DEAR SIR,
I received yours of date 3rd June, and your poems and a few lines sometime after from a woman of the regiment. I have read your poems many times over with a deal of pleasure, and shewn them to some of the most intelligent officers in the regiment, who are all very well pleased with them. One of them, whose mother keeps a considerable tap room in Glasgow, pointing to “Allan's Ale” said—“King, does not that do very well?” I am highly pleased with the “Two National Clowns.” With respect to the “Peasant's Death” I never heard of such a poem, nor of such a man as John Struthers. [1] ’Tis somewhat remarkable that the subject and stanza should be the same. The “Poor Man's Burial” is now wholly but I pay no regard to it on account of the “Peasants.” When I was in Berwickshire some years since, I fell in with a wandering bard, who sung a number of Border scraps, and one of them something like “Och Hey, Johnnie, Lad.” If you remember, some years since, we proposed seeing one Robertson, [2] somewhere about the Well meadow. I was informed that he was in the Fifeshire Militia, and as we marched from Hastings to this place we passed through Boxhill, where the Fifeshire lies. I called upon him, and had some beer with him. He is an intelligent man, and remarkably fond of poetry. We are only eight miles separate. I sent him the song-book you sent me, and told him of your poems. He sent me word that he would be here soon to see your book. He thinks that none of the Rosy Briar was written by Burns, and says he is almost positive that the last verse is part of a song done by himself some years back, which he had forgot had not that verse struck him and put him in mind of it. There is a song in the collection called “The Land o the Leel.” I was informed the other day that in the West of Scotland it went under the name of “Burns' Death Song.” Let me know if Burns be its author. I hope that your constitution is a deal better of the salt water, and that you had a pleasant jaunt. For me, I am always upon the coast, and but for being every other night out of bed would be very well; however, I cannot complain at present. I am of opinion that ere long not a cannon will be fired on the continent of Europe without the approbation of the Emperor Napoleon. If the troops of civilised Europe, experienced, and often in battle, could not stop his progress, what could the raw, half disciplined soldiers of Russia do. Their battles were ill-directed, the papers mentioned several of their generals being found killed near one spot of ground. It appears to me that when the action became serious that they had left their divisions and come to Bonnigheim for orders, for how the devil could they have been killed together and their columns cut off for want of direction.
SONG.
Air—“Wat ye wha I met yestreen.”
Away ! ye warlike scenes, away !
Half moons and parallels, adieu !
No more I'll view the lofty tow'r;
No more the strong built rampart view,
Though waving on the lofty tow'r
The standard shews its glitt'ring wing,
There's no peace near the lofty tow'r;
There's no rest where the bugles sing.
The garden's finest blossoms fade,
Where chilly winds pass o'er the flowers ;
The brightest ray of rising man
Is darkened when the tempest low'rs.
The blast comes rushing armed with fire,
And bears the dark green leafy spray ;
So 'neath the blast of Tyrant pow'r,
All genius withering dies away.
All hail ! ye sunny flow'r-clad vales,
Where peace and liberty appear ;
And hail ye scenes of social life,
For ever to my memory dear.
But hence ye painful warlike scenes,
Where man o'er man holds sad control;
And welcome hours of sacred rest,
That please and elevate the soul.
Remember me to Borland and Scadlock. No more at present, but, believe me to remain
Yours, &c.,
JAMES KING.
[1] See first note to the letter dated 2nd February, 1807. Shortly after the publication of “The Poor Man's Sabbath” in 1804 by John Struthers, he published “The Peasant's Death” as a sequel. It would seem that James King had written a poem which he had called “The Peasant's Burial,” and submitted it to Tannahill for his opinion, who very properly informed King that Struthers had anticipated him, when King replied, “it was somewhat remarkable they should be the same, for he had never heard of such a poem as ‘The Peasant's Death,’ nor of such a person as John Struthers.” The blank in the, following sentence of the reply may be finished with the word buried or burnt. King then petulantly retaliates on Tannahill that he had heard, some years ago, a wandering Bard singing a song something like “Och Hey, Johnnie, Lad,” No. 124. It may have happened that two authors wrote songs to the same old air, but that is not a parallel case with the peasant's death or burial—Ed.
[2] “John Robertson, weaver, born about 1770. He was the son of John Robertson, grocer, No. 22 Sandholes, Paisley. His father did an extensive business in these premises, and, having considerable means, he gave his son an excellent education. John Robertson, jun., was afterwards apprenticed to the weaving, the staple trade of Paisley; but like a great number of others who had wealthy parents, he detested the work of the loom. He amused himself writing verses, and at that time Ebenezer Picken (born in 1769 or 1770, son of Ebenezer Picken, weaver, South Side of Well-meadow Street, Paisley,) who had received a University education, and, a brother versifier, were acquainted with each other, and they were undoubtedly congenial companions. John Robertson, notwithstanding his good business, became involved in pecuniary difficulties, which caused the son to support himself by weaving. In 1800, the year of the great dearth, young Robertson wrote the song of the “Toom Meal Pock,” which will be found at page lxix. of the Harp of Renfrewshire. He also wrote a number of other pieces, but he never published a volume. He was rather au indifferent weaver, fond of company, and he descended in the social scale until he became destitute, when he enlisted in the Fifeshire Militia in 1803, which, with other Scots Regiments, marched to England. James King, who was in the Renfrewshire Militia, found him at Boxhill with his regiment in 1807. King and he had frequent meetings, the stations of the two Regiments not being far distant from each other. John Robertson, jun., died at Hilsea, near Portsmouth, in February, 1810, aged 40 years.