« ПретходнаНастави »
Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me,
Mary, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest,
Let me hear from you.
MR. THOMSON to Mr. BURNS.
You must not think, my good Sir, that I have any intention to enhance the value of
my gift, when I say, in justice to the ingenious and worthy artist, that the design and execution of the Cotter's Saturday night is, in my opinion, one of the happiest productions of Allan's
pencil. I shall be grievously disappointed if you are not quite pleased with it.
The figure intended for your portrait, I think strikingly like you, as far as I can remember your phiz. This should make the piece interesting to your family every way. Tell me whether Mrs. Burns finds you out among the figures.
I cannot express the feeling of admiration with which I have read your pathetic Address to the Wood-lark, your elegant Panegyric on Caledonia, and your affecting verses on Chloris's illness. Every repeated perusal of these gives new delight. The other song to “ Laddie lie near me,” though not equal to these, is very pleas, ing
MR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.
Altered from an old English song.
Tune--" JOHN ANDERSON MY JO.”
How cruel are the parents
Who riches only prize, And to the wealthy booby,
Poor woman sacrifice. Meanwhile the hapless daughter
Has but a choice of strife; To shun a tyrant father's hate,
Become a wretched wife.
The ravening hawk pursuing,
The trembling dove thus flies, To shun impelling ruin
A while her pinions tries;
No shelter or retreat,
And drops beneath his feet.
Tune-6. DEIL TAK THE WARS."
MARK yonder pomp of costly fashion,
Round the wealthy, titled bride :
Poor is all that princely pride.
What are the noisy pleasures ?
gay, gaudy glare of vanity and art:
The fancy inay delight,
But did you see my dearest Chloris,
In simplicity's array;
Shrinking from the gaze of day.
(soul! In Love's delightful fetters she chains the willing
Ambition would disown
His worshipp'd deity,
Well! this is not amiss. You see how I answer your orders: your tailor could not be more punctual. I am just now in a high fit for poetizing, provided that the strait jacket of criticism don't cure me. If you can in a post or two administer a little of the intoxicating portion of your applause, it will raise your humble servant's phrenzy to any height you want. I am at this moment “holding high converse" with the Muses, and have not a word to throw away on such a prosaic dog as you are.
MR. BURNS to MR. THOMSON.
Ten thousand thanks for your elegant present: though I am ashamed of the value of it, being bestowed on a man who has not by any means merited such an instance of kindness. I have shewn it to two or three judges of the first abilities here, and they all agree with me in class