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Then from this world of doubts and sighs,
My soul on wings of peace shall rise,
And, joining Helen in the skies,
Forget Kirkconnel Lee!

LOGAN BRAES.1

By Logan's streams, that rin sae deep,
Fu' aft wi' glee I've herded sheep,
I've herded sheep, or gathered slaes,
Wi' my dear lad, on Logan braes.

But, waes my heart! thae days are gane,
And I wi' grief may herd alane;
While my dear lad maun face his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan braes.

Nae mair at Logan kirk will he
Atween the preachings meet wi' me,
Meet wi' me, or, whan it's mirk,
Convoy me hame frae Logan kirk.
I weel may sing thae days are gane—
Frae kirk and fair I come alane,
While my dear lad maun face his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan braes.

At e'en, when hope amaist is gane,
I dawner dowie and forlane;
I sit alane, beneath the tree,
Where aft he kept his tryste wi' me.
Oh, could I see thae days again,
My lover skaithless, and my ain!
Beloved by friends, revered by faes,
We'd live in bliss on Logan braes.

While for her love she thus did sigh,
She saw a sodger passing by,
Passing by wi' scarlet claes,
While sair she grat on Logan braes.
Says he, "What gars thee greet sae sair,
What fills thy heart sae fu' o' care?
Thae sporting lambs hae blythesome days,
An' playfu' skip on Logan braes."

"What can I do but weep and mourn?
I fear my lad will ne'er return,
Ne'er return to ease my waes,
Will ne'er come hame to Logan braes."
Wi' that he clasp'd her in his arms,
And said, "I'm free from war's alarms,

1 This favourite lyric, consisting originally of two stanzas, was first printed in 1789. Burns thought 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, We'll happy live on Logan braes."

Then straight to Logan kirk they went,
And join'd their hands wi' one consent,
Wi' one consent to end their days,
An' live in bliss on Logan braes.
An' now she sings "Thae days are gane,
When I wi' grief did herd alane,
While my dear lad did fight his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan braes."

THE TROOPS WERE EMBARKED.

The troops were all embark'd on board,
The ships were under weigh,
And loving wives and maids adored
Were weeping round the bay.

They parted from their dearest friends,
From all their heart desires;
And Rosabel to Heaven commends
The man her soul admires!

For him she fled from soft repose,
Renounced a parent's care;
He sails to crush his country's foes,
She wanders in despair!

A seraph in an infant's frame

Reclined upon her arm;
And sorrow in the lovely dame

Now heighten'd every charm:

She thought, if fortune had but smiled-
She thought upon her dear;

But when she look'd upon his child,
Oh, then ran many a tear!

"Ah! who will watch thee as thou sleep'st? Who'll sing a lullaby,

Or rock thy cradle when thou weep'st,
If I should chance to die?"

On board the ship, resigned to fate,
Yet planning joys to come,
Her love in silent sorrow sate
Upon a broken drum.

He saw her lonely on the beach;
He saw her on the strand;
And far as human eye can reach
He saw her wave her hand!

"O Rosabel! though forced to go,

With thee my soul shall dwell, And Heaven, who pities human woe, Will comfort Rosabel!"

JOHN HAMILTON.

BORN 1761-DIED 1814.

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Up in the Morning Early" is one of the oldest among the ancient Scottish airs. From the opening of the old song, "Cold and raw the wind does blaw," it has sometimes been called "Cold and raw." Burns wrote the fol

Early:"

"Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west,
The drift is driving sairly;

Sae loud and shrill I hear the blast,
I'm sure it's winter fairly.

Up in the morning's no for me,

Up in the morning early;
When a' the hills are cover'd wi' snaw,
I'm sure it's winter fairly!

JOHN HAMILTON, one of the minor minstrels of Scotland, of whose personal history few particulars are known, was born in the year 1761, and for many years carried on the business of publishing and selling music in Edinburgh. He also enjoyed considerable re-lowing brief version of "Up in the Morning putation as a teacher of instrumental music. Among his pupils was a young lady of fortune and rank, whom he wooed, won, and married, in opposition to the wishes of her aristocratic connections. As the Moor won the fair Venetian by recounting his martial deeds, so the musical Hamilton gained his good fortune through his rhyming talents, which he directed towards the young lady with great skill and effect. Several of his lyrics are deservedly popular, and are to be met with in many collections of songs and ballads. Mr. Hamilton is also known as the composer of a number of beautiful Scottish melodies. He enjoyed the friendship of James Sibbald, the editor of the Chronicle of Scottish Poetry, who was attracted by his musical talents, and in whose bachelor quarters they spent many a gleesome evening together, in company with other littérateurs. Hamilton died September 23, 1814, in the fifty-third year of his age.

"The birds sit chittering in the thorn,

A' day they fare but sparely;
And lang's the night frae e'en to morn-
I'm sure it's winter fairly.

Up in the morning, &c."

Hamilton's version is much longer, and is perhaps the best, as well as the most widely known of his productions. It is a pity that the name of the old poet, who originally had the boldness to announce his antipathy to early rising, has not come down to posterity. The bard of the Seasons would have certainly entertained a high regard for him.

UP IN THE MORNIN' EARLY.

Cauld blaws tne wind frae north to south;
The drift is driving sairly;

The sheep are cow'rin' in the heuch;
Oh, sirs, it's winter fairly!
Now, up in the mornin's no for me,
Up in the mornin' early;
I'd rather gae supperless to my bed
Than rise in the mornin' early.

Loud roars the blast amang the woods,
And tirls the branches barely;
On hill and house hear how it thuds!
The frost is nippin' sairly.

Now, up in the mornin's no for me
Up in the mornin' early;
To sit a' nicht wad better agree
Than rise in the mornin' early.

The sun peeps ower yon southland hills,
Like ony timorous carlie;

Just blinks a wee, then sinks again;
And that we find severely.
Now, up in the mornin's no for me,
Up in the mornin' early;

When snaw blaws in at the chimney-cheek,
Wha'd rise in the mornin' early?

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Ae morn, last ouk, as I gaed out
To flit a tether'd ewe and lamb,
I met, as skiffin' ower the green,

A jolly, rantin' Highlandman.
His shape was neat, wi' feature sweet,
And ilka smile my favour wan;

I ne'er had seen sae braw a lad

As this young rantin' Highlandman.

He said, "My dear, ye're sune asteer; Cam' ye to hear the lav'rock's sang? Oh, wad ye gang and wed wi' me,

And wed a rantin' Highlandman? In summer days, on flow'ry braes, When frisky are the ewe and lamb, I'se row ye in my tartan plaid,

And be your rantin' Highlandman. "Wi' heather-bells, that sweetly smell, I'll deck your hair, sae fair and lang, If ye'll consent to scour the bent

Wi' me, a rantin' Highlandman. We'll big a cot, and buy a stock,

Syne do the best that e'er we can; Then come, my dear, ye needna fear

To trust a rantin' Highlandman."

His words, sae sweet, gaed to my heart,
And fain I wad hae gi'en my han';
Yet durstna, lest my mither should
Dislike a rantin' Highlandman.
But I expect he will come back;

Then, though my kin should scauld and ban, I'll ower the hill, or whare he will,

Wi' my young rantin' Highlandman.

MISS FORBES' FAREWELL TO BANFF.

Farewell, ye fields and meadows green!
The blest retreats of peace an' love;
Aft have I, silent, stolen from hence,

With my young swain a while to rove.
Sweet was our walk, more sweet our talk,
Among the beauties of the spring;
An' aft we'd lean us on a bank,

To hear the feather'd warblers sing.

The azure sky, the hills around,

Gave double beauty to the scene; The lofty spires of Banff in view—

On every side the waving grain. The tales of love my Jamie told,

In such a saft an' moving strain, Have so engaged my tender heart,

I'm loath to leave the place again. But if the Fates will be sae kind

As favour my return once more, For to enjoy the peace of mind

In those retreats I had before: Now, farewell, Banff! the nimble steeds Do bear me hence-I must away; Yet time, perhaps, may bring me back, To part nae mair from scenes so gay.

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I wadna exchange them for country sport; Spring, summer, an' harvest successive renew, The fruits of my labour by holding the plough.

But saitens an' silks they wad hae unco few, Without the effects of my holding the plough. My Peggy at hame is far better than they, She's ten times mair frank, an' is equally gay;

What though, when I happen to gae to the town, Baith carding an' spinning fu' weel she can do,
The lasses there ca' me a country clown;
An' lo'es the young laddie that follows the plough.

ROBERT LOCHORE.

BORN 1762- DIED 1852.

ROBERT LOCHORE, the author of metrical tales which in the early part of the present century were published as little pamphlets, and were very popular in the west of Scotland, also several songs still held in much repute, was born at Strathaven, Lanarkshire, July 7, 1762. At the age of thirteen he was appren- | ticed to a shoemaker; and for many years carried on that business in Glasgow on his own account. Mr. Lochore was a citizen highly respected as a Christian philanthropist, a promoter of public improvements, and as the founder of the Glasgow Annuity Society. He devoted much leisure time in early life to poetic composition, and addressed numerous rhyming epistles to his correspondents. A number of poems contributed to various periodicals were collected by Mr. Lochore, and issued anonymously about the year 1815, in a small volume entitled "Tales in Rhyme, and Minor Pieces; in the Scottish Dialect." He married Isobel Browning of Ayrshire, at Paisley, June 7, 1786,

and died in Glasgow, April 27, 1852, in his ninetieth year, leaving a large amount of unpublished MSS. in the possession of his eldest son, the Rev. Alexander Lochore, M. A., D. D., of Drymen, Stirlingshire. These include the recollections of his long life, and contain much valuable and amusing information concerning men and events of the past century, which it is to be hoped may hereafter be published, together with a selection from his manuscript poems. His "Last Speech of the Auld Brig of Glasgow on being condemned to be taken down," written when he was in his eightyeighth year, is a very spirited production, and the more remarkable considering the great age the author had attained. Among the poet's intimate acquaintances in early life was Robert Burns, with whom and his bonnie Jean Lochore spent many evenings, and he often related the circumstance of seeing Burns reproved on the cutty stool by the Rev. Mr. Auld, familiarly known as "Daddy Auld."

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