No More Learning

R. B.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 203: Song CLXXX. ]

[Footnote 204: Song CLXXXI. ]

* * * * *




CCXXXIX.


TO MR. THOMSON.

[The story of Mary Campbell's love is related in the notes on the
songs which the poet wrote in her honour. Thomson says, in his answer,
"I have heard the sad story of your Mary; you always seem inspired
when you write of her. "]

_14th November, 1792. _

MY DEAR SIR,

I agree with you that the song, "Katherine 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[205] pleases myself; I think it as 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 passages of my youthful days, and I
own that I should be much flattered to see the verses set to an air
which would ensure 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.

R. B.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 205:

Ye banks and braes and streams around
The castle o' Montgomery.

Song CLXXXII]

* * * * *




CCXL.


TO MR. THOMSON.

[The poet approved of several emendations proposed by Thomson, whose
wish was to make the words flow more readily with the music: he
refused, however, to adopt others, where he thought too much of the
sense was sacrificed. ]

_Dumfries, 1st December, 1792. _

Your alterations of my "Nannie, O! " are perfectly right. So are those
of "My wife's a winsome 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 Lesley. " 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 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.

R. B.

* * * * *




CCXLI.


TO MR. THOMSON.

[Duncan Gray, which this letter contained, became a favourite as soon
as it was published, and the same may be said of Auld Rob Morris. ]

_4th December, 1792. _

The foregoing ["Auld Rob Morris," and "Duncan Gray,"[206]] 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.

R. B.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 206: Songs CLXXXIII. and CLXXXIV. ]

* * * * *




CCXLII.


TO MRS. DUNLOP.

[Burns often discourses with Mrs. Dunlop on poetry and poets: the
dramas of Thomson, to which he alludes, are stiff, cold compositions. ]

_Dumfries, 6th December, 1792. _

I shall be in Ayrshire, I think, next week; and, if at all possible, I
shall certainly, my much-esteemed friend, have the pleasure of
visiting at Dunlop-house.

Alas, Madam! how seldom do we meet in this world, that we have reason
to congratulate ourselves on accessions of happiness! I have not
passed half the ordinary term of an old man's life, and yet I scarcely
look over the obituary of a newspaper, that I do not see some names
that I have known, and which I, and other acquaintances, little
thought to meet with there so soon. Every other instance of the
mortality of our kind, makes us cast an anxious look into the dreadful
abyss of uncertainty, and shudder with apprehension for our own fate.
But of how different an importance are the lives of different
individuals? Nay, of what importance is one period of the same life,
more than another? A few years ago, I could have laid down in the
dust, "careless of the voice of the morning;" and now not a few, and
these most helpless individuals, would, on losing me and my exertions,
lose both their "staff and shield. " By the way, these helpless ones
have lately got an addition; Mrs. B---- having given me a fine girl
since I wrote you. There is a charming passage in Thomson's "Edward
and Eleonora:"

"The valiant _in himself_, what can he suffer?
Or what need he regard his _single_ woes? " &c.

As I am got in the way of quotations, I shall give you another from
the same piece, peculiarly, alas! too peculiarly apposite, my dear
Madam, to your present frame of mind:

"Who so unworthy but may proudly deck him
With his fair-weather virtue, that exults
Glad o'er the summer main! the tempest comes,
The rough winds rage aloud; when from the helm,
This virtue shrinks, and in a corner lies
Lamenting--Heavens! if privileged from trial,
How cheap a thing were virtue? "

I do not remember to have heard you mention Thomson's dramas. I pick
up favourite quotations, and store them in my mind as ready armour,
offensive or defensive, amid the struggle of this turbulent existence.
Of these is one, a very favourite one, from his "Alfred:"

"Attach thee firmly to the virtuous deeds
And offices of life; to life itself,
With all its vain and transient joys, sit loose. "

Probably I have quoted some of these to you formerly, as indeed when I
write from the heart, I am apt to be guilty of such repetitions. The
compass of the heart, in the musical style of expression, is much more
bounded than that of the imagination; so the notes of the former are
extremely apt to run into one another; but in return for the paucity
of its compass, its few notes are much more sweet. I must still give
you another quotation, which I am almost sure I have given you before,
but I cannot resist the temptation. The subject is religion--speaking
of its importance to mankind, the author says,

"'Tis this, my friend, that streaks our morning bright. "

I see you are in for double postage, so I shall e'en scribble out
t'other sheet. We, in this country here, have many alarms of the
reforming, or rather the republican spirit, of your part of the
kingdom. Indeed we are a good deal in commotion ourselves. For me, I
am a placeman, you know; a very humble one indeed, Heaven knows, but
still so much as to gag me. What my private sentiments are, you will
find out without an interpreter.

* * * * *

I have taken up the subject, and the other day, for a pretty actress's
benefit night, I wrote an address, which I will give on the other
page, called "The rights of woman:"

"While Europe's eye is fixed on mighty things. "

I shall have the honour of receiving your criticisms in person at
Dunlop.

R. B.

* * * * *




CCXLIII.


TO R. GRAHAM, ESQ. ,

FINTRAY.

[Graham stood by the bard in the hour of peril recorded in this
letter: and the Board of Excise had the generosity to permit him to
eat its "bitter bread" for the remainder of his life. ]

_December, 1792. _

SIR,

I have been surprised, confounded, and distracted by Mr. Mitchell, the
collector, telling me that he has received an order from your Board to
inquire into my political conduct, and blaming me as a person
disaffected to government.

Sir, you are a husband--and a father. --You know what you would feel,
to see the much-loved wife of your bosom, and your helpless, prattling
little ones, turned adrift into the world, degraded and disgraced from
a situation in which they had been respectable and respected, and left
almost without the necessary support of a miserable existence. Alas,
Sir! must I think that such, soon, will be my lot! and from the
d--mned, dark insinuations of hellish, groundless envy too! I believe,
Sir, I may aver it, and in the sight of Omniscience, that I would not
tell a deliberate falsehood, no, not though even worse horrors, if
worse can be, than those I have mentioned, hung over my head; and I
say, that the allegation, whatever villain has made it, is a lie! To
the British constitution on Revolution principles, next after my God,
I am most devoutly attached; you, Sir, have been much and generously
my friend. --Heaven knows how warmly I have felt the obligation, and
how gratefully I have thanked you. --Fortune, Sir, has made you
powerful, and me impotent; has given you patronage, and me
dependence. --I would not for my single self, call on your humanity;
were such my insular, unconnected situation, I would despise the tear
that now swells in my eye--I could brave misfortune, I could face
ruin; for at the worst, "Death's thousand doors stand open;" but, good
God! the tender concerns that I have mentioned, the claims and ties
that I see at this moment, and feel around me, how they unnerve
courage, and wither resolution! To your patronage, as a man of some
genius, you have allowed me a claim; and your esteem, as an honest
man, I know is my due: to these, Sir, permit me to appeal; by these
may I adjure you to save me from that misery which threatens to
overwhelm me, and which, with my latest breath I will say it, I have
not deserved.

R. B.

* * * * *




CCXLIV.


TO MRS. DUNLOP.

[Burns was ordered, he says, to mind his duties in the Excise, and to
hold his tongue about politics--the latter part of the injunction was
hard to obey, for at that time politics were in every mouth. ]

_Dumfries, 31st December, 1792. _

DEAR MADAM,

A hurry of business, thrown in heaps by my absence, has until now
prevented my returning my grateful acknowledgments to the good family
of Dunlop, and you in particular, for that hospitable kindness which
rendered the four days I spent under that genial roof, four of the
pleasantest I ever enjoyed. --Alas, my dearest friend! how few and
fleeting are those things we call pleasures! on my road to Ayrshire, I
spent a night with a friend whom I much valued; a man whose days
promised to be many; and on Saturday last we laid him in the dust!

_Jan. 2, 1793. _

I have just received yours of the 30th, and feel much for your
situation. However, I heartily rejoice in your prospect of recovery
from that vile jaundice. As to myself, I am better, though not quite
free of my complaint. --You must not think, as you seem to insinuate,
that in my way of life I want exercise. Of that I have enough; but
occasional hard drinking is the devil to me. Against this I have again
and again bent my resolution, and have greatly succeeded. Taverns I
have totally abandoned: it is the private parties in the family way,
among the hard-drinking gentlemen of this country, that do me the
mischief--but even this I have more than half given over.

Mr. Corbet can be of little service to me at present; at least I
should be shy of applying. I cannot possibly be settled as a
supervisor, for several years. I must wait the rotation of the list,
and there are twenty names before mine. I might indeed get a job of
officiating, where a settled supervisor was ill, or aged; but that
hauls me from my family, as I could not remove them on such an
uncertainty. Besides, some envious, malicious devil, has raised a
little demur on my political principles, and I wish to let that matter
settle before I offer myself too much in the eye of my supervisors. I
have set, henceforth, a seal on my lips, as to these unlucky politics;
but to you I must breathe my sentiments. In this, as in everything
else, I shall show the undisguised emotions of my soul. War I
deprecate: misery and ruin to thousands are in the blast that
announces the destructive demon.

R. B.

* * * * *




CCXLV.


TO MR. THOMSON.

[The songs to which the poet alludes were "Poortith Cauld," and "Galla
Water. "]

_Jan. 1793. _

Many returns of the season to you, my dear Sir. How comes on your
publication? --will these two foregoing [Songs CLXXXV. and
CLXXXVI. ] be of any service to you? 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 Cunningham, greet him, in my
name, with the compliments of the season.

Yours, &c. ,

R. B.

* * * * *




CCXLVI.


TO MR. THOMSON.

[Thomson explained more fully than at first the plan of his
publication, and stated that Dr. Beattie had promised an essay on
Scottish music, by way of an introduction to the work. ]

_26th January, 1793. _

I approve greatly, my dear Sir, of your plans. Dr. Beattie'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 my several
peregrinations through Scotland, I made a pilgrimage to the individual
spot from which every song took its rise, "Lochaber" and the "Braes of
Ballenden" excepted. So far as the locality, either from the title of
the air, or the tenor of the song, could be ascertained, I have paid
my devotions at the particular shrine of every Scots muse.

I do not doubt but you might make a very valuable collection of
Jacobite songs; but would it give no offence? In the meantime, 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 _naviete_, 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.

[Here follows "Lord Gregory. " Song CLXXXVII. ]

My most respectful compliments to the honourable gentleman who
favoured me with a postscript in your last. He shall hear from me and
receive his MSS. soon.

Yours,

R. B.

* * * * *




CCXLVII.


TO MR. CUNNINGHAM.

[The seal, with the coat-of-arms which the poet invented, is still in
the family, and regarded as a relique. ]

_3d March, 1793. _

Since I wrote to you the last lugubrious sheet, I have not had time to
write you further.
When I say that I had not time, that as usual
means, that the three demons, indolence, business, and ennui, have so
completely shared my hours among them, as not to leave me a five
minutes' fragment to take up a pen in.

Thank heaven, I feel my spirits buoying upwards with the renovating
year. Now I shall in good earnest take up Thomson's songs. I dare say
he thinks I have used him unkindly, and I must own with too much
appearance of truth. Apropos, do you know the much admired old
Highland air called "The Sutor's Dochter? " It is a first-rate
favourite of mine, and I have written what I reckon one of my best
songs to it. I will send it to you as it was sung with great applause
in some fashionable circles by Major Roberston, of Lude, who was here
with his corps.

* * * * *

There is one commission that I must trouble you with. I lately lost a
valuable seal, a present from a departed friend which vexes me much.

I have gotten one of your Highland pebbles, which I fancy would make a
very decent one; and I want to cut my armorial bearing on it; will you
be so obliging as inquire what will be the expense of such a business?
I do not know that my name is matriculated, as the heralds call it, at
all; but I have invented arms for myself, so you know I shall be chief
of the name; and, by courtesy of Scotland, will likewise be entitled
to supporters. These, however, I do not intend having on my seal. I am
a bit of a herald, and shall give you, _secundum artem_, my arms. On a
field, azure, a holly-bush, seeded, proper, in base; a shepherd's pipe
and crook, saltier-wise, also proper in chief. On a wreath of the
colours, a wood lark perching on a sprig of bay-tree, proper, for
crest. Two mottos; round the top of the crest, _Wood-notes wild_: at
the bottom of the shield, in the usual place, _Better a wee bush than
nae bield. _ By the shepherd's pipe and crook I do not mean the
nonsense of painters of Arcadia, but a _stock and horn_, and a _club_,
such as you see at the head of Allan Ramsay, in Allan's quarto edition
of the _Gentle Shepherd. _ By the bye, do you know Allan? He must be a
man of very great genius--Why is he not more known? --Has he no
patrons? or do "Poverty's cold wind and crushing rain beat keen and
heavy" on him! I once, and but once, got a glance of that noble
edition of the noblest pastoral in the world; and dear as it was, I
mean dear as to my pocket, I would have bought it; but I was told
that it was printed and engraved for subscribers only. He is the
_only_ artist who has hit _genuine_ pastoral _costume. _ What, my dear
Cunningham, is there in riches, that they narrow and harden the heart
so? I think, that were I as rich as the sun, I should be as generous
as the day; but as I have no reason to imagine my soul a nobler one
than any other man's, I must conclude that wealth imparts a bird-lime
quality to the possessor, at which the man, in his native poverty,
would have revolted. What has led me to this, is the idea, of such
merit as Mr. Allan possesses, and such riches us a nabob or government
contractor possesses, and why they do not form a mutual league. Let
wealth shelter and cherish unprotected merit, and the gratitude and
celebrity of that merit will richly repay it.

R. B.

* * * * *




CCXLVIII.


TO MR. THOMSON.

[Burns in these careless words makes us acquainted with one of his
sweetest songs. ]

_20th March, 1793. _

MY DEAR SIR,

The song prefixed ["Mary Morison"[207]] is one of my juvenile works. I
leave it in your hands. I do not think it very remarkable, either for
its merits or demerits. It is impossible (at least I feel it so in my
stinted powers) to be always original, entertaining, and witty.

What is become of the list, &c. , of your songs? I shall be out of all
temper with you, by and bye. I have always looked on myself as the
prince of indolent correspondence, and valued myself accordingly; and
I will not, cannot, bear rivalship from you, nor anybody else.

R. B.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 207: Song CLXXXVIII. ]

* * * * *




CCXLIX.


TO MR. THOMSON.

[For the "Wandering Willie" of this communication Thomson offered
several corrections. ]

_March, 1793. _

Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie,
Now tired with wandering, haud awa hame;
Come to my bosom, my ae only dearie,
And tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same.

Loud blew the cauld winter winds at our parting;
It was na the 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!
Oh how your wild horrors a lover alarms!
Awaken, ye breezes! blow gently, ye billows!
And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms.

But if he's forgotten his faithfulest 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 leave it to you, my dear Sir, to determine whether the above, or the
old "Thro' the lang muir I have followed my Willie," be the best.

R. B.

* * * * *




CCL.


TO MISS BENSON.

[Miss Benson, when this letter was written, was on a visit to
Arbigland, the beautiful seat of Captain Craik; she is now Mrs. Basil
Montagu. ]

_Dumfries, 21st March, 1793. _

MADAM,

Among many things for which I envy those hale, long-lived old fellows
before the flood, is this in particular, that when they met with
anybody after their own heart, they had a charming long prospect of
many, many happy meetings with them in after-life.

Now in this short, stormy, winter day of our fleeting existence, when
you now and then, in the Chapter of Accidents, meet an individual
whose acquaintance is a real acquisition, there are all the
probabilities against you, that you shall never meet with that valued
character more. On the other hand, brief as this miserable being is,
it is none of the least of the miseries belonging to it, that if there
is any miscreant whom you hate, or creature whom you despise, the
ill-run of the chances shall be so against you, that in the
overtakings, turnings, and jostlings of life, pop, at some unlucky
corner, eternally comes the wretch upon you, and will not allow your
indignation or contempt a moment's repose. As I am a sturdy believer
in the powers of darkness, I take these to be the doings of that old
author of mischief, the devil. It is well-known that he has some kind
of short-hand way of taking down our thoughts, and I make no doubt he
is perfectly acquainted with my sentiments respecting Miss Benson: how
much I admired her abilities and valued her worth, and how very
fortunate I thought myself in her acquaintance. For this last reason,
my dear Madam, I must entertain no hopes of the very great pleasure of
meeting with you again.

Miss Hamilton tells me that she is sending a packet to you, and I beg
leave to send you the enclosed sonnet, though, to tell you the real
truth, the sonnet is a mere pretence, that I may have the opportunity
of declaring with how much respectful esteem I have the honour to be,
&c.

R. B.

* * * * *




CCLI.


TO PATRICK MILLER, ESQ. ,

OF DALSWINTON.

[The time to which Burns alludes was the period of his occupation of
Ellisland. ]

_Dumfries, April, 1793. _

SIR,

My poems having just come out in another edition, will you do me the
honour to accept of a copy? A mark of my gratitude to you, as a
gentleman to whose goodness I have been much indebted; of my respect
for you, as a patriot who, in a venal, sliding age, stands forth the
champion of the liberties of my country; and of my veneration for you,
as a man, whose benevolence of heart does honour to human nature.

There _was_ a time, Sir, when I was your dependent: this language
_then_ would have been like the vile incense of flattery--I could not
have used it. Now that connexion is at an end, do me the honour to
accept this _honest_ tribute of respect from, Sir,

Your much indebted humble servant,

R. B.

* * * * *




CCLII.


TO MR. THOMSON.

[This review of our Scottish lyrics is well worth the attention of all
who write songs, read songs, or sing songs. ]

_7th April, 1793. _

Thank you, my dear Sir, for your packet. You cannot imagine how much
this business 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
fortification was Uncle Toby's; so I'll e'en 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 cheerfully looking back on the honest
folks with whom I have been happy, I shall say or sing, "Sae merry as
we a' hae been! " and, raising my last looks to the whole human race,
the last words of the voice of "Coila"[208] shall be, "Good night, and
joy be wi' you a'! " 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 the moor," and several
other lines in it, are beautiful; but, in my opinion--pardon me,
revered shade of Ramsay! --the song is unworthy of the divine air. I
shall try to make or mend.

"For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove,"[209] is a charming song; but "Logan
burn and Logan braes" is sweetly susceptible of rural imagery; I'll
try that likewise, and, if I succeed, the other song may class among
the English ones. I remember the two last lines of a verse in some of
the old songs of "Logan Water" (for I know a good many different ones)
which I think pretty:--

"Now my dear lad maun faces his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan braes. "[210]

"My Patie is a lover gay," is unequal. "His mind is never muddy," is a
muddy expression indeed.

"Then I'll resign and marry Pate,
And syne my cockernony--"

This is surely far unworthy of Ramsay or your book. My song, "Rigs of
barley," to the same tune, does not altogether please me; but if I can
mend it, and thrash a few loose sentiments out of it, I will submit
it to your consideration. "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 John 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 Cunningham 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, father
to Earl John; and one forenoon, riding or walking, out together, his
lordship and Allan passed a sweet romantic spot on Irvine water, still
called "Patie's mill," where a bonnie lass was "tedding hay,
bare-headed on the green. " My lord observed to Allan, that it would be
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,"[211] is a fine song; but, for consistency's
sake, alter the name "Adonis. " Were there ever such banns published,
as a purpose of marriage between 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, mill,
O! "[212] though excellent, is, on account of delicacy, inadmissible;
still I like the 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 false
imagery in it: for instance,

"And sweetly the nightingale sang from the tree. "

In the 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. [213] 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. [214] "John Anderson, my jo"--the song to this tune in Johnson's
Museum, is my composition, and I think it not my worst:[215] if it suit
you, take it, and welcome. Your collection of sentimental and pathetic
songs, is, in my opinion, very complete; but not so your comic ones.
Where are "Tullochgorum," "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 immediate neighbourhood,
until I got it taken down from a country girl's singing. It is called
"Craigieburn 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.

You are quite right in inserting the 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, which I think * * *, but in
its original state it is not quite a lady's song. I enclose an
altered, not amended copy for you,[216] if you choose to set the tune to
it, and let the Irish verses follow.

Mr. Erskine's songs are all pretty, but his "Lone-vale"[217] is divine.

Yours, &c.

R. B.

Let me know just how you like these random hints.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 208: Burns here calls himself the "Voice of Coila," in
imitation of Ossian, who denominates himself the "Voice of
Cona. "--CURRIE. ]

[Footnote 209: By Thomson, not the musician, but the poet. ]

[Footnote 210: This song is not old; its author, the late John Mayne,
long outlived Burns]

[Footnote 211: By Crawfurd. ]

[Footnote 212: By Ramsay. ]

[Footnote 213: The author, John Tait, a writer to the Signet and some
time Judge of the police-court in Edinburgh, assented to this, and
altered the line to,

"And sweetly the wood-pigeon cooed from the tree. "]

[Footnote 214: Song CXXXIX. ]

[Footnote 215: Song LXXX. ]

[Footnote 216: Song CLXXVII. ]

[Footnote 217:

"How sweet this lone vale, and how soothing to feeling,
Yon nightingale's notes which in melody meet. "

The song has found its way into several collections. ]

* * * * *




CCLIII.


TO MR. THOMSON.

[The letter to which this is in part an answer, Currie says, contains
many observations on Scottish songs, and on the manner of adapting the
words to the music, which at Mr. Thomson's desire are suppressed. ]

_April, 1793. _

I have yours, my dear Sir, this moment. I 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 beginning, what
fiddlers call a starting-note, is often a rub to us poor rhymers.

"There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes,
That wander through the blooming heather,"

you may alter to

"Braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes,
Ye wander," &c.

My song, "Here awa, there awa," as amended by Mr. Erskine, I entirely
approve of, and return you.

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: now, if
I mistake not, this last feature you are a little apt to sacrifice to
the foregoing.

Ramsay, as every other poet, has not been always equally happy in his
pieces; still I cannot approve of taking such liberties with an author
as Mr. Walker proposes doing with "The last time I came o'er the
moor. " Let a poet, if he choose, 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's 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. " Perhaps it might want the last stanza, and be the better for
it. "Cauld kail in Aberdeen," you must leave with me yet awhile. I
have vowed to have a song to that air, on the lady whom I attempted to
celebrate in the verses, "Poortith 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 progress of your
song to celebrity. Your book will be the standard of Scots songs for
the future: let this idea ever keep your judgment on the alarm.

I send a song on a celebrated toast in this country, to suit "Bonnie
Dundee. " I send you also a ballad to the "Mill, mill, O! "[218]

"The last time I came o'er the moor," I would fain attempt 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 _lugs_ would perhaps 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. I'll enclose
you both the song and tune, as I had them ready to send to Johnson's
Museum. [219] I send you likewise, to me, a beautiful little air, which I
had taken down from _viva voce. _[220]

Adieu.

R. B.