Letter to John Crawford: 24 November 1809
Mr John
Crawford Largs Paisley
24th Novr 1809 My Worthy Friend I take the earliest
opportunity of thanking you for the song with which you were pleased to favour
me. I think it one of your happiest productions, at
least that I have seen. In my oppinion the third stanza should by no means be
excluded. I think it equal to any of the others, besides it makes a better
conclusion than to end it with the second. The imagery is in general finely
simple and natural. I do not altogether like the expression, apple-flower;
some other flow’r in its places may perhaps do as well. Although, blossom,
bloom, and flow’r be synonymous, the
latter, in this instance, at first reading strikes me as uncouth; however,
others may like it very well, so you must judge it for yourself. Except the
last line of the song I do not wish to see another word of it altered. Instead
of, My Spirit’s wi’ my Jeanie, I would prefer, My
heart’s ay wi’ my Jeanie: the idea is the same. Indeed with a proper Air it
will make a very beautiful song; Altho’ Miss Graham of Inchbraikie’s
Strathspey be an excellent air, yet ˄it˄ is only fit for an
instrument, a musical friend tells me it at least takes in two Octaves
which is too great a compass for the general [#] You
wanted to know the meaning of “light lilting Jorum”. In the Highlands jorum,
or Luinig, is the names given to their cheeriest songs, such as they
sing at their merry meetings on long, winter nights. The Pibroch is
their call, or onset to Battle; and the Coronadch is a I remain yours most
faithfully Robt
Tannahill [#] Scottish
Song Air
–– Alex.
Donn’s Strathspey ____________________ The midges dance
aboon the burn, The dews begin to fa’, The pairtricks down
the rushy howm, Set up their e’ening ca’; In broken strains the
blackbird’s sang Rings thro’ the briery shaw, While fleeting gay,
the swallows play Around the castle wa’. Beneath the golden
gloamin sky The mavis mends her lay The redbreast pours
its sweetest notes To charm the ling’ring day While weary yeldrins
seem to wail, Their little nestlings torn The merry wren, frae
den to den, Gaes jinkin thro’
the thorn. The roses fauld their silken leaves The foxglove shuts its bell The honey-suckle and
the birk Spread fragrance thro’ the dell; Let others crowd the
giddy court Of mirth and revelry The simple joys that
nature yields Are dear˄er˄ far to me. ________________________________ P.S. Your rigidest
criticism on the above will much favour me, as I wish to make it ˄as˄
well as I possibly can. To Mr
John Crawford. Copy Text: MS Robertson 1/31 Previous Publications: Notes: |