August, 1793. THAT tune, "Cauld Kail," is such a favourite of yours that I once more roved out yesterday for a gloamin-shot at the muses ;t 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 thinking that it was my early, sweet simple inspirer that was by my elbow, smooth gliding without step," and pouring the song on my glowing fancy. 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, the last stanza of this song I send you is the very words that Coila taught me many years ago, and which I set to an old Scots reel in Johnson's Museum. [This song is not indebted to old verses for either its sentiments or its character. The young lady who inspired it was Miss Phillis M'Murdo, afterwards Mrs. Norman Lockhart, of Carnwath. "This song," says Currie, "though certainly beautiful, would appear to more advantage without the chorus, as is indeed the case with several other songs of our author.' The chorus seems no incumbrance in this instance; it maintains the leading sentiment, and, in singing, enables the other voices to take a share, and give additional emphasis to the praise bestowed on this Nithsdale beauty. The former editors of Burns seem to have disliked choruses greatly; they are Come, let me take Thee. Air-Cauld Kail. I. COME, let me take thee to my breast, That equal transports move her? That I may live to love her. II. Thus in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, And break it shall I never! If you think the above will suit your idea of The last time I came o'er the moor" I cannot your favourite air, I shall be highly pleased. 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 foregoing. R.B. [The legends of the Vale of Nith say that the heroine of "Come let me take thee to my Burns was so breast," was Jean Lorimer. much under the influence of beauty that he is never supposed to sing without some living fair one in his mind; and, as the "Lass of Craigieburn" was far from coy, popular belief has seated her beside the Poet, and inspired him with her blue eyes and rosy lips. Be this as it may, it is quite evident that nothing is borrowed from the old words of the air to which the song is adapted.] sometimes omitted, though the song cannot be sung without them. It is true that the chorus seldom carries on the story; but then that is not its object; it enables the company to take a share in the entertainment, and no one need be told with what effect two or three well-tuned voices take up the o'erword at the end of each verse.-ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.] +[Gloaming - twilight. A beautiful poetic word which ought to be adopted in England. A gloaming-shot, a twilight interview.-CURRIE. The word gloaming is now adopted by the best writers in the English language, as a peculiarly sweet and poetical synonyme.] And now comes in my happy hours, Meet me on the warlock knowe, II. The crystal waters round us fa', III. When purple morning starts the hare, IV. When day, expiring in the west, And that's my ain dear Davie. Meet me on the warlock knowe, So much for Davie. The chorus, you know, is to the low part of the tune.-See Clarke's set of it in the Museum. N.B. In the Museum they have drawled out the tune to twelve lines of poetry, which is cursed nonsense. Four lines of song, and four of chorus, is the way. R. B. Robert Strange, the eminent engraver, fled in his youth from a field of battle, where he had fought in vain for his native princes, and, being hotly pursued, sought refuge in a gentleman's house, where a lady-beautiful and youngconcealed him under her hooped petticoat. When the days of peace came and fortune smiled, the grateful rebel wooed his protectress and made her his wife: she was equally witty and lovely, and figured among the fashionables of London till the death of her husband. "The Nithsdale lady went to no such extremities in her affection-her name has not transpired-the name of one who had courage to keep a tryste on the Warlock knowe' is worthy of remembrance."-CUNNINGHAM.] No. XXXVIII. G. THOMSON TO BURNS. Edinburgh, 1st September, 1793. MY DEAR SIR: SINCE writing you last, I have received half a dozen songs, with which I am delighted be yond expression. The humour and fancy of "Whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad," wil render it nearly as great a favourite as "Dunbreast,"" Adown winding Nith," and "By can Gray." "Come, let me take thee to my Allan stream," &c., are full of imagination and feeling, and sweetly suit the airs for which they are intended.-"Had I a cave on some will distant shore" is a striking and affecting composition. Our friend, to whose story it refers, read it with a swelling heart, I assure you.The union we are now forming, I think, can never be broken: these songs of yours will descend with the music to the latest posterity, and will be fondly cherished so long as genius, taste, and sensibility exist in our island. ["The reader will find an earlier song to this air, under the title of "When Rosy May comes in wi' Flowers." The Poet has added a very happy chorus, and made some alterations; they are curious-as showing the care with which he While the muse seems so propitious, I think it sometimes revised compositions from which he right to inclose a list of all the favours I have hoped for fame.-'Dainty Davie' is the name to ask of her-no fewer than twenty and three! of an old merry song, from which Burns has I have burdened the pleasant Peter with as borrowed nothing save the title and the mea- many as it is probable he will attend to: most It relates the adventure of David Wil- of the remaining airs would puzzle the English liamson, a preacher of the days of the Cove-poet not a little; they are of that peculiar meanant: he was pursued by Dalzell's dragoons, sure and rhythm that they must be familiar to and seeking refuge in the house of Cherrytrees, him who writes for them. G. T. the devout lady put the man of God into a bed beside her daughter to hide him from the men of Belial: the return which the reverend gentleman made for this is set forth very graphically in the old verses. The young lady sings sure. ["Thomson at first spoke of twenty or five and twenty songs: at the time when he wrote this letter he had received seven and twenty, yet he requests three and twenty more because the muse was propitious, and the Poet enthusiastic! It will be seen that the list was not limited to this number. When Burns refused money, it was for the songs which he had undertaken to supply there is no word of any recompense for the new batch of lyrics."-ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.] No. XXXIX. BURNS TO G. THOMSON. Sept. 1793. You may readily trust, my dear Sir, that any exertion in my power is heartily at your service. But one thing I must hint to you; the very name of Peter Pindar is of great service to your publication, so get a verse from him now and then though I have no objection, as well as I can, to bear the burden of the business. You know that my pretensions to musical taste are merely a few of nature's instincts, untaught and untutored by art. For this reason, many musical compositions, particularly where much of the merit lies in counterpoint, however they may transport and ravish the ears of you connoisseurs, affect my simple lug no otherwise than merely as melodious din. On the other hand, by way of amends, I am delighted with many little melodies which the learned musician despises as silly and insipid. I do not know whether the old air, "Hey, tuttie taitie," may rank among this number; but well I know that, with Fraser's hautboy, it has often filled my eyes with tears. There is a tradition, which I have met with in many places of Scotland, that it was Robert Bruce's march at the battle of Bannock-burn. This thought, in my solitary wanderings, warmed me to a pitch of enthusiasm on the theme of liberty and independence, which I threw into a kind of Scottish ode, fitted to the air that one might suppose to be the gallant Royal Scot's address to his heroic followers on that eventful morning : IV. Wha for SCOTLAND's king and law, V. By Oppression's woes and pains! By your sons in servile chains! We will drain our dearest veins, But they shall be free! VI. 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 subject, 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, you 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. R. B. [It is related, by Syme of Ryedale, that Burns composed this noble song under the influence of a storm of rain and lightning among the wilds of Glenken, in Galloway. When "the rain and the whirlwind came abroad," the Poet regarded them not: he neither drew his hat over his brow, nor urged his pony onward, but seemed lost in thought. The fruit of this silence was the "Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled;" an extraordinary song produced in an extraordinary manner. Something of the spirit of this far-famed song is visible in memoranda, made by Burns on visiting the field of battle in August, 1787."Come on to Bannockburn. Shewn the old house where James III. finished so tragically his unfortunate life. The field of Bannockburn the hole in the stone where glorious Bruce set his standard. Here no Scot can pass uninterested. I fancy to myself that I see my gallant, heroic countrymen, coming o'er the hill and down upon the plunderers of their country-the murderers of their fathers: noble revenge and just hate glowing in every vein, striding more and more eagerly as they approach the oppressive, insulting, blood-thirsty foe! I see them meet in gloriously-triumphant congratulation on the victorious field, exulting in their heroic royal leader, and rescued liberty and independence!"] No. XL. BURNS TO G. THOMSON. Sept. 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 simple sort of harmless idiotical 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 tinklegingle, tinkle-gingle of its own bells, that it is sure to run poor pilgarlick, the bedlam jockey, quite beyond any useful point or post in the common race of man. 66 The following song I have composed for Oran-gaoil," "the Highland air that, you tell me in your last, you have resolved to give a place to in your book. finished the song, so you have it glowing from the mint. If it suit you, well!-If not, 'tis also well! R. B. I have this moment Behold the Hour. Tune-Oran gaoil. I. BEHOLD the hour, the boat arrive; But fate has will'd, and we must part. I'll often greet this surging swell, Yon distant isle will often hail : "E'en here I took the last farewell; There, latest mark'd her vanish'd sail.” II. Along the solitary shore, While flitting sea-fowl round me cry, Across the rolling, dashing roar, I'll westward turn my wistful eye : Happy, thou Indian grove, I'll 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? [The inspirer of this song is said to have been Clarinda: she meditated, it seems, a voyage to a certain Western isle, and the Poet has imagined the last farewell taken, and the parting looks interchanged. Some of his most impassioned lyrics were composed in honour of this accomplished lady.] * [In the third volume of Thomson's Collection we find the following remarks ;-"The Poet originally intended this noble strain for the air of Hey Tutti Taitie; but on a suggestion from the editor, who then thought Lewie Gordon a better No. XLI. G. THOMSON TO BURNS. Edinburgh, 5th Sept. 1793. greatest modesty is the sure attendant of the I BELIEVE it is generally allowed that 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! Your heroic ode is, to me, the noblest composition 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 idea of giving it a tune so totally devoid of infind out a suitable air for it, and reprobated the terest 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 enthusiasts for Scottish airsI 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 Gordon is most happily adapted to your ode; at least with a very slight variation of the fourth line, which I shall presently 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. I would have no scruple about substituting 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 airis as follows: Verse 1st, Or to glorious victorie. 2nd, Chains-chains and slaverie. If you connect each line with its own verse. I do not think you will find that either the sentiment or the expression 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 your next I will expect to be informed whether you agree to what I have proposed. The little alterations I submit with the greatest deference.* tune for the words, they were united together, and published | in the preceding volume. The editor, however, having since examined the air Hey Tutti Taiti with more particular attes tion, frankly owns that he has changed his opinion; and that "Through 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 instrumental music, and would be much better omitted in singing. "Cowden-knowes." Remember, in your index, that the song in pure English to this tune, beginning "When summer comes, the swains on Tweed," Robert was is the production of Crawford. 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 compose 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 composed, which is generally the most difficult part of the business, I walk out, sit down now and then, look out for objects in nature round me that are in unison or he thinks it much better adapted for giving energy to the poetry than the air of Lewie Gordon. He therefore sent it to Haydn, who has entered into the spirit of it with a felicity peculiar to himself; his inimitable symphonies and accompaniments render it completely martial and highly characteristic of the heroic verses. It is worthy of remark that this appears to be the oldest Scottish air concerning which anything like evidence is to be found.] Mr. Thomson's list of songs for his publication. In his 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-chair, 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! "Gil Morris" I am for leaving out. It is a plaguy length; the air itself is never sung, and its place can be well supplied by one or two songs for fine airs that are not in your list. For instance, "Craigie-burn wood," and "Roy's Wife." The first, beside its intrinsic merit, has novelty; and the last has high merit as well as great celebrity. I have the original words of a song for the 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. † 66 Highland laddie." The old set will please a mere Scotch ear best; and the new an Italianized one. There is a third, and, what Oswald calls, the old "Highland laddie," which pleases me more than either of them. It is sometimes called "Jinglan Johnnie;" it being the air of an old humorous tawdry song of that hae been at Crookieden," &c. I would advise name. You will find it in the Museum, "I you, in this musical quandary, to offer up your and, in the mean time, waiting for this direcprayers to the muses for inspiring direction; tion, bestow a libation to Bacchus; and there is no doubt but you will hit on a judicious choice. Probatum est. out, and put in its place, "Auld Sir Simon," I must beg you to leave "The Quaker's Wife." "Blythe hae I been o'er the hill," is one of the finest songs I ever 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 surprised me remarks, the Bard proceeds in order, and goes through the whole; but on many of them he merely signifies his approbation. All his remarks of any importance are presented to the reader.-CURRIE. †This alteration Thomson has adopted, instead of the last stanza of the original song, which is objectionable in point of delicacy. CURRIE. This song, so much admired by our bard, appears in No. LXVI. |