I now send you my list of the songs, which I believe will be found nearly complete. I have put down the first lines of all the English songs, which I propose giving in addition to the Scotch verses. If any others occur to you, better adapted to the character of the airs, pray mention them, when you favour me with your strictures upon every thing else relating to the work.

Pleyel has lately sent me a number of the songs with his symphonies and accompaniments added to them. I wish you were here, that I might serve up some of them to you with your own verses, by way of dessert after dinner. There is so much delightful faney in the symphonies, and such a delicate simplicity in the accompaniments: they are indeed beyond all praise.

I am very much pleased with the several last productions of your muse: your Lord Gregory, in my estimation, is more interesting than Peter's, beautiful as his is! Your Here awa Willie must undergo some alterations to suit the air. Mr. Erskine and I have been conning it over; he will suggest what is necessary to make them a fit match".

• WANDERING WILLIE,

As altered by Mr. Erskine and Mr. Thomson.

Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie,
Here awa, there awa, haud awa hame;

Come to my bosom my ain only dearie,

Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same.

Winter-winds blew loud and caul at our parting, Fears for my Willie brought tears in my e'e; Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie, As simmer to nature, so Willie to me.

Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave o' your slumbers, How your dread howling a lover alarms!

This gentleman I have mentioned, whose fine taste you are no stranger to, is so well pleased

Blow soft, ye breezes! roll gently, ye billows! And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms.

But oh if he's faithless, and minds na his Nanie, Flow still between us, thou dark-heaving main! May I never see it, may I never trow it,

While dying I think that my Willie's my ain.

Our poet, with his usual judgment, adopted some of these alterations, and rejected others. The last edition is as follows:

Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie,
Here awa, there awa, haud awa hame;
Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie,

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 in my e'e; Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie, The simmer to nature, my Willie to ine.

Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers,
How your dread howling a lover alarms!
Wauken, ye breezes, row gently, ye billows,
And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arins.

But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nanie,
Flow still 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.

Several of the alterations seem to be of little importance in themselves, and were adopted, it may be presumed, for the sake of suiting the words better to the music. The Homeric epithet for the sea, dark-heaving, suggested by Mr. Er skine, is in itself more beautiful, as well perhaps as more sublime, than wide-roaring, which he has

both with the musical and poetical part of our work, that he has volunteered his assistance, and has already written four songs for it, which, by his own desire, I send for your perusal.

No. XVIII.

Mr. BURNS to Mr. THOMSON.

When wild war's deadly blast was blawn.

Air-" The Mill mill 0.”

When wild war's deadly blast was blawn,
And gentle peace returning,
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless,
And mony a widow mourning*,
I left the lines and tented field,
Where lang I'd been a lodger,
My humble knapsack a' my wealth,
A poor and honest sodger.

A leal, light heart was in my breast,
My hand unstain'd wi' plunder;

retained; but as it is only applicable to a placid state of the sea, or at most to the swell left on its surface after the storm is over, it gives a picture of that element not so well adapted to the ideas of eternal separation, which the fair mourner is supposed to imprecate. From the original song of Here awa Willie, Burns has borrowed nothing but the second line and part of the first. The superior excellence of this beautiful poem will, it is hoped, justify the different editions of it which we have given. E.

* Variation, lines 3d and 4th:

And eyes again with pleasure beam'd
That had been blear'd with mourning.
See No. XXIV.

And for fair Scotia, hame again,
I cheery on did wander.

I thought upon the banks o' Coil,
I thought upon my Nancy,
I thought upon the witching smile
That caught my youthful fancy:

At length I reach'd the bonny glen,
Where early life I sported;

I pass'd the mill and trysting thorn,
Where Nancy aft I courted:
Wha spied I but my ain dear maid,
Down by her mother's dwelling!
And turn'd me round to hide the flood
That in my een was swelling.

Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, sweet lass, Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom, O! happy, happy may he be,

That's dearest to thy bosom : My purse is light, I've far to gang, And fain wad be thy lodger; I've serv'd my king and country lang, Take pity on a sodger.

Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me,
'And lovelier was than ever;
Quo' she, a sodger ance I lo'ed,
Forget him shall I never :
Our humble cot, and hamely fare,
Ye freely shall partake it,

That gallant badge, the dear cockade,
Ye're welcome for the sake o't.

She gaz'd-she redden'd like a rose-
Syne pale like ony lily;

She sank within my arms and cried,
Art thou my ain dear Willie?
By Him who made yon sun and sky-
By whom true love's regarded,

I am the man; and thus may stifl
True lovers be rewarded!

The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame,
And find thee still true-hearted;
Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love,
And mair we'se ne'er be parted.
Quo' she, my grandsire left me gowd,
A mailin plenish'd fairly;

And come, my faithful sodger lad,
Thou'rt welcome to it dearly!

For gold the merchant ploughs the main,
The farmer ploughs the manor;
But glory is the sodger's prize,

The sodger's wealth is honour;
The brave poor sodger ne'er despise,
Nor count him as a stranger,
Remember he's his country's stay
In day and hour of danger.

MEG O' THE MILL.

Air" O bonie Lass will you lie in a Barrack."

O ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten,
An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten?
She has gotten a coof wi' a claute o' siller,
And broken the heart o' the barley miller.

The miller was strappin, the miller was ruddy;
A heart like a lord and a hue like a lady:
The laird was a widdiefu', bleerit knurl;
She's left the gude-fellow and taen the churi.

The miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving;
The laird did address her wi' matter mair moving:
A fine pacing-horse wi' a clear chained bridle,
A whip by her side, and a bonie side-saddle.

O wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing ;
And wae on the love that's fix'd on a mailin!
A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle,
But, gie me my love, and a fig for the warl!