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ment, and despair. Years and ages roll over the world, yet the oldest forms of lyrical beauty are ever new-yet the same field is ever yielding new fruits, with all the unabating fertility which marked its golden prime.

The best songs are often produced by those who are not professed, or professional poets; by those who do not write at all except when the heart prompts them; by those whose compositions can never be successful except when their power of pleasing is their only recommendation. When art or ambition have any share in the production, nature, which is the essence of song-writing, is liable to be forgotten or displaced. The apparent slightness of the effort required for a song, creates a temptation more than in any other kind of poetry, to supply, by mechanical facility, what can only be produced by sincere enthusiasm. If a right standard of lyric poetry be adopted, it is manifest that it cannot be hurriedly or superficially composed. Moments of inspiration, we presume, are of rare occurrence among the best poets; and these must, in every department, be solicited and improved by reflection and labour. The comparative narrowness of the path, indeed, in this peculiar region of poetry, increases the necessity of care and consideration to avoid running into old ruts, and to discover any original tract of thought and feeling. We should expect, therefore, that no one man could possibly produce more than a very few of such compositions, and many of our most popular songs seem to be the unique productions of their authors. The orator of a single speech has been considered a prodigy; but experience would not lead us to say the same thing of a poet whose reputation rested on a single song.

In modern times, however, a variety of causes have combined to make fertility, at least, as remarkable a characteristic of lyric talent as perfection of execution. Not to mention inferior names, Burns and Moore, in our own time and that of our fathers, have each produced more songs than in other ages would have distinguished any twenty writers of genius. Burns is the reputed author or emendator of about 250 lyrics, while the songs of Moore are as the sands of the sea-shore. We strongly suspect, that to the works

NO. CCLXXXVI, VOL. XLVI.

of the best poets who write with such fertility in a limited department, the maxim of Martial must necessarily ap. ply: Sunt bona, sunt quædam mediocria, SUNT MALA PLURA. We lament and we condemn this consequence. We consider that any system is bad under which poetry of this description is hurriedly huddled up, and cast into the world with all its imperfections on its head, to the injury alike of the writer's reputation and the depression of the standard of poetical excellence. There will always be abundance of clippers and coiners to pass off counterfeit money on the unwary. But poets, like princes, should be niggardly of their name and countenance, and chary of depreciating the legal currency, of which they exercise the control, by issuing from their mint what has not been tried and tested as fine gold.

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In the two examples to which we have referred, the inducements which led to this fault were not altogether the same. The Bard of Erin, we believe, has, in his day, received for his lyrical effusions no inconsiderable amount of currency of a more substantial kind: and, however much it may have come to, we sincerely wish it had been more. regard to the case of our Scottish minstrel, we must say, that, after an attentive and repeated perusal of the Thomson Correspondence, we have arrived deliberately at the conviction, that pecuniary recompense was not the incentive, as it was certainly not the result, of his lyric labours. The sum of five pounds, forced upon him by the most solemn adjurations at the commencement of his task, and five pounds more given on his deathbed, but which, we believe, was not needed, and never used, amount to a much less remuneration per song than Mr Willison Glass was in the habit of receiving from every mason-lodge or private patron with whose name he might fill up the dedication of his poetical circulars. This calculation fully exonerates Burns from any suspicion that he wrote for money; but the result was nearly the same as if his motive had been less disinterested. He was encouraged and urged by others to write songs beyond the powers of any poet's productiveness; and the humility or blind devotion of those to whom they were furnished,

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prevented them from exercising that strictness of control which was necessary to correct error and suppress me. diocrity. The idea sometimes comes across our minds, that the fortunes of our great Scottish poet might indeed have been very different, if his fate had connected him with a spirit so frank, so independent, so liberal, and so enterprising, as that which animated a dear and lamented friend of our own, of whose name it can never be necessary to make express mention in the pages of Maga. We should probably, in such a case, have reaped still richer fruits than we possess from the genius of Burns; and we might not have had the pain of seeing his more mature productions dishonoured, by an association with many rude and shapeless efforts that ought never to have seen the light.

It is our purpose, in one or two articles, to apply the flail and the fanners to the lyrical works of these two national poets, labouring, to the best of our capacity, to separate the wheat from the chaff, the solid and salubrious material of the staff of life from the husks and refuse with which it is too intimately commingled. We shall treat of these two eminent writers in connexion, not that we think them altogether equal or similar to each other; but because each has justly earned for himself the name of a national poet, as well as a wide possession of general popularity, and each has much in his writings to praise, and not a little to reprehend.

We begin with Burns; and we shall first of all notice some of those songs which we think faulty or indifferent, and which, therefore, we could have wished might have remained in the author's repositories, as conveyancers say, undelivered at the time of his death. Let it be observed, that we have not the horror that some people entertain about posthumous publication. It may sometimes be an evil when intrusted to indiscreet hands, but, if judiciously conducted, it is psychologically curious, and critically very valuable. It is of infinite importance to literary students to see the crude conceptions of a man of genius in the very bud, or only half blown, and thence to learn the degrees by which excellence may be attained. From such revelations the timid may acquire confidence, and the rash

caution. The comparison between the compositions thus found to have been delayed or suppressed, and those finished works of genius which have finally received their author's approval, must prevent any injury to public taste, and must even tend to its improvement. It is a very different thing when an author, in his own lifetime, is tempted to put out of his hands productions which have not yet received the last polish of the file, or which may, perhaps, be incapable of taking it; and we greatly deplore any system of things that tends to such a result. It is itself a flagrant violation, and its example involves a wide-spread disregard of that rule of " being perfect," which, in different though not discordant ways, ought equally to be the aim of the poet and the Christian.

Let it not be supposed that, in the review of Burns's songs which we are now to attempt, the proposal to point out his faults implies any indifference to his excellences, or any want of admiration for his high and manly genius. Much that we are here to write, will show how reverently we think of him; and a criticism upon that part of his compositions, which, on the whole, we think the most vulnerable, can neverimply that we are blind to the innumerable beauties which are scattered throughout his works. The pathos, the humour, the strong judgment, the lively fancy, the terse diction, which characterise all Burns's masterpieces, and which are to be found alike in his best songs as in other parts of his poetry, make it impossible that criticism, fairly and impartially conducted, can have any other result than that of raising the estimate of his powers while placing it upon a firmer foundation. It is because he was a man of high genius, and because he exerts over all men, and more especially over his countrymen, the dominion that genius is heir to, that we desire to point out, along with his merits, those errors from which we could have wished him to be free. Assuredly, we would willingly accept of another such man, (though, when shall we look upon his like again?) even with all the faults which we are about to condemn. But if another such should ever arise, we would desire to make him more perfect than his predecessor in care, and diligence, and taste: and we still more would labour to recommend these qualities to the poets whom we are more likely to see, and in whom the same blemishes, with an inferior portion of genius, would be far less tolerable. We consider no poet to be exempt from criticism, in the liberal sense of the word; and, whenever criticism speaks, she must speak honestly and frankly, not fearing to touch the best, and still less to touch the next best, where she sees any infringement of the immutable principles of beauty or truth.

We must further observe, by way of preface, that, in criticising the writings of a man like Burns, it is not to be supposed that we should ever have to find fault with a total emptiness of thought or absence of elegance. It was probably as impossible for him to have written a silly or absolutely dull song, as it would have been for Burke, in any mood of negligence, to have conversed in downright drivel. The defects we shall have to detect are of a different kind, consisting either in individual blots disfiguring a form otherwise fair, or in an inferior de gree of that beauty and finish which are essential to lyric poetry. Let it be remembered, also, that Burns became latterly anxious to revise the songs which he had written a consideration which does not dispense with the duty of observing their defects, but which exculpates him from the suspicion of over-estimating their merits.

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We now commence our task by se

lecting some of the most conspicuous examples of songs which, in our opinion, the poet should have been advised to withhold as unworthy of his genius, at least in the state in which they appear. Our selection shall chiefly be made from Mr Thomson's Collection or Correspondence, which, from its authoritative and prominent character, as well as from the great beauty of many of the songs contained in it, ought to have excluded every thing that was not excellent.

What has the following to recommend it, except one or two smooth lines here and there?

"True-hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow,

And fair are the maids on the banks o' the Ayr,

But by the sweet side o' the Nith's winding river,

Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair:

To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all

over;

To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain;

Grace, beauty, and elegance, fetter her lover, And maidenly modesty fixes the chain.

"O fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy

morning,

And sweet is the lily at evening close; But in the fair presence o' lovely young Jessie,

Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose.

Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring, Enthroned in her een he delivers his law;

And still to her charms she alone is a stranger, Her modest demeanour 's the jewel of a."

The versification of this song seems to us to be deadened by the absence of rhyme in the first and third lines of the quatrain, while the ideas generally are tame and the expressions prosaic. Elegance is an attribute of heroines that should not be mentioned in song, however it may be admired in reality. at evening close,"

"Sweet is the lily will not scan without a mispronunciation. The images of love sitting in her smile " a wizard ensnaring," and delivering his law " enthroned in her een," have not much happiness, and are inconsistent with simplicity. "Still to her charms she alone is a stranger," has as little of poetry in it for a concluding thought, as can well be imagined.

The following song is declared by Mr Thomson to be "quite enchanting." Read it carefully, and say if you are of the same opinion.

"Blythe ha'e I been on yon hill,
As the lambs before me;
Careless ilka thought and free,
As the breeze flew o'er me:
Now nae langer sport and play,
Mirth or sang can please me;
Lesley is sae fair and coy,

Care and anguish seize me.

"Heavy, heavy, is the task,
Hopeless love declaring :
Trembling, I dow nocht but glowr,
Sighing, dumb, despairing I
If she winna ease the thraws
In my bosom swelling,
Underneath the grass-green sod
Soon maun be my dwelling."

We own we do not feel the power of any mighty magic in these lines. We have read them several times, and still feel much "in our ordinary," as the phraseis. They appear to us to be poorly imagined, and extremely ill written. What is meant by "as the lambs before me?" Is it in the same sense as "my father the deacon afore me?" the lambs that preceded me? or the lambs in my presence? What, again, is the meaning of the fourth line" as the breeze flew o'er me?" Is it a comparison or a circumstance? Does it mean "while the breeze flew o'er me?" or, " as the breeze that flew o'er me?" In the one way it is idle; in the other ungrammatical. "Sport and play," prefixed to "mirth or sang," are weak and mean. "Care and anguish seize me," is veritable Vauxhall. The second stanza is to us still less enchanting than the first. "Trembling, I dow nocht but glowr, sighing, dumb, despairing," is melancholy, but certainly not gentlemanlike! It strongly represents the stupor of a village imbecile. "If she winna ease the thraws in my bosom swelling," is so poorly and almost ludicrously expressed, that it reconciles us nsigning the supposed lover to his long home in the next couplet without a single pang. Let any man attempt to sing this song in a mixed company, to its tune of the Quaker's wife, in the most pathetic possible style, and we venture to predict that, from the word "glowr," to the conclusion, the whole table, and more particularly the young ladies, who have by far the surest sense of the beautiful or ridiculous, will be convulsed with laughter, beginning with a titter or grin and increasing gradually to a guffaw.

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We are not sure whether the next sample is inserted in Mr Thomson's Collection, though it is to be found in the Correspondence. We are sure it should not have appeared in either. It is needless to point out the faults and feeblenesses, which almost overlay the germs of fancy and feeling which it contains.

"While larks with little wing
Fann'd the pure air,
Tasting the breathing spring,
Forth I did fare;
Gay the sun's golden eye
Peep'd o'er the mountains high;
Such thy morn! did I cry,
Phillis the fair.

" In each bird's careless song
Glad did I share;
While yon wild-flowers among,
Chance led me there :
Sweet to the opening day,
Rosebuds bent the dewy spray;
Such thy bloom! did I say,
Phillis the fair.

"Down in a shady walk,
Doves cooing were;
I mark'd the cruel hawk
Caught in a snare :
So kind may Fortune be,
Such make his destiny,
He who would injure thee,
Phillis the fair."

To the song next in our list, our objections are of a different, and, some of our readers may think, of a more doubtful nature.

"Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers, To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers; And now comes in my happy hours

To wander wi' my Davie.

"Meet me on the warlock knowe,
Dainty Davie, dainty Davie,
There I'll spend the day wi' you,
My ain dear dainty Davie.

"The crystal waters round us fa',
The merry birds are lovers a',
The scented breezes round us blaw,

A-wandering wi' my Davie.

"When purple morning starts the hare, To steal upon her early fare, Then through the dews I will repair

To meet my faithful Davie.

"When day, expiring in the west, The curtain draws o' Nature's rest, I flee to his arms I lo'e best,

And that's my ain dear Davie.

"Meet me on the warlock knowe,

Bonny Davie, dainty Davie, There I'll spend the day wi' you, My ain dear dainty Davie."

There is here a great deal of sweetness, cheerfulness, and beauty; but their effect is not, to our taste, what it ought to have been. The opening of the song reminds us, though by a feeble reflection, of other delightful lines, the offspring of a greater than Burns, and with the whole of which the slenderest excuse will justify us in adorning our pages.

"Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger,
Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her
The flowery May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.
Hail! bounteous May, that dost inspire
Mirth, and youth, and warm desire:
Woods and groves are of thy dressing,
Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing.
Thus we salute thee with our early song,
And welcome thee and wish thee long."

In their own sphere, the verses with which Burns begins the song under consideration, seem to promise a not unworthy echo of the May-day melody which the high-priest of the Muses had already sounded. But, alas! the delusion is soon dissipated. When we find that the great theme of gladness and source of inspiration, in the poem, is to be the prospect of wandering " wi' Davie," we feel half ashamed of our rising enthusiasm; and when it further appears that the individual in question rejoices in the epithet of "Dainty"-"Dainty Davie"-the affair is involved in still greater embarrassment. We are of a totally different opinion from Juliet in the matter of names; and are indeed on that subject of nearly the same mind with Mr Shandy. It may be of very little moment to a young lady in love, whether her hero is a Montague or a Capulet; but if the alternative lay between one of those patronymics and

that of Tomkins, or Tims, we are inclined to think that even Juliet would

have been staggered. The farce of Mr H., though deservedly damned as a whole, was at least successful as a demonstration of the doctrine for which we are now contending. Christian names are certainly not less important than surnames, and in songs are rather more so, as we do not think it is usual to give the surname in a lyric. To David generally, even to Sir David, we have a strong objection except in his proper place, and would almost here have preferred Solomon or Samuel. "Davie," the diminutive, does not much mend the matter; and, on the whole, we think that the gentleman whose image is so intimately blended with the flowers of May, would, by some other name, have smelt more odoriferously, and would probably have been most effective in an anonymous form. The functions attributed to the reverend hero of the original ditty, were congenial with the name of Dainty Davie, under

which he was designated. But the lady who, in Burns's song, exhibits so just an appreciation of vernal scenery, should have been matched with a lover bearing a less vulgar appellation, or should have kept the vulgarity as much as possible in the background.

Laying out of view the unfortunate burden with which we consider it to be weighed down, the imagery in the song, generally, is pastoral and pleasing.

These lines,

"The crystal waters round us fa', The merry birds are lovers a', The scented breezes round us blaw," are redolent of youth and joy, and are almost every thing that they should be. The epithet of "crystal" to falling waters, however, is of doubtful propriety, as crystal falling in any shape

is rather a nervous idea. We feel a

stronger, and we think a more substantial objection, to the picture in the last verse, of day "expiring, and drawing

the curtain of Nature's rest." We are not so fastidious as to repudiate all similitudes that may be borrowed from artificial or mechanical objects. We can, without aversion, think of the moon as the "refulgent lamp of night;" and would even occasionally, as here. allow the upholsterer to bear his part, To despise the "curtain-drawing" of Burns, in a simple song, would be unjust in any who are willing to admire in a sacred hymn a metaphor of Milton, which gives us still more of the details and drapery of the bed-chamber :

"So when the Sun in bed,

Curtain'd with cloudy red,

Pillows his chin upon an orient wave."

What we object to in the stanza now before us, is not that the curtain should be drawn, but that this should be done by "Day" when represented as "expiring;" an expression which, in an imaginative passage of this kind, must be taken in a literal, and not in a reflected sense. Drawing the curtain

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