DEAR SIR,
“The Green Woods of Treugh.,”
The above little air pleased me so much that I could not help trying a verse to it. I believe it has never been published. It was taken down from an old Irish woman singing a native song to it, which she said, when rendered into English, was in praise of the green woods of Treugh. ’Tis in such a wild measure that I could think of no form of stanza to suit it. I shall be happy to hear whether you have ever before seen it. With regard to “Nancy Vernon,” you may judge how sorry I was on being assured by a friend that my set of the air was incomplete. I thought of course that poor Sheelah was entirely lost, and have been earnestly trying to accommodate matters between them. I find that the last line but one of each of the verses must be repeated before they can agree together, and am thus obliged to write both the air and the song a second time, to show you how they now stand. The sides of many lakes and rivers are properly denominated banks, because being steep they really are so; but, in my opinion, when a lake or river is bounded by low, level ground, it would be improper to call its margins by that appellation. We never say “the banks” of the sea, and I think the term proper enough when applied to any bushy brae. I think the first word in the line is very bad, and have made a little alteration on it—perhaps not much for the better. I was highly gratified on finding that the song met your approbation, and again return you my warmest thanks for mentioning anything that you may judge incongruous : we must first know our errors before there can be a possibility of amending them. [1] [Here is a copy of the air of “Nancy Vernon,” and the amended words.] I have fallen in with several very fine Irish airs, but I fear they are already published. Inform me if you know the following:—“Kitty Tyrrell,” “The Fair-hair'd Child,” or “Patheen a Fuen.” The first of these I am quite in raptures with. If you have them not already, I shall send them in my next. Besides these, I have other two, taken from memory, but I must have my most worthy musical friend, Mr. Smith, to write them off correctly for me. He is just now poorly, and confined to his bed, else I would have sent them now. I have written to a very tasty crone, who is in the Argyleshire Militia Band. I know he will gladly oblige me with anything of the kind that he can procure. In looking through my songs, I find the following English stanzas, which were written about four years ago on the death of a very beautiful young woman, who died of a consumption in her eighteenth summer. She was to have been wedded to a friend of mine, and sympathy for his grief at that melancholy event gave rise to the present effusion. I am sorry to add that the poor fellow ever since seems to be reckless of life, and regardless of everything else than his bottle. I thought it might perhaps please you for “O‘Connell's Lament.” Now, my dear Sir, do not mistake me, nor think that I am forcing these things upon your hand. All that I wish is that you may have them past you, so that, when you come to make your selection, some of them may stand a chance of being the chosen.
[1] Note by Ramsay.—He here alludes to the song, “Ah, Sheelah, thou'rt my darling,” and to some strictures which Mr. Thomson had made on the first version of it.