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The Song Book |
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cxli THE BONIE BANKS OF A YR |
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The hunter now has left the moor, The scatter'd coveys meet secure, While here I wander, prest with care, Along the lonely banks of Ayr.
The Autumn mourns her rip'ning corn By early Winter's ravage torn ; Across her placid azure sky, She sees the scowling tempest fly : |
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