JOHN ANDERSON.

JOU

OHN 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.

John Anderson my jo, John,

We clamb the hill thegither,
And mony a canty day, John,

We've had wi' ane anither:
Now we maun totter down, John,
But hand in hand we'll go,
And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson my jo.

YE

banks and braes and
The castle o' Montgomery,

Green be your woods, and fair your
Your waters never drumlie.

streams around

flowers,

There simmer first unfaulds her robes,
And there they langest tarry;
For there I took the last fareweel

O' my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk,
How rich the hawthorn's blossom,
As underneath their fragrant shade
I clasp'd her to my bosom!
The golden hours on angel wings

Flew o'er me and my dearie;
For dear to me as light and life

Was my sweet Highland Mary.

Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embrace
Our parting was fu' tender;
And pledging aft to meet again,
We tore oursels asunder;

But, O! fell Death's untimely frost,
That nipt my flower sae early!
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay,
That wraps my Highland Mary!

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,
I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly!

And closed for aye the sparkling glance
That dwelt on me sae kindly :
And mouldering now in silent dust

That heart that lo'ed me dearly!
But still within my bosom's core
Shall live my Highland Mary.

10

ΤΟ MARY IN HEAVEN.

THO

HOU lingering star, with less'ning ray, That lov'st to greet the early morn, Again thou usherest in the day.

My Mary from my soul was torn. O Mary! dear, departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

That sacred hour can I forget,

Can I forget the hallowed grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met,

To live one day of parting love? Eternity will not efface

Those records dear of transports past— Thy image at our last embrace!

Ah! little thought we 'twas our last!

Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore,

O'erhung with wild woods, thickening, green; The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,

Twined amorous round the raptured scene. The flowers sprang wanton to be prest,

The birds sang love on every spray, Till too, too soon, the glowing west

Proclaimed the speed of wingèd day.

Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes,
And fondly broods with miser care;

Time but th' impression deeper makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear.
My Mary! dear, departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest?
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT.

S there for honest poverty,

Is

Wha hangs his head, and a' that ?
The coward-slave, we pass him by;
We dare be poor for a' that.
For a' that, and a' that,

Our toils obscure, and a' that;
The rank is but the guinea's stamp—
The man's the gowd for a' that.

What tho' on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hodden gray, and a' that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine-

A man's a man for a' that.

For a' that, and a' that,

Their tinsel show, and a' that;
The honest man, though e'er sae poor,
Is king o' men for a' that.

You see yon birkie ca'd a lord,
Wha struts, and stares, and a' that—

Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof for a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,

His riband, star, and a' that;
The man of independent mind,
He looks and laughs at a' that.

A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might—
Guid faith, he mauna fa' that!
For a' that, and a' that,

Their dignities, and a' that;
The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth,
Are higher ranks than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may,
As come it will for a' that,
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,
May bear the gree, and a' that.
For a' that, and a' that,

It's coming yet, for a' that—
When man to man, the warld o'er,
Shall brothers be for a' that.