No More Learning

[Of the Hon. Andrew Erskine an account was communicated in a letter to
Burns by Thomson, which the writer has withheld. He was a gentleman of
talent, and joint projector of Thomson's now celebrated work. ]

_October, 1793. _

Your last letter, my dear Thomson, was indeed laden with heavy news.
Alas, poor Erskine! [252] The recollection that he was a co-adjutator in
your publication, has till now scared me from writing to you, or
turning my thoughts on composing for you.

I am pleased that you are reconciled to the air of the "Quaker's
wife;" though, by the bye, an old Highland gentleman, and a deep
antiquarian, tells me it is a Gaelic air, and known by the name of
"Leiger m' choss. " The following verses, I hope, will please you, as
an English song to the air.

Thine am I, my faithful fair:[253]

Your objection to the English song I proposed for "John Anderson my
jo," is certainly just. The following is by an old acquaintance of
mine, and I think has merit. The song was never in print, which I
think is so much in your favour. The more original good poetry your
collection contains, it certainly has so much the more merit.

SONG. --BY GAVIN TURNBULL.
[254]

Oh, condescend, dear charming maid,
My wretched state to view;
A tender swain, to love betray'd,
And sad despair, by you.

While here, all melancholy,
My passion I deplore,
Yet, urg'd by stern, resistless fate,
I love thee more and more.

I heard of love, and with disdain
The urchin's power denied.
I laugh'd at every lover's pain,
And mock'd them when they sigh'd.

But how my state is alter'd!
Those happy days are o'er;
For all thy unrelenting hate,
I love thee more and more.

Oh, yield, illustrious beauty, yield!
No longer let me mourn;
And though victorious in the field,
Thy captive do not scorn.

Let generous pity warm thee,
My wonted peace restore;
And grateful I shall bless thee still,
And love thee more and more.

The following address of Turnbull's to the Nightingale will suit as an
English song to the air "There was a lass, and she was fair. " By the
bye, Turnbull has a great many songs in MS. , which I can command, if
you like his manner. Possibly, as he is an old friend of mine, I may
be prejudiced in his favour; but I like some of his pieces very much.

THE NIGHTINGALE.

Thou sweetest minstrel of the grove,
That ever tried the plaintive strain,
Awake thy tender tale of love,
And soothe a poor forsaken swain.

For though the muses deign to aid
And teach him smoothly to complain,
Yet Delia, charming, cruel maid,
Is deaf to her forsaken swain.