Should you forsake my sight, Day would to me be night; Sad, I would shun its light, Heartless and weary.

[20] From Albyn's "Anthology," vol. i. p. 42. Edinburgh, 1816, 4to.

JOHN MAYNE.

John Mayne, chiefly known as the author of "The Siller Gun," a poem descriptive of burgher habits in Scotland towards the close of the century, was born at Dumfries, on the 26th of March 1759. At the grammar school of his native town, under Dr Chapman, the learned rector, whose memory he has celebrated in the third canto of his princ.i.p.al poem, he had the benefit of a respectable elementary education; and having chosen the profession of a printer, he entered at an early age the printing office of the _Dumfries Journal_. In 1782, when his parents removed to Glasgow, to reside on a little property to which they had succeeded, he sought employment under the celebrated Messrs Foulis, in whose printing establishment he continued during the five following years. He paid a visit to London in 1785, with the view of advancing his professional interests, and two years afterwards he settled in the metropolis.

Mayne, while a mere stripling, was no unsuccessful wooer of the Muse; and in his sixteenth year he produced the germ of that poem on which his reputation chiefly depends. This production, ent.i.tled "The Siller Gun,"

descriptive of a sort of _walkingshaw_, or an ancient practice which obtained in his native town, of shooting, on the king's birth-day, for a silver tube or gun, which had been presented by James VI. to the incorporated trades, as a prize to the best marksman, was printed at Dumfries in 1777, on a small quarto page. The original edition consisted of twelve stanzas; in two years it increased to two cantos; in 1780, it was printed in three cantos; in 1808, it was published in London with a fourth; and in 1836, just before his death, the author added a fifth.

The latest edition was published by subscription, in an elegant duodecimo volume.

In 1780, in the pages of Ruddiman's _Weekly Magazine_, Mayne published a short poem on "Halloween," which suggested Burns's celebrated poem on the same subject. In 1781, he published at Glasgow his song of "Logan Braes," of which Burns afterwards composed a new version.

In London, Mayne was first employed as printer, and subsequently became joint-editor and proprietor, along with Dr Tilloch, of the _Star_ evening newspaper. With this journal he retained a connexion till his death, which took place at London on the 14th of March 1836.

Besides the humorous and descriptive poem of "The Siller Gun," which, in the opinion of Sir Walter Scott, surpa.s.ses the efforts of Ferguson, and comes near to those of Burns,[21] Mayne published another epic production, ent.i.tled "Glasgow," which appeared in 1803, and has pa.s.sed through several editions. In the same year he published "English, Scots, and Irishmen," a chivalrous address to the population of the three kingdoms. To the literary journals, his contributions, both in prose and verse, were numerous and interesting. Many of his songs and ballads enriched the columns of the journal which he so long and ably conducted.

In early life, he maintained a metrical correspondence with Thomas Telford, the celebrated engineer, who was a native of the same county, and whose earliest ambition was to earn the reputation of a poet.[22]

Possessed of entire amiability of disposition, and the utmost amenity of manners, John Mayne was warmly beloved among the circle of his friends.

Himself embued with a deep sense of religion, though fond of innocent humour, he preserved in all his writings a becoming respect for sound morals, and is ent.i.tled to the commendation which a biographer has awarded him, of having never committed to paper a single line "the tendency of which was not to afford innocent amus.e.m.e.nt, or to improve and increase the happiness of mankind." He was singularly modest and even retiring. His eulogy has been p.r.o.nounced by Allan Cunningham, who knew him well, that "a better or warmer-hearted man never existed." The songs, of which we have selected the more popular, abound in vigour of expression and sentiment, and are pervaded by a genuine pathos.

[21] See Note to "Lady of the Lake."

[22] See the _Encyclopaedia Britannica_, vol. xxi. p. 170.

LOGAN BRAES.[23]

By Logan's streams, that rin sae deep, Fu' aft wi' glee I've herded sheep, I've herded sheep, or gather'd 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 daunder 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.

[23] This song originally consisted of two stanzas, the third stanza being subsequently added by the author. It is adapted to a beautiful old air, "Logan Water," incongruously connected with some indecorous stanzas. Burns deemed Mayne's version an elder production of the Scottish muse, and attempted to modernise the song, but his edition is decidedly inferior. Other four stanzas have been added, by some anonymous versifier, to Mayne's verses, which first appeared in Duncan's "Encyclopaedia of Scottish, English, and Irish Songs," printed at Glasgow in 1836, 2 vols. 12mo. In those stanzas the lover is brought back to Logan braes, and consummates his union with his weeping shepherdess. The stream of Logan takes its rise among the hills separating the parishes of Lesmahago and Muirkirk, and, after a flow of eight miles, deposits its waters into the Nethan river.

HELEN OF KIRKCONNEL.[24]

I wish I were where Helen lies, For night and day on me she cries; And, like an angel, to the skies Still seems to beckon me!

For me she lived, for me she sigh'd, For me she wish'd to be a bride; For me in life's sweet morn she died On fair Kirkconnel-Lee!

Where Kirtle waters gently wind, As Helen on my arm reclined, A rival with a ruthless mind Took deadly aim at me.

My love, to disappoint the foe, Rush'd in between me and the blow; And now her corse is lying low, On fair Kirkconnel-Lee!

Though Heaven forbids my wrath to swell, I curse the hand by which she fell-- The fiend who made my heaven a h.e.l.l, And tore my love from me!

For if, when all the graces shine, Oh! if on earth there 's aught divine, My Helen! all these charms were thine, They centred all in thee!

Ah! what avails it that, amain, I clove the a.s.sa.s.sin's head in twain?

No peace of mind, my Helen slain, No resting-place for me.

I see her spirit in the air-- I hear the shriek of wild despair, When murder laid her bosom bare, On fair Kirkconnel-Lee!

Oh! when I 'm sleeping in my grave, And o'er my head the rank weeds wave, May He who life and spirit gave Unite my love and me!

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.

[24] During the reign of Mary, Queen of Scots, a young lady, of great personal attractions and numerous accomplishments, named Helen Irving, daughter of Irving of Kirkconnel, in Annandale, was betrothed to Adam Fleming de Kirkpatrick, a young gentleman of fortune in the neighbourhood. Walking with her lover on the banks of the Kirtle, she was slain by a shot which had been aimed at Fleming by a disappointed rival. The melancholy history has been made the theme of three different ballads, two of these being old. The present ballad, by Mr Mayne, was inserted by Sir Walter Scott in the Edinburgh _Annual Register_ of 1815.

THE WINTER SAT LANG.

The winter sat lang on the spring o' the year, Our seedtime was late, and our mailing was dear; My mither tint her heart when she look'd on us a', And we thought upon those that were farest awa'.

Oh, were they but here that are farest awa'!

Oh, were they but here that are dear to us a'!

Our cares would seem light and our sorrow but sma', If they were but here that are far frae us a'!

Last week, when our hopes were o'erclouded wi' fear, And nae ane at hame the dull prospect to cheer; Our Johnnie has written, frae far awa' parts, A letter that lightens and hauds up our hearts.

He says, "My dear mither, though I be awa', In love and affection I 'm still wi' ye a'; While I hae a being ye 'se aye hae a ha', Wi' plenty to keep out the frost and the snaw."

My mither, o'erjoy'd at this change in her state, By the bairn she doated on early and late, Gi'es thanks night and day to the Giver of a', There 's been naething unworthy o' him that 's awa'!

Then here is to them that are far frae us a', The friend that ne'er fail'd us, though farest awa'!

Health, peace, and prosperity wait on us a'; And a blithe comin' hame to the friend that 's awa'!

MY JOHNNIE.