Now to the
streaming
fountain,
Or up the heathy mountain,
The hart, hind, and roe, freely, wildly-wanton stray;
In twining hazel bowers,
His lay the linnet pours;
The lav'rock to the sky
Ascends wi' sangs o' joy,
While the sun and thou arise to bless the day.
Or up the heathy mountain,
The hart, hind, and roe, freely, wildly-wanton stray;
In twining hazel bowers,
His lay the linnet pours;
The lav'rock to the sky
Ascends wi' sangs o' joy,
While the sun and thou arise to bless the day.
Robert Burns
I have not that command of the
language that I have of my native tongue. I have been at "Duncan
Gray," to dress it in English, but all I can do is deplorably stupid.
For instance:--
Let not woman e'er complain, &c. [264]
Since the above, I have been out in the country, taking a dinner with
a friend, where I met with a lady whom I mentioned in the second page
in this odds-and-ends of a letter. As usual, I got into song; and
returning home I composed the following:
Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature
&c. [265]
If you honour my verses by setting the air to them, I will vamp up the
old song, and make it English enough to be understood.
I enclose you a musical curiosity, an East Indian air, which you would
swear was a Scottish one. I know the authenticity of it, as the
gentleman who brought it over is a particular acquaintance of mine. Do
preserve me the copy I send you, as it is the only one I have. Clarke
has set a bass to it, and I intend putting it into the Musical Museum.
Here follow the verses I intend for it.
But lately seen in gladsome green, &c. [266]
I would be obliged to you if you would procure me a sight of Ritson's
collection of English songs, which you mention in your letter. I will
thank you for another information, and that as speedily as you please:
whether this miserable drawling hotch-potch epistle has not completely
tired you of my correspondence?
VARIATION.
Now to the streaming fountain,
Or up the heathy mountain,
The hart, hind, and roe, freely, wildly-wanton stray;
In twining hazel bowers,
His lay the linnet pours;
The lav'rock to the sky
Ascends wi' sangs o' joy,
While the sun and thou arise to bless the day.
When frae my Chloris parted,
Sad, cheerless, broken-hearted,
The night's gloomy shades, cloudy, dark, o'ercast my sky.
But when she charms my sight,
In pride of beauty's light;
When through my very heart
Her beaming glories dart;
'Tis then, 'tis then I wake to life and joy!
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 261: Song CCXXVII. ]
[Footnote 262: Song CCXXVIII. ]
[Footnote 263: Mr. Ritson, whose collection of Scottish songs was
published this year. ]
[Footnote 264: Song CCXXIX. ]
[Footnote 265: Song CCXXX. ]
[Footnote 266: Song CCXVI. ]
* * * * *
CCCIII.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[The presents made to the poet were far from numerous: the book for
which he expresses his thanks, was the work of the waspish Ritson.
language that I have of my native tongue. I have been at "Duncan
Gray," to dress it in English, but all I can do is deplorably stupid.
For instance:--
Let not woman e'er complain, &c. [264]
Since the above, I have been out in the country, taking a dinner with
a friend, where I met with a lady whom I mentioned in the second page
in this odds-and-ends of a letter. As usual, I got into song; and
returning home I composed the following:
Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature
&c. [265]
If you honour my verses by setting the air to them, I will vamp up the
old song, and make it English enough to be understood.
I enclose you a musical curiosity, an East Indian air, which you would
swear was a Scottish one. I know the authenticity of it, as the
gentleman who brought it over is a particular acquaintance of mine. Do
preserve me the copy I send you, as it is the only one I have. Clarke
has set a bass to it, and I intend putting it into the Musical Museum.
Here follow the verses I intend for it.
But lately seen in gladsome green, &c. [266]
I would be obliged to you if you would procure me a sight of Ritson's
collection of English songs, which you mention in your letter. I will
thank you for another information, and that as speedily as you please:
whether this miserable drawling hotch-potch epistle has not completely
tired you of my correspondence?
VARIATION.
Now to the streaming fountain,
Or up the heathy mountain,
The hart, hind, and roe, freely, wildly-wanton stray;
In twining hazel bowers,
His lay the linnet pours;
The lav'rock to the sky
Ascends wi' sangs o' joy,
While the sun and thou arise to bless the day.
When frae my Chloris parted,
Sad, cheerless, broken-hearted,
The night's gloomy shades, cloudy, dark, o'ercast my sky.
But when she charms my sight,
In pride of beauty's light;
When through my very heart
Her beaming glories dart;
'Tis then, 'tis then I wake to life and joy!
R. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 261: Song CCXXVII. ]
[Footnote 262: Song CCXXVIII. ]
[Footnote 263: Mr. Ritson, whose collection of Scottish songs was
published this year. ]
[Footnote 264: Song CCXXIX. ]
[Footnote 265: Song CCXXX. ]
[Footnote 266: Song CCXVI. ]
* * * * *
CCCIII.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[The presents made to the poet were far from numerous: the book for
which he expresses his thanks, was the work of the waspish Ritson.
