Tell Age it daily wasteth; Tell Wit how much it wrangles Tell Physic of her boldness; Tell Charity of coldness; Tell Law it is contention. And as they do reply, So give them still the lie. Tell Fortune of her blindness; Tell Nature of decay; Tell Friendship of unkindness; Tell Justice of delay. And if they will reply, Then give them all the lie. Tell Arts they have no soundness, But vary by esteeming ; Tell Schools they want profoundness, And stand too much on seeming. If Arts and Schools reply, Give Arts and Schools the lie. Tell Faith it's fled the city; So when thou hast, as I Commanded thee, done babbling, Deserves no less than stabbing, Yet stab at thee who will, No stab the soul can kill. - SIR WALTER RALEIGH (?). 29. THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS. OFT in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Of other days around me; The smiles, the tears Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken; The eyes that shone, Now dimmed and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken! Thus in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me. When I remember all The friends so linked together I've seen around me fall Like leaves in wintry weather, I feel like one Who treads alone Some banquet-hall deserted, Whose lights are fled, Whose garlands dead, And all but he departed! Thus in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me. THOMAS Moore. 30. JOHN ANDERSON. JOHN ANDERSON my jo, John, John Anderson my jo, John, Now we maun totter down, John, John Anderson my jo. - ROBERT BURNS. 31. AULD LANG SYNE. SHOULD auld acquaintance be forgot, 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 we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet We twa hae run about the braes, But we've wander'd mony a weary foot Sin' auld lang syne. For auld, &c. We twa hae paidl'd i' the burn, But seas between us braid hae roar'd For auld, &c. And here's a hand, my trusty fiere, And gie's a hand o' thine; And we'll tak a right guid willie-waught, I'm wearin' awa', John, Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, John, I'm wearin' awa' To the land o' the leal. In the land o' the leal. Our bonnie bairn's there, John, To the land o' the leal. But sorrow's sel' wears past, John, And joy that's aye to last In the land o' the leal. |