No More Learning

God grant you patience with this stupid epistle!

R. B.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 260: Song CCXXVI. ]

* * * * *




CCCII.


TO MR. THOMSON.

[The poet relates the history of several of his best songs in this
letter: the true old strain of "Andro and his cutty gun" is the first
of its kind. ]

_19th October, 1794. _

MY DEAR FRIEND,

By this morning's post I have your list, and, in general, I highly
approve of it. I shall, at more leisure, give you a critique on the
whole. Clarke goes to your town by to-day's fly, and I wish you would
call on him and take his opinion in general: you know his taste is a
standard. He will return here again in a week or two, so please do not
miss asking for him. One thing I hope he will do--persuade you to
adopt my favourite "Craigieburn-wood," in your selection: it is as
great a favourite of his as of mine. The lady on whom it was made is
one of the finest women in Scotland; and in fact (_entre nous_) is in
a manner to me what Sterne's Eliza was to him--a mistress, or friend,
or what you will, in the guileless simplicity of Platonic love.
(Now,
don't put any of your squinting constructions on this, or have any
clishmaclaver about it among our acquaintances. ) I assure you that to
my lovely friend you are indebted for many of your best songs of mine.
Do you think that the sober, gin-horse routine of existence could
inspire a man with life, and love, and joy--could fire him with
enthusiasm, or melt him with pathos, equal to the genius of your book?
No! no! Whenever I want to be more than ordinary in song--to be in
some degree equal to your diviner airs--do you imagine I fast and pray
for the celestial emanation? _Tout au contraire! _ I have a glorious
recipe; the very one that for his own use was invented by the divinity
of healing and poetry, when erst he piped to the flocks of Admetus. I
put myself in a regimen of admiring a fine woman; and in proportion to
the adorability of her charms, in proportion you are delighted with my
verses. The lightning of her eye is the godhead of Parnassus, and the
witchery of her smile the divinity of Helicon!

To descend to business: if you like my idea of "When she cam ben she
bobbit," the following stanzas of mine, altered a little from what
they were formerly, when set to another air, may perhaps do instead of
worse stanzas:--

O saw ye my dear, my Phely. [261]

Now for a few miscellaneous remarks. "The Posie" (in the Museum) is my
composition; the air was taken down from Mrs. Burns's voice. It is
well known in the west country, but the old words are trash. By the
bye, take a look at the tune again, and tell me if you do not think it
is the original from which "Roslin Castle" is composed.