Page:The Book of Scottish Song.djvu/73

Rh We've aye haen bit and brat, John,

Great blessings here below,

And that helps to keep peace at hame,

John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,

The world lo'es us baith

We ne'er spak' ill o' neibours, John,

Nor did them ony skaith;

To live in peace and quietness

Was a' our care, ye know,

And I'm sure they'll greet when we are dead,

John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,

Frae year to year we've past,

And soon that year maun come, John,

Will bring us to our last;

But let na that affright, John,

Our hearts were ne'er our foe,

While in innocent delight we've lived,

John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,

And when the time is come,

That we, like it er auld folk, John,

Maun sink into the tomb,

A motto we will ha'e, my John,

To let the world know,

We happy lived, contented died,

John Anderson, my jo.

[ following are the earliest known verses to the old air of "Auld Lang Syne." They are from Watson's collection of Scots Poems, part III., published in 1716. The words "Old Long Syne," used here throughout, sound ludicrously to the ear accustomed to the Doric "Auld Lang Syne."]

old acquaintance be forgot,

And never thought upon,

The flames of love extinguished,

And freely past and gone?

Is thy kind heart now grown so cold

In that loving breast of thine,

That thou canst never once reflect

On old long syne?

Where are thy protestations,

Thy vows, and oaths, my dear,

Thou mad'st to me and I to thee,

In register yet clear?

Is faith and truth so violate

To th' immortal gods divine,

That thou canst never once reflect

On old long syne?

Is't Cupid's fears, or frosty cares,

That makes thy spirits decay?

Or is't some object of more worth

That's stolen thy heart away?

Or some desert makes thee neglect

Him, so much once was thine,

That thou canst never once reflect

On old long syne?

Is't worldly cares, so desperate,

That makes thee to despair?

Is't that makes thee exasperate,

And makes thee to forbear?

If thou of that were free as I,

Thou surely should be mine;

If this were true, we should renew

Kind old long syne.

But since that nothing can prevail,

And all hope is in vain,

From these dejected eyes of mine

Still showers of tears shall rain:

And though thou hast me now forgot,

Yet I'll continue thine,

And ne'er forget for to reflect

On old long syne.

If e'er I have a house, my dear,

That truly is call'd mine,

And can afford but country cheer,

Or ought that's good therein;

Though thou wert rebel to the king,

And beat with wind and rain,

Assure thyself of welcome, love,

For old long syne.

My soul is ravish'd with delight

When you I think upon;

All griefs and sorrows take their flight,

And hastily are gone;

The fair resemblance of your face

So fills this breast of mine,

No fate nor force can it displace,

For old long syne.