SCOTS WHA HAE.

BY ROBERT BURNS.

A friend of Burns states this stirring poem was written during a frightful storm in the wilds of Glenken, in Galloway. was written in September, 1793.

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has often led;
Welcome to your gory bed,

Or to victorie!

Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lour;

It

See approach proud Edward's pow'r-
Chains and slaverie!

Wha will be a traitor-knave?

Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?

Let him turn and flee!

Wha for Scotland's king and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Freeman stand, or freeman fa',
Let him follow me!

By oppression's woes and pains!
By our sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!

Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!
Let us do or die!

JERUSALEM, THE GOLDEN.

TRANSLATED FROM THE LATIN, BY JOHN M. NEALE.

MISCONCEPTIONS.

BY ROBERT BROWNING.
This is a spray the Bird clung to,
Making it blossom with pleasure,
Ere the high tree-top she sprung to,
Fit for her nest and her treasure.

Oh, what a hope beyond measure

Was the poor spray's which the flying feet hung to,

So to be singled out, built in and sung to!

This is a heart the Queen leant on

Thrilled in a minute erratic,

Ere the true bosom she bent on,

Meet for love's regal dalmatic.

Oh what a fancy ecstatic

Was the poor heart's, ere the wanderer went

on

Love to be saved for it, proffered to, spent on!

JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO.

BY ROBERT BURNS.

John Anderson, my jo, John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonny 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 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.