Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

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 brushed to the devil, like the vile manufacture 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.

This 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 lovelorn mistress. I must here make one sweet exception- "Sweet Annie frae the sea-beach came." Now for the song:

[ocr errors]

"On the seas and far away.”]

I give you leave to abuse this song, but do it in the spirit of Christian meekness.

NO. CCCXXIV.

MR. THOMSON TO BURNS. Edinburgh, Sept. 16th, 1794.

[ocr errors]

MY DEAR SIR-You have anticipated my opinion of" On the seas and far away; I do not think it one of your very happy productions, though it certainly contains stanzas that are worthy of all acceptation. The second is the least to my liking, particularly Bullets, spare my only joy." Confound the bullets! 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 sweetheart. The tunc, it must be remembered, is of the brisk, cheerful kind. Upon the whole, therefore, in my humble opinion, the would song be better adapted to the tune, if it consisted only of the first and last verses, with

the choruses.

[merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small]

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 offspring of my brain, abortions and all; and, as such, pray look over them and forgive them, and burn them. (192) I am flattered at your adopting "Ca' the yowes to the knowes," as it was owing to me that ever it saw the light. About seven years ago I was well acquainted with a worthy little fellow of a clergyman, a Mr. Clunie, who sang it charmingly; and, at my request, 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 solitary stroll which I took to-day, I tried my hand on a few pastoral lines, following up the idea of the chorus, which I would preserve. Here it is, with all its crudities and imperfections on its head.

[Here follows" Ca' the yowes."]

I shall give you my opinion of your other newly adopted songs my first scribbling fit.

NO. CCCXXVI.

BURNS TO MR. THOMSON

Sept. 1794. Do you know a blackguard Irish song called " The air is Onagh's Waterfall ? ” charming, and I have often regretted the want of decent verses to it. It is too much, at least for my humble rustic muse, to expect that every effort of hers shall have merit; still, I think it is better to have mediocre verses to a favourite air, than none at all. On this principle I have all along proceeded on the Scots Musical Museum; and as that publication is at its last volume, I intend the following song, to the air above mentioned, 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 in the company of ladies.

[Here follows "She says she loves me best of a'."]

Not to compare small things with great, my taste in music is like the mighty Frederick of Prussia's taste in painting; we are told that he frequently admired what the connoisseurs decried, and always without any hypocrisy confessed his admiration. I am sensible that my taste in music must

You save fair Jessie from the grave
An angel could not die!
God grant you patience with this stupid
epistle!

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 strathspeys, ancient and
modern, give me most exquisite enjoyment,
where you and other judges would probably
be showing disgust. For instance, I am
just now making verses for "Rothemurche's
rant," an air which puts me in raptures;
and, in fact, unless I be pleased with the
tune, I never can make verses to it. Here I
have Clarke on my side, who is a judge that
I will pit against any of you. "Rothe-ever.
murche," he says, "is an air both original
and beautiful;" and, on his recommenda-
tion, I have taken the first part of the tune
for a chorus, and the fourth or last part for
the 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.

[Here follow two stanzas of the song, beginning “Lassie wi' the lint-white locks."]

I have begun anew, "Let me in this ane 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?

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

Did you not once propose "The sow's tail to Geordie as an air for your work? I am quite delighted with it; but I acknowledge that is no mark of its real excellence. I once set about verses for it, which I meant to be in the alternate way of a lover and his mistress chanting together. I have not the pleasure of knowing Mrs. Thomson's Christian 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 fever? Doctor Maxwell was the physician who seemingly saved her from the grave; and to him I address the following:

TO DR. MAXWELL,

ON MISS JESSIE STAIG'S RECOVERY.
Maxwell, if merit here you crave,
That merit I deny :

NO. CCCXXVII.

MR. THOMSON TO BURNS.

I PERCEIVE the sprightly muse is now attendant upon her favourite poet, whose woodnotes wild are become as enchanting as

[ocr errors]

"She says she loes 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. I'll give Cunningham a copy; he can more powerfully proclaim its merit. I am far from undervaluing your taste for the strathspey music; on the contrary, I think it highly animating and agreeable, and that some of the strathspeys, make very pleasing songs, in the same way when graced with such verses as yours, will that rough Christians are tempered and softened by lovely woman, without whom, you know, they had been brutes.

I am clear 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.

[ocr errors]

Your "Ca' the ewes is a precious little morceau. Indeed, I am perfectly astonished and charmed with the endless variety of your fancy. Here 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 successful 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 fable, or in the dialogue, to interest the audience they are 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 assistance from her tuneful sister. Part of the songs, of course, would be to our favourite Scottish airs; the rest might be left to the London composer Storace for Drury-lane, or Shield

for Covent-garden, both of them very able | going to the oldest collections of our music, and popular musicians. I believe that it does not follow that we find the melodies 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 a fair and candid trial. Excuse me for obtruding these hints upon your consideration. (193)

NO. CCCXXVIII.

R. B.

MR. THOMSON TO BURNS.

Edinburgh, October 14th, 1794.

THE last eight days have been devoted to the re-examination 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 enclosed.

Peter Pindar has at length sent me all the songs I expected from him, which are, in general, elegant and beautiful. Have you heard of a London collection of Scottish airs and songs, just published by Mr. Ritson, an Englishman? I shall send you a copy. His introductory essay on the subject is curious, and evinces great reading and research, 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 classification of the airs according to the eras when they were composed, is mere fancy and conjecture. On John Pinkerton, Esq., he has no mercy, but consigns him to damnation. He suarls at my publication, on the score of Pindar being engaged to write songs for it; uncandidly and unjustly leaving it to be inferred, that the songs of Scottish writers had been sent a-packing to make room for Peter's! Of you he speaks with some respect, but gives you a passing hit or two, for daring to dress up a little some old foolish songs for the Museum. His sets of the Scottish airs are taken, he says, from the oldest collections and best authorities; many of them, however, 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, that we can scarcely recognise the features of our favourites. By

[ocr errors]

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 possess the industry, taste, and discernment, to choose the best they could hear (which is far from certain), still it must evidently be a chance, whether the collections exhibit any of the melodies in the state they were first composed. In selecting the melodies for my own collection, I have been as much guided by the living as by the dead Where these differed, I preferred the sets that appeared to me the most simple and beautiful, and the most generally approved: and without meaning any compliment to my own capability of choosing, or speaking of the pains I have taken, I flatter myself that my sets will be found equally free from vulgar errors on the one hand, and affected graces on the other.

NO. CCCXXIX.

BURNS TO MR. THOMSON.

October 19th, 1794.

MY DEAR FRIEND-By this morning's post I have your list, and, in general, I highly approve of it. I shall, at more leisure, give you a critique on the whole. 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 miss asking for him. One thing I hope he will dopersuade you to adopt my favourite, "Craigieburn wood," in your selection: it is as great a favourite of his as of mine. The lady on whom it was made is one of the finest women in Scotland; and in fact (entre nous) is in a manner to me, what Sterne's Eliza was to him-a mistress, 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 structions on this, or have any clishmaclaver about it among our acquaintances.) I assure you that to my lovely friend you are indebted 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,

[Here follows "How long and dreary is the Night."]

and love, and joy-could fire him with enthu- | enlarged; and to please you, and to suit siasm, or melt him with pathos, equal to the your favourite air, I have taken a stride or genius of your book? No! no! Whenever two across my room and have arranged it I want to be more than ordinary in song-to anew, as you will find on the other page. be in some degree equal to your diviner airs -do you imagine I fast and pray for the celestial emanation? Tout au contraire! I have a glorious recipe; the very one that for his own use was invented by the divinity 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 her 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 divmity of Helicon!

To descend to business; if you like my idea of "When she cam ben she bobbit," the following stanzas of mine, altered a little from what they were formerly, when set to another air, may perhaps do instead of worse stanzas:

[Here follows "Saw ye my Philly."]

[ocr errors]

Now for a few miscellaneous remarks. "The Posie” (in the Museum) is my composition; the air was taken down from Mrs. Burns's voice. (194) 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” (195) 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 postmark on it. (196) Whistle o'er the lave o't" is mine: the music said to be by a John Bruce, a celebrated violin player in Dumfries, about the beginning of this century. This I know, Bruce, who was an honest man, though a red-wud Highlandınan, constantly claimed it; and by all the old musical people here, is believed 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 deservedly called the Flower of Strathmore.

"How long and dreary is the night!" I met with some such words in a collection of songs somewhere, which I altered and

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 acquaintance, a noted performer, plays and sings at the same time so charmingly, that I shall never bear to see any of her sent into the world, as naked as Mr. Whattion. (197) d'ye-call-um has done in his London collec

songs

These English songs 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 instance:

[Here follows "Let not Woman e'er complain."]

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 composed the following:

THE LOVER'S MORNING SALUTE

TO HIS MISTRESS.
TUNE-Deil tak the Wars.

Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou, fairest crea

ture;

Numbering ilka bud which nature
Rosy morn now lifts his eye,
Waters wi' the tears o' joy:
Now thro' the leafy woods,
And by the reeking floods,
Wild nature's tenauts, 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 bless the
day.

Phoebus gilding the brow o' morning,
Banishes ilk darksome shade,
Nature gladd'ning 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; them into the world naked as they were

But when in beauty's light,

She meets my ravished sight, When through my very heart

Her beaming glories dart;

born, was ungenerous. They must all be clothed and made decent by our friend Clarke.

I find I am anticipated by the friendly

"Tis then I wake to life, to light, and Cunningham in sending you Ritson's Scot

joy! (198)

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 enclose 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.

So.

tish collection. Permit me, therefore, to present you with his English collection, which you will receive by the coach. I do not find his historical essay on Scottish song interesting. Your anecdotes and miscellaneous remarks will, I am sure, be much more 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 inclined to get a small copy, and to have it engraved in the style of Ritson's prints. P.S. Pray what do your anecdotes say concerning "Maggie Lauder ?"-was she a You

[Here follows "But lately seen in glad- real personage, and of what rank? some green."] would surely "spier for her, if you ca'd at Anstruther town."

I would be obliged to you if you would procure me a sight of Ritson's collection of English songs, which you mention in your letter. I will thank you for another information, and that as speedily as you please : whether this miserable, drawling, hotchpotch epistle has not completely tired you of my correspondence?

NO. CCCXXX.

MR. THOMSON TO BURNS.

Edinburgh, October 27th, 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, that I might drink her sweet health when the toast is going round. "Craigeburn wood" must certainly be adopted into my family, since she is the object of the song; but, in the name of decency, I must beg a new chorus verse from you. “Oh to be lying beyond thee, dearie," is perhaps a consummation to be wished, but will not do for singing in the company of ladies. The songs in your last will do you lasting credit, and suit the respective airs charmingly. I am perfectly of your opinion with respect to the additional airs. The idea of sending

NO. CCCXXXI.
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 yesterday begun my auecdotes, &c., for your work. I intend drawing them up in the form of a letter to you, which will save me from the tedious dull business of systematic arrangement. Indeed, as all I have to say consists of ununconnected 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 abolutely 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 fair Chloris (that is the poetic name of the lovely goddess of my inspiration), she suggested an idea, which I, on my return from the visit, wrought into the following song.

"My Chloris, mark how green the groves."

How do you like the simplicity and tenderness of this pastoral? I think it pretty well.

« AnteriorContinuar »