JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO.

OHN 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 '11 go,
And sleep thegither at the foot,

John Anderson, my jo.

-BURNS.

L

TRUE LOVE.

ET me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove :

Oh, no! it is an ever-fixèd mark,

That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom :—

If this be error, and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

-SHAKESPEARE.

Un