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The cave-lodg'd beggar, with a conscience clear,
Expires in rags, unknown, and goes to Heav'n.


TUNE" There'll never be peace till Jamie comes ḥame" Now in her green mantle blythe Nature arrays, And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes, While birds warble welcomes in ilka green shaw; But to me it's delightless—my Nannie's awa.

The snaw-drop and primrose our woodlands adorn,
And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn:
They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw,
They mind me o' Nannie my Nannie's awa.

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Thou laverock that springs frae the dews o' the lawn,
The shepherd to warn o' the gray-breaking dawn,
And thou, yellow mavis, that hails the night-fa',
Gie over for pity - my Nannie's awa.

Come autumn sae pensive, in yellow and gray,
And soothe me wi' tidings o' Nature's decay;
The dark, dreary winter, and wild-driving snaw,
Alane can delight me now Nannie's awa


"The Lass of Livingstone"


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O, WERT thou in the cauld blast,
On yonder lea, on yonder lea,
My plaidie to the angry airt,

I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee.
Or did misfortune's bitter storms
Around thee blaw, around thee blaw,
Thy bield should be my bosom,

To share it a', to share it a'.

Or were I in the wildest waste,
Of earth and air, of earth and air,
The desert were a paradise,

If thou wert there, if thou wert there.
Or were I monarch o' the globe,

Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign,
The only jewel in my crown

Wad be my queen, wad be my queen.


JOHN ANDERSON my jo, John,

When we were first acquent,

Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonie 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 cantie 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.


TUNE-"Roslin Castle"

THE gloomy night is gath'ring fast,
Loud roars the wild inconstant blast,
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain,
I see it driving o'er the plain;
The hunter now has left the moor,

The scattered coveys meet secure,
While here I wander, prest with care,
Along the lonely banks of Ayr.

The Autumn mourns her rip'ning corn
By early Winter's ravage torn;
Across her placid, azure sky,
She sees the scowling tempest fly:
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave,
I think upon the stormy wave,
Where many a danger I must dare,
Far from the bonie banks of Ayr.

'Tis not the surging billow's roar, "Tis not that fatal, deadly shore; Tho' death in ev'ry shape appear, The wretched have no more to fear: But round my heart the ties are bound, That heart transpierc'd with many a wound These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, To leave the bonie banks of Ayr.

Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales, Her heathy moors and winding vales; The scenes where wretched fancy roves, Pursuing past, unhappy loves!

Farewell, my friends! Farewell, my foes!
My peace with these, my love with those:
The bursting tears my heart declare —
Farewell, the bonie banks of Ayr.


My heart's in the Highland's, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
The birth-place of valor, the country of worth;
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow;
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods;
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.

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