagant fimcy, but it is
a sentiment which strikes home to my very soul : though
sceptical in some points of our current belief, yet, I think,
I have ever}' evidence for the reality of a life beyond the
stinted bourne of our present existence ; if so, then, how
should I, in the presence of that tremendous Being, the
Author of existence, how should I meet the reproaches of
those who stand to me in the dear relation of children,
whom I deserted in the smiling innocency of helpless in-
fancy ? O, thou great unknown Power I — ^thou almighty
God! who hast lighted up reason in my breast, and blessed
me with immortality ! — I have frequently wandered from
tliat order and regularity necessary for the perfection of thy
works, yet thou hast never left me nor forsaken me !
Since I wrote the foregoing sheet, I have seen something
of tlie storm of mischief thickening over my folly-devoted
head. Should you, my friends, my benefactors, be success-
ful in your applications for me, perhaps it may not be in
my power in that way, to reap the fruit of your friendly
efforts. What I have written in the preceding pages, is
S08 WOBI8 OF BUBNft.
the settled tenor of my present resolution ; but should in-
imical circumstances forbid me closing with your kind ofiTer,
or enjoying it only threaten to entail farther misery
To tell the truth, I have little reason for complaint ; as
the world, in general, has been kind to me fully up to my
deserts. I was, for some time past, fast getting into the
pining, distrustful snarl of the misanthrope. I saw myself
alone, unfit for the struggle of life, shrinking at every rising
cloud in the chance-directed atmosphere of fortune, while,
all defenceless, I looked about in vain for a cover. It never
occurred to me, at least never with the force it deserved,
that this world is a busy scene, and man, a creature destined
for a progressive struggle ; and that, however I might pos-
sess a warm heart and inoffensive manners (which last, by
the bye, was rather more than I could well boast) ; still,
more than these passive qualities, there was something to
be done. When all my school-fellows and youthful com-
peers (those misguided few excepted who joined, to use a
Gen too phrase, the '* hallachores'* of the human race) were
striking off* with eager hope and earnest intent* in some
one or other of the many paths of busy life, I was " stand-
ing idle in the market-place,'* or only left the chase of the
butterfly from flower to flower, to hunt fancy from whim
to whim.
You see. Sir, tliat if to know one's errors were a proba-
bility of mending them, I stand a fair chance : but, accord-
ing to the reverend Westminster divines, though convic-
tion must precede conversion, it is very &r from always im-
plying it.
K. B.
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 309
No. XXIII.
TO JOHN BALLANTINE, OF AYR.
June, 1786.
Honoured Sir,
My proposals came to hand last night, and, knowing that
you would wish to have it in your power to do me a ser-
vice as early as any body, I inclose you half a sheet of
them. I must consult you, first opportunity, on the pro-
priety of sending my quondam friend, Mr Mkin, a copy.
If he is now reconciled to my character as an honest man, I
would do it with all my soul ; but I would not be beholden
to the noblest being ever God created, if he imagined me
to be a rascal. Apropos, old Mr Armour prevailed with
him to mutilate tliat unlucky paper yesterday. Would you
believe it ? though I had not a hope, nor even a wish, to
make her mine after her conduct; yet, when he told me,
the names were all out of the paper, my heart died within
me, and he cut my veins with the news. Perdition seize
her falsehood.*
R. B.
No. XXIV.
TO JOHN RICHMOND, EDINBURGH.
MOSSGIEL, 9th July, 1786.
With the sincerest grief I read your letter. You are
truly a son of misfortune. I shall be extremely anxious to
liear from you how your health goes on ; if it is any way
re-establishing, or if Leith promises well: in short, how
vou feel in the inner man.
* Old Armour, by his bigotted pride and foolish scruples,
seems to have inflicted unnecessary anguish on two hearts sin-
cerely attached to each other. — M.
310 WORKS OP BURNS.
No news worth any thing ; only godly Bryan was in the
inquisition yesterday, and half the countryside as witnesses
against him. He still stands out steady and denying : but
proof was led yesternight of circumstances highly suspicious ;
almost de facto ; one of the servant girls made &ith that
she upon a time rashly entered into the house, to speak in
your cant, " in the hour of cause."
I have waited on Armour since her return home ; not
from the least view of reconciliation, but merely to ask for
her health, and to you I will confess it, from a foolish han-
kering fondiess, very ill placed indeed. The mother for-
bade me the house, nor did Jean show that penitence that
might have been expected. However, the priest, I am in-
formed, will give me a certificate as a single man, if I com-
ply with the rules of the church, which for that very reason
I intend to do.
I am going to put on sackcloth and ashes this day. I
am indulged so £Eir as to appear in my own seat. Peccavi,
pater, miserere met. My book will be ready in a fortnight.
If you have any subscribers, return them by Connell. The
Lord stand with the righteous ; amen, amen.
R. B.
No. XXV.
TO MR DAVID BRICE,
SHOEMAKER, GLASGOW.
MOBSGIEL, 17M Jvlyt 1786.
I HAVE been so throng printing my Poems, that I could
scarcely find as much time as to write to you. Poor Ar-
mour is come back again to Mauchline, and I went to call for
her, and her mother forbade me the house, nor did she her-
self express much sorrow for what she has done. I have
already appeared publicly in church, and was indulged in
GENERAL COBRESPONDENCE. 3 1 1
the liberty ot standing in my own seat. I do this to get a
certificate as a bachelor, which Mr Auld has promised me.
I am DOW fixed to go for the West Indies in October.
Jean and her friends insisted much that she should stand
along with me in the kirk, but the minister would not allow
it, which bred a great trouble I assure you, and I am
blamed as the cause of it, though I am sure I am innocent ;
but I am very much pleased, for all that, not to have had
her company. I have no news to tell yoU that I remem-
ber. I am really happy to hear of your welfare, and that
you are so well in Glasgow. I must certainly see you be-
fore I leave the country. I shall expect to hear from you
soon, and am,
Dear Brice,
Yours,— R. B
No. XXVI.
Sir,.
Yours this moment I unseal.
And &ith I*m gay and hearty !
To tell the truth, and shame the dell,
I am as fou' as Bartie :
But Foorsday, Sir, my promise leal,
Expect me o* your partie.
If on a beastie I can speel.
Or hurl in a cartie.
Yours,
ROBERT BURNS.*
Machun, Monday nighty 10 o'clock,
' The original MS. of the above card is preserved in the Paisley
Library. We are informed it was presented to the library by the
late Mr John Oarkson, of M^Gavin and Clarkson, tbreadmitkers.
Paisley. To whom it was addressed, the MS. affords no clue.
An inaccurate copy of it appears in Mr Cunningham's edition of
the Poet*s works. — M.
312 WORKS OF BUllNS.
No. XXVII.
TO MR JOHN RICHMOND.
6ld Rom£ Forest, QOth July, 1786.
My dear Richmond,
My hour is now come — ^you and I will never meet in
Britain more. I have orders, within three weeks at far-
thest, to repair aboard the Nancy, Captain Smith, from
Clyde, to Jamaica, and to call at Antigua. This, except
to our friend Smith, whom God long preserve, is a secret
about Mauchline. Would you believe it? Armour has
got a warrant to throw me in jail till I find security for an
enormous sum. This they keep an entire secret, but I got
H by a channel they little dream of ; and I am wandering
from one friend's house to another, and, like a true son of
the gospel, " have no where to lay my head." I know you
will pour an execration on her head, but spare the poor,
ill-advised girl, for my sake ; though may all the furies that
rend the injured, enraged lover*s bosom, await her mother
until her latest hour ! I write in a moment of rage, re-
flecting on my miserable situation-^exiled, abandoned, for-
lorn. I can write do more — ^let me hear from you by the
return of coach. I will write you ere I go*
I am, dear Sir,
Yours, here and hereafter,
R. B.
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 913
No. XXVIII.
TO MRS DUNLOP OF DUNLOP.*
Ayrshire, /u/y, 1786.
Madam,
I AM truly sorry I was not at home yesterday, when I
was so much honoured with your order for my copies, and
incomparably more by the handsome compliments you are
pleased to pay my poetic abilities. I am fully persuaded
that there is not any class of mankind so feelingly alive to
the titilations of applause as the sons of Parnassus : nor is
it easy to conceive how the heart of the poor bard dances
with rapture, when those, whose character in life gives
them a right to be polite judges, honour him with their
approbation. Had you been thoroughly acquainted with
me, Madam, you could not have touched my darling heart-
chord more sweetly than by noticing my attempts to cele-
brate your illustrious ancestor, the Saviour of his country.
" Great patriot hero ! ill-requited chief T
The first book I met with in my early years, which I
perused with pleasure, was, * The Life of Hannibal ;* the
* Speaking of his letters, Mr Jeffray says, (see Edinburgh Re-
view, for Jan. 1809,) "Of his other letters, those addressed to
Mrs Dunlop are, in our opinion, by far the best. He appears
from first to last, to have stood somewhat in awe of this excellent
lady, and to have been no less sensible of her sound judgment
and strict sense of propriety, than of her steady and generous
partiality.*' In support of his opinion, the critic adduces vari-
ous passages in several letters, which occur afterwards, and to
which we shall direct the reader's attention when they occur.
Mrs Dunlop was a kind and steady friend to the Bard, from the
first time he was knovm as an author till the close of his melan-
choly career, and exercised a great and beneficial influence over
his wayward muse. Bums, with infinite address, though we
daresay with the utmost sincerity, has, in this letter, flattered the
family predilections of the worthy and talented lady, who vras
amongst the first in the higher walks of life to pay befitting
homage to his genius. — M.
3 2d
314 WORKS OF BURNS.
next was, ' The History of Sir William Wallace :' fcr
seferal of my earlier years I bad few other authors ; aod
many a solitary hour have I stole out, aftor the laborious
vocations of the day, to shed a tear over their glorious, but
(infortunate stories. In those boyish days I remember, in
particular, being struck witli that part of Wallace's story
where these lines occur —
" Syne to the Leglen wood, when it was late^
To make a silent and a safe retreat."
I chose a fine summer Sunday, the only day my line of
life allowed, and walked half a dozen of miles to pay my
respects to the Leglen wood, with as much devout enthusiasm
as ever pilgrim did to Loretto ; and as I explored every
den and dell where I could suppose my heroic countryman
to have lodged, I recollect (for even then I was a rhymer)
that my heart glowed with a wish to be able to make a
song on him in some measure equal to his merits.
R. B.
No. XXIX.
TO MR JOHN KENNEDY.*
Kilmarnock, Augutt, 1786.
My dear Sir,
Your truly facetious epistle of the 3d instant gave me
much entertainment. I was only sorry I had not the
pleasure of seeing you as I passed your way, but we shall
bring up all our lee way on Wednesday, the 16th current,
when I hope to have it in my power to call on you, and take
a kind, very probably a last adieu, before I go for Jamaica ;
* Mr Kennedy, to whom the Poet has addressed several letters,
resided at this time at Dumfries House, and appears, from the
above letter and others which precede it, to have interested him-
self in procuring subscriptions for the Kilmarnock edition of his
i)oems. — M.
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 315
and I expect orders to repair to Greenock every day. — I
have at last made my public appearance, and am solemnly
inaugurated into the numerous class. Could I have got a
carrier, you should have had a score of vouchers for my au-
thorship ; but, now you have them, let them speak for
themselves,-*
Farewell, dear friend ! may guid luck hit you.
And 'mang her favourites admit you.
If e'er Detraction shore to smit you,
May nane believe him.
And ony deil that thinks to get you.
Good Lord, deceive him.
iv. B.
No. XXX.
TO MISS ALEXANDER.
MOSSGIEL, ISth Nov, 1786.
Madam,
Poets are such outre beings, so much the children of
wayward &ncy and capricious whim, that I believe the
world generally allows them a larger latitude in the laws of
propriety, than the sober sons of judgment and prudence.
I mention this as an apology for the liberties that a nameless
stranger has taken with you in the inclosed poem, which he
begs leave to present you with. Whether it has poetical
merit any way worthy of the theme, I am not the proper
judge : but it is the best my abilities can produce ; and what
to a good heart will, perhaps, be a superior grace, it is
equally sincere as fenrent.
The scenery was nearly taken from real life, though I
dare say, Madam, you do not recollect it, as I believe you
scarcely noticed the poetic reveur as he wandered by you.
I had roved out as chance directed, in the &vourite haunts
of my muse, on the banks of the Ayr, to view nature in all
2d2
S 16 WORKS OF BDANS.
the gaiety of the verDal year. The evening sun was flaming
over the distant western hills ; not a breath stirred the crim.
son opening blossom, or the verdant spreading leaf. It
was a golden moment for a poetic heart. I listened to the
feathered warblers, pouring their harmony on every hand,
with a congenial kindred regard, and frequently turned out
of my path, lest I should disturb their little songs, or fright-
en them to anotlier station. Surely, said I to myself he
must be a wretch indeed, who, regardless of your harmoni-
ous endeavour to please him, can eye your elusive flights to
dbcover your secret recesses, and to rob you of all the pro-
perty natyre gives you — your dearest comforts, your help-
less nestlings. Even the hoary hawthorn twig that shot
across the way, what heart at such a time but must have
been interested in its welfare, and wished it preserved from
the rudely-browsing cattle, or the withering eastern blast ?
Such was the scene, — and such the hour, when in a comer
of my prospect, I spied one of the fairest pieces of nature's
workmanship that ever crowned a poetic landscape or met
a poefs eye, those visionary bards excepted, who hold com-
merce with aerial beings ! Had Calumny and Villany taken
my walk, they had at that moment sworn eternal peace
with such an object.
What an hour of inspiration for a poet ! It would have
raised plain dull historic prose into metaphor and measure.
The inclosed song was the work of my return home ; and
perhaps it but poorly answers what might have been ex-
pected from such a scene.
I have the honour to be,
Madam,
Your most obedient and very
humble servant,
R.B.
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 317
No. XXXI.
TO MRS STEWART, OF STAIR.
1786.
Madam,
The hurry of my preparations for going abroad has hin-
dered me from performing my promise so soon as I intended.
I have here sent you a parcel of songs, &c., which never made
their appearance, except to a friend or two at most. Per-
haps some of them may be no great entertainment to you,
but of that I am for from being an adequate judge. The
song to the tune of " Ettrick banks" [Tiie bonnie lass of
Bailochmyle] you will easily see the impropriety of expos-
ing much, even in manuscript. I think, myself, it has some
merit ; both as a tolerable description of one of nature's
sweetest scenes, a July evening ; and one of the finest pieces
of nature's workmanship, the finest indeed we know any
thing of, an amiable, beautiful young woman ;* but I have
no common friend to procure me that permission, without
which I would not dare to spread the copy.
I am quite aware. Madam, what task the world would as-
sign me in this letter. The obscure bard, when any of the
great condescend to take notice of him, should heap the al-
tar with the incense of flattery. Their high ancestry, their
own great and god-like qualities and actions, should be re-
counted with the most exaggerated description. This, Ma
dam, is a task for which I am altogether unfit. Besides a
certain disqualifying pride of heart, I know nothing of your
connections in life, and have no access to where your real
character is to be found — the company of your compeers :
and more, I am afraid that even the most refined adulation
is by no means the road to your good opinion.
One feature of your character I shall ever with grateful
pleasure remember ; — the reception I got when I had the
* MiM Alexander.
2Dd
318 WORKS OF BURNS,
honour of waiting on you at Stair. I am little acquainted
with politeness, hut I know a good deal of benevolence of
temper and goodness of heart Surely did those in exalted
stations know how happy they could make some classes of
their inferiors by condescension and affability, they would
never stand so high, measuring out with every look the
height of their elevation, but condescend as sweetly as did
Mrs Stewart of Stair.
R. S.
No. XXXII.
TO MR ROBERT MUIR.
MOSSGIEL, I6th Nov, ] 786.
Mt dbar Sir,
Inclosed you have * Tarn Samson,' as I intend to print
him. I am thinking for my Edinburgh expedition on Mon-
day or Tuesday, come se'ennight, for pos. I will see you
on Tuesday first.
I am ever.
Your much indebted,
R. B.*
* A wider sphere was now opened to the Poet, through the
kind ex^ertions of Dr Blacklock, to whom the Reverend Mr
Lawrie had forwarded a copy of the first edition of his poems.
Dr Blacklock felt and fully appreciated the extraordinary merits
of his muse, and suggested that a second edition should be brought
out in Edinburgh, in the following letter addressed to the Rev.
Mr Lawrie, a copy of which the latter transmitted to Mr Gavin
Hamilton, who, in turn, communicated its contents to Bums, and
thus determined him to abandon his West India project
« Rev£REND and dear Sir, — I ought to have acknowledged
your favour long ago, not only as a testimony of your kind re-
membrance, but as it gave me an opportunity of sharing one of
the finest, and, perhaps, one of the most genuine entertainments,
of which the human mind is susceptible. A number of avoca-
tions retarded my progress in reading the poems ; at last, how-
I
GENKRAL CORRfcSPONDliNCK. 319
No. XXXIII.
In the NAMtf ofthe nine. Amen,
We, Robert Burns, by virtue of a warrant from Nature,
bearing date the twenty-fifth day of January, Anno Domini
ever, I have finished that pleasing perusal. Many instances have
I seen of Nature's force aod beneficence exerted under numerous
and formidable disadvantages ; but none equal to that which you
have been kind enough to present me. There is a pathos and
delicacy in his serious poems, a vein of wit and humour in those
of a more festive turn, which cannot be too much admired, nor
too warmly approved ; and I think I shall never open the book
without feeling my astonishment renewed and increased. It was
my wish to have expressed my approbation in verse ; but whether
from declining life, or a temporary depression of spirits, it is at
present out of my power to accomplish that agreeable intention.
" Mr Stewart, Professor of Moials in this University, had for-
merly read me three of the poems, and I had desired him to get
my name inserted among the subscribers : but whether this was
done, or not, I never could learn. I have little intercourse with
Dr Blair, but will take care to have the poems communicated to
him by the intervention of some mutual friend. It has been told
me by a gentleman, to whom I showed the performances, and
who sought a copy with diligence and ardour, that the whole im-
pression is already exhausted. It were, therefore, much to be
wished, for the sake of the young man, that a second edition,
more numerous than the former, could immediately be printed i
as it appears certain that its intrinsic merit, and the exertion of
the author's friends, might give it a more universal circulation
than any thing of the kind which has been published within my
memory."
The Reverend Mr Lawrie also wrote to Burns in the following
terms.
22d December, 1786.
" Dear Sir, — I last week received a letter from Dr Blacklock,
in which he expresses a desire of seeing you. I write this to you,
that you may lose no time in waiting upon him, should you not yet
have seen him.
** I rejoice to hear, from all corners, of your rising fame, and I
wish and expect it aiay tower still higher by the new publication.
But, as a friend, I warn you to prepare to meet with your share
of detraction and envy — a, train that always accompany great
men. For your comfort I am in great hopes that the number of
L. V L I 1 L lat I I ■ nil
320 WORKS OF BURNS.
one thousand seven hundred and fifty-nine/ Poet Laureat,
and Bard-in-Chief, in and over the districts and countries of
Kyle, Cunningham, and Carricli^ of old extent. To our
trusty and well-beloved William Chalmers and John
M'Adam, students and practitioners in the ancient and
mysterious science of confounding right and wrong.
Right Trusty,
Be it known unto you. That whereas in the course of
our care and watchings over the order and police of all and
sundry the manufacturers, retainers, and venders of poesy ;
bards, poets, poetasters, rhymers, jinglers, songsters, ballad-
singers, &c. &c. &c. &c. male and female — We have dis-
covered a certain nefarious, abominable, and wicked song
or ballad, a copy whereof We have here inclosed ; Our
Will therefore is, that Ye pitch upon and appoint the most
execrable individual of that most execrable species, known
by the appellation, phrase, and nickname of The Deil's Yell
Nowte :f and after having caused him to kindle a fire at the
your friends and admirers will increase, and that you have some
chance of ministerial, or even • * « • patronage. Now, my
friend, such rapid success is very uncommon : and do you think
yonrself in no danger of suffering by applause and a full purse ?
Remember Solomon's advice, which he spoke from experience,
** stronger is he that conquers,*' &c. Keep fast hold of your ru-
ral simplicity and purity, like Telemachus, by Mentor*s aid, in
Calypso's isle, or even in that of Cyprus. I hope you have also
Minerva with yon. I need not tell you how much a modest diffi-
dence and invincible temperance adorn the most shining talents,
and elevate the mind, and exalt and refine the imagination, even
of a poet.
" I hope you will not imagine I speak from suspicion or evil re-
port. I assure you I speak from love and good report, and good
opinion, and a strong desire to see you shine as much in the sun-
shine as you have done in the shade, and in the practice as you
do in the theory of virtue. This is my prayer, in return for your
el^ant composition in verse. All here join in compliments and
good wishes for your further prosperity.*' — M.
* His birth-day.
f Old bachelors ; — so says Dr Currie ; but Gilbert Burns al-
leges it is a scoffing appellation sometimes given to sheriff's
officers, and other executors of the. law, and that it is in that
sense his brother has used it. — M.
- V-- "B^.^^
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 321
Cross of Ayr, ye shall, at noon tide of the day, put into the
said wretch's merciless hands the said copy of the said nefa-
rious and wicked song, to be consumed by fire in presence
of all beholders, in abhorrence of, and terrorem to, all such
compositions and composers. And this in nowise leave ye
undone, but have it executed in every point as this our man-
date bears, before the twenty-fourth current, when in per-
son We hope to applaud your faithfulness and zeal.
Given at Mauchline this twentieth day of November,
Anno Domini one thousand seven hundred and eighty-
six.
God save the Bard !
No. XXXIV.
TO DR MACKENZIE, MAUCHLINE ;
INCLOSING HIM VERSES ON DINING WITH LORD DABR.
Wednesday Morning,
Dear Sib,
I NEVER spent an afternoon among great folks with half
that pleasure as when, in company with you, I had the
honour of paying my devoirs to that plain, honest, worthy
man, the professor. [Dugald Stewart.] I would be de-
lighted to see him perform acts of kindness and friendship,
though I were not the object ; he does it with such a grace*
I think his character, divided into ten parts, stands thus, —
four parts Socrates— four parts Nathaniel — and two parts
Shakspeare's Brutus.
The foregoing verses were really extempore, but a little
corrected since. They may entertain you a little with the
help of that partiality with which you are so good as to fa-
vour the performances of,
Dear Sir,
Your very humble servant,
II. B,
322 WORKS OP AURNB.
No. XXXV.
TO GAVIN HAMILTON, Esq., MAUCHLINE.
Edinbukgh, J9ec. llh, 1786.
Honoured Sir,
I HAVE paid every attention to your commands, but can
only say what perhaps you will have heard before this
reach you, that Muirkirklands were bought by a John Gor-
don, W. S., but for whom I know not ; Mauchlands, Haugh
Miln, &c., by a Fredrick Fotheringham, supposed to be
for Ballochmyle Laird, and Adam-hill and Shawood were
bought for Oswald's folks. — This is so imperfect an account,
and will be so late ere it reach you, that were it not to dis-
charge my conscience I would not trouble you with it ; but
after all my diligence I could make it no sooner nor better.
For my own affairs, I am in a fair way of becoming as
eminent as Thomas a Kempis or John Bunyan ; and you
may expect henceforth to see my birth-day inserted among
the wonderful events, in the poor Robin*s and Aberdeen
Almanacks, along with the black Monday, and the battle of
Bothwell-bridge. — My Lord Glencairn and the Dean of Fa-
culty, Mr H. Erskine, have taken me under their wing ;
and by all probability I shall soon be the tenth worthy, and
the eighth wise man of the world. Through my lord*s in-
fluence it is inserted in the records of the Caledonian Hunt,
that they universally, one and all, subscribe for the second
edition. — My subscription bills come out to-morrow, and
you sliall have some of them next post. — I have met in Mr
Dalr}'mple of Orangetield, what Solomon emphatically
calls *' a friend that sticketh closer than a brother.** — Tlie
warmth witH which he interests himself in my affairs is of
the same enthusiastic kind which you, Mr Aikin, and the
few patrons that took notice of my earlier poetic days,
showed for the poor unlucky devil of a poet.
GBNBRAI. €OBJlESPONDENCE. 323
I always remember Mrs Hamilton and Miss Kennedy in
my poetic prayers, but you both in prose and verse.
Bilay cauld ne'er catch you but a hap,
Nor hunger but in plenty's lap !
Amen ! R. B.
No. XXXVI.
TO JOHN BALLANTINE, Esq., BANKER, AYR.
Edinburgh, iOth Dec, 1786.
Mt honoured Friend,
I WOULD not write you till I could have it in my power
to give you some account of myself and my matters, which
by the bye is often no easy task. — I arrived here on Tues-
day was se'nnight, and have suffered ever since I came to
town with a miserable head-ache and stomach complaint,
but am now a good deal better. — I have found a worthy
warm friend in Mr Dalrymple of Orangefield, who intro-
duced me to Lord Glencairn, a man whose worth and bro-
therly kindness to me, I shall remember when time shall be
no more. — By hb interest it is passed in the ** Caledonian
Hunt,** and entered in their books, that they are to take
each a copy of the second edition, for which they are to pay
one guinea. — I have been introduced to a good many of
the noblesse, but my avowed patrons and patronesses are,
the Duchess of Gordon — the Countess of Glencairn, with
my Lord, and Lady Betty* — ^the Dean of Faculty — Sir
John Whitefoord. — I have likewise warm friends among
the literati ; Professors Stewart, Blair, and Mr Mackenzie
^ — ^the Man of Feeling. — An unknown hand left ten guineas
for the Ayrshire bard with Mr Sibbald, which I got. I
since have discovered my generous unknown friend to be
Patrick Miller, Esq., brother to the Justice Clerk ; and
* Lady Betty Cunningham.
324 WORKS OF BURNS.
drank a glass of claret with him by invitation at his own
house yesternight I am nearly agreed with Creech to print
my book, and I suppose I will begin on Monday, I will
send a subscription bill or two, next post ; when I' intend
writing my first kind patron, Mr Aikin. I saw his son to-
day, and he is very well.
Dugald Stewart, and some of my learned friends, put me
in the periodical paper called the Lounger,* a copy of
which I here inclose you. — I was, Sir, when I was first
honoured with your notice, too obscure; now I tremble
lest I should be ruined by being dragged too suddenly into
the glare of polite and learned observation.
I shall certainly, my ever honoured patron, write you an
account of my every step ; and better health and more
spirits may enable me to make it something better than
this stupid matter-of-&ct epistle.
I have the honour to be,
€rood Sir,
Your ever grateful humble servant,
If any of my friends write me, my direction is, care of
Mr Creech, bookseller.
No. XXXVII.
TO MR ROBERT MUIR,
Edinburgh, Dec, 20th, 1786.
Mt dear Friend,
I HAVE just time for the carrier, to teU you that I re-
ceived your letter ; of which I shall say no more but what
a lass of my acquaintance said of her bastard wean ; she
said she " didna ken wha was the father exactly, but she
* The paper here alluded to was written by Mr Mackenzie,
the celebrated author of « The Man of Feeling.**
GENERAL COKBBBPONDENCE. 325
suspected it was some o' thae bonnj blackguard smugglers,
for it was like them." So I only say, your obliging epistle
was like you. I inclose you a parcel of subscription bills.
Your affair of sixty copies is also like you ; but it would
not be like me to comply.
Your friend's notion of my life has put a crotchet in my
head of sketching it in some future epistle to you. My
compliments to Charles and Mr Parker.
R* o»
No. XXXVIIL
TO MB WILLIAM CHALMERS, WRITER, AYR.
Edinburgh^ Dec. 21th, 1786.
My dear Friend,
I CONFESS I hsLve sinned the sin for which there is hardly
any forgiveness — ingratitude to friendship — ^in not writing
you sooner ; but of all men living, I had intended to have
sent you an entertaining letter ; and by all the ploddingt
stupid powers, that in nodding conceited majesty, preside
over the dull routine of business — a heavily-solemn oath
this ! — I am and have been, ever since I came to Edinburgh,
as unfit to write a letter of humour, as to write a commen-
tary on the Revelation of St John the Divine, who was
banished to the Isle of Patmos, by the cruel and bloody
Domitian, son to Vespasian and brother to Titus, both
emperors of Rome, and who was himself an emperor, and
raised the second or third persecution, I forget which,
against the Chri^ians, and after throwing the said Apostle
John, brother to the Apostle James, commonly called James
the Greater, to distinguish him from another James, who
was on some account or other, known by the name of James
the Less— after throwing him into a caldron of boiling ojl,
from which he was miraculously preserved, he banished the
poor SOD of Zebedee to a desert island in the Arolupelago,
3 2e
326 WORKS OF BURNS.
where he was gifted with the second sight. Rod saw as manj
wild beasts as I have seen since I came to Edinbnq^;
which, a drcumstance not yeiy anoommon in stoiy-tellin^
brings me back to where I set out.
To make you some amends for what, before you reach
this paragraph, you will have suffered, I inclose you two
poems I have carded and spun since I passed Glenbuck.
One blank in the address to Edinburgh — " Fair B » *
is heavenly Miss Burnet, daughter to Lord Monboddo, at
whose house I have had the honour to be more than once.
There has not been anything nearly like her in all the
combinations of beauty, grace, and goodness the great Cre-
ator has formed, since Milton's Eve on the first day of her
existence.
My direction is— care of Andrew Bruce, merchant. Bridge
StreeL
R. B.
No. XXXIX.
TO THE EARL OF EGLINTON.
Edinburgh, January, 1787.
Mt Lord,
As I have but slender pretensions to philosophy, I can-
not rise to the exalted ideas of a citizen of the world, but
have all those national prejudices, which I believe glow
peculiarly strong in the breast of a Scotchman. There is
scarcely any thing to which I am so feelingly alive as the
honour and welfare of my country : and as a poet, I have
no higher enjoyment than singing her sons and daughters.
Fate had cast my station in the veriest shades of life ; but
never did a heart pant more ardently than mine to be dis-
tinguished; though till very lately I looked in vain on
every side for a ray of light. It is easy then to guess how
much I was gratified with the countenance and approbation
GENERAL COERESPONDBNCE. 827
of one of my couDtry's most illustrious sons, when Mr
Wauchope called on me yesterday on the part of your
lordship. Your munificence, my lord, certainly deserves
my very grateful acknowledgments; but your patronage
is a bounty peculiarly suited to my feelings. I am not
master enough of the etiquette of life to know, whether
there be not some impropriety in troubling your lordship
with my thanks, but my heart whispered me to do it. From
the emotions of my inmost soul I do it. Selfish ingrati-
tude I hope J am incapable of; and mercenary servility, 1
trust, I shall ever have so much honest pride as to detest.
No. XL.
TO JOHN BALLANTINE, ESQ.*
EoiNfiURGH, Jan. 14/A, 1787.
My honoured Friend,
It gives me a secret comfort to observe in myself that
I am not yet so far gone as Willie GaVs Skate, " past re«
demption ;"-)< for I have still this fevourable symptom of
grace, that when my conscience, as in the case of this letter,
tells me I am leaving something undone that I ought to do,
it teazes me eternally till I do it.
I am still " dark as was Chaos " in respect to futurity
My generous friend, Mr Patrick Miller, has been talking
with me about a lease of some farm or other in an estate
called Dalswinton, which he has lately bought near Dum-
fries. Some life-rented embittering recollections whisper
* This letter was first published in Cromek*s Reliques of
Bams, to which work we are also indebted for the one immedi-
ately following. — M.
f This is one of a great number of old saws that Bums, when
a lad, had picked up from his mother, of which the good old wo-
man had a vast collection.
2e2
928 WOAK8 OF BUANS.
me that I will be happier any where than in mj old neigh-
bourhood, but Mr Miller is no judge of land ; and though
I dare say he means to fiivour me, yet be may give me, in his
opinion, an advantageous bargain that may ruin me. I am
to take a tour by Dumfries as I return, and have promised
to meet Mr Miller on his lands some time in May.
I went to a mason-lodge yesternight, where the most
Worshipful Grand Master Chartres, and all the Grand
Lodge of Scotland visited. The meeting was numerous
and elegant ; all the different lodges about town were
present, in all their pomp. The Grand Master, who pre-
sided with great solemnity and honour to himself as a
gentleman and mason, among other general toasts, gave
" Caledonia, and Caledonia's Bard, Brother Burns,** which
rung through the whole assembly with multiplied honours
and repeated acclamations. As I had no idea such a thing
would tiappen, I was downright thunderstruck, and, trem-
bling in every nerve, made the best return in my power.
Just as I had finished, some of the grand officers said so
loud that I could hear with a most comforting accent,
** Very well indeed I" which set me something to rights
again.
I have to-day corrected my 152d page. My best good
wishes to Mr Aikin.
I am ever.
Dear Sir,
Your much indebted humble Servant,
R. B.
No. XL I.
TO THE SAME.
January, 1787.
Whole here I sit, sad and solitary, by the side of a fire
in a little country inn, and drying my wet clothes, in pops
a poor fellow of a sodger, and tells me he is going to Ayr.
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 329
By heavens! say I to myself, with a tide of good spirits
which the magic of that sound, Auld Toon o' Ayr, conjured
up, I will send my last song to Mr Ballantine. Here it is —
Ye flowery banks o* bonnie Doon,
How can ye blume sae £iir ;
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae fu' o* care I*
No. XLII.
TO MRS DUNLOP.
Edinburgh, 15fA/aituary, 1787.
Madam,
Yours of the 9th current, which I am this moment hon-
oured with, is a deep reproach to me for ungrateful neglect.
I will tell you the real truth, for I am miserably awkward
at a fib — I wished to have written to Dr Moore before I
wrote to you ; but, though every day since I received yours
of December dOth, the idea, the wish to write to him has
constantly pressed on my thoughts, yet I could not for my
soul set about it. I know his fame and character, and I
am one of " the sons of little men." To write him a mere
matter-of-fact affair, like a merchant's order, would be dis-
gracing the little character I have ; and to write the author
of * The view of Society and Manners * a letter of senti-
ment — I declare every artery runs cold at the thought. I
shall try, however, to write to him to-morrow or next day.
His kind interposition in my behalf I have already experi-
enced, as a gentleman waited on me the other day, on the
part of Lord Eglinton, with ten guineas, by way of sub-
scription for two copies of my next edition.
The word you object to in the mention I have made of
my glorious countryman and your immortal ancestor, is in«
• Vol. IL p. 223.
2Ed
830 WOUU OP BITENS.
(ked boROwed from Thomsoo ; but it does not strike me
■s an improper epithet. I distrusted my own judgment on
your finding &ult witii it« and applied for the opinion of
some of the literati here, who honour me with their critical
strictures,' and th^ all allow it to be proper. The song
you ask I cannot recollect, and I have not a copy of it. I
have not composed any thing on the great Wallace, except
what you have seen in print ; and the inclosed, which I
will print in this edition.* You will see I have mentioned
some others of the name. When I composed my ' Vision '
long ago, I had attempted a description of Kyle, of which
the additional stanzas are a part as it originally stood.
My heart glows with a wish to be able to do justice to the
merits of the ** Saviour of his Country," which sooner or
later I shall at least attempt.
You are afraid I shall grow intoxicated with my pros-
perity as a poet ; alas ! Madam, I know myself and the
world too well. I do not mean any airs of affected mo-
desty ; I am willing to believe that my abilities deserve
some notice ; but in a most enlightened, informed age and
nation, when poetry is and has been the study of men of
the first natural genius, aided with all the powers of polite
learning, polite books, and polite company — to be dragged
forth to the full glare of learned and polite observation,
with all my imperfections of awkward rusticity and crude
unpolished ideas on my head — I assure you, Madam, I do
not dissemble when I tell you I tremble for the conse-
quences. The novelty of a poet in my obscure situation*
without any of those advantages which are reckoned neces-
sary for that character, at least at this time of day, has
raised a partial tide of public notice which has borne me
to a height, where I am absolutely, feelingly certain, my
abilities are inadequate to support me ; and too surely do
i see that time when the same tide will leave me, and re-
* Stanzas in the ' Vision,' Vol. I., p. 85, beginning, " By
stately tower or palace fair,** and ending with the first Duan.
GEiNERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 331
cede, perhaps, as &r below the mark of truth . I do not
say this in the ridiculous affectation of self-abasement and
modesty. I have studied myself, and know what ground I
occupy ; and howeyer a friend or the world may differ from
me in that particular, I stand for my own opinion, in silent
resolve, with all the tenaciousness of property. I mention
this to you once for all to disburthen my mind, and I do
not wish to hear or say more about it — But,
" When proud fortune's ebbing tide recedes,"
you will bear me witness, that when my bubble of fame
was at the highest I stood unintoxicated, with the inebriat-
ing cup in my hand, looking forward with rueful resolve to
the hastening time, when the blow of Calumny should dash'
it to the ground, with all the eagerness of vengeful triumph.
Your patronizing me and interesting yourself in my fame
and character as a poet, I rejoice in ; it exalts me in my
own idea ; and whether you can or cannot aid me in my
subscription is a trifle. Has a paltry subscription-bill any
charms to the heart of a bard, compared with the patronage
of the descendant of the immortal Wallace ? R. B.
No. XLIII.
TO DR MOORE.*
•
Edinburgh, Jan, 1787.
Sir,
Mrs Dunlop has been so kind as to send me extracts of
letters she has bad from you, where you do the rustic bard
the honour of noticing him and his works. Those who
* Dr Moore*s letter, to which the above was a reply, is as fol-
lows: —
*' Clifford-strbet, January S3<{, 1797.
** Sir, — I have just received your lettei^ by which I find I have
reason to complain of my ftiend Mrs Dunlop, for transmitting to
332 W0&K8 OF BUBN8.
have felt the anxieties and solicitudes of authorship, can
only know what pleasure it gives to be noticed in such a
manner, by judges of the first character. Your criticisms.
Sir, I receive with reverence : only I am sorry ihey mostly
you extracts from my letters to her, by much too freely and too
carelessly written for your perusal. I must forgive her, however,
in consideration of her good intention, as you will forgive me, I
hope, for the freedom I use with certain expressions, in consider-
ation of my admiration of the poems in general. If I may judge
of the author's disposition from his works, with all the other good
qualities of a poet, he has not the irritable temper ascribed to
that race of men by one of their own number, whom you have
the happiness to resemble in ease and curious felicity of expres-
sion. Indeed the poetical beauties, however original and bril-
liant, and lavishly scattered, are not all I admire in your works ;
the love of your native country, that feeling sensibility to all the
objects of humanity, and the independent spirit which breathes
through the whole, give me a most favourable impression of the
Poet, and have made me often regret that I did not see the
poems, the certain effect of which would have been my seeing
the author, last summer, when I was longer in Scotland than I
have been for many years.
*' I rejoice very sincerely at the encouragement you receive at
Edinburgh, and I think you peculiarly fortunate in the patronage
of Dr Blair, who» I am informed, interests himself very much for
you. I b^ to be remembered to him; nobody can have a
warmer regard for that gentleman than I have, which, independ-
ent of the worth of his character, would be kept alive by the
memory of our common friend, the late Mr George B e .
" Before I received your letter, I sent inclosed in a letter to
— — -, a sonnet by Miss Williams, a young poetical lady, which
she wrote on reading your * Mountain-daisy ;* perhaps it may not
displease you :—
** * While soon, < the garden's flaunting flowers' decay.
And scattered on the earth neglected lie,
The * Mountain-daisy,' cherish'd by the ray
A poet drew from heaven, shall never die.
Ah, like that lonely flower the poet rose !
'Mid penury's bare soil and bitter gale ;
He felt each storm that on the mountain blows.
Nor ever knew the shelter of the vale.
By genius in her native vigour nurst.
On nature with impassion'd look he gazed ;
Then through the cloud of adverse fortune burst
Indignant, and in light unborrow'd blazed.
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. ddS
came too late : a peccant passage or two that I would cer-
tainly have altered, were gone to the press.
The hope to be admired for ages is, in by far the greater
part of those even who are authors of repute, an unsub-
stantial dream. For my part, my first ambition was, and
still my strongest wish is, to please my compeers, the rustic
inmates of the hamlet, while ever-changing language and
manners shall allow me to be relished and understood. I
am very willing to admit that I have some poetical abilities ;
and as few, if any, writers, either moral or poetical, are in-
timately acquainted with the classes of mankind among
whom I have chiefly mingled, I may have seen men and
manners in a different phasis from what is commop, which
may assist originality of thought Still I know very well
the novelty of my character has by far the greatest share in
the learned and polite notice I have lately had : and in a
language where Pope and Churchill have raised the laugh,
and Shenstone and Gray drawn the tear ; where Thomson
and Beattie have painted the landscape, and Lyttelton and
Collins described the heart, I am not vain enough to hope
for distinguished poetic fame.
R. B.
Scotia ! from rude affliction shield thy bard ;
His heaveo-taught numbers Fame herself will guard.*
** I have been trying to add to the number of your subscribers,
but find many of my acquaintance are already among them. 1
have only to add, that, with every sentiment of esteem, and the
most cordial good wishes,
"lam
" Your obedient humble servant,
«J. Moore.*'— M.
334 WORKS OF BUBN8.
No. XLIV.
TO THE REV. G. LAWRIE,
NEWlULLSy NEAR KILMABNOCK.
EoiNBUBGH, Feb, 5th, 1787.
Reverend and dear Sir,
When I look at the date of your kind letter, my heart
reproaches me severely with ingratitude in neglecting so
long to answer it. I will not trouble you with any account,
by way of apology, of my hurried life and distracted atten-
tion : do me the justice to believe that my delay by no
means proceeded from want of respect. I feel, and ever
shall feel for you, the mingled sentiments of esteem for a
friend and reverence for a father.
I thank you, Sir, with all my soul for your friendly
hints, though I do not need them so much as my friends
are apt to imagine. You are dazzled with newspaper ac-
counts and distant reports ; but, in reality, I have no great
temptation to be intoxicated with the cup of prosperity-
Novelty may attract the attention of mankind awhile ; to
it I owe my present eclat ; but I see the time not far distant
when the popular tide which lias borne me to a height of
which I am, perhaps, unworthy, shall recede with silent
celerity, and leave me a barren waste of sand, to descend at
my leisure to my former station. I do not say this in the
affectation of modesty ; I see the consequence is unavoid-
able, and am prepared for it. I had been at a good deal
of pains to form a just, impartial ^timate of my intellectual
powers before I came here : I have not added, since I came
to Edinburgh, anything to the account ; and I trust I shall
take every atom of it back to my shades, the coverts of my
unnoticed early years.
In Dr Blacklock, whom I see very often, I have found
what I would have expected in our friend, a clear head and
an exceller^t heart.
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 335
By far the most agreeable hours I spend in Edinburgh
must be placed to the account of Miss Lawrie and her
piano forte. I cannot help repeating to you and Mrs
Lawrie a compliment that Mr Mackenzie, the celebrated
' Man of Feeling/ paid to Miss Lawrie, the other night,
at the concert. I had come in at the interlude, and sat
down by him till I saw Miss Lawrie in a seat not very dis-
tant, and went up to pay my respects to her. On my re-
turn to Mr Mackenzie he asked me who she was ; I told
him 'twas the daughter of a reverend friend of mine in the
west country. He returned, there was something very
striking, to his idea, in her appearance. On my desiring
to know what it was, he was pleased to say, " She has a
great deal of the elegance of a well-bred lady about her,
with all the sweet simplicity of a country girl."
My compliments to all the happy inmates of St Mar-
garet*8.
I am, my dear Sir,
Yours, most gratefully,
ROBERT BURNS.
No. XLV.
TO DR MOORE.*
EniNBUROH, I6th February f 1787.
Sib,
Pardon my seeming neglect in delaying so long to ac-
knowledge the honour you have done me, in your kind
notice of me, January 2dd. Not many months ago I knew
* We subjoin the answer of Dr Moore to the foregoing : —
*' CLmromD-STBBET, 88M Fobruarff^ WfJ.
*' Dear Sib, — Your letter of the 15th gave me a great deal of
pleasure. It is not surprising that you improve in correctness
and taste, considering where you have been for some time past.
And I dare swear there is no danger of your admitting any polish
which might weaken the vigour oi your native powers.
336 WORKS OF BURNS.
DO Other employmeDt than foUowiog the plough, nor coiila
boast any thing higher than a distant acquaintance with a
country clergyman . Mere greatness never embarrasses me ;
I liave nothing to ask from the great, and I do not fear their
judgment : but genius, polished by learning, and at its pro-
per point of elevation in the eye of the world, this of late I
frequently meet with, and tremble at its approach. I scorn
the affectation of seeming modesty to cover self-conceit
That I have some merit I do not deny; but I see with
frequent wringings of heart, that the novelty of my charac-
ter, and the honest national prejudice of my countrymen,
have borne me to a height altogether untenable to my
abilities.
For the honour Miss Willifuns has done me, please. Sir,
return her in my name my most grateful thanks. I have
** I am glad to perceive that you disdain the nauseous affecta-
tion of decrying your own merit as a poet, an affectation which
is displayed with most ostentation by those who have the greatest
share of self-conceit, and which only adds undeceiving falsehood
to disgusting vanity. For you to deny the merit of your poems,
would be arraigning the fixed opinion of the public.
" As the new edition of my < View of Society' is not yet ready,
I have sent you the former edition, which I beg you will accept
as a small mark of my esteem. It is sent by sea to Uie care of
Mr Creech, and, along with these four volumes for yourself, I
have also sent my < Medical Sketches* in one volume, for my
friend Mrs Dunlop of Dunlop : this you will be so obliging as to
transmit, or, if you chance to pass soon by Dunlop, to give to her.
" I am happy to bear that your subscription is so ample, and
shall rejoice at every piece of good fortune that befalls you. For
you are a very great favourite in my fi&mily ; uid this is a higher
eompliment than perhaps you are aware of. It includes almost
all the professions, and of course is a proof that your writings are
adapted to various tastes and situations. My youngest son, who
is at Winchester school, writes to me, that he is translating waate
stanzas of your ' Hallowe'en* into Latin verse, for the benefit of
his comrades. This union of taste pardy proceeds, o/o doubt,
from the cement of Scottish partiality, with which they are all
somewhat tinctured. Even your translator, wbo left Scotland
too early in life for recollection, is not without it.
I remain, with great sincerity.
Your obedient servant,
J. MOOJLfU
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 837
more than once thought of paying her in kind, but have
liitherto quitted the idea In hopeless despondency. I had
never before heard of her ; but the other day I got her
poems, which, for several reasons, some belonging to ihe
head, and others the offspring of the heart, give me a great
deal of pleasure. I have little pretensions to critic lore ;
there are, I think, tviro characteristic features in her poetry
— the unfettered wild flight of native genius, and the quer-
ulous, sombre tenderness of " time-settled sorrow."
I only know what pleases me, often without being able
to tell why.
R. B.
No. XL VI.
TO JOHN BALLANTINE, Es4i.
Edinburgh, Feb, 24, 1787.
My honoured Friend,
I WILL soon be with you now, in guid black prent ; — in
a week or ten days at farthest. I am obliged, against my
own wish, to print subscribers' names ; so if any of my Ayr
friends have subscription bills, they must be sent into
Creech directly. I am getting my phiz done by an emi-
nent engraver, and if it can be ready in time, I will appear
in my book, lookii^ like all oihei fools to my title-page.*
R. B.
* This portrait is engraved by Mr Beugo, an artist who well
mwitfl the epithet b^towed on him by the Poet, after a picture
of Mr Nasmyth, which he painted con amorct and liberally pre-
sented to Burns. This picture is of the cabinet si^e, and is now
in the possession df Mr Alex. Cunningham, of Edinburgh.—
Cromek,
Mr CuaoiBgham states, that the portrait passed into the hands
of Mr Burns after the death of Alex. Cunningham ; and is now
on its way to the Poet's son. Captain William Burns, in India. — M.
2 F
3S8 WOAKS OF BURNS.
No. XL VII.
TO THE EARL OF GLENCAIRN.
Edinburgh, February, 1787.
My Lord,
I WANTED to purchase a profile of your lordship, which I
was told was to be got in town ; but I am truly sorry to
see that a blundering painter has spoiled a *' human face
divine." The inclosed stanzas I intended to have written
below a picture or profile of your lordship, could I have
been so happy as to procure one with any thing of a
likeness.
As I will soon return to my shades, I wanted to have
something like a material object for my gratitude ; I want-
ed to have it in my power to say to a friend, there is my
noble patron, my generous benefactor. AUow me, my lord,
to publish these verses. I conjure your lordship, by the
honest throe of gratitude, by the generous wish of bene-
volence, by all the powers and feelings which compose the
magnanimous mind, do not deny me this petition.* I owe
much to your lordship : and, what has nbt in some other
instances always been the case with nie, the weight of the
obligation is a pleasing load. I trust I have a heart as in-
dependent as your lordship's, than which I can say nothing
more ; and I would not be beholden to favours that would
crucify my feelings. Your dignified character in life, and
manner of supporting that character, are flattering to my
pride ; and I would be jealous of the purity of my grateful
attachment, where I was under the patronage of one of
the much favoured sons of fortune.
Almost every poet has celebrated his patrons, particularly
when they were names dear to fame, and illustrious in their
country ; allow me, then, my lord, if you think the verses
* It does not appear that the Earl granted this request, nor
have the verses alluded to been found among the Poet*8 MSS. — ^M.
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 339
have intrinsic merit, to tell the world how much I have the
honour to be,
Your lordship's highly indebted,
And ever grateful humble servant.
No. XLVIII.
TO THE EARL OF BUCHAN.»
Mt Lord,
The honour your lordship has done me, by your notice
and advice in yours of the l^t instant, I shall ever gratefully
remember : —
" Praise from thy lips 'tis mine with joy to boast.
They best can give it who deserve it most."
Your lordship touches the darling chord of my heart,
when you advise me to fire my muse at Scottish story and
Scottish scenes. I wish for nothing more than to make a
leisurely pilgrimage through my native country ; to sit and
muse on those once hard-contended fields, where Caledonia,
rejoicing, saw her bloody lion borne through broken ranks
to victory and fame ; and, catching the inspiration, to pour
the deathless names in song. But, my lord, in the midst
of these enthusiastic reveries, a long-visaged, dry moral-
looking phantom strides across my imagination, and pro-
nounces these emphatic words :
"I, Wisdom, dwell with Prudence. Friend, I do not
come to open the ill-closed wounds of your follies and misfor-
tunes, merely to give you pain : I wbh through these wounds
to imprint a lasting lesson on your heart. I will not men-
tion how many of my salutary advices you have despised :
I have given you line upon line and precept upon precept i
and while I was chalking out to you the straight way to
* The Earl of Buchan was the very pink of parsimonious
patrons. — M.
2 F 2
940 WORKS OF BURNS.
wealth and character, with audacious effrontery you have
zigzagged across the path, contemning me to my fece : you
know the consequences. It is not yet three months since
home was so hot for yon that you were on the wing for the
western shore of the Atlantic, not to make a fortune, but
to hide your misfortune.
" Now that your dear-loved Scotia puts it in your power
to return to the situation of your forefathers, will you fol-
low these will-o*-wisp meteors of fancy and whim, till they
bring you once more to the brink of ruin ? I grant that
the utmost ground you can occupy is but half a step from
the veriest poverty ; but still it is half a step from it. If
all that I can urge be ineffectual, let her -who seldom calls
to you in vain, let the call of pride prevail with you. You
know how you feel at the iron gripe of rutliless oppression :
you know how you bear the galling sneer of contumelious
greatness. I hold you out the conveniences, the comforts
of life, independence, and character, on the one hand ; [
tenderyou servility, dependance, and wretchedness, on the
other. I will not insult your understanding by bidding you
make a choice.'*
Tills, my lord, is unanswerable. I must return to my hum-
ble station, and woo my rustic muse in my wonted way
at the plough-tail. Still, my lord, while the drops of life
warm my heart, gratitude to that dear-loved country in
which I boast my birth, and gratitude to those her distin-
guished sons, who have honoured me so much with their pa-
tronage and approbation, shall, while stealing through my
humble shades, ever distend my bosom, and at times, as
now, draw forth the swelling tear.
GKNERAL CORRESPONDENCE. dl>l
I
No. XLIX.
TO MR JAMES CANDLISH,
STUDENT IN PHYSIC, GLASGOW COLLEGE.
Edinburgh, March 2l8t, 1 787.
My ever dear old Acquaintance,
I WAS equally surprised and pleased at your letter, though
I dare say you will thiok by my delaying so long to write
to you that I am so drowned in the intoxication of good
fortune as to be indifferent to old, and once dear connex-
ions. The truth is, I was determined to write a good letter,
full of argument, amplification, erudition, and, as Bayes says,
ail that I thought of it^ and thought of it, and, by my
soul I could not ; and, lest you should mistake the cause of
my silence, I just sit down to tell you so. Don*t give your-
self credit, though, that the strength of your logic scares me :
the truth is, I never mean to meet you on that ground at all.
You have shown me one thing which was to be demonstrat-
ed : that strong pride of reasoning, with a little affectation
of singularity, may mislead the best of hearts. I likewise,
since you and I were first acquainted, in the pride of des-
pising old women*s stories, ventured in " the daring path
Spinosa trod;" but experience of the weakness, not the
strength of human powers, made me glad to grasp at revealed
religion.
I am still, in the Apostle Paul's phrase, " The old man
with his deeds," as when we were sporting about the " Lady
Thorn." I shall be four weeks here yet at least ; and so I
shall expect to hear from you ; welcome sense, welcome
nonsense.
I am, with the warmest sincerity,
R. R.
2 f3
842 WORKS or burns.
No. L.
TO .
ON fergusson's headstone.
Edinburgh, March, 1787.
My dear Sir,
You may think, and too justly, that I am a selfish, un-
grateful fellow, having received so many repeated instances
of kindness from you, and yet never putting pen to paper to
say thank you ; but if you knew what a devil of a life my
conscience has led me on that account, your good heart
would think yourself too much avenged. By the bye, there
is nothing in the whole frame of man which seems to be s6
unaccountable as that thing called conscience. Had the
troublesome yelping cur powers efficient to prevent a mis-
chief, he might be of use ; but at the beginning of the busi-
ness, his feeble efforts are to the workings of passion as the
infant frosts of an autumnal morning to the unclouded fer-
vour of the rising sun : and no sooner are the tumultuous
doings of the wicked deed over, than, amidst the bitter na-
tive consequences of folly in the very vortex of our hor-
rors, up starts conscience, and harrows us with the feelings
of the damned.
I have inclosed you, by way of expiation, some verse and
prose, that; if they merit a place in your truly entertain-
ing miscellany, you are welcome to. The prose extract is
literally as Mr Sprott sent it me.
The inscription on the stone is as follows : —
« HERE LIES ROBERT FERGDSSON, POET,
" Born, September 5th, 1751— Died, 16th October, 1774.
** No sculptured marble here, nor pompous lay,
< No storied urn nor animated bust ;*
This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way
To pour her sorrows o*er her poet*s dust."
GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. 843
On the other side of the stone is as follows :
** By special grant of the managers to Robert Bams, who erect-
ed this stone, this burial-place is to remain for ever sacred to the
memory of Robert Fergusson.'*
Session-house within the kirk of Cmumffate, the twenty-'
second day of February ^ one thousand seven hun^
dred eighty-seven years.
Sederunt of the Managers of the Kirk and Kirk Yard
funds of Canongate.
Which day, the treasurer to the said funds produced a
letter from Mr Robert Burns, of date the 6th current, which
was read and appointed to be engrossed in their sederunt
book, and of which letter the tenor follows : —
" To the honourable baillies of Canongate, Edinburgh,
— Gentlemen, I am sorry to be told that the remains of
Robert Fergusson, the so justly celebrated poet, a man
whose talents for ages to come will do honour to our Cale-
donian name, lie in your church-yard among the ignoble
dead, unnoticed and unknown.
** Some memorial to direct the steps of the lovers of Scot-
tish song, when they wish to shed a tear over the ' narrow
house' of the bard who is no more, is surely a tribute due to
Fergusson's memory : a tribute I wish to have the honour of
paying.
** I petition you then, gentlemen, to permit me to lay a
simple stone over his revered ashes, to remain an unalien-
able property to his deathless fame. I have the honour to
be, gentlemen, your very humble servant {sic subscrxbitur)
" Robert Burns.'*
Therefore the said managers, in consideration of the laud-
able and disinterested motion of Mr Burns, and the pro-
priety of his request, did, and hereby do, unanimously, grant
power and liberty to the said Robert Bums to erect a head-
stone at the grave of the said Robert Fergusson, and to keep
344 WORKS OP BURNS.
up and preserve tde same to his memory in all time coming.
Extracted forth of the records of the managers, by
William Sprott, Clerk.*
* The following extract from the *■ Elogia Sepulchralia Edin-
burgena/ on this gubject, niay be interesting to some readers.
" From inattention in the mason employed to erect this monu-
ment, the foundation soon gave way, and it was in danger of fall-
ing. When this was observed, Bums, as well as Fergusson, was
then also numbered with the d^std. Some members of the Escula-
pian Club, animated by that pious zeal for departed merit, which
had before led them to prevent some other sepulchral monuments
from going to ruin, applied for liberty to repair this tribute from
one Poet to the memory of another ; and, permission being grant-
ed, they took that opportunity of affixing to it an additional in-
scription commemorating the genius of Bums. The poetical part
of it is taken, almost verbatim, from the Elegy written by Burns
himself on Captain Matthew Henderson.
Digntan laude verum Muaa vetat mori,
Lo I Genius, proudly, while to Fame she turns,
Twines Curkie's laurels with the wreath of Burns.
RoscoE.
TO THE MEMORY OF
ROBERT BURNS, THE AYRSHHIE BARD:
WHO WAS BORN AT DOONSIDE,
ON THE 25th of JANUARY, 1769 ;
AND DIED AT DUMFRIES,
ON THE 22nd of JULY, 1796.
O Robert Burns 1 the Man, the Brother !
And s^rt thou gone, — and gone for ever !
And hast thou crossed that unknown river.
Lifers dreary bound !
Like thee, where shall we iind another,
The world around !
Go to your sculptured tombs, ye Great,
III a* the tinsel trash o* state !
But by thy honest turf V\\ wait.
Thou man of worth !
And weep the sweetest Poet's fate
E'er lited on earth.
GENERAL CO&RB8POMDBNCB. 345
No. LI.
TO MRS DUNLOP.
Edinburgh, March 22d, 1787.
Madam^
I READ your letter with watery eyes. A little, very littlt
\«rhile ago, I had scarce a friend but the stubborn pride of
my own bosom ; now I am distinguished, patronized, be-
friended by you. Your friendly advices, I will not give
We make the following extract from a letter addressed to the
Poet on the subject of Fergusson's headstone : —
Sth March, 1787.
**I am truly happy to know you have found a friend in
; his patronage of you does him great honour. He is tru-
ly a good man ; by far the best I ever knew, or, perhaps, ever
shall know in this world. But I must not speak all 1 think of
him, lest I should be thought partial.
*' So you have obtained liberty from the magistrates to erect a
stone over Fergusson's grave ? I do not doubt it ; such things have
been, as Shakspeare says, " in the olden-time ;**
** The poet*s fate is here in emblem shown.
He ask'd for bread, and he received a stone,*'
" It is I believe upon poor Butler*s tomb that this is written
But how many brothers of Parnassus, as well as poor Butler and
poor Fergusson, have asked for bread, and been served with the
same sauce !
" The magistrates gave you liberty, did they ? Oh, generous
magistrates ! celebrated over the three kingdoms for his
public spirit, gives a poor poet liberty to raise a tomb to a poor
poet's memory ! mos^ generous ! •— — .— once upon a time gave
that same poet the mighty sum of eighteen pence for a copy of
his works. But then it must be oonsidwed Uiat the poet was at
this time absolutely starving, and besought his aid with all the
earnestness of hunger. And over and above he received a
worth at least one third of the value, in exchange, but
which, I believe, the poet afterwards very ungratefully expunged.
" Next week I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you in Edin-
burgh, and, as my stay will be for eight or ten days, I wish you
or would take a snug well-aired bed-room for me, where
I may have the pleasure of seeing you over a morning cup of tea.
346 WORKS OF BURNS.
them the cold name of criticisms, I receive with reverence. I
have made somesmall alterations in what I before had print-
ed. I have the advice of some very judicious friends among
the literati here, but with them I sometimes find it neces-
sary to claim the privilege of thinking for myself. The no-
ble Earl of Glencairn, to whom I owe more than to any
man, does me the honour of giving me his strictures : his
hints, with respect to impropriety or indelicacy, I follow im-
plicitly.
You kindly interest yourself in my future views and pros-
pects ; there I can give you no light It is all
But by all accounts it will be a matter of some difficulty to see
you at all, unless your company is bespoke a week before hand.
There is a great rumour here concerning your great intimacy
with the Duchess of 1 and other ladies of distinction. I
am really told that < cards to invite fly by thousands each night ;*
and if you had one, I suppose there would also be * bribes to your
old secretary.* It seems you are resolved to make hay while the
sun shines, and avoid if possible the fate of poor Fergusson,
Qwerenda peeunia pritnum e9t, virtus pott
nummoMf is a good maxim to thrive by : you seemed to despise it
while in this country, but probably some philosopher in Edin-
burgh has taught you better sense.
'* Pray are you yet engraving as well as printing— are you yet
seized
< With itch of picture in the front,
With bays and wicked rhyme upon*t V
** But I must give up this trifling, and attend to matters
that more concern myself; so, as the Aberdeen wit says, ' adieu
dryly, we sal drink phan we meet.*"
The above extract is from a letter of one of the ablest of our
Poet*s correspondents, which contains some interesting anecdotes
of Fergusson, that we should have been happy to have inserted,
if they could have been authenticated. The writer is mistaken
in supposing the magistrates of Edinburgh had any share in the
transaction respecting the monument erected for Fergusson by
our bard ; this, it is evident, passed between Bums and the Kirk
Session of the Canongate. Neither at Edinbu^h, nor any where
else, do magistrates usually trouble themselves to inquire how
the house of a poor poet is furnished, or how his grave is adorned.
— Currie,
GENERAL CORRESPONDGKCE. 347
** Bark as was Chaos ere the infant sun
Was roird together, or had tried his beams
Athwart the gloom profound."*
The appellation of a Scottish bard is by far my highest
pride ; to continue to deserve it is my most exalted ambi-
tion. Scottish scenes and Scottish story are the themes I
could wish to sing. I have no dearer aim than to have it
in my power, unplagued with the routine of business, for
which heaven knows I am iinfit enough, to make leisurely
pilgrimages through Caledonia ; to sit on the fields of her
battles ; to wander on the romantic banks of her rivers ; and
to muse by the stately towers or venerable ruins, once the
honoured abodes of her heroes.
But these are all Utopian thoughts : I have dallied long
enough with life ; *tis time to be in earnest. I have a fond,
an aged mother to care for : and some other bosom ties per-
haps equally tender. Where the individual only suffers by
the consequences of his own thoughtlessness, indolence, or
folly, he may be excusable ; nay, shining abilities, and some
of the nobler virtues, may half sanctify a heedless character ;
but where Grod and nature have intrusted the welfare of
others to his care ; where the trust is sacred, and the ties are
dear, that man must be far gone in selfishness, or strangely
lost to reflection, whom these connexions will not rouse to
exertion.
I guess that I shall clear between two and three hun-
dred pounds by my authorship ; with that sum I intend, so
far as I may be said to have any intention, to return to my
old acquaintance, the plough, and, if I can meet with a
lease by which I can live, to commence farmer. I do not
intend to give up poetry ; being bred to labour, secures me
independence, and the muses are my chief, sometimes have
been my only enjoyment If my practice second my reso-
lution, I shidl have principally at heart the serious business
* This seems to have been a favourite quotation in the mouth
of Bums, as it occurs frequently in his letters. — M. .
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