No More Learning

[This letter contains further proof of the love of Burns for the airs
of the Highlands. ]

_Sept. _ 1793.

I dare say, my dear Sir, that you will begin to think my
correspondence is persecution. No matter, I can't help it; a ballad is
my hobby-horse, which, though otherwise a simple sort of harmless
idiotical beast enough, has yet this blessed headstrong property, that
when once it has fairly made off with a hapless wight, it gets so
enamoured with the tinkle-gingle, tinkle-gingle of its own bells, that
it is sure to run poor pilgarlick, the bedlam jockey, quite beyond any
useful point or post in the common race of men.

The following song I have composed for "Oran-gaoil," the Highland air
that, you tell me in your last, you have resolved to give a place to
in your book. I have this moment finished the song, so you have it
glowing from the mint. If it suit you, well! --If not, 'tis also well!

Behold the hour, the boat arrive!

R. B.

* * * * *




CCLXXIII.


TO MR. THOMSON.
[This is another of the sagacious letters on Scottish song, which
poets and musicians would do well to read and consider. ]

_Sept. _ 1793.

I have received your list, my dear Sir, and here go my observations on
it. [239]

"Down the burn, Davie. " I have this moment tried an alteration,
leaving out the last half of the third stanza, and the first half of
the last stanza, thus:

As down the burn they took their way,
And thro' the flowery dale;
His cheek to hers he aft did lay,
And love was aye the tale.
With "Mary, when shall we return,
Sic pleasure to renew? "
Quoth Mary, "Love, I like the burn,
And aye shall follow you. "[240]

"Thro' the wood, laddie"--I am decidedly of opinion that both in this,
and "There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame," the second or
high part of the tune being a repetition of the first part an octave
higher, is only for instrumental music, and would be much better
omitted in singing.

"Cowden-knowes. " Remember in your index that the song in pure English
to this tune, beginning,

"When summer comes, the swains on Tweed,"

is the production of Crawfurd. Robert was his Christian name. [241]

"Laddie, lie near me," must lie by me for some time. I do not know the
air; and until I am complete master of a tune, in my own singing (such
as it is), I can never compose for it. My way is: I consider the
poetic sentiment correspondent to my idea of the musical expression;
then choose my theme; begin one stanza: when that is composed, which
is generally the most difficult part of the business, I walk out, sit
down now and then, look out for objects of nature around me that are
in unison and harmony with the cogitations of my fancy, and workings
of my bosom; humming every now and then the air with the verses I have
framed. When I feel my muse beginning to jade, I retire to the
solitary fire-side of my study, and there commit my effusions to
paper; swinging at intervals on the hind-legs of my elbow-chair, by
way of calling forth my own critical strictures as my pen goes on.