quantity was the chief object of solicitude. | Chambers, who shared his agreeable recollecAfter a spotless life of great industry and usefulness, extended to seventy-seven years, the gentle poet died at his residence in London, March 14, 1836, and was buried in his family vault, Paddington churchyard. tions of Mayne with the writer, bore the following testimony: "Though long resident in London, he retained his Scottish enthusiasm to the last; and to those who, like ourselves, recollect him in advanced life, stopping in the midst of his duties as a public journalist to trace some remembrance of his native Dumfries and the banks of the Nith, or to hum over some rural or pastoral song which he had heard forty or fifty years before, his name, as well as his poetry, recalls the strength and tenacity of early feelings and local associa Allan Cunningham has awarded to Mayne the high praise of never having committed to paper a single line, the tendency of which was not to afford amusement or to improve and increase the happiness of mankind. "Of his private character," honest Allan said, and he knew him well, that "a better or warmer hearted man never existed." Dr. Robert tions." Gley'd Geordy Smith Reviews them, and their line expands But ne'er, for uniform or air, Was sic a group review'd elsewhere! Syde coats, and dockit; Wigs, queus, and clubs, and curly hair; As to their guns-thae fell engines, Or shooting cushies Lang fowling-pieces, carabines, And blunder-busses! Maist feck, though oil'd to mak them glimmer, That some o' them had bits o' timmer Instead o' flints! Some guns, she threeps, within her ken, Sae, here and there a rozit-end Held on their locks! And then, to show what diff"rence stands Were furbish'd up, to grace the hands "Ohon!" says George, and ga'e a grane, "The age o' chivalry is gane!" Syne, having owr and owr again The hale survey'd, Their route, and a' things else, made plain, He snuff'd, and said: "Now, gentlemen! now mind the motion, Wheel wi' your left hands to the ocean, Wi' that, the dinlin drums rebound, Trudge aff, while Echo's self is drown'd Their steps to martial airs agreeing, Their bauld convener proud o' being Attended by his body-guard, Nae ee cou'd look without regard His craft, the Hammermen, fu' braw, Led the procession, twa and twa: The leddies wav'd their napkins a', And boys huzzay'd, As onward to the waponshaw They stately strade! Close to the Hammermen, behold, The Squaremen come like chiefs of old! The Weavers, syne, their flags unfold; And, after them, The Tailors walk, erect and bold, Intent on fame! The Sutors, o' King Crispin vain, The Fleshers, on this joyous day, Able, in ony desp'rate fray, To feght like deils! The journeymen were a' sae gaucy, Th' apprentices sae kir and saucy, That, as they gaed alang the causey, Ahint them a', Th' applauding heart o' mony a lassie Was stown awa! Brisk as a bridegroom gaun to wed, For, blithsome Sir John Barleycorn Had charm'd them sae, this simmer's morn, That, what wi' drams, and many a horn, And reaming bicker, The ferley is, withouten scorn, They walk'd sae sicker. As through the town their banners fly, Frae windows low, frae windows high, A' that could find a neuk to spy, Were leaning o'er: The streets, stair-heads, and carts forbye, Frae the Freer's Vennel, through and through, To view their friends, a' marching now To see his face whom she loo'd best, Her exultation was exprest In words like thae: Wow! but it maks ane's heart lowp light His looks were first the young delight But on the meeker maiden's part, A flame whilk a' the gloss of art Frae rank to rank while thousands hustle, The royal cause of a' this bustle, Suspended frae a painted pole, Keen as ye've seen, at bridals droll, Ir honour o' this gaudy thing, And eke in honour o' the king, A fouth o' flow'rs the gard'ners bring, And frame sweet posies Of a' the relics o' the spring, And simmer's roses! Amang the flow'ry forms they weave, While Satan's laughing in his sleeve The lily white, the vi'let blue, The heather-bells of azure hue, Heart's-ease for lovers kind and true, Whate'er their lot, And that dear flow'r, to friendship due, "Forget-me-not A' thae, and wi' them, mingled now, Perfume, congenial to the clime, The sweetest in the sweetest time! JOHN MAYNE. Then from this world of doubts and sighs, LOGAN BRAES.1 By Logan's streams, that rin sae deep, But, waes my heart! thae days are gane, Nae mair at Logan kirk will he At e'en, when hope amaist is gane, While for her love she thus did sigh, "What can I do but weep and mourn? This favourite lyric, consisting originally of two Burns thought stinzas, was first printed in 1789. highly of it. Mayne subsequently added the third stanza The last three, attributed to another and an anonymous author, are certainly much inferior in style. They first appeared a few months after Mayne's death, in 1836.-ED. I now hae conquer'd a' my faes, THE TROOPS WERE EMBARKED. The troops were all embark'd on board, They parted from their dearest friends, For him she fled from soft repose, A seraph in an infant's frame Now heighten'd every charm: She thought, if fortune had but smiled- But when she look'd upon his child, "Ah! who will watch thee as thou sleep'st? Who'll sing a lullaby, Or rock thy cradle when thou weep'st, On board the ship, resigned to fate, He saw her lonely on the beach; "O Rosabel! though forced to go, With thee my soul shall dwell, And Heaven, who pities human woe, Will comfort Rosabel!" |