positive improvement. Now, my dear sir, with the freedom which characterizes our correspondence, I must not, cannot alter Bonie Leslie. 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 conquering 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 sie 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. 277, with the following in addition.) The hunter lo'es the morning sun, To rouse the mountain deer, my jo My ain kind dearie, O. I am interrupted. Yours, &c. * Mr. Thomson has decided on Ne'er made sic antther. E. No. IX. Mr. BURNS to Mr. THOMSON. AULD ROB MORRIS*. There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, He's the king o' gude fellows and wale of auld men ; He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine, And ae bonie lassie, his darling and mine. She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May; She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay; As blythe 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 heiress, auld Robin's a laird, And my daddie has nought 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 nane; O had she but been of a lower degree, I then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon me! O, how past descriving had then been my bliss, As now my distraction no words can express! DUNCAN GRAY. Duncan Gray cam here to woo,, The two first lines are taken from an old ballad-the rest is wholly original. E. On blythe yule night when we were fu", Maggie coost her head fu' high, Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd; Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig, Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, Time and chance are but a tide, Slighted love is sair to bide, Shall I, like a fool, quoth he, For a haughty hizzie die? She may gae to-France for me! Something in her bosom wrings, And O! her een, they spak sice things; Duncan was a lad o' grace, Maggie's was a piteous case, A well-known rock in the frith of Clyde. E. Duncan could na be her death, Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath; 4th December, 1792. The foregoing, I submit, my dear sir, to your better judgment. Acquit them or condemn them, as seemeth good in your sight. Duncan Gray is that kind of light-horse gallop of an air, which precludes sentiment. The ludicrous is its ruling feature. No. X. Mr. BURNS to Mr. THOMSON. SONG. Tune-" I had a horse." O poortith cauld, and restless love, This warld's wealth when I think on, 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. E. Fie, fie on silly coward man, Her een sae bonie blue betray, O wha can prudence think upon, How blest the humble cotter's fate* ! GALLA WATER. There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes, But Yarrow braes, nor Ettric. shaws, But there is ane, a secret ane, Altho' his daddie was nae laird, And tho' I hae nae meikle tocher; "The wild-wood Indian's fate" in the original MS. E. |