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OUR FAMILIAR SONGS.
Suppose, ah suppose, that some cruel, cruel
wound Should pierce your Highland laddie, and all your
hopes confound; " The pipe would play a cheering march, the
banners round him fly, And for his king and country dear with pleasure
would he die.
But I will hope to see him yet in Scotland's
bonnie bounds, But I will hope to see him yet in Scotland's
bonnie bounds; His native land of liberty shall nurse his
glorious wounds, While wide through all our Highland hills his
warlike name resounds."