When day is gane, and night is come,

And a' folk boune to sleep,
I think on him that's far awa',
The lee-lang night, and weep,

My dear,
The lee-lang night, and weep.

R. BURNS.

124. JOHN ANDERSON MY JO JOHN ANDERSON my jo, John, John Anderson my jo, John, When we were first acquent,

We clamb the hill thegither ; Your locks were like the raven, And mony a canty day, John,

Your bonnie brow was brent ; We've had wi' ane anither : But now your brow is beld, John, Now we maun totter down, John,

Your locks are like the snow; And hand in hand we'll go, But blessings on your frosty pow, And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo.

R. BURNS.

125. FROM THE 'ADDRESS TO THE TOOTHACHE'

My curse upon your venomed stang,
That shoots my tortured gums alang,
And thro' my lugs gies monie a twang,

Wi' gnawing vengeance;
Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang,

Like racking engines !
When fevers burn, or ague freezes,
Rheumatics gnaw, or cholic squeezes ;
Our neighbour's sympathy may ease us,

Wi' pitying moan ;
But thee-thou hell o' a' diseases !
Ay mocks our groan.

R. BURNS.

126. MY HEART 'S IN THE HIGHLANDS

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer ;
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
The birth-place of valour, the country of worth ;
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

Farewell to the mountains, high cover'd with snow;
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods ;
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here ;
My heart 's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer ;
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,
My heart 's in the Highlands, wherever I go.

R. BURNS.

127. MY LOVE IS LIKE A RED RED ROSE

My love is like a red red rose Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,

That's newly sprung in June : And the rocks melt wi' the sun : My love is like the melodie And I will love thee still, my dear,

That's sweetly played in tune. While the sands o' life shall run. As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, And fare thee weel, my only love, So deep in love am I:

And fare thee weel awhile ! And I will love thee still, my dear, And I will come again, my love, Till a' the seas gang dry.

Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

R. BURNS.

128. MARY MORISON

O Mary, at thy window be, Tho' this was fair, and that was
It is the wished, the trysted hour ! braw,
Those smiles and glances let me And

yon

the toast of a' the see,

town, That make the miser's treasure I sighed, and said among them a', poor :

‘Ye are na Mary Morison.' How blythely wad I bide the stoure,

O Mary, canst thou wreck his A weary slave frae sun to sun,

peace, Could I the rich reward secure,

Wha for thy sake wad gladly The lovely Mary Morison.

die ?

Or canst thou break that heart of Yestreen, when to the trembling his, string

Whase only faut is loving thee ? The dance gaed thro' the lighted If love for love thou wilt na gie, ha',

At least be pity to me shown !
To thee my fancy took its wing, A thought ungentle canna be
I sat, but neither heard nor saw : The thought o' Mary Morison.

R. BURNS.

129.

BONNIE LESLEY

O saw ye bonnie Lesley

As she gaed o’er the border ? She 's gane, like Alexander,

To spread her conquests farther.

To see her is to love her,

And love but her for ever ;
For Nature made her what she is,

And never made anither !

Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, The Powers aboon will tent thee;

Thy subjects we, before thee : Misfortune sha'na steer thee; Thou art divine, fair Lesley, Thou’rt like themselves sae lovely,

The hearts o' men adore thee. That ill they'll ne'er · let near The Deit he could na scaith

thee. thee,

Return again, fair Lesley, Or aught that wad belang thee ; Return to Caledonie ! He'd look into thy bonnie face, That we may brag we hae a lass And say, 'I canna wrang thee.' | There's nane again sae bonnie.

R. BURNS.

130. A PRAYER IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH

O Thou unknown Almighty Cause

Of all my hope and fear!
In whose dread presence, ere an hour,

Perhaps I must appear !
If I have wandered in those paths

Of life I ought to shun;
As something, loudly in my breast,

Remonstrates I have done ;
Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me

With passions wild and strong ;
And listening to their witching voice

Has often led me wrong.
Where human weakness has come short,

Or frailty stept aside,
Do Thou, All-Good ! for such Thou art,

In shades of darkness hide.
Where with intention I have erred,

No other plea I have,
But, Thou art good; and Goodness still
Delighteth to forgive.

R. BURNS.

131. OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW OF a' the airts the wind can blaw, I see her in the dewy flowers, I dearly like the west,

I see her sweet and fair : For there the bonnie lassie lives, I hear her in the tunefu' birds, The lassie I lo'e best :

I hear her charm the air : There wild woods grow, and rivers There 's not a bonnie flower that row,

springs And mony a hill between ; By fountain, shaw, or green ; But day and night my fancy's

There's not a bonnie bird that flight

sings, Is ever wi' my Jean.

But minds me o' my Jean.

R. BURNS.

132. AULD LANG SYNE
SHOULD auld acquaintance be forgot,

And never brought to min'?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne ?

For auld lang syne, my dear,

For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,

For auld lang syne.
We twa hae run about the braes,

And pu'd the gowans fine ;
But we've wander'd mony a weary foot

Sin' auld lang syne.
We twa hae paidled i' the burn,

From morning sun till dine ;
But seas between us braid hae roar'd

Sin' auld lang syne.
And here's a hand, my trusty fiere,

And gie's a hand o' thine ;
And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught,

For auld lang syne.
And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,

And surely I'll be mine;
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,

For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

R. BURNS.

133. THE SELKIRK GRACE
SOME hae meat, and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it;
But we hae meat and we can eat,
And sae the Lord be thankit.

R. BURNS.

134. THEN GENTLY SCAN YOUR BROTHER MAN THEN gently scan your brother | Who made the heart, 'tis He alone man,

Decidedly can try us; Still gentler sister woman ; He knows each chord, its various Tho' they may gang a kennin tone, wrang,

Each spring, its various bias. To step aside is human. Then at the balance let's be mute, One point must still be greatly dark, We never can adjust it;

The moving why they do it ; What's done we partly may And just as lamely can ye mark, compute, How far perhaps they rue it. But know not what's resisted.

R. BURNS (Address to the Unco Guid.)

135. THE TRUE PATHOS
To make a happy fire-side clime

To weans and wife,
That's the true pathos and sublime
Of human life.

R. BURNS (To Dr. Blacklock).

136. BONNIE DOON
YE banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,

How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair ?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,

And I sae weary fu' o' care ?
Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird,

That wantons thro' the flowering thorn :
Thou minds me o' departed joys,

Departed never to return.
Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon,

To see the rose and woodbine twine ;
And ilka bird sang o' its love,

And fondly sae did I o' mine.
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,

Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree ;
And my fause lover stole my rose,
But ah! he left the thorn wi' me.

R. BURNS.

137. THE RELIGION OF HUDIBRAS Sative

uvilaus

For his Religion, it was fit
To match his learning and his

wit;

Compound for sins they are in

clined to,
By damning those they have no

mind to :
Still so perverse and opposite,
As if they worshipped God for

spite.

'Twas Presbyterian true blue ;
For he was of that stubborn crew
Of errant saints, whom all men

grant
To be the true Church Militant ;
Such as do build their faith upon
The holy text of pike and gun ;
Decide all controversies by
Infallible artillery ;
And

prove their doctrine orthodox
By apostolic blows and knocks ;
Call fire and sword and desola-

tion,
A godly thorough Reformation ;

Rather than fail they will defy
That which they love most ten-

derly,
Quarrel with minced pies, and

disparage
Their best and dearest friend

plum-porridge ;
Fat pig or goose itself oppose
And blaspheme custard through
the nose.

S. BUTLER (Hudibras).

D

Fratellid:

Sative.