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The cloud clears away, 'tis the horsemen are flying— All scattered like chaff by the might of the Gael,
One long yell of triumph while bonnets are waving, And Scotland forever, resounds through the dale. JONNY KEEPS THE KEY O'T.
My heart is locked against the lads, Tis little they can see o't,
They needna try to press its springs, For Jonny keeps the key o't.
Auld Aunty says I scorn them a',
And that I shoudna do it,
That I may sairly rue it.
She says I'm but a pridefu' quean,
But little, little does she ken
tor scorn I'm surely no to blame,
For oh my heart is no mine ain,
D' ye mind o' the lang simmer days, Mary White?
And wi' a delight,
D' ye mind o' the sang ye wad raise, Mary White?
O that was a sweet happy time, Mary White!
We were young, we were happy indeed, Mary White,
Wi' sorrowful' blight;
And oh! do ye e'er think on me. Mary White?
That spell o' delight,
'Tis often I think upon thee, Mary White;
E'er keu't o' delight,
D' ye 'mang the living still bide, Mary White?