your book; and, as I agree with you that the Jacobite song in the Museum, to "There'll never be peace till Jamie comes home" would not so well consort with Peter Pindar's excellent love-song to that air, I have just framed for you the following :

No. LXIX.

BURNS TO G. THOMSON.

Come autumn sae pensive, in yellow and grey,|| And soothe me with tidings o' nature's decay: The dark dreary winter, and wild driving snaw, Alane can delight me-now Nannie's awa!

How does this please you?-As to the point of time for the expression, in your proposed print from my "Sodger's Return," it must certainly be at "She gaz'd." The interesting dubity and suspense taking possession of her countenance, and the gushing fondness, with a mixture of roguish playfulness in his, strike me as things of which a master will make a great deal.-In great haste, but in great truth, yours.

R. B.

[Clarinda was the Nannie whose absence Burns laments in this pretty pastoral. His thoughts were often in Edinburgh. On festive occasions, when toasts were called for, Syme used to exclaim, "Come, we all know what Burns will give-here's Mrs. Mac." The laverock was a favourite bird with him; and many happy images it has supplied him with. It is, indeed, pleasant both to eye and ear to be out by grey daylight on a summer morning, when a thousand larks are ascending into the brightening air; the warblings of some are near, and the songsters may be seen mounting as they sing: others are unseen in the cloud, and the whole atmosphere is full of melody.]

VAR.-Gay. + VAR.-And.-CUNNINGHAM, 'The primrose and daisy our glens may adorn.

January, 1795.

I FEAR for my songs; however, a few may please, yet originality is a coy feature in composition, and in a multiplicity of efforts in the same style, disappears altogether. For these three thousand years, we poetic folks have been describing the spring, for instance; and, as the spring continues the same, there must soon be a sameness in the imagery, &c., of these said rhyming folks.

A great critic (Aikin) on songs says that love and wine are the exclusive themes for songwriting. The following is on neither subject, and consequently is no song; but will be allowed, I think, to be two or three pretty good prose thoughts, inverted into rhyme :

Is there, for honest Poverty.

Tune-For a' that, and a' that.

I.

Is there, for honest poverty,

That hangs his head, and a' that? The coward-slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor for a' that! For a' that, and a' that,

Our toil's obscure, and a' that; The rank is but the guinea-stamp, The man's the gowd for a' that!

II.

What tho' on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin grey, and a' that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A man's a man, for a' that!

For a' that, and a' that,

Their tinsel show, and a' that;
The honest man, though e'er sae poor,
Is king o' men for a' that!

III.

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd-a lord,

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that; Though hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that:

For a' that, and a' that,

His riband, star, and a' that,
The man of independent mind
He looks and laughs at a' that!

IV.

A king can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might,
Guid faith he mauna fa' that!

§ VAR.-Torture my.

Array.-Poet's MS.

For a' that, and a' that,

Their dignities, and a' that,

The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth,

Are higher ranks than a' that.

V.

Then let us pray that come it may-
As come it will for a' that-

That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,
May bear the gree, and a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,

It's comin' yet for a' that,
That man to man, the warld o'er,
Shall brothers be for a' that!*

I do not give you the foregoing song for your book, but merely by way of vive la bagatelle; for the piece is not really poetry. How will the following do for "Craigie-burn Wood?"-

Craigie-burn Wood.†

1.

SWEET fa's the eve on Craigie-burn, And blithe awakes the morrow; But a' the pride o' spring's return Can yield me nocht but sorrow..

II.

I see the flowers and spreading trees,
I hear the wild birds singing;
But what a weary wight can please,
And care his bosom wringing?

* ["In his noble song, 'A man's a man for a' that, the Poet has vindicated the natural and unalienable rights of his species: he has distinguished between our social condition as contemplated by God, and that artificial state brought about by the perverse ingenuity of man. In resorting to first principles, he is compelled to speak with contempt of hereditary rank, and treat it as a manifest usurpation. That genius and enterprise should raise themselves in society seem as natural as for the sun to shine; but that they will continue in the family-line, from generation to generation, no person but a prince expects. God made genius personal, not hereditary; he gave the wisdom to Solomon which he refused to Rehoboham; and even in our own country, noble houses may be pointed out of which nothing remains noble save the name. Burns could not but feel that wealth, not talent, is the way to titles: the most glorious persons in British story went to the dust with plain 'master' on their coffin - lids-Spenser, Shakspeare, Milton, Locke. There should be rank and honours for all those who greatly distinguish themselses in literature and arts, as well as in arms. He who would truly contemptate the history of a country should consider that its greatness arises from the union of many qualities; Watt deserves a place as well as Wellington; nor are the achievements of Scott to be forgotten in the account of battles by sea and shore. Titles should flow from the fountain of honour readily and unsolicited to all who are illustrious; instead of which they flow almost solely to the wealthy. Those who have amassed fortunes by all manner of speculation, and have become swollen and big, like striped pumpkins flourishing on heaps of dung, are sure to have the sword lain on their shoulders, or their brows enclosed in coronets. There is nothing left for genius but to join in the song of Burns,

Then let us pray that come it may,
As come it will for a' that;
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,
Can bear the gree, and a' that.'

"In this sentiment men of talent should join more earnestly, since it has been publicly declared that genius is so supremely

I THANK you heartily for "Nannie's awa," as well as for " "Craigie-burn," which I think a very comely pair. Your observation on the difficulty of original writing in a number of ef forts, in the same style, strikes me very forcibly; and it has again and again excited my wonder to find you continually surmounting this diffculty, in the many delightful songs you have sent me. Your vive la bagatelle song, "For a that," shall undoubtedly be included in my list.

G. T.

blest as not at all to require other distinction-a doctrine which decrees to dulness the star and the garter'Amen-and virtue is its own reward." CUNNINGHAM.]

+ [This sweet little song savours much of the secret love

displayed in the following old verses :

WHEN ye come to yon town end,
Fu' mony a lass ye'll see;
Dinna, dinna, look at them,
For fear ye mindna me.

Dinna ask me gin I luve thee?
Deed I darena tell;
Dinna ask me gin I luve thee?
Ask it o' yoursell.

O dinna look at me sae aft,
Sae weel as ye may trow;
For when ye look at me sae aft,
I canna look at you.

Dinna ask me, &c.

Little ken ye but mony ane,
Will say they fancy thee;
But only keep your mind to them
That fancies nane but thee.

Dinna ask me gin I luve thee,-
Deed I darena tell;

Dinna ask me gin I luve thee,

Ask it o' yoursell.

B.

Craigie-burn Wood is situated on the banks of the river Moffat, and about three miles distant from the village of that name, celebrated for its medicinal waters. The woods of Craigie-burn and of Duncrief were at one time favourite haunts of our poet. It was there he met the "Lassie wi the lint-white locks," and that he conceived several of his beautiful lyrics. -CURRIE.]

[In these cold words, "Your vive la bagatelle song, 'For a' that,' shall undoubtedly be included in my list," Thomson accepts the present of a song which will live while the language lasts. CUNNINGHAM.]

No. LXXI.

BURNS TO G. THOMSON.

February, 1795.

HERE is another trial at your favourite air:

Tune-Let me in this ae Night.

I.

O LASSIE, art thou sleeping yet,
Or art thou waking, I would wit?
For love has bound me hand and foot,
And I would fain be in, jo.

O let me in this ae night,
This ae, ae, ae night,
For pity's sake this ae night,
O rise and let me in, jo!

II.

Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet, Nae star blinks thro' the driving sleet: Tak pity on my weary feet,

And shield me frae the rain, jo.

III.

The bitter blast that round me blaws,
Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's :
The cauldness o' thy heart's the cause

Of a' my grief and pain, jo.
O let me in this ae night,
This ae, ae, ae night;
For pity's sake this ae night,
O rise and let me in, jo!

HER ANSWER.

I.

O tell na me o' wind and rain,
Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain !
Gae back the gate ye cam again,
I winna let ye in, jo.

I tell you now this ae night,
This ae, ae, ae night;
And ance for a' this ae night,
I winna let you in, jo,

II.

The snellest blast, at mirkest hours, That round the pathless wand'rer pours, Is nocht to what poor she endures, That's trusted faithless man, jo.

[If Burns drew his song of "A man's a man for a' that" solely from his own mind and fancy, there is no question that he is indebted to an old strain for the idea of these twin lyrics. He has changed the lead into gold, and dismissed a deal of dross: still the sentiment belongs to the olden times. These are part of the old words:-

"O lassie, art thou sleeping yet,
Or are you waking, I wad wit?
For love has bound me hand and fit,

And I wad fain be in, jo.

O let me in this ae night,

This ae, ae, ae night;

O let me in this ae night,

Or I'll ne'er come back again, jo.

The night it is baith cauld and weet,
The morn it will be snaw and sleet;
My shoon are freezing to my feet,

Wi' standing here alane, jo.

I am the laird o' Windy wa's,
I come na here without a cause;
And I hae gotten mony fa's,

Wad killed a thousand men, jo.-"

"My father's waukrife in his sleep,
My mither the cha'mer keys does keep,
And a' the doors sae chirp and cheep,
I daurna let you in, jo.

Sae gae ye're ways this ae night,
This ae, ae, ae night,

O gae ye're ways this ae night,
I daurna let ye in, jo."

"But I'll come stealing saftly in,
And cannily mak little din;
And then the gate to you I'll find,

If you'll direct me in, jo.

O let me in this ae night,

This ae, ae, ae night;

O let me in this ae night,

Or I'll ne'er come back again, jo."

It is said that the thoughts of Burns wandered to Woodlee-Park, and his feud with Mrs. Riddel, when he composed these songs. The lady in the old verses resisted nothing like so stoutly or successfully as the modern heroine is made to do.]

No. LXXII.

BURNS TO G. THOMSON.

Ecclefechan, 7th February, 1795.

MY DEAR THOMSON:

You cannot have any idea of the predicament in which I write to you. In the course of my duty as supervisor (in which capacity I have acted of late), I came yesternight to this unfortunate, wicked, little village. I have gone forward, but snows, of ten feet deep, have impeded my progress: I have tried to gae back the gate I cam again," but the same obstacle has shut me up within insuperable bars. To add to my misfortune, since dinner, a scraper has been torturing catgut, in sounds that would have insulted the dying agonies of a sow under the hands of a butcher, and thinks himself, on that very account, exceeding good company. In fact, I have been in a dilemma, either to get drunk, to forget these miseries; or to hang myself, to get rid of them like a prudent man (a character congenial to my every thought, word, and deed), I, of two evils, have chosen the least, and am very drunk, at your service !†

I wrote you yesterday from Dumfries. I had not time then to tell you all I wanted to say; and, Heaven knows, at present I have not capacity.

Do you know an air-I am sure you must know it-"We'll gang nae mair to yon town?” I think, in slowish time, it would make an excellent song. I am highly delighted with it; and if you should think it worthy of your attention, I have a fair dame in my eye, to whom I would consecrate it.

As I am just going to bed, I wish you a good night. R. B.

No. LXIII.

G. THOMSON TO BURNS.

25th February, 1795.

I HAVE to thank you, my dear Sir, for two epistles, one containing "Let me in this se night;" and the other from Ecclefechan, proving that, drunk or sober, your "mind is never muddy." You have displayed great address in the above song. Her answer is excellent, and at the same time takes away the indelicacy that otherwise would have attached to his entreaties. I like the song, as it now stands, very much.

I had hopes you would be arrested some days at Ecclefechan, and be obliged to beguile the tedious forenoons by song-making. It will give me pleasure to receive the verses you intend for "O wat ye wha's in yon town." G. T.

No. LXXIV.

BURNS TO G. THOMSON.

May, 1795.

Address to the Wood-lark.!

Tune-Where'll bonnie Ann lie. Or, Loch-Eroch side.

I.

O STAY, sweet warbling wood-lark, stay,
Nor quit for me the trembling spray,
A hapless lover courts thy lay,

Thy soothing, fond complaining.

When the storm is raging high,
Calm she'll list it whistling bye!
While cozie in his arms she'll lie,

I' the cauld nights o' winter, O.
Where will bonnie Annie lie?
Where will bonnie Annie lie?
Where will bonnie Annie lie,

I' the cauld nights o' winter, O?
In the arms of wedded love,
Breathing thanks to Him above,
Whose care and goodness she does prove,
I' the cauld nights o' winter, O!]

[The song on the "Illness of Chloris," is one of the Poet's brief and happy things: it is modelled on an old lyric, still popular in some parts of the north, and justly so:

"Ay waking, oh,

Waking ay, and weary,

Sleep I canna get,

For thinking on my dearie.

I have fallen in love

Wi' a' the world's darling,

An' canna see the sun

For bonnie May Macfarlane."]

The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain ; He wanders as free as the winds of his moun[Jean.§ Save love's willing fetters, the chains o' his