I am highly
delighted
with it; and if you should think it worthy
of your attention, I have a fair dame in my eye to whom I would
consecrate it.
of your attention, I have a fair dame in my eye to whom I would
consecrate it.
Robert Forst
]
* * * * *
CCCXI.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[Of this letter, Dr. Currie writes "the poet must have been tipsy
indeed to abuse sweet Ecclefechan at this rate;" it is one of the
prettiest of our Annandale villages, and the birth-place of that
distinguished biographer. ]
_Ecclefechan_, 7_th February_, 1795.
MY DEAR THOMSON,
You cannot have any idea of the predicament in which I write to you.
In the course of my duty as supervisor (in which capacity I have acted
of late), I came yesternight to this unfortunate, wicked little
village. I have gone forward, but snows of ten feet deep have impeded
my progress: I have tried to "gae back the gate I cam again," but the
same obstacle has shut me up within insuperable bars. To add to my
misfortune, since dinner, a scraper has been torturing catgut, in
sounds that would have insulted the dying agonies of a sow under the
hands of a butcher, and thinks himself, on that very account,
exceeding good company. In fact, I have been in a dilemma, either to
get drunk, to forget these miseries; or to hang myself, to get rid of
them: like a prudent man (a character congenial to my every thought,
word, and deed), I of two evils have chosen the least, and am very
drunk, at your service!
I wrote you yesterday from Dumfries. I had not time then to tell you
all I wanted to say; and, Heaven knows, at present have not capacity.
Do you know an air--I am sure you must know it--"We'll gang nae mair
to yon town? " I think, in slowish time, it would make an excellent
song.
I am highly delighted with it; and if you should think it worthy
of your attention, I have a fair dame in my eye to whom I would
consecrate it.
As I am just going to bed, I wish you a good night.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCCXII.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[The song of Caledonia, in honour of Mrs. Burns, was accompanied by
two others in honour of the poet's mistress: the muse was high in
song, and used few words in the letter which enclosed them. ]
_May, 1795. _
O stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay! [277]
Let me know, your very first leisure, how you like this song.
Long, long the night. [278]
How do you like the foregoing? The Irish air, "Humours of Glen," is a
great favourite of mine, and as, except the silly stuff in the "Poor
Soldier," there are not any decent verses for it, I have written for
it as follows:--
Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon. [279]
Let me hear from you.
* * * * *
CCCXI.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[Of this letter, Dr. Currie writes "the poet must have been tipsy
indeed to abuse sweet Ecclefechan at this rate;" it is one of the
prettiest of our Annandale villages, and the birth-place of that
distinguished biographer. ]
_Ecclefechan_, 7_th February_, 1795.
MY DEAR THOMSON,
You cannot have any idea of the predicament in which I write to you.
In the course of my duty as supervisor (in which capacity I have acted
of late), I came yesternight to this unfortunate, wicked little
village. I have gone forward, but snows of ten feet deep have impeded
my progress: I have tried to "gae back the gate I cam again," but the
same obstacle has shut me up within insuperable bars. To add to my
misfortune, since dinner, a scraper has been torturing catgut, in
sounds that would have insulted the dying agonies of a sow under the
hands of a butcher, and thinks himself, on that very account,
exceeding good company. In fact, I have been in a dilemma, either to
get drunk, to forget these miseries; or to hang myself, to get rid of
them: like a prudent man (a character congenial to my every thought,
word, and deed), I of two evils have chosen the least, and am very
drunk, at your service!
I wrote you yesterday from Dumfries. I had not time then to tell you
all I wanted to say; and, Heaven knows, at present have not capacity.
Do you know an air--I am sure you must know it--"We'll gang nae mair
to yon town? " I think, in slowish time, it would make an excellent
song.
I am highly delighted with it; and if you should think it worthy
of your attention, I have a fair dame in my eye to whom I would
consecrate it.
As I am just going to bed, I wish you a good night.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCCXII.
TO MR. THOMSON.
[The song of Caledonia, in honour of Mrs. Burns, was accompanied by
two others in honour of the poet's mistress: the muse was high in
song, and used few words in the letter which enclosed them. ]
_May, 1795. _
O stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay! [277]
Let me know, your very first leisure, how you like this song.
Long, long the night. [278]
How do you like the foregoing? The Irish air, "Humours of Glen," is a
great favourite of mine, and as, except the silly stuff in the "Poor
Soldier," there are not any decent verses for it, I have written for
it as follows:--
Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon. [279]
Let me hear from you.
