Letter to James King: 10 September 1809
Mr James King Soldier Capt.
Smith’s Compy Renfrew
Shire Militia Portsmouth Paisley
Septr 10th 1809 Dear King I
received yours of the 27th July and was very happy to hear of
the re-establishment of your health. You will, I am sure, be likewise glad to
know that I am well, indeed I have been a good deal stouter and haler these
some months past than I had been for years. I met your sister Jenny at the
cross the other night, she told me your Mother was rather poorly at the time. I
have been much engaged these two or three weeks with some hably business of my
own, else I would have called up – Borland was [out at our Fair three weeks]
since, I never saw him look better – his chaft blades are pretty full, and he
has a very handsome suit of new cloaths on his soul-case. he said he would
write to you immediately – he was up at your mother’s — Perhaps, as you notice,
the Laird might use your mother ill were his Elegy printed here, for which very
reason I now think it will be as well to get it done out of this place, and
copies of it might be given to your friends here; as for amending him, altho’
all the satirical truble, from Pindar to Willy Taylor, were combined to better
him, he would stand to his bottle, invulnerable as the Craif o’ Aisla amidst
the dashing waves of our stormy firth. I thought of geting ˄it˄ into
the Paisley Repository, a trifling Publication printed only occasionally, the
Editor is rather contracted in his views and I am not sure if he would have
taken it in – however, if you wish it I shall use all my influence to have it
done – I am sure of itself it is worth some half-dozen of his numbers put
together – oblige me with another copy at any rate -- It must be gratifying
for you to know that I have seen your “Battle of Talavera” It appeared
in the Sentinal, a new Glasgow Nespaper, last Friday, and I read it in the
Glasgow Courier in our Club last night. I suppose ’tis copied from a London paper – I think
you are right to put your name in full to it or any other thing you ˄may˄
send which The
song in your last likewise in my mind has considerable merit – yet I think you
might easily amend it. Instead of “conversing with heroes gone, and beholding
them in dreadful array, on the fields where their valour has shone” I would
prefer the natural and beautiful im [#] Ellen
More – – – a Ballad _________________ The sun had sunk in
Jura’s waves The dark-blue mountains tow’r’d
between Mild evening’s dew
refresh’d the leaves The moon unclouded rose serene When Ellen wander’d
forth unseen All lone her sorrows to deplore False was her lover,
false her friend, And false was hope to Ellen More. Young Henry was fair
Ellen’s love Young Emma to her heart was dear No
weal nor woe
did Ellen prove But Emma ever seem’d to share Yet envious still she
spread the wile That sullied Ellen’s virtues o’er Her faithless Henry
spurn’d the while His fair, his
faithful Ellen More. She wander’d down
Loch-Mary side Where oft at ev’ning hour she
stole To meet her love with
secret pride Now deepest anguish wrung her
soul O’ercome with grief she
sought the steep Where Yarrow pours in sullen
roar-- Ye gentle maids, well
may ye weep To hear the fate of Ellen More The sun may shine on
Yarrow braes And woo the mountain flow’rs to
bloom But never, never ˄can
his golden rays˄ can his rays Awake the flow’r in yonder tomb There oft young Henry
strays forlorn When moonlight gilds the Abbey
tow’r There oft from eve
till breezy morn He weeps his faithful Ellen More. ____________________________________ [Text running vertically in right margin – appears to be Tannanhill’s
hand] N.B. Tell [obscured] st the Office was |always sh[obscured] a penny to it and |dropt it [obscured] I
have seen lately the pieces you mention’d, to William Wiyle – I am ignorant of
any of the characters – you would notice the touch on your friend – tis low
stuff – not worth minding – write immediately – Your
&c R.
Tannahill Emendations: out at our fair three weeks •out a[t
◊u◊ F◊i◊ th◊◊◊ ◊◊◊ks] Copy Text: MS Robertson 1/28 Previous Publications: Notes: |