And owsen frae the furrow'd field My ain kind dearie O. In mirkest glen, at midnight hour, Altho' the night were ne'er sae wildt, My ain kind dearie O. Your observation as to the aptitude of Dr. Perty's ballad to the air, Nanie O, is just. It is be * For "scented birks," in some copies, "birken buds." E. In the copy transmitted to Mr. Thomson, instead of wild, was inserted wet. But in one of the manuscripts, probably written afterwards, wet was changed into wild; evidently a great improvement. The lovers might meet on the lea-rig," although the night were ne'er so wild," that is, although the summer-wind blew, the sky loured, and the thunder murmured: such circumstances might render their meeting still more interesting. But if the night were actually wet, why should they meet on the lea-rig? On a wet night, the imagination cannot contemplate their situation there with any complacency.-Tibullus, and after him Hammond, has conceived a happier situation for lovers on a wet night. Probably Burns had in his mind, the verse of an old Scottish song, in which wet and weary are naturally enough conjoined: "When my ploughman comes hame at ev'n, And gae to bed, my deary." E. sides, perhaps, the most beautiful ballad in the English language. But let me remark to you, that in the sentiment and style of our Scottish airs, there is a pastoral simplicity, a something, that one may call the Dorie style and dialect of vocal music, to which a dash of our native tongue and manners is particularly, nay, peculiarly, apposite. For this reason, and, upon my honour, for this reason alone, I am of opinion (but, as I told you before, my opinion is yours, freely yours, to approve, or reject, as you please) that my ballad of Nanie O might perhaps do for one set of verses to the tune. Now don't let it enter into your head, that you are under any necessity of taking my verses. I have long ago made up my mind as to my own reputation in the business of authorship; and have nothing to be pleased or offended at, in your adoption or rejection of my verses. Though you should reject one half of what I give you, I shall be pleased with your adopting the other half, and shall continue to serve you with the same assiduity. In the printed copy of my Nanie 0, the name of the river is horridly prosaic. I will alter it, "Behind yon hills where Lugar flows." Girvan is the name of the river that suits the idea of the stanza best, but Lugar is the most agreeable modulation of syllables. I will soon give you a great many more remarks on this business; but I have just now an opportunity of conveying you this serawl, free of postage, an expense that it is ill able to pay: so, with my best compliments to honest Allan, Good be wi ye, &c. Friday night. . . . . Saturday morning. As I find I have still an hour to spare this morn ing before my conveyance goes away, I will give you Nanie O at length. Your remarks on Ewe-bughts, Marion, are just; still it has obtained a place among our more clas sical Scottish songs; and what with many beau ties in its composition, and more prejudices in its favour, you will not find it easy to supplant it. In my very early years, when I was thinking of going to the West Indies, I took the following farewell of a dear girl. It is quite trifling, and has nothing of the merits of Ewe-bughts; but it will fill up this page. You must know, that all my earlier love-songs were the breathings of ardent passion, and though it might have been easy in after-times to have given them a polish, yet that polish, to me, whose they were, and who perhaps alone cared for them, would have defaced the legend of my heart, which was so faithfully inscribed on them. Their uncouth simplicity was, as they say of wines, their race. Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, O sweet grows the lime and the orange, But a' the charms o' the Indies I hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary, O plight me your faith, my Mary, We hae plighted our troth, my Mary, In mutual affection to join, And curst be the cause that shall part us, Galla Water, and Auld Rob Morris, I think, will most probably be the next subject of my musings. However, even on my verses, speak out your criticisms with equal frankness. My wish is, not to stand aloof, the uncomplying bigot of opiniâtreté, but cordially to join issue with you, in the furtherance of the work. No. V. Mr. BURNS to Mr. THOMSON. November 8th, 1792. If you mean, my dear sir, that all the songs in your collection, shall be poetry of the first merit, I am afraid you will find more difficulty in the undertaking, than you are aware of. There is a peculiar rhythmus in many of our airs, and a neeessity of adapting syllables to the emphasis, or what I would call the feature-notes of the tune, that cramp the poet, and lay him under almost insuperable difficulties. For instance, in the air, My wife's a wanton wee thing, if a few lines smooth and pretty can be adapted to it, it is all you can expect. The following were made extempore to it; and though, on farther study, I might give you something more profound, yet it might not suit the light-horse gallop of the air so well as this random clink. * This song Mr. Thomson has not adopted in his collection. It deserves however to be preserved. E. MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING. She is a winsome wee thing, I never saw a fairer, I never loe'd a dearer, And neist my heart I'll wear her, For fear my jewel tine. She is a winsome wee thing, The warld's wrack we share o't, I have just been looking over the Collier's bonny Dochter; and, if the following rhapsody, which I composed the other day, on a charming Ayrshire girl, Miss, as she passed through this place to England, will suit your taste better than the Collier Lassie, fall on and welcome. O saw ye bonnie Lesley As she gaed o'er the border? To spread her conquests farther. To see her, is to love her, And love but her for ever; Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, |