instructing a band of music for a fencible corps quartered in this county. Among many of his airs that please me, there is one, well known as a reel, by the name of The Quaker's Wife; and which, I remember, a grand-aunt of mine used to sing by the name of Liggeram Cosh, my Bonny Wee Lass. Mr Fraser plays it slow, and with an expression that quite charms me. I became such an enthusiast about it, that I made a song for it, which I here subjoin, and enclose Fraser's set of the tune. If they hit your fancy, they are at your service; if not, return me the tune, and I will put it in Johnson's Museum. I think the song is not in my worst manner. BLITHE HAE I BEEN ON YON HILL. TUNE-Liggeram Cosh. Blithe hae I been on yon hill, Lesley is sae fair and coy, Care and anguish seize me. Heavy, heavy is the task, Hopeless love declaring; Trembling, I dow nocht but glower, If she winna ease the thraws In my bosom swelling, Soon maun be my dwelling. I should wish to hear how this pleases you. BURNS TO MR THOMSON. Have you ever, my dear sir, felt your bosom ready to burst with indignation, on reading of those mighty villains who divide kingdom against kingdom, desolate provinces, and lay nations waste, out of the wantonness of ambition, or often from still more ignoble passions? In a mood of this kind to-day I recollected the air of Logan Water, and it occurred to me that its querulous melody probably had its origin from the plaintive indignation of some swelling, suffering heart, fired at the tyrannic strides of some public destroyer, and overwhelmed with private distress, the consequence of a country's ruin. If I have done anything at all like justice to my feelings, the following song, composed in three-quarters of an hour's meditation in my elbow-chair, ought to have some merit : LOGAN BRAES. TUNE-Logan Water.1 O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide Again the merry month o' May The bees hum round the breathing flowers: And Evening's tears are tears of joy: Within yon milkwhite hawthorn-bush, O wae upon you, men o' state, clouded Immediately The air of Logan Water is old, and there are several old songs to it. before the rise of Burns, Mr John Mayne, who afterwards became known for a poem, entitled the Siller Gun, wrote a very agreeable song to the air, beginning, 'By Logan's streams, that rin sae deep.' It was published in the Star newspaper, May 23, 1789. Burns having heard that song, and supposing it to be an old composition, adopted into the above a couplet from it, which he admired 'While my dear lad maun face his faes, Far, far frae me and Logan braes.' Mr Mayne lived to a good old age, and died, March 14, 1836, at Lisson Grove, near London. How can your flinty hearts enjoy Do you know the following beautiful little fragment, in Witherspoon's collection of Scots songs ? AIR-Hughie Graham. O gin my love were yon red rose, Into her bonny breast to fa'! O there, beyond expression blest, Till fleyed awa' by Phoebus' light! This thought is inexpressibly beautiful, and quite, so far as I know, original. It is too short for a song, else I would forswear you altogether, unless you gave it a place. I have often tried to eke a stanza to it, but in vain. After balancing myself for a musing five minutes, on the hind-legs of my elbow-chair, I produced the following. The verses are far inferior to the foregoing, I frankly confess; but if worthy of insertion at all, they might be first in place, as every poet who knows anything of his trade will husband his best thoughts for a concluding stroke. O were my love yon lilac fair, Wi' purple blossoms to the spring; When wearied on my little wing! How I wad mourn, when it was torn But I wad sing on wanton wing When youthfu' May its bloom renewed. MR THOMSON TO BURN S. Monday, 1st July 1793. I am extremely sorry, my good sir, that anything should happen to unhinge you. The times are terribly out of tune, and when harmony will be restored, Heaven knows. The first book of songs, just published, will be despatched to you along with this. Let me be favoured with your opinion of it, frankly and freely. I shall certainly give a place to the song you have written for the Quaker's Wife; it is quite enchanting. Pray, will you return the list of songs, with such airs added to it as you think ought to be included? The business now rests entirely on myself, the gentlemen who originally agreed to join the speculation having requested to be off. No matter, a loser I cannot be. The superior excellence of the work will create a general demand for it as soon as it is properly known; and were the sale even slower than it promises to be, I should be somewhat compensated for my labour by the pleasure I shall receive from the music. I cannot express how much I am obliged to you for the exquisite new songs you are sending me; but thanks, my friend, are a poor return for what you have doneas I shall be benefited by the publication, you must suffer me to enclose a small mark of my gratitude,' and to repeat it afterwards when I find it convenient. Do not return it, for, by Heaven! if you do, our correspondence is at an end; and though this would be no loss to you, it would mar the publication, which, under your auspices, cannot fail to be respectable and interesting. Wednesday Morning. I thank you for your delicate additional verses to the old fragment, and for your excellent song to Logan Water-Thomson's truly elegant one will follow for the English singer. Your apostrophe to statesmen is admirable, but I am not sure if it is quite suitable to the supposed gentle character of the fair mourner who speaks it. BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 2d July 1793. MY DEAR SIR-I have just finished the following ballad, and, as I do think it in my best style, I send it you. Mr Clarke, who wrote down the air from Mrs Burns's wood-note wild, is very fond of it, and has given it a celebrity by teaching it to some young ladies of the first fashion here. If you do not like the air enough to give it a place in your collection, please return it. The song you may keep, as I remember it. BONNY JEAN. There was a lass, and she was fair, 1 Five pounds. |