George Menzies was born in the parish of Arbuthnot, Kincardineshire, on the 21st January 1797. His father was an agricultural labourer. On completing his education at a country school, he became, in his fourteenth year, apprentice to a gardener. He prosecuted his vocation in different districts; acted some time as clerk to the contractors of the Forth and Clyde Canal; laboured as a weaver in several towns in the counties of Forfar and Kincardine; and conducted unendowed schools in various localities. In 1833, he emigrated to Canada, where he taught in different seminaries, and afterwards formed a connexion with a succession of public journals. He ultimately became proprietor and editor of the Woodstock Herald newspaper. After a short illness, he died at Woodstock, Canada West, on the 4th March 1847, in his fifty-first year.
Menzies was possessed of good talents and indomitable energy. He wrote respectable verses, though not marked by any decided originality. In 1822, he published, at Forfar, a small volume of poems, entitled, "Poetical Trifles," of which a second and enlarged edition appeared five years afterwards. The whole of his poems, with an account of his life, in a duodecimo volume, were published at Montrose in 1854.
THE BRAES OF AUCHINBLAE.
As clear is Luther's wave, I ween,
As gay the grove, the vale as green;
But, oh! the days that we have seen
Are fled, and fled for aye, Mary!
Oh! we have often fondly stray'd
In Fordoun's green embow'ring glade,
And mark'd the moonbeam as it play'd
On Luther's bonnie wave, Mary!
Since then, full many a year and day
With me have slowly pass'd away,
Far from the braes of Auchinblae,
And far from love and thee, Mary!
And we must part again, my dear,
It is not mine to linger here;
Yes, we must part—and, oh! I fear,
We meet not here again, Mary!
For on Culloden's bloody field,
Our hapless Prince's fate is seal'd—
Last night to me it was reveal'd
Sooth as the word of heaven, Mary!
And ere to-morrow's sun shall shine
Upon the heights of Galloquhine,
A thousand victims at the shrine
Of tyranny shall bleed, Mary!
Hark! hark! they come—the foemen come—
I go; but wheresoe'er I roam,
With thee my heart remains at home—
Adieu, adieu for aye, Mary!
FARE THEE WEEL.
Fare thee weel, my bonnie lassie;
Fare thee weel for ever, Jessie!
Though I ne'er again may meet thee,
Tell na me that I 'll forget thee.
By yon starry heavens I vow it!
By my love!—(I mayna rue it)—
By this hour in which we sever!
I will love but thee for ever.
Should the hand of death arrest me,
Think my latest prayer hath blest thee;
As the parting pang draws nearer,
I will love thee aye the dearer.
Still my bosom's love I 'll cherish—
'Tis a spark that winna perish;
Though I ne'er again may meet thee,
Tell na me that I 'll forget thee.
