Irish air, as they say, called Caun du delish. The fact is, in a publication of Corri's, a great while ago, you will find the same air, called a Highland one, with a Gaelic song set to it. Its name therc, I think, is Oran Gaoil, and a fine air it is. Do ask honest Allan, or the Rev. Gaelic Parson, about these matters. No. XXXIV. MR BURNS to MR THOMSON. MY DEAR SIR, August, 1793. LET me in this ae night, I will reconsider. I am glad that you are pleased with my song, Had I a cave, &c., as I liked it myself. I walked out yesterday evening with a volume of the Museum in my hand; when, turning up Allan Water," What numbers shall the muse repeat," &c. as the words appeared to me rather unworthy of so fine an air, and recollecting that it is on your list, I sat and raved under the shade of an old thorn, till I wrote one to suit the measure. I may be wrong; but I think it not in my worst style. You must know, that in Ramsay's Tea table, where the modern song first appeared, the ancient name of the tune, Allan says, is Allan Water, or My love Annie's very bonnie. This last has certainly been a line of the original song; so I took up the idea, and as you will see, have introduced the line its place, which I presume it formerly occupied; though I likewise give you a chusing line, if it should not hit the cut of your fancy.. By Allan stream I chanc'd to rove, While Phoebus sank beyond Benleddi ;* I listen'd to a lover's sang, And thought on youthfu' pleasures mony; ay O, dearly do I love thee, Annie !+ O, happy be the woodbine bower, The place and time I met my dearie ! Her head upon my throbbing breast, She, sinking, said, "I'm thine for ever!" While mony a kiss the seal imprest, The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever. The haunt o' spring's the primrose brae, Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure? Or thro' each nerve the rapture dart, Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure? A mountain, west of Strath-Allan, 3,009 feet high. R. B. + Or, O my love Annie's very bonnie.' R. B. Bravo! say I it is a good song. Should you think so too (not else), you can set the music to it, and let the other follow as English verses. Autumn is my propitious season. I make more -verses in it than all the year else. God bless you! No. XXXV. MR BURNS to MR THOMSON. August, 1793. Is Whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad, one of your airs? I admire it much; and yesterday I set the following verses to it. Urbani, whom I have met with here, begged them of me, as he admires the air much; but as I understand that he looks with rather an evil eye on your work, I did not choose to comply. However, if the song does not suit your taste, I may possibly send it him. The set of the air which I had in my eye is in Johnson's Museum. O WHISTLE, and I'll come to you, my lad,* * In some of the MSS. the four first lines run thus: O whistle, and I'll come to thee, my jo; See also No. LXXVII. E. Tho' father and mither, and a', should gae mad, O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad. But warily tent, when ye come to court me, O whistle, &c. At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me, O whistle, &c. Ay vow and protest that ye care na for me, O whistle &c. Another favourite air of mine, is, The muckin o Geordie's Byre; when sung slow with expression, I have wished that it had had better poetry; that I have endeavoured to supply as follows: ADOWN winding Nith I did wander, To mark the sweet flowers as they spring; Adown winding Nith I did wander, CHORUS. Awa wi your belles and your beauties, The daisy amus'd my fond fancy, Awa, &c. The rose-bud's the blush o' my charmer, Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour, Her voice is the song of the morning That wakes thro' the green-spreading grove, When Phoebus peeps over the mountains, On music, and pleasure, and love, Awa &c. |