THE BANKS OF NITH.

Tune,

"ROBIE DONNA GORACH."

THE Thames flows proudly to the sea,

Where royal cities stately stand;

But sweeter flows the Nith to me,

Where Cummins ance had high command: When shall I see that honour'd land,

That winding stream I love so dear! Must wayward fortune's adverse hand For ever, ever keep me here?

How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales,

Where spreading hawthorns gaily bloom;

How sweetly wind thy sloping dales,

Where lambkins wanton thro' the broom!

Tho'

Tho' wandering, now, must be my doom,
Far from thy bonnie banks and braes,
May there my latest hours consume,
Amang the friends of early days!

JOHN

JOHN ANDERSON MY JO.

JOHN Anderson my jo, John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent; But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snaw; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson my jo.

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.

*

TAM

*In the first volume of a collection, entitled, Poetry Original and Selected, printed by Brash and Reid, of Glasthis song is given as follows:

gow,

John Anderson my Jo, improved,

By ROBERT BURNS.

JOHN Anderson, my jo, John, I wonder what you mean, To rise so soon in the morning, and sit up so late at e'en, Ye'll blear out a' your een John, and why should you do

so?

Gang sooner to your bed at e'en, John Anderson my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John, when nature first began
To try her canny hand, John, her master-work was man;
And you among them a' John, sae trig frae tap to toe;
She prov'd to be nae journey-work, John Anderson, my jo.

John

TAM GLEN.

My heart is a-breaking, dear Tittie,

Some counsel unto me come len',

To anger them a' is a pity,

But what will I do wi' Tam Glen?

I'm

John Anderson, my jo, John, ye were my first conceit,
And ye need na think it strange, John, tho' I ca' ye trim

and neat ;

Tho' some folks say ye're auld, John, I never think ye so, But I think ye're ay the same to me, John Anderson, my

jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John, we've seen our bairns'

bairns,

And yet, my dear John Anderson, I'm happy in your

arms,

And sae are ye in mine, John-I'm sure ye'll ne'er say

no,

Tho' the days are gane that we have seen, John Anderson,

my jo.

John