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The cavers biv the chimley reek |
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The day returns, my bosom burns |
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The De'il cam fiddling thro' the town |
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The dew each trembling leaf enwreathed |
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The dusky night rides down the sky |
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The gentry to the King's Head go . |
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The gloomy night is gathering fast |
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The harp that once thro' Tara's halls |
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The hunt is up, the hunt is up |
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The last time I cam o'er the muir . |
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The Minstrel boy to the war is gone |
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The moon on the ocean was dimm'd by a ripple |
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The morn returns in saffron drest |
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The valley lay smiling before me |
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The weary pund, the weary pund |
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The winter it is past, and the summer comes at last |
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The yellow-hair'd laddie sat on yon burn brae |
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The young May moon is beaming, Love |
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Then farewell, my trim-built wherry |
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There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin |
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There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen |
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There's cauld kail in Aberdeen |
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There's none to soothe my soul to rest |
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There's nought but care on ev'ry han' |
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There is not in this wide world a valley so sweet |
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There was a jolly miller once liv'd on the river Dee |
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There was a maid went to the mill |
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This winter's weather waxeth cold |
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Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it |
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Though the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see |
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Tho' dark are our sorrows, to day we'll forget them |
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Thro'grief and thro' danger thy smile hath cheered my way |
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Tibbie Fowler o' the glen . |
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'Tis the last rose of summer |
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To all you ladies now at land |
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To England when, with fav'ring gale |
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To you who live at home at ease . |
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Too late I stayed : forgive the crime |
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'Twas down in Cupid's garden |
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'Twas on the morn of sweet May-day |
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'Twas the hour when rites unholy |
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We be three poor mariners |
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Weep on, weep on, your hour is past . |
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Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet |
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Well I agree, ye're sure of me |
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Whare live ye, my bonie lass? |
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