f his health, he died at
sea on the 10th October 1833. His remains, placed in an oaken coffin,
which he had taken along with him, were buried in the deep. He
bequeathed a sum, to be applied, after accumulation, in erecting a
building in Glasgow for scientific purposes. A monument to his memory
has been erected in the Glasgow Necropolis. The following stanzas were
composed by the dying poet at the outset of his voyage, and less than
three weeks prior to his decease; they are dated the "River Mersey,"
21st September 1833:--

I could not, as I gazed my last--there was on me a spell,
In all its simple agony--breathe that lone word--"Farewell,"
Which hath no hope that clings to it, the closer as it dies,
In song alone 'twould pass the lips that loved the dear disguise.

I go across a bluer wave than now girds round my bark,
As forth the dove went trembling--but to my Father's ark
Shall I return? I may not ask my doubting heart, but yet
To hope and wish in one--how hard the lesson to forget.

* * * * *

But drooping head and feeble limbs--and, oh! a beating heart,
Remind the vow'd to sing no more of all his weary part;
Yet, with a voice that trembles as the sounds unloose the spell,
In this, his last and rudest lay, he now can breathe--"Farewell."

In the "Chameleon" several of Mr Atkinson's songs are set to music, but,
with the exception of "Mary Shearer," none of them are likely to obtain
popularity.

MARY SHEARER.

She's aff and awa', like the lang summer-day,
And our hearts and our hills are now lanesome and dreary;
The sun-blinks o' June will come back ower the brae,
But lang for blithe Mary fu' mony may weary.
For mair hearts than mine
Kenn'd o' nane that were dearer;
But nane mair will pine
For the sweet Mary Shearer!

She cam' wi' the spring, just like ane o' its flowers,
And the blue-bell and Mary baith blossom'd thegither;
The bloom o' the mountain again will be ours,
But the rose o' the valley nae mair will come hither.
Their sweet breath is fled--
Her kind looks still endear her;
For the heart maun be dead
That forgets Mary Shearer!

Than her brow ne'er a fairer wi' jewels was hung;
An e'e that was brighter ne'er glanced on a lover;
Sounds safter ne'er dropt frae an aye-say