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Her voice is the song of the morning

That wakes thro' the green-spreading grove, When Phoebus peeps over the mountains, On music, and pleasure, and love.

Awa, &c.

But beauty how frail and how fleeting,

The bloom of a fine summer's day! While worth in the mind o'

my

Phillis
Will flourish without a decay.*

Awa, &c.

Mr. Clarke begs you to give Miss Phillis a corner in your book, as she is a particular flame of his. She is a Miss P. M. sister to Bonnie Jean. They are both pupils of his. You shall hear from me the very first grist I get from my rhyming mill.

No.

* This song, certainly beautiful, would appear to more advantage without the chorus ; as is indeed the case with several other songs of our author.

E.

No. XXXVI.

MR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.

August, 1793.

That tune, Cauld Kail, is such a favorite of yours, that I once more roved out yesterday for a gloamin-shot at the muses ;* 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

* Gloamin-twilight, probably from glooming. A beautiful poetical word which ought to be adopted in England. A gloamin-shot, a twilight-interview. E.

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.

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Come let me take thee to my breast,

And pledge we ne’er shall sunder;
And I shall spurn as vilest dust

The warld's wealth and grandeur:
And do I hear

my
Jeanie

own,
That equal transports move her?
I ask for dearest life alone

That I may live to love her.

Thus in my arms, wi' all thy charms,

I clasp my countless treasure;
I'll seek nae mair o'heaven to share,

Than sic a moment's pleasure:
And by thy een, sae bonnie blue,

I swear I'm thine for ever!
And on thy lips I seal my vow,

And break it shall I never!

If
you

think the above will suit your idea of your favorite air I shall be highly pleased. The

last

last time I came o'er the Moor, I cannot 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 chorusses to songs, so I have not made one for the foregoing.

No. XXXVII.

MR. BURNS to Mr. THOMSON.

August, 1793.

DAINTY DAVIE.

1

Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers,
To deck her gay, green spreading bowers ;
And now comes in my happy hours,
To wander wi'

my

Davie.

CHORUS.

Meet me on the warlock knowe,

Dainty Davie, dainty Davie,
There I'll spend the day wiyou,

My ain dear dainty Davie.

The

The crystal waters round us fa',
The merry birds are lovers a',
The scented breezes round us blaw,
A wandering wi' my

Davie.
Meet me, &c.

When purple morning starts the hare
To steal upon her early fare,
Then thro' the dews I will repair,
To meet my faithfu' Davie.

Meet me, &c.

When day expiring in the west,
The curtain draws o' nature's rest,
I flee to his arms I lo'e best,

And that's my ain dear Davie.

CHOĶUS.

Meet me on the warlock knowe,

Bonnie Davie, dainty Davie,
There I'll spend the day wiyou,

My ain dear dainty Davie.*

So

* Dainty Davie is the title of an old Scotch song, from which Burns has taken nothing but the title and the mea

E.

sure.

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