[268]
You may think meanly of this, but take a look at the bombast original,
and you will be surprised that I have made so much of it.
You may think meanly of this, but take a look at the bombast original,
and you will be surprised that I have made so much of it.
Robert Forst
, it would be impossible
to give the work a beginning, a middle, and an end, which the critics
insist to be absolutely necessary in a work. In my last, I told you my
objections to the song you had selected for "My lodging is on the cold
ground. " On my visit the other day to my friend Chloris (that is the
poetic name of the lovely goddess of my inspiration), she suggested an
idea, which I, on my return from the visit, wrought into the following
song.
My Chloris, mark how green the groves. [267]
How do you like the simplicity and tenderness of this pastoral? I
think it pretty well.
I like you for entering so candidly and so kindly into the story of
"_ma chere amie. _" I assure you I was never more in earnest in my
life, than in the account of that affair which I sent you in my last.
Conjugal love is a passion which I deeply feel, and highly venerate;
but, somehow, it does not make such a figure in poesy as that other
species of the passion,
"Where love is liberty, and nature law. "
Musically speaking, the first is an instrument of which the gamut is
scanty and confined, but the tones inexpressibly sweet, while the last
has powers equal to all the intellectual modulations of the human
soul. Still, I am a very poet in my enthusiasm of the passion. The
welfare and happiness of the beloved object is the first and inviolate
sentiment that pervades my soul; and whatever pleasures I might wish
for, or whatever might be the raptures they would give me, yet, if
they interfere with that first principle, it is having these pleasures
at a dishonest price; and justice forbids and generosity disdains the
purchase.
Despairing of my own powers to give you variety enough in English
songs, I have been turning over old collections, to pick out songs, of
which the measure is something similar to what I want; and, with a
little alteration, so as to suit the rhythm of the air exactly, to
give you them for your work. Where the songs have hitherto been but
little noticed, nor have ever been set to music, I think the shift a
fair one. A song, which, under the same first verse, you will find in
Ramsay's Tea-table Miscellany, I have cut down for an English dress to
your "Dainty Davie," as follows:--
It was the charming month of May.
[268]
You may think meanly of this, but take a look at the bombast original,
and you will be surprised that I have made so much of it. I have
finished my song to "Rothemurche's rant," and you have Clarke to
consult as to the set of the air for singing.
Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, &c. [269]
This piece has at least the merit of being a regular pastoral: the
vernal morn, the summer noon, the autumnal evening, and the winter
night, are regularly rounded. If you like it, well; if not, I will
insert it in the Museum.
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 267: Song CCXXXI. ]
[Footnote 268: Song CCXXXII. ]
[Footnote 269: Song CCXXXIII. ]
* * * * *
CCCIV.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[Sir Walter Scott remarked, on the lyrics of Burns, "that at last the
writing a series of songs for large musical collections degenerated
into a slavish labour which no talents could support. "]
I am out of temper that you should set so sweet, so tender an air, as
"Deil tak the wars," to the foolish old verses. You talk of the
silliness of "Saw ye my father?
to give the work a beginning, a middle, and an end, which the critics
insist to be absolutely necessary in a work. In my last, I told you my
objections to the song you had selected for "My lodging is on the cold
ground. " On my visit the other day to my friend Chloris (that is the
poetic name of the lovely goddess of my inspiration), she suggested an
idea, which I, on my return from the visit, wrought into the following
song.
My Chloris, mark how green the groves. [267]
How do you like the simplicity and tenderness of this pastoral? I
think it pretty well.
I like you for entering so candidly and so kindly into the story of
"_ma chere amie. _" I assure you I was never more in earnest in my
life, than in the account of that affair which I sent you in my last.
Conjugal love is a passion which I deeply feel, and highly venerate;
but, somehow, it does not make such a figure in poesy as that other
species of the passion,
"Where love is liberty, and nature law. "
Musically speaking, the first is an instrument of which the gamut is
scanty and confined, but the tones inexpressibly sweet, while the last
has powers equal to all the intellectual modulations of the human
soul. Still, I am a very poet in my enthusiasm of the passion. The
welfare and happiness of the beloved object is the first and inviolate
sentiment that pervades my soul; and whatever pleasures I might wish
for, or whatever might be the raptures they would give me, yet, if
they interfere with that first principle, it is having these pleasures
at a dishonest price; and justice forbids and generosity disdains the
purchase.
Despairing of my own powers to give you variety enough in English
songs, I have been turning over old collections, to pick out songs, of
which the measure is something similar to what I want; and, with a
little alteration, so as to suit the rhythm of the air exactly, to
give you them for your work. Where the songs have hitherto been but
little noticed, nor have ever been set to music, I think the shift a
fair one. A song, which, under the same first verse, you will find in
Ramsay's Tea-table Miscellany, I have cut down for an English dress to
your "Dainty Davie," as follows:--
It was the charming month of May.
[268]
You may think meanly of this, but take a look at the bombast original,
and you will be surprised that I have made so much of it. I have
finished my song to "Rothemurche's rant," and you have Clarke to
consult as to the set of the air for singing.
Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, &c. [269]
This piece has at least the merit of being a regular pastoral: the
vernal morn, the summer noon, the autumnal evening, and the winter
night, are regularly rounded. If you like it, well; if not, I will
insert it in the Museum.
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 267: Song CCXXXI. ]
[Footnote 268: Song CCXXXII. ]
[Footnote 269: Song CCXXXIII. ]
* * * * *
CCCIV.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[Sir Walter Scott remarked, on the lyrics of Burns, "that at last the
writing a series of songs for large musical collections degenerated
into a slavish labour which no talents could support. "]
I am out of temper that you should set so sweet, so tender an air, as
"Deil tak the wars," to the foolish old verses. You talk of the
silliness of "Saw ye my father?
