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I. LOVE : PERSONAL 17 |
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'Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers,
Again ye'll flourish fresh and fair; Ye birdies, dumb in with'ring bowers,
Again ye'll charm the vocal air; But here, alas! for me nae mair
Shall birdie charm, or floweret smile; Fareweel the bonie banks of Ayr,
Fareweel! fareweel sweet Ballochmyle !' |
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Stay, my charmer, can you leave me?
Cruel, cruel to deceive me!
Well you know how much you grieve me:
Cruel charmer, can you go ?
Cruel charmer, can you go?
By my love so ill requited,
By the faith you fondly plighted,
By the pangs of lovers slighted,
Do not, do not leave me so !
Do not, do not leave me so! |
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