JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO.Click toENLARGEPainting by Dudley Hardy.JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO.John Anderson, my jo, John,We clamb the hill thegither;And monie 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.
Now, in the quiet house, the man at last is free to take up his pen. He is writing hard, daily, or rather nightly: every week sees a parcel of manuscript despatched to his publisher. The thoughts which have crowded tumultuously upon him all day long, may at last be set down and conserved: for poetry, as Wordsworth says, "is emotion remembered in tranquillity." The grave and swarthy face bends above the paper in the candlelight—varying expressions chase each other across the mobile mouth and eyes. Sometimes the theme is one of poignant pathos.
Ae fond kiss and then we sever;Ae fareweel, and then forever!Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.Who shall say that Fortune grieves him,While the star of hope she leaves him?Me, nae cheerful twinkle lights me;Dark despair around benights me.I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy,Naething could resist my Nancy.But to see her was to love her;Love but her, and love for ever.Had we never lov'd sae kindly,Had we never lov'd sae blindly,Never met—or never parted,We had ne'er been broken-hearted!Fare-thee-weel, thou first and fairest!Fare-thee-weel, thou best and dearest!Thine be ilka joy and treasure,Peace, Enjoyment, Love, and Pleasure!Ae fond kiss, and then we sever!Ae fareweel, alas! for ever!Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.(Parting Song to Clarinda.)
Again the music changes to the sprightliest vivaciousness, to tell how "last May a braw wooer came down the lang glen," or to sing the "dainty distress" of the maiden enamoured ofTam 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 thinking, wi' sic a braw fellow,In poortith I might mak a fen';What care I in riches to wallow,If I mauna marry Tam Glen!There's Lowrie the Laird o' Dumeller—"Gude-day to you"—brute! he comes ben:He brags and he braws o' his siller,But when will he dance like Tam Glen!My Minnie does constantly deave me,And bids me beware o' young men;They flatter, she says, to deceive me,But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen!My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him,He'll gie me gude hunder marks ten;But, if it's ordain'd I maun take him,O wha will I get but Tam Glen!Yestreen at the Valentine's dealing,My heart to my mou gied a sten;For thrice I drew ane without failing,And thrice it was written "Tam Glen!"The last Halloween I was waukinMy droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken,His likeness came up the house staukin,And the very grey breeks o' Tam Glen!Come, counsel, dear Tittie! don't tarry;I'll gie ye my bonnie black hen,Gif ye will advise me to marryThe lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen!
But here comes a knock at the door, to stop the flow of inspiration: it is not an unwelcome visitor, but an old friend, who, returning after many years from foreign parts, has learned of "Rob's" amazing leap into fame. Strangers, drawn by curiosity and admiration, are not infrequent visitors: "It was something to have dined or supped in the company of Burns." But this is a different matter: and the warm impulsive heart responds to it, in words which have never been forgotten.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,And never brought to mind?Should auld acquaintance be forgot,And auld lang syne!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 tak 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 mony a weary fitt,Sin' auld lang syne.We twa hae paidl'd i' the burn,Frae morning sun till dine;But seas between us braid hae roar'dSin' auld lang syne.
It is late, very late, when the visitor departs: the stars are frosty, the ground hard. The spell of newly-roused remembrances lies heavy still upon Burns's heart: and as he turns to rest, and sees the peaceful sleeping forms of his wife and little children, tender and calm desires well up within him. He can conceive no higher happiness than comes of a serene old age, in the company of those dear ones: and a picture rises before him of old folk gently descending to a longer rest, side by side together.
John Anderson, my jo, John,When we were first acquent;Your locks were like the raven,Your bonie 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 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.
Printed by Percy Lund, Humphries & Co., Ltd.,Bradford and London.
Printed by Percy Lund, Humphries & Co., Ltd.,Bradford and London.
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
The wordsbeloreandbedtinewere changed tobeforeandbedtimein the phrase:before the children's bedtimeThe worddivniewas corrected todivinein the line:But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside.