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III.

The merry Ploughboy cheers his team,
Wi' joy the tentie Seedsman stalks,
But life to me's a weary dream,

A dream of ane that never wauks.

And maun Iftill, &c.

IV.

The wanton coot the water fkims,

Amang the reeds the ducklings cry,

The stately swan majestic swims,
And every thing is bleft but I.

And maun Iftill, &c.

VOL. II.

K

V.

V.

The sheep-herd fteeks his faulding flap,
And owre the moorlands whiftles fhill,
Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step

I meet him on the dewy hill.

And maun I ftill, &c.

VI.

And when the lark, 'tween light and dark,
Blythe waukens by the daisy's fide,
And mounts and fings on flittering, wings,
A woe-worn ghaift I hameward glide.

And maun Iftill, &c.

VII.

VII.

Come Winter, with thine angry howl,
And raging bend the naked tree;
Thy gloom will foothe my chearless soul,
When Nature all is fad like me!

And maun I ftill on Menie doat,

And bear the fcorn that's in her e'e! For it's jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk; An' it winna let a body be.

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Tune,-Roflin Castle.

I.

THE gloomy night is gathʼring fast,
Loud roars the wild inconftant blast,
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain,
I fee it driving o'er the plain;
The Hunter now has left the moor,
The fcatt'red coveys meet secure,
While here I wander, preft with care,
Along the lonely banks of Ayr.

II.

The Autumn mourns her rip'ning corn
By early Winter's ravage torn ;
Across her placid, azure fky,
She fees the fcowling tempeft fly:
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave,
I think upon the ftormy wave,
Where many a danger I muft dare,
Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr.

III.

'Tis not the furging billow's roar, 'Tis not that fatal, deadly fhore; Tho' Death in ev'ry fhape appear,

The Wretched have no more to fear:

But round my heart the ties are bound,

That heart tranfpierc'd with many a wound;

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