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12 TONE-POETRY OF ROBERT BURNS |
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Behind yon hills where Lugar flows
'Mang moors an' mosses many, O, The wintry sun the day has clos'd,
And I'll awa to Nanie, O. The westlin wind blaws loud an' shill;
The night's baith mirk and rainy, O ; But I'll get my plaid, an' out I'll steal,
An' owre the hill to Nanie, O. |
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