quently under the discipline of the Reforming authorities. His surname was Pringle, which was also the name of all the neighboring lairds mentioned in the closing stanza of the ancient song; and it still is the prevailing surname of the natives of Galashiels. Gala water rises in Midlothian, through which county it flows as a clear pastoral stream nearly its entire course. It enters the shires of Roxburgh and Selkirk in the neighborhood of Galashiels, where it assumes more of the character of a river, and loses itself in the Tweed within two miles below that town, in the vicinity of Abbotsford. The melody of this song is one of the oldest and most admired of all the Scots airs, and Nathaniel Gow's popular tune, "Cam ye by Athole," is evidently constructed from it.] SONNET WRITTEN ON THE AUTHOR'S ON HEARING A THRUSH SING IN HIS MORNING WALK. (CURRIE, 1800.) "I made the following sonnet the other day, which has been so fortunate as to obtain the approbation of no ordinary judge -our friend Syme."-Letter to Alexander Cunningham, February 20th, 1793 SING on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough, So in lone Poverty's dominion drear, Sits meek Content with light, unanxious heart; Welcomes the rapid moments, bids them part, Nor asks if they bring ought to hope or fear. I thank thee, Author of this opening day! Thou whose bright sun now gilds yon orient skies! Riches denied, thy boon was purer joys What wealth could never give nor take away! Yet come, thou child of poverty and care, The mite high Heav'n bestowed, that mite with thee I'll share. [Amid the surging of the political emotions of that period, Burns, like the sagacious John o' Badenyon, "tuned his pipe and pleased himsel'" with a song or a sonnet.] LORD GREGORY. (GEO. THOMSON'S COLL., 1798.) O mirk, mirk is this midnight hour, dark A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tower, woful An exile frae her father's ha', And a' for sake o' thee; At least some pity on me shaw, If love it may na be. Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove By bonie Irwine side, Where first I own'd that virgin love I lang, lang had denied. How aften didst thou pledge and vow, Thou wad for ay be mine! And my fond heart, itsel' sae true, It ne'er mistrusted thine. Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, And flinty is thy breast: Thou bolt of Heaven that flashest by, Ye mustering thunders from above, Your willing victim see; show wouldst But spare and pardon my fause Love, false His wrangs to Heaven and me. [This pathetic ballad (founded on the ancient one called "The Lass of Lochryan ") was transmitted to Thomson on 26th January 1793. The copy from which the above is printed, shows a few delicate variations. It is a touching manuscript of the bard, written at Brow, on 7th July 1796, exactly fourteen days before his death. His Edinburgh friend, Alexander Cunningham, had requested to be favored with a copy of "Lord Gregory," and accordingly the obliging poet made an effort to transcribe it in that melancholy letter which Currie first gave to the public-"Alas, my friend, I fear the voice of the bard will soon be heard among you no more. You actually would not know me if you saw Pale, emaciated, and so feeble as occasionally to need help from my chair, my spirits fled-fied! . . . What way, in the name of thrift, shall I maintain myself, and keep a horse in country quarters, with a wife and five children at home on £50? " me. ... It will be remembered that the ballad in the text was a favorite one with the author. When he visited Lord Selkirk at St. Mary's Isle in July 1793, in company with Mr. Syme-that gentleman in his well-written narrative of the tour, says, "Urbani, the Italian, sung us many Scottish songs accompanied with instrumental music. The two young ladies of Selkirk sung also. We had the old song of Lord Gregory,* which I asked for to have an opportunity of calling on Burns to recite his ballad to that tune. He did recite it, and such was the effect, that a dead silence ensued. It was such a silence as a mind of feeling naturally preserves, when touched with that enthusiasm which banishes every other thought but the contemplation of the sympathy produced. Burns's Lord Gregory is in my opinion a most beautiful and affecting ballad. The most fastidious critic may perhaps say some of the sentiments and imagery are of too elevated a kind for such a style of composition, for instance, "Thou bolt of heaven that flashest by," and "Ye mustering thunders," &c., but this is a cold-blooded objection, which will be said rather than felt."] The rain rains on my scar-let robes; The dew dreeps o'er my chin. If you are the lass that I lov'd once, As I trow you are not she. Come give me some of the to kens That pass'd 'tween you and me. * We annex a verse of the old song here referred to, with its singularly thrill ing melody in the minor mode. VER. 2.—Ah, wae be to you, Lord Gregory! An ill death may you dee! WANDERING WILLIE. First Version. (CURRIE, 1800.) HERE awa, there awa, wandering Willie, Now tired with wandering, haud awa home; hold away Come to my bosom, my ae only dearie, one And tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same. Loud blew the cauld winter winds at our parting; It was na the blast brought the tear in my e'e: Now welcome the Simmer, and welcome my Willie, The Simmer to Nature, my Willie to me. Ye hurricanes rest in the cave o' your slumbers, And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. But if he's forgotten his faithfullest Nannie, O still flow between us, thou wide roaring main; May I never see it, may I never trow it, But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain! roll believe [This fine Lyric was sent to Thomson in March 1793, with the remark:-"I leave it to you, my dear sir, to determine whether the above, or the old Thro' the lang muir' be the best."] (A good deal of what Mr. Douglas calls "variegated surmise" has been expended on the subject of this song, some contending for Clarinda, others, Mr. Douglas tells us, for Mrs. Walter Riddell. The latter supposition may be at once dismissed as groundless. In giving his own judgment that gentleman states that the tone of Burns's letter to Clarinda, on learning, in the early part of 1793, of her return, excludes the supposition that the lines could have reference to her, and expresses the opinion that the old song from Herd's collection given below was sufficient of itself to suggest the lines to him. On this we would simply remark that Burns was not wont to write love-songs "in the abstract." He required a flesh and blood subject to warm his fancy. He was no doubt hurt by Clarinda's failing to intimate her return to him, but we have it on the authority of Horace that the poet is a member of a genus not only irritable but ever variable. We agree, then, with Chambers in thinking that both this song and “My Nannie's Awa,” were inspired by Clarinda. The hearing or reading the old song would quite naturally suggest to the poet the friend with whom he once stood in such tender relationship.-J. H.) (We here annex the original words of Herd's song: Here awa, there awa, here awa, Willie, Here awa, there awa, here awa hame; Lang have I sought thee, dear I have bought thee, Now I hae gotten my Willie again. Thro' the lang muir I have follow'd my Willie, Here awa, there awa, here awa Willie, Here awa, there awa, here awa hame, Come love, believe me, nothing can grieve me, WANDERING WILLIE. Revised Version. (GEO. THOMSON'S COLL., 1793.) HERE awa, there awa, wandering Willie, Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same. Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting, Fears for my Willie brought tears to my e'e, Welcome now Simmer, and welcome my Willie, The Simmer to Nature, my Willie to me. |
