JOHN ANDERSON.

JOHN ANDERSON my jo, John,
When we were first acquent
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonnie brow was brent;
But now your brow is bald, John,
Your locks are like the snow;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson my jo.

4

OH, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST.

OH, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST.

OH, wert thou in the cauld blast
On yonder lea, on yonder lea,

My plaidie to the angry airt,

I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee:
Or did misfortune's bitter storms

Around thee blaw, around thee blaw,
Thy bield should be my bosom
To share it a', to share it a'.

Or were I in the wildest waste,

Sae bleak and bare, sae bleak and bare,
The desert were a paradise

If thou wert there, if thou wert there:
Or were I monarch o' the globe,

Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign,
The brightest jewel in my crown
Wad be my queen, wad be my queen

R. Burns.

O MY LUVE'S LIKE A RED, RED ROSE.

O MY Luve's like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June:
O my Luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly play'd in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I:

And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry:

Till a' the seas gang dry, my Dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
I will luve thee still, my dear,

While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only Luve!
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

R. Burns.

6

MY JEAN.

MY JEAN.

OF a' the airts the wind can blaw,
I dearly like the west,
For there the bonnie lassie lives,

The lassie I lo'e best:

There wild woods grow, and rivers row,

And mony a hill between;

But, day and night, my fancy's flight
Is ever wi' my Jean.

I see her in the dewy flowers,
I see her sweet and fair:

I hear her in the tunefu' birds,

I hear her charm the air:

There's not a bonnie flower that springs
By fountain, shaw, or green;

There's not a bonnie bird that sings,
But minds me o' my Jean.

R. Burns.

ELEU LORO.

WHERE shall the lover rest

Whom the fates sever

From his true maiden's breast

Parted for ever?

Where, through groves deep and high

Sounds the far billow,

Where early violets die

Under the willow.

Eleu loro

Soft shall be his pillow.

H