But beauty, how frail and how fleeting-
The bloom of a fine summer's day!
While worth in the mind o' my Phillis
Will flourish without a decay.*
Awa' &c.

Mr Clarke begs you to give Miss Phillis a corner in your book, as she is a particular flame of his. She is a Miss P. M. sister to Bonnie Jean. They are both pupils of his. You shall hear from me the very first grist I get from my rhyming-mill.

No. XXXVI.

MR. BURNS to MR THOMSON.

August, 1793.

THAT tune, Cauld Kail, is such a favourite of yours, that I once more roved out yesterday for a gloamin-shot at the muses; when the muse that presides o'er the shores of Nith, or rather my old inspiring, dearest nymph, Coila, whispered me the following. I have two reasons for thinking that it was my early, sweet, simple inspirer that was by my el

* This song, certainly beautiful, would appear to more advantage without the chorus; as is indeed the case with several other songs of our author.

E.

+Gloamin-twilight; probably from glooming. A beautiful poetical word which ought to be adopted in England. A gloamin-shot, a twilight interview.

E.

bow, "smooth gliding without step," and pouring the song on my glowing fancy. In the first place, since I left Coila's native haunts, not a fragment of a poet has arisen to cheer her solitary musings, by catching inspiration from her; so I more than suspect that she has followed me hither, or at least makes me occasional visits: secondly, the last stanza of this song I send you, is the very words that Coila taught me many years ago, and which I set to an old Scots reel in Johnson's Museum.

Air" CAULD KAIL."

COME, let me take thee to my breast,
And pledge we ne'er shall sunder;

And I shall spurn, as vilest dust,

The warld's wealth and grandeur:
And do I hear my Jeanie own,
That equal transports move her ?
I ask for dearest life alone

That I may live to love her.

Thus in my arms, wi' all thy charms,
I clasp my countless treasure;
I'll seek nae mair o' heaven to share,
Than sic a moment's pleasure :

And by thy een, sae bonnie blue,
I swear I'm thine for ever!
And on thy lips I seal my vow,
And break it shall I never !

If you think the above will suit your idea of your. favourite air, I shall be highly pleased. The last time I came o'er the moor, I cannot meddle with, as to mending it; and the musical world have been so long accustomed to Ramsay's words, that a different song, though positively superior, would not be so well received. I am not fond of chorusses to songs, so I have not made one for the foregoing.

No. XXXVII.

MR BURNS to MR THOMSON.

DAINTY DAVIE.

August, 1793.

Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers,
To deck her gay, green spreading bowers;
And now comes in my happy hours,
To wander wi' my Davie..

CHORUS.

Meet me on the warlock knowe,
Dainty Davie, dainty Davie ;
There I'll spend the day wi" you,
My ain dear dainty Davie.

The crystal waters round us fa',

The

merry birds are lovers a',

The scented breezes round us blaw,
A wandering wi' my Davie.
Meet me, &c.

When purple morning starts the hare,
To steal upon her early fare,
Then thro' the dews I will repair,
To meet my faithfu' Davie.
Meet me, &c.

When day, expiring in the west,
The curtain draws o' nature's rest,
I flee to his arms I lo'e best,

And that's my ain dear Davie.

CHORUS.

Meet me on the warlock knowe,

Bonnie Davie, dainty Davie !
There I'll spend the day wi" you,
My ain dear dainty Davie.*

So much for Davie. The chorus, you know, is to

the low part of the tune.

the Museum.

See Clarke's set of it in

N. B. In the Museum they have drawled out the tune to twelve lines of poetry, which is **** nonsense. Four lines of song, and four of chorus, is

the way.

Dainty Davie is the title of an old Scotch song, from which Burns has taken nothing but the title and the measure.

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No. XXXVIII.

MR THOMSON to MR BURNS.

MY DEAR SIR,

Edinburgh, 1st Sept. 1793.

SINCE writting you last, I have received half a dozen songs, with which I am delighted beyond expression. The humour and fancy of Whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad, will render it nearly as great a favourite as Duncan Gray. Come, let me take thee to my breast-Adown winding Nith, and By Allan stream, &c., are full of imagination and feeling, and sweetly suit the airs for which they are intended. Had I a cave on some wild distant shore, is a striking and affecting composition. Our friend, to whose story it refers, read it with a swelling heart, I assure you. The union we are now forming, I think, can never be broken; these songs of yours will descend with the music to the latest posterity, and will be fondly cherished so long as genius, taste, and sensibility exist in our island.

While the muse seems so propitious, I think it right to enclose a list of all the favours I have to ask of her, no fewer than twenty and three! I have burdened the pleasant Peter with as many as it is probable he will attend to: most of the remaining airs would puzzle the English poet not a little; they are of that peculiar measure and rhythm, that they must be familiar to him who writes for them.

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