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Ringing Bell
Happy New Year!

From the people who brought us Golf, Bagpipes and Amazing Grace, also came the World's most well known and beloved song of parting, Auld Lang Syne.
As Scotland's Bard, Robert Burns, wrote it:

Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And auld lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my jo,
For auld lang syne.
We'll tak' a cup o'kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

And surely ye'll be your pint-stoup
And surely I'll be mine;
And we'll tak' a cup of 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 fit,
Sin' auld lang syne.


We twa hae paidl'd in the burn
Frae morning sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roared',
Sin' auld lang syne,


And there's a hand, my trusty frier!
And gie's a hand o'thine!
And we'll tak' a right guide-willie waught,
For auld lang syne.


A more or less exact translation:

Should we forget our former friends
By whom we set great store?
Should we forget the friends we've met
And the brave days of yore?

The days of yore, my dear,
The days of yore,
We'll tilt the jug and drain the mug
to the brave days of yore.

I fancy you could sink a pint
And I'll take rather more
And we'll both get tight with all our might
For the brave days of yore.


We two have wandered on the hills
And daisies pulled galore
But we've tired our feet on many a street
Since the brave days of yore.


We two have paddled in the brook
From noon to half-past four
But seas have lain betwixt us twain
Since the brave days of yore.


So let us grasp each other's hand
And, as I said before
Our hearts we'll cheer with honest beer
For the brave days of yore.


GLOSSARY: aboot, about; braes, hillsides; braid, broad; burn, stream; fit, foot; frier, friend; gie's, give me; gowans, red berries; gude, good; ha'e (hay), have; mony (moany), many; paidl'd, paddled; pint-stoup, tankard; pou'd, pulled; sin', since; tak' (tock), take; twa, two; willie-waught, draft of beer.

'Light be the turf on the breast of the heaven-inspired Poet who composed this glorious Fragment' wrote Burns to a Mrs. Dunlop on 7th December 1788. In a note to George Thomson (1793) he describes it as 'the old song of the olden times, and which has never been in print, nor even in manuscript, until I took it down from an old man's singing.'

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