To thy bosom lay my heart, Take away these rosy lips, What is life when wanting love? Night without a morning: Your objection to the English song I proposed for, John Anderson my jo, is certainly just. The following is by an old acquaintance of mine, and I think has merit. The song was never in print, which I think is so much in your favor. The more original good poetry your collection contains, it certainly has so much the more merit, SONG, SONG, BY GAVIN TURNBULL. O CONDESCEND, dear, charming maid, My wretched state to view ; A tender swain, to love betray'd, While here, all melancholy, I heard of love, and with disdain, I laugh'd at every lover's pain, And mock'd them when they sigh'd: But how my state is alter'd! O yield, illustrious beauty, yield, Let Let generous pity warm thee, The following address of Turnbull's to the nightingale, will suit as an English song to the air, There was a lass and she was fair. By the bye, Turnbull has a great many songs in MS which I can command, if you like his manner. Possibly, as he is an old friend of mine, I may be prejudiced in his favor; but I like some of his pieces very much, THE NIGHTINGALE, BY G. TURNBULL. THOU Sweetest minstrel of the grove, That ever tried the plaintive strain, Awake thy tender tale of love, And soothe a poor forsaken swain. For, tho' the muses deign to aid, And teach him smoothly to complain; Is deaf to her forsaken swain. All All day, with fashion's gaudy sons, When evening shades obscure the sky, And soothe a poor forsaken swain. I shall just transcribe another of Turnbull's, which would go charmingly to Lewie Gordon. LAURA. BY G. TURNBULL. LET me wander where I will, If at rosy dawn I chuse To indulge the smiling muse; When at night the drowsy god Laura haunts my fancy still. The rest of your letter I shall answer at some other opportunity. No. |