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the poetry I speak with confidence; but the music is a business where I hint my ideas with the utmost diffidence.

The old verses have merit, though unequal, and are popular: my advice is to set the air to the old words, and let mine follow as English verses. Here they are:

[Here follows the song "Where are the joys."] Adieu, my dear Sir! the post goes, so I shall defer some other remarks until more leisure.

NO. CCXCVI.

BURNS TO THOMSON.

September, 1793.

I HAVE 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 Ramsay'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 :--

[Here follows "Deluded swain, the pleasure."]

The faulty line in Logan-Water, I mend thus:

"How can your flinty hearts enjoy

The widow's tears, the orphan's cry The song otherwise will pass. As to "M'Gregoria Rua-Ruth" you will see a song of mine to it, with a set of the 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, yet 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 Peggy?" There's nae luck about the well deserves a place. I cannot say that "O'er the hills and far awa" strikes me as equal as your selection. This is no my

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ain house" is a great favourite air 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 saut? 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 "Fy!

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let's a' to the bridal," to any other words than its own.

What pleases me, as simple and naïf, disgusts you as ludicrous and low. For this reason, "Fy! gie me my coggie, Sirs," "Fy! let's a' to the bridal," with several others of that cast, are to me highly pleasing; while, "Saw ye my father, or saw ye my mother?" delights me with its descriptive 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, so I shall not attempt it. I know you will laugh at all this; but "ilka ruan wears his belt his ain gait."

NO. CCXCVII. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON.

October 1793.

YOUR last letter, my dear Thomson, was indeed laden with heavy news. Alas, poor Erskine! (178) The recollection that he was a coadjutor in your publication, has, till now, scared me from writing to you, or turning my thoughts on composing for you.

I am pleased that you are reconciled to the air of the "Quaker's wife;" though, by the bye, an old Highland gentleman, and a deep antiquarian, tells me it is a Gaelic air, and known by the name of "Leiger m' choss." The following verses, I hope, will please you, as an English song to the air. [Here follows “Thine am I, my faithful fair."]

Your objection to the English song I proposed for "John Anderson, my jo," is certainly just. The following is by an old acquaintance of mine, and I think has merit. The song was never in print, which I think is so much in your favour. The more original good poetry your collection contains, it certainly has so much the more merit.

SONG. BY GAVIN TURNBULL. (179)
"Oh condescend, dear charming maid,
My wretched state to view
A tender swain to love betray'd,
And sad despair, by you.

While here, all melancholy,
My passion I deplore,
Yet, urg'd by stern resistless fate,
I love thee more and more.

I 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!

Those happy days are o'er;
For all thy unrelenting hate,

I love thee more and more.
Oh, yield, illustrious beauty, yield!
No longer let me mourn;
And though victorious in the field,
Thy captive do not scorn.

Let generous pity warm thee,

My wonted peace restore;
And, grateful, I shall bless thee still,
And love thee more and more.”

The following address of Turnbull's to the Nightingale, will suit as an English song to the air, "There was a lass, and she was fair." By the bye, Turnbull has a great many songs in MS., which I can command, if you like his manner. Possibly, as he is an old friend of mine, I may be prejudiced in his favour: but I like some of his pieces very much.

THE NIGHTINGALE.

"Thou sweetest minstrel of the grove, That ever tried the plaintive strain, Awake thy tender tale of love,

And soothe a poor forsaken swain. For though the muses deign to aid,

And teach him smoothly to complain; Yet Delia, charming, cruel maid,

Is deaf to her forsaken swain. All day, with fashion's gaudy sons, In sport she wanders o'er the plain : Their tales approves, and still she shuns 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 a poor forsaken swain."

I shall just transcribe another of Turnbull's, which would go charmingly to "Lewie Gordon."

LAURA.

"Let me wander where I will,

By shady wood, or winding rill;

Where the sweetest May-born flowers
Paint the meadows, deck the bowers;
Where the linnet'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 avoid the noontide heat;
If beneath the moon's pale ray,
Thro' unfrequented wilds I stray;
Let me wander where I will,
Laura haunts my fancy still.
When at night the drowsy god
Waves his sleep-compelling rod,
And to fancy's wakeful eyes
Bids celestial visions rise
While with boundless joy I rove
Thro' the fairy land of love:
Let me wander where I will,

;

Laura haunts my fancy still."

The rest of your letter I shall answer on some other opportunity.

NO. CCXCVIII.

MR. THOMSON TO BURNS.
November 7th, 1793.

MY GOOD SIR-After so 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 to find, however, that your silence did not proceed from that cause, and that you have got among the ballads once more.

I have to thank you for your English song to "Leiger m' choss," which I think extremely good, although the colouring is warm. Your friend, Mr. Turnbull's songs have doubtless 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. (180)

NO. CCXCIX.

TO JOHN M'MURDO, Esq.

Dumfries, December, 1793. SIR-It is said that we take the greatest liberties with our greatest friends, and I

pay myself a very high compliment in the manner in which I am going to apply the remark. I have owed you money longer than ever I owed it to any man. Here is Ker's account, and here are six guineas; and now, I don't owe a shilling to man-or woman either. But for these d- dirty, dog-ear'd little pages (181), I had done myself the honour to have waited on you long ago. Independent of the obligations your hospitality has laid me under, the conciousness of your superiority in the rank of man and gentleman, of itself was fully as much as I could ever make head against; but to owe you money too, was more than I could face.

I think I once mentioned something of a collection of Scots songs I have for some years been making--I send you a perusal of what I have got together. I could not conveniently spare them above five or six days, and five or six glances of them will probably more than suffice you. A very few of them are my own. When you are tired of them, please leave them with Mr. Clint, of the King's Arms. There is not another copy of the collection in the world; and I should be sorry that any unfortunate negligence should deprive me of what has cost me a good deal of pains.

NO. CCC.

R. B.

TO JOIN M'MURDO, Esq.,

DRUMLANRIG.

Dumfries, 1793.

WILL Mr. M'Murdo do me the favour to accept of these volumes (182); a trifling but sincere mark of the very high respect I bear for his worth as a man, his manners as a gentleman, and his kindness as a friend. However inferior now, or afterwards, may rank as a poet, one honest virtue to which few poets can pretend, I trust I shall ever claim as mine-to no man, whatever his station in life, or his power to serve me, have I ever paid a compliment at the expense of TRUTH. THE AUTHor.

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pertinent in my anxious wish to be honoured with your acquaintance. You will forgive it

it was the impulse of heart-felt respect. "He is the father of the Scottish county reform, and is a man who does honour to the business, at the same time that the business does honour to him," said my worthy friend Glenriddel to somebody by me who was talking of your coming to this country with your corps. "Then," I said,

I have a woman's longing to take him by the hand, and say to him, 'Sir, I honour you as a man to whom the interests of humanity are dear, and as a patriot to whom the rights of your country are sacred.'”

In times like these, Sir, when our commoners are barely able, by the glimmering of their own twilight understandings, to scrawl a frank, and when lords are what gentlemen would be ashamed to be, to whom shall a sinking country call for help? To the independent country gentleman. To him who has too deep a stake in his country not to be in earnest for her welfare; and who, in the honest pride of man, can view, with equal contempt, the insolence of office, and the allurements of corruption.

I mentioned to you a Scots ode or song I had lately composed (184), and which, I think, has some merit. Allow me to enclose it. When I fall in with you at the theatre, I shall be glad to have your opinion of it. Accept of it, Sir, as a very humble, but most sincere tribute of respect for a man who, dear as he prizes poetic fame, yet holds dearer an independent mind. I have the honour to be,

NO. CCCII. TO MRS. RIDDEL

R. B.

WHO WAS ABOUT TO BESPEAK A PLAY ONE EVENING AT THE DUMFRIES THEATRE.

I AM thinking to send my "Address" to some periodical publication, but it has not got your sanction, so pray look over it.

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As to the Tuesday's play, let me beg of you, my dear Madam, to give us "The Wonder, a Woman keeps a Secret! to which please add, "The Spoilt Child ”—you will highly oblige me by so doing.

Ah, what an enviable creature you are! There now, this cursed, gloomy, blue-devil day, you are going to a party of choice spirits

To play the shapes Of frolic fancy, and incessant form Those rapid pictures, assembled train Of fleet ideas, never join'd before, Where lively wit excites to gay surprise: Or folly-painting humour, grave himself, Calls laughter forth, deep shaking every

nerve,

But, as you rejoice with them that do rejoice, do also remember to weep with them that weep, and pity your melancholy friend, R. B. (185)

NO. CCCIII.

TO A LADY,

IN FAVOUR OF A PLAYER'S BENEFIT. Dumfries, 1794.

MADAM-You were so very good as to promise me to honour my friend with your presence on his benefit night. That night is fixed for Friday next: the play a most interesting one-"The Way to Keep Him." I have the pleasure to know Mr. G. well. His merit as an actor is generally acknowledged. He has genius and worth which would do honour to patronage: he is a poor and modest man :-claims which, from their very silence have the more forcible power on the generous heart. Alas, for pity! that, from the indolence of those who have the good things of this life in their gift, too often does brazen-fronted importunity snatch that boon, the rightful due of retiring, humble want! Of all the qualities we assign to the author and director of Nature, by far the most enviable is, to be able to wipe away all tears from all eyes." Oh what insignificant, sordid wretches are they, however chance may have loaded them with wealth, who go to their graves, to their magnificent mausoleums, with hardly the consciousness of having made one poor honest heart happy. But I crave your pardon, Madam; I came to beg not to preach.

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R. B.

position of mine (186), as a small tribute of gratitude for the acquaintance with which you have been pleased to honour me. Independent of my enthusiasm as a Scotsman, I have rarely met with any thing in history which interests my feelings as a man, equal with the story of Bannockburn. On the one hand, a cruel but able usurper, leading on the finest army in Europe to extinguish the last spark of freedom among a greatly-daring hand, the desperate relics of a gallant nation, and greatly-injured people; on the other devoting themselves to rescue their bleeding country, or perish with her.

Liberty! thou art a prize truly, and indeed invaluable, for never caust thou be too dearly bought!

if my little ode has the honour of your lordship's approbation, it will gratify my highest ambition. I have the honour to be.

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DEAR SIR-The following ode (187) is on a subject which I know you by no means regard with indifference. Oh, Liberty, Thou mak'st the gloomy face of nature gay, Giv'st beauty to the sun, and pleasure to the day.

It does me so much good to meet with a man whose honest bosom glows with the generous enthusiasm, the heroic daring of liberty, that I could not forbear sending you a composition of my own on the subject, which I really think is in my best manner. I have the honour to be, dear Sir, &c.

R. B.

NO. CCCIV.

TO THE EARL OF BUCHAN.

Dumfries, January 12th, 1794. MY LORD-Will your lordship allow me to present you with the enclosed little com

NO. CCCVI. TO MRS. RIDDEL

DEAR MADAM-I meant to have called on you yesternight; but as I edged up to your box-door, the first object which greeted my view was one of those lobster-coated puppies, sitting like another dragon, guarding the Hesperian fruit. On the conditions and capitulations you so obligingly offer, I shall certainly make my weather-beaten, rustic

phiz a part of your box-furniture on Tuesday, when we may arrange the business of the visit.

Among the profusion of idle compliments, which insidious craft, or unmeaning folly, incessantly offer at your shrine-a shrine, how far exalted above such adoration--permit me, were it but for rarity's sake, to pay you the honest tribute of a warm heart and an independent mind,—and to assure you, that I am, thou most amiable, and most accomplished of thy sex, with the most respectful esteem, and fervent regard, thine, &c. R. B.

spoilt it a good deal. It shall be a lesson to me how I lend him anything again.

I have sent you "Werter," truly happy to have any, the smallest, opportunity of obliging you.

'Tis true, Madam, I saw you once since I was at Woodlee; and that once froze the very life-blood of my heart. Your reception of me was such, that a wretch meeting the eye of his judge, about to pronounce sentence of death on him, could only have envied my feelings and situation. But I hate the theme, and never more shall write or speak

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NO. CCCVII.

TO THE SAME.

I WILL wait on you, my ever-valued friend, but whether in the morning I am not sure. Sunday closes a period of our curst revenue business, and may probably keep me employed with my pen until noon. Fine employment for a poet's pen! There is a species of the human genus that I call the gin-horse class: what enviable dogs they are! Round, and round, and round they go. Mundell's Ox, that drives his cotton mill, is their exact prototype-without an idea or wish beyond their circle-fat, sleek, stupid, patient, quiet and contented; while here I sit, altogether Novemberish, a d- - melange of fretfulness and melancholy; not enough of the one to rouse me to passion, nor of the other to repose me in torpor; my soul flouncing and fluttering round her tenement, like a wild finch, caught amid the horrors of winter, and newly thrust into a cage. Well, I am persuaded, that it was of me the Hebrew sage prophesied, when he foretold-" And, behold, on whatsoever this man doth set his heart, it shall not prosper !" If my resentment is awaked, it is sure to be where it dare not squeak; and if- * Pray that wisdom and bliss be more frequent visitors of R. B.

*

NO. CCCVIII.

TO THE SAME.

*

I HAVE this moment got the song from Syme, and I am sorry to see that he has

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NO. CCCIX.

TO THE SAME.

I HAVE often told you, my dear friend, that you had a spice of caprice in your composition, and you have as often disavowed it; even, perhaps, while your opinions were, at the moment, irrefragably proving it. Could anything estrange nie from a friend such as you? No! To-morrow I shall have the honour of waiting on you.

Farewell, thou first of friends, and most accomplished of women, even with_all_thy little caprices! R. B.

NO. CCCX.

TO THE SAME.

MADAM-I return your common-place book. I have perused it with much pleasure, and would have continued my criticisms, but as it seems the critic has forfeited your esteem, his strictures must lose their value.

If it is true that "offences come only from the heart;" before you I am guiltless. To admire, esteem and prize you, as the most accomplished of women, and the first of friends-if these are crimes, I am the most offending thing alive.

In a face where I used to meet the kind complacency of friendly confidence, now to

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