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.

THRENODY.

THE South-wind brings

Life, sunshine, and desire,

And on every mount and meadow

Breathes aromatic fire.

But o'er the dead he has no power:
The lost, the lost, he cannot restore.
And, looking o'er the hills, I mourn
The darling who shall not return.

I see my empty house,

I see my trees repair their boughs;
And he, the wondrous child,
Whose silver warble wild

Outvalued every pulsing sound

Within the air's cerulean round.

The hyacinthine boy, for whom

Morn well might break, and April bloom;

The gracious boy who did adorn

The world whereinto he was born,

And by his countenance repay

The favour of the loving Day,

Has disappeared from the Day's eye.

Robert Burns.

Far and wide, she cannot find him,-
My hopes pursue, they cannot bind him;
Returned the day, this south-wind searches,
And finds young trees and budding birches,

THRENODY.

But finds not the budding man.

Nature, who lost him, cannot remake him ; Fate let him fall, Fate cannot retake him ; Nature, Fate, men, him seek in vain.

And whither now, my truant, wise and sweet, O, whither tend thy feet?

I had the right, few days ago,

Thy steps to watch, thy place to know;

How have I forfeited the right?

Hast thou forgot me in a new delight?

I hearken for thy household cheer.

O eloquent child!

Whose voice, an equal messenger,
Convey'd thy meaning mild.

What though the pains and joys,
Whereof it spoke, were toys,
Fitting his age and ken;

Yet fairest dames and bearded men,
Who heard the sweet request,

So gentle, wise, and grave,

Bended with joy to his behest,—
And let the world's affairs go by,
Awhile to share his cordial game,
Or mend his wicker wagon frame,
Still plotting how their hungry ear
That winsome voice again might hear:
For his lips could well pronounce
Words that were persuasions.

Gentlest guardians marked serene
His early hope, his liberal mien;
Took counsel from his guiding eyes,
To make this wisdom earthly wise.
Ah! vainly do these eyes recal
The school-march, each day's festival;
When every morn my bosom glow'd,
To watch the convoy on the road:

THRENODY.

The babe in willow wagon closed,

With rolling eyes and face composed,-
With children forward and behind,
Like Cupids studiously inclined.
And he, the Chieftain, paced beside,
The centre of the troop allied,
With sunny face of sweet repose,
To guard the babe from fancied foes.
The little Captain innocent

Took the eye with him as he went.
Each village senior paused to scan,
And speak the lovely caravan.

From the window I look out,
To mark thy beautiful parade;
Stately marching in cap and coat,
To some tune by fairies played;
A music heard by thee alone,
To works as noble led thee on.
Now Love and Pride, alas! in vain,
Up and down their glances strain.
The painted sled stands where it stood,
The kennel by the corded wood;

The gathered sticks to staunch the wall

Of the snow tower, when snow should fall;

The ominous hole he dug in the sand,
And childhood's castles, built or planned;

His daily haunts I well discern,

The poultry yard, the shed, the barn,

And every inch of garden ground,

Paced by the blessed feet around;

From the road-side to the brook,

Whereinto he loved to look.

Step the meek birds where erst they ranged,

The wintry garden lies unchanged;

The brook into the stream runs on,

But the deep-eyed Boy is gone!-Ralph Waldo Emerson.