or
fellow of a sodger, and tells me he is going to Ayr. By heavens! say I
to myself, with a tide of good spirits, which the magic of that sound,
'Auld Toon o' Ayr,' conjured up, I will send my last song to Mr.
Ballantine."

Then he gives the second and best version of the song, beginning
thus--

Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye blume sae fair?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae fu' o' care!

The latest edition of Burns's works, by Mr. Scott Douglas, gives three
different versions of this song. Any one who will compare these, will
see the truth of that remark of the poet, in one of his letters to Dr.
Moore, "I have no doubt that the knack, the aptitude to learn the
Muses' trade is a gift bestowed by Him who forms the secret bias of
the soul; but I as firmly believe that excellence in the profession is
the fruit of industry, attention, labour, and pains; at least I am
resolved to try my doctrine by the test of experience."

The second version was that which Burns wrought out by careful
revision, from an earlier one. Compare, for instance, with the verse
given above, the first verse as originally struck off,--

Sweet are the banks, the banks of Doon,
The spreading flowers are fair,
And everything is blythe and glad,
But I am fu' of care.

And the other changes he made on the first draught are all in the (p. 125)
way of improvement. It is painful to know, on the authority of Allan
Cunningham, that he who composed this pure and perfect song, and many
another such, sometimes chose to work in baser metal, and that
song-ware of a lower kind escaped from his hands into the press, and
could never afterwards be recalled.

* * * * *

When Burns told Dr. Moore that he was resolved to try by the test of
experience the doctrine that good and permanent poetry could not be
composed without industry and pains, he had in view other and wider
plans of composition than any which he ever realized. He told Ramsay
of Ochtertyre, as we have seen, that he had in view to render into
poetry a tradition he had found of an adventure in humble life which
Bruce met with during his wanderings. Whether he ever did more than
think over the story of Rob McQuechan's Elshin, or into what poetic
form he intended to cast it, we know not. As Sir Walter said, any poem
he might have produced on