THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY. TUNE-Birks of Abergeldie. [The author notes here-"I composed these stanzas standing under the Falls of Moness, at or near Aberfeldy." This, as we learn from the diary he kept of his northern tour, was on Thursday, 30th August, 1787. It is regarded as one of his best lyrics, and sings enchantingly to its proper air, sung as a duet in slowish time, when the counter-tenor is taken by a male voice well managed.] CHORUS. Bonie lassie, will ye go, To the birks of Aberfeldie? Now Simmer blinks on flow'ry braes, The little birdies blythely sing, The braes ascend like lofty wa's, Bonie lassie, &c. The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers, Let Fortune's gifts at random flee, In the birks of Aberfeldy. Bonie lassie, &c. M'PHERSON'S FAREWELL. [James M'Pherson, a Highland freebooter, who was executed at Banff in November, 1700, is said to have been an excellent violinist, and composer of the striking air to which these words are set. There still exists, in old collections, a ballad which was produced at the period, and shews some spirit, but can never compare with the wild stanzas that Burns puts into the mouth of the daring desperado. September, 1787, is, doubtless, the date of this composition.] FAREWELL, ye dungeon's dark and strong, The wretch's destinie! M'Pherson's time will not be long, On yonder gallows-tree. CHORUS. Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, He play'd a spring, and danc'd it round, O what is death but parting breath? I've dar'd his face, and in this place Sae rantingly, &c. Untie these bands from off my hands, I've liv'd a life of sturt and strife; It burns my heart I must depart, And not avenged be. Sae rantingly, &c. Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright, And all beneath the sky! May coward shame distain his name, The wretch that dares not die! Sae rantingly, &c. THE HIGHLAND LASSIE, O. [Published anonymously in Johnson, but the poet, in his MS. note, says"This was a composition of mine in very early life, before I was at all known in the world." The reader on turning to our head-note of the Epistle to a Young Friend, at page 91, will find some details of the circumstances which gave rise to the present lyric and others on the same subject, namely, his "Highland Mary," around whose living history he contrived to throw such a shroud of mystery. The present song has all the character of a farewell effusion, and in sentiment corresponds precisely to that other lyric which, in 1792, he offered to George Thomson, beginning-"Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary," and which was rejected as being in quality beneath the standard of his publication. The present song, however, is even more humble as regards poetical pretensions; Indeed, the contrast between the quality of those strains which the poet produced under the influence of his Mary "in the days of her flesh" (who was almost unknown in Ayrshire), and those impassioned lyrics that were inspired by "Mary, dear departed shade," whose image stands, and will ever stand pictured in the mental vision of Burns' every reader-and when shall these have an end?-is very striking. The "Prayer for Mary," given at page 28, vol. 2nd, although not composed was adopted by Burns with reference to her. All the three lyrics shew that it was the poet's intention, at the close of Autumn, 1786, to leave Mary in Scotland behind him, while he proceeded to the West Indies, in the expectation of returning for her after making his fortune abroad : "For her I'll dare the billow's roar; The poet concludes his affecting note on this production, with these words:"At the close of autumn she crossed the sea (from the West Highlands) to meet me at Greenock, where she had scarce landed, when she was seized with a malignant fever, which hurried my dear girl to the grave in a few days, before I could even hear of her illness."] NAE gentle dames, tho' ne'er sae fair, Shall ever be my muse's care; Their titles a' are empty show; CHORUS. Within the glen sae bushy, O, O were yon hills and valleys mine, Within the glen, &c. But fickle fortune frowns on me, Altho' thro' foreign climes I range, For her I'll dare the billow's roar; She has my heart, she has my hand, Farewell, the glen sae bushy, O! THO' CRUEL FATE SHOULD BID US PART. TUNE-The Northern Lass. [It is very remarkable that this exquisite little fragment appears in Johnson's pages in juxta-position with the preceding: it has the author's name attached, while the other is unacknowledged. The subject of this is Jean Armour, and, as before observed at page 73, is evidently the progenitor of the poet's honeymoon song of 1788,-"Of a' the airts the wind can blaw." Gilbert Burns informs us that "one fair enslaver generally reigned paramount in his brother's affections; but as Yorick's love flowed out towards Madame de Q- at the remise door, while the eternal vows of Eliza were upon him, so Robert was frequently encountering other attractions, which formed so many under-plots in the drama of his love." Gilbert also very naively remarks that "there was often a great disparity between his fair captivator and her attributes." Here then, in the pages of Johnson, we have Jean and Mary, who really seem to have reigned in his bosom at one time, set over against each other as counterfoils. Who will take upon him to say which of these "fair enslavers" was the subject of the "under-plot in the drama of his love"? In the present piece, as in the preceding song, he contemplates a lasting separation, with howling deserts and oceans roaring between himself and the object of his affections;but "many waters cannot quench love;"-her "dear idea round my heart shall tenderly entwine" for ever! "She has my heart, she has my hand, By secret Truth and Honor's band! THO' cruel fate should bid us part, Should tenderly entwine. Tho' mountains rise, and deserts howl, STAY, MY CHARMER, CAN YOU LEAVE ME. TUNE-An Gille dubh ciar dhubh. [These words were written as a vehicle for preserving a plaintive Gaelic air, which attracted him in the course of his northern tour, in the autumn of 1787. It is called An Gilleaah dubh; or, The Black-haired Lad. Burns' name is given as the author.] STAY, my charmer, can you leave me? Well you know how much you grieve me: Cruel charmer, can you go! |