John Anderson, my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither; And monie a cantie day, John, We've had wi' ane anither: Now we maun totter down, John, And hand in hand we'll go, And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson, my jo! THE LOVELY LASS OF INVERNESS The lovely lass of Inverness, Nae joy nor pleasure can she see; For e'en to morn she cries, 'Alas!' And aye the saut tear blin's her e'e: 'Drumossie moor--Drumossie day-- A waefu' day it was to me! For there I lost my father dear, My father dear, and brethren three. 'Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay, Their graves are growing green to see: And by them lies the dearest lad That ever blest a woman's e'e! 'Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, A bluidy man I trow thou be; For mony a heart thou hast made sair That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee!' A RED, RED ROSE O, my luv is like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June: O, my luv is like the melodie That's sweetly played in tune. As fair art thou, my bonie 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; And 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 awhile! And I will come again, my luve, Tho' it were ten thousand mile! AULD LANG SYNE Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to mind? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And auld lang syne? _Chorus:_ For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne! And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp, And surely I'll be mine; And we'll take a cup o' kindness yet For auld lang syne! We twa hae run about the braes, And pou'd the gowans fine; But we've wander'd monie a weary fit Sin' auld lang syne. We twa hae paidl'd in the burn, Frae morning sun till dine; But seas between us braid hae roar'd Sin' auld lang syne. And there'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! SWEET AFTON Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes! Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise! My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream! Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds through the glen, Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den, Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear, I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair! How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills, Far marked with the courses of clear winding rills! There daily I wander as noon rises high, My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.