Page:Lament for Abercrombie.pdf/5

 Thou false fleeting vision, too soon thou wert o'er, Thou wak’d me to tortures unknown before, But death’s silent slumbers my griefs soon shall lull And the green grass wave over the Harper of Mull

John Anderson my jo, John,
 * When we were first acquaint,

Your locks ware like the raven,
 * Your bonnie brown was brent;

But now your brow is bauld, John,
 * Your locks are like the snaw,

But blessing on your frosty pow,
 * John Anderson my jo.

John Anderson my jo John,
 * We clamb the hill thegither.

And many 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 foo',
 * John Anderson my jo.