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Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech,

His breath like caller air ;

His very foot has music in't

As he comes up

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And will I see his face again?

And will I hear him speak?

I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,

In troth I'm like to greet!

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46.

And bring the lassie back to me
That's aye sae neat and clean;
Ae smile o' her wad banish care,
Sae charming is my Jean.

What sighs and vows amang the knowes

Hae pass'd atween us twa!

How fond to meet, how wae to part

That night she gaed awa!

The Powers aboon can only ken

To whom the heart is seen,

That nane can be sae dear to me
As my sweet lovely Jean!

JOHN ANDERSON
John Anderson my jo, John,
When we were first acquent
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonnie brow was brent;
But now your brow is bald, John,
Your locks are like the snow;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson my jo.

John Anderson my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither,
And mony a canty day, John,
We've had wi' ane anither:

Now we maun totter down, John,
But hand in hand we'll go,

R. Burns

25

30

CXCVII

5

10

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48.

Ye were aye leal and true, Jean,
Your task's ended noo, Jean,
And I'll welcome you

To the land o' the leal.

Our bonnie bairn's there, Jean,

She was baith guid and fair, Jean;
O we grudged her right sair
To the land o' the leal!

Then dry that tearfu' e'e, Jean,
My soul langs to be free, Jean,
And angels wait on me

To the land o' the leal.
Now fare ye weel, my ain Jean,
This warld's care is vain, Jean;
We'll meet and aye be fain

In the land o' the leal.

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Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey,

Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among
Wanders the hoary Thames along

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His silver-winding way :

Ah happy hills! ah pleasing shade !

Ah fields beloved in vain!

Where once my careless childhood stray'd,

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Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen
Full many a sprightly race
Disporting on thy margent green
The paths of pleasure trace;

Who foremost now delight to cleave
With pliant arm, thy glassy wave?
The captive linnet which enthral ?
What idle progeny succeed
To chase the rolling circle's speed
Or urge the flying ball?

While some on earnest business bent

Their murmuring labours ply

'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint To sweeten liberty:

Some bold adventurers disdain

The limits of their little reign

And unknown regions dare descry:

Still as they run they look behind,
They hear a voice in every wind,
And snatch a fearful joy.

Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed,
Less pleasing when possest;
The tear forgot as soon as shed,
The sunshine of the breast:
Theirs buxom health, of rosy hue,
Wild wit, invention ever new,
And lively cheer, of vigour born;
The thoughtless day, the easy night,
The spirits pure, the slumbers light
That fly th' approach of morn.

Alas! regardless of their doom
The little victims play;
No sense have they of ills to come
Nor care beyond to-day :

Yet see how all around 'em wait

The ministers of human fate

And black Misfortune's baleful train !
Ah show them where in ambush stand

To seize their prey, the murderous band!
Ah, tell them they are men!

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