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The Song Book
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 by 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.
Words by Burns.
Tune Farewell to Ayr.