The shepherd, in the flowery gleri,

In shepherd's phrase will woo: ;
The courtier tells a finer tale,

But is his heart as true.

These wild-wood flowers I've pu’d, to deck

That spotless breast o' thine.
The courtier's gems may witness love-

But 'tis na love like mine.

How do you like the simplicity and tenderness of this pastoral? I think it pretty well.

- I like you for entering so candidly and so kindly into the story of Ma chere Amie. I assure you, I was never more in earnest in my life, than in the account of that affair which I sent you in my last. Conjugal love is a passion which I deeply feel, and highly venerate; but, somehow, it does not make such a figure in poesy as that other species of the passion,

« Where Love is liberty, and Nature law.”

Musically speaking, the first is an instrument of. which the gamut is scanty and confined, but the tones inexpressibly sweet ; while the last, has powers


equal to all the intellectual modulations of the human soul. Still, I am a very poet in my enthusiasm of the passion. The welfare and happiness of the beloved object, is the first and inviolate sentiment that pervades my soul; and whatever pleasures I might wish for, or whatever might be the raptures they would give me, yet, if they interfere with that first principle, it is having these pleasures at a dishonest price; and justice forbids, and generosity disdains the purchase! * * * * * * *


Despairing of my own powers to give you variety enough in English songs, I have been turning over old collections, to pick out songs of which the measure is something similar to what I want ; and, with a little alteration, so as to suit the rhythm of the air exactly, to give you them for your work. Where the songs have hitherto been but little noticed, nor have ever been set to music, I think the shift a fair one. A song, which, under the same first verse, you will find in Ramsay's Tea-table Mi-scellany, 'I have cut down for an English dress to your, “ Daintie Davie," as follows.


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Altered from an old English one.
It was the charming month of May,
When all the flow'rs were fresh and gay,
One morning, by the break of day,

The youthful, charming Chloe ;

From peaceful slumber she arose,
Girt on her mantle and her hose,
And o’er' the flowery mead she goes,
The youthful, charming Chloe.

Lovely was she by the dawn,

Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe,
Tripping oer the pearly lawn,

The youthful, charming Chloe.
The feather'd people, you might see
Perch'd all around on every tree,
In notes of sweetest melody

They hail the charming Chloe;
'Till, painting gay the eastern skies,
The glorious sun began to rise,
Out-rivall’d by the radiant eyes

Of youthful, charming Chloe: - Lovely was she, &c.


You may think meanly of this, but take a look at the bombast original, and you will be surprised that I have made so much of it. I have finished my song to, Rothemurche's Rant; and you have Clarke to consult, as to the set of the air for singing.





Lassie wi' the lint-white locks,

Bonie lassie, artless lassie,
Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks,

Wilt thou be my dearie 0.

Now nature cleeds the flowery lea,
And a' is young and sweet like thee;
O wilt thou share its joys wi' mc,
And say thou’lt be my dearie O.

Lassie wi, &C.

And when the welcome simmer-shower
Has chear'd ilk drooping little flower,
We'll to the breathing woodbine bower
At sultry noon, my dearie 0.
Lassie wi', &c.


When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray,
The weary shearer's hameward way;
Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray, :
And talk o' love, my dearie 0.

Lassie wi', &c.

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And when the howling wintry blast
Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest ;
Enclasped to my faithfu' breast,.

I'll comfort thee, my dearie 0. *
Lassie wi' the lint-white locks,

Bonie lassie, artless lassie,
Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks,

Wilt thou be my dearie 0.

This piece has at least the merit of being a regular pastoral: the vernal morn, the summer noon, VOL. IV.


* In some of the MSS this stanza runs thus :

And should the howling wintry blast
Disturb my lassie's midnight rest;
I'll fauld thee to my faithfu' breast,

And comfort thee, my dearie 0.

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