George Donald the younger was born on the 1st of March 1826, at Thornliebank, near Glasgow. His father, George Donald the elder, is noticed in an earlier part of the present volume. Sent to labour in a calico print-work in his tenth year, his education was chiefly obtained at evening schools, and afterwards by self-application during the intervals of toil. In his seventeenth year he became apprenticed to a pattern-designer, and having fulfilled his indenture, he has since prosecuted this occupation. From his youth a writer of verses, he has contributed poetical compositions to the Glasgow Examiner and Citizen newspapers.
OUR AIN GREEN SHAW.
They tell me o' a land whar the sky is ever clear,
Whar rivers row ower gowden sands, and flower unfading blaw,
But, oh! nae joys o' nature to me are half sae dear
As the flow'rets springing wild in our ain green shaw.
They speak o' gilded palaces, o' lords and leddies fair,
And scenes that charm the weary heart in cities far awa';
But nane o' a' their gaudy shows and pleasures can compare
Wi' the happiness that dwells in our ain green shaw.
Oh weel I lo'e when summer comes wi' sunny days an' glee,
And brings to gladden ilka heart her rural pleasures a',
When on the thorn the mavis sings and gowans deck the lea,—
Oh, then nae spot 's sae bonnie as our ain green shaw.
While Heaven supplies each simple want and leaves me still my cot,
I'll bear through life a cheerfu' heart whatever may befa',
Nor envy ither's joys, but aye be happy wi' my lot
When wand'ring in the e'enin' through our ain green shaw.
ELIZA.
In her chamber, vigil keeping,
Fair Eliza sitteth weeping,
Weeping for her lover slain:
Fair Eliza, sorrow-laden,
Once a joyous-hearted maiden
Till her William cross'd the main.
Fatal day that saw them parted!
For it left her lonely-hearted—
Her so full of joy before—
Brought to her the thought of sadness,
Clouding her young spirit's gladness,
That she ne'er might see him more!
Sad Eliza, no blest morrow
Will dispel thy secret sorrow,
Bring thine own true love again.
Mournful is thy William's story:
On the field of martial glory,
Fighting bravely, he was slain!
Now the silent stars above her
Seem to tell her of her lover,
For each night, with pensive gaze
On the blue vault shining o'er her,
Sits Eliza, while before her
Fleet the scenes of other days.
Thus her lonely vigil keeping,
Fair Eliza sitteth weeping,
Weeping for her lover slain:
Fair Eliza, sorrow-laden,
Once a joyous-hearted maiden
Till her William cross'd the main.
