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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.

Robert Burns. 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.

5

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.

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