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The Song Book 219
I pitied all beneath the skies,
Even kings, when she was nigh me; In raptures I beheld her eyes
Which could but ill deny me.
Should I be called where cannons roar,
Where mortal steel may wound me, Or cast upon some foreign shore,
Where dangers may surround me ; Yet hopes again to see my love,
To feast on glowing kisses, Shall make my cares at distance move,
In prospect of such blisses.
In all my soul there's not one place
To let a rival enter : Since she excels in every grace,
In her my love shall centre. Sooner the seas shall cease to flow,
Their waves the Alps shall cover, On Greenland's ice shall roses grow,
Before I cease to love her.
The neist time I gang o'er the muir,
She shall a lover find me ; And that my faith is firm and pure,
Though I left her behind me ; Then Hymen's sacred bonds shall chain
My heart to her fair bosom ; There, while my being does remain,
My love more fresh shall blossom.
Words by Allan Ramsay.