But now our joys are fled, But my white pow, nae kindly thowe And nights o' sleepless pain! Thou golden time o' youthfu' prime, Why com'st thou not again? JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO. JOHN Anderson my jo, John, John Anderson my jo, John, Now we maun totter down, John, AULD LANG SYNE. SHOULD auld acquaintance be forgot, CHORUS. For auld lang syne, my dear, We twa hae run about the braes, But we've wander'd monie a weary foot, We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, But seas between us braid hae roar'd, For auld, &c. And here's a hand, my trusty fiere, And we'll tak a right guid willie-waught, And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp, And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, For auld, &c. HOPELESS LOVE. Tune-"Liggeram Cosh." BLITHE hae I been on yon hill, Now nae longer sport and play, Heavy, heavy, is the task, Hopeless love declaring: embling, I dow nocht but glow If she winna ease the thraws, Underneath the grass-green sod BANKS OF NITH. Tune" Robie Donna Gorach." THE Thames flows proudly to the sea, Where Commons ance had high command: When shall I see that honor'd land, How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales, Where spreading hawthorns gaily bloom! How sweetly wind thy sloping dales, Where lambkins wanton thro' the broom! Tho' wandering, now, must be my doom, BANKS OF CREE. HERE is the glen, and here the bower, 'Tis not Maria's whispering call; 'Tis but the balmy-breathing gale; Mixt with some warbler's dying fall, The dewy star of eve to hail. It is Maria's voice I hear! So calls the woodlark in the grove, His little faithful mate to cheer, At once 'tis music-and 'tis love. And art thou come! and art thou true! O welcome dear to love and me! And let us all our vows renew, Along the flowery banks of Cree. |