"
The air, if I understand the expression of it properly, is the very
native language of simplicity, tenderness, and love.
The air, if I understand the expression of it properly, is the very
native language of simplicity, tenderness, and love.
Robert Forst
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? "--By heavens! the odds is gold to
brass! Besides, the old song, though now pretty well modernized into
the Scottish language, is originally, and in the early editions, a
bungling low imitation of the Scottish manner, by that genius Tom
D'Urfey, so has no pretensions to be a Scottish production. There is a
pretty English song by Sheridan, in the "Duenna," to this air, which
is out of sight superior to D'Urfey's. It begins,
"When sable night each drooping plant restoring.
"
The air, if I understand the expression of it properly, is the very
native language of simplicity, tenderness, and love. I have again gone
over my song to the tune.
Now for my English song to "Nancy's to the greenwood," &c.
Farewell thou stream that winding flows. [270]
There is an air, "The Caledonian Hunt's Delight," to which I wrote a
song that, you will find in Johnson, "Ye banks and braes o' bonnie
Doon:" this air I think might find a place among your hundred, as Lear
says of his knights. Do you know the history of the air? It is curious
enough. A good many years ago, Mr. James Miller, writer in your good
town, a gentleman whom possibly you know, was in company with our
friend Clarke; and talking of Scottish music, Miller expressed an
ardent ambition to be able to compose a Scots air. Mr. Clarke, partly
by way of joke, told him to keep to the black keys of the harpsichord,
and preserve some kind of rhythm, and he would infallibly compose a
Scots air. Certain it is that, in a few days, Mr. Miller produced the
rudiments of an air, which Mr. Clarke, with some touches and
corrections, fashioned into the tune in question. Ritson, you know,
has the same story of the black keys; but this account which I have
just given you, Mr. Clarke informed me of several years ago.
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? "--By heavens! the odds is gold to
brass! Besides, the old song, though now pretty well modernized into
the Scottish language, is originally, and in the early editions, a
bungling low imitation of the Scottish manner, by that genius Tom
D'Urfey, so has no pretensions to be a Scottish production. There is a
pretty English song by Sheridan, in the "Duenna," to this air, which
is out of sight superior to D'Urfey's. It begins,
"When sable night each drooping plant restoring.
"
The air, if I understand the expression of it properly, is the very
native language of simplicity, tenderness, and love. I have again gone
over my song to the tune.
Now for my English song to "Nancy's to the greenwood," &c.
Farewell thou stream that winding flows. [270]
There is an air, "The Caledonian Hunt's Delight," to which I wrote a
song that, you will find in Johnson, "Ye banks and braes o' bonnie
Doon:" this air I think might find a place among your hundred, as Lear
says of his knights. Do you know the history of the air? It is curious
enough. A good many years ago, Mr. James Miller, writer in your good
town, a gentleman whom possibly you know, was in company with our
friend Clarke; and talking of Scottish music, Miller expressed an
ardent ambition to be able to compose a Scots air. Mr. Clarke, partly
by way of joke, told him to keep to the black keys of the harpsichord,
and preserve some kind of rhythm, and he would infallibly compose a
Scots air. Certain it is that, in a few days, Mr. Miller produced the
rudiments of an air, which Mr. Clarke, with some touches and
corrections, fashioned into the tune in question. Ritson, you know,
has the same story of the black keys; but this account which I have
just given you, Mr. Clarke informed me of several years ago.
