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They met but once-oh, ne'er, again Let either meet the brow

They left so smooth and smiling then Or see what it is now

BONNIE DOON.

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YE banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair? How can ye chaunt, ye little birds, And I sae weary, fu' o'care? Thoul't break my heart, thou warbling bird,

That wanton'st through the flowery

thorn;

Thou mind'st me of departed joys,
Departed, never to return.

Oft have I roved by bonnie Doon.
To see the rose and woodbine twine
And ilka bird sang o' its love,
And fondly sae did I o' mine:
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree-
And my fause lover staw my rose,
But, ah! he left the thorn wi' me

THE BONNY BOAT.

SWIFTLY glides the bonny boat,
Just parted from the shore,
And to the fisher's chorus note,
Soft moves the dripping oar.
These toils are borne with happy cheer,

And ever may they speed,
That feeble age and helpmate dear,

And tender bairnies feed,

We cast our lines in Largo bay,
Our nets are floating wide,
Our bonny boat with yielding sway
Rocks lightly on the tide;
And happy prove our daily lot,
Upon the summer sea,

And blest on land, our kindly cot,
Where all our treasures be.

The mermaid on her rock may sing,
The witch may weave her charm,
But water sprite nor eldrich thing
The bonny boat can harm;
It safely bears its scaly store
Through many a stormy gale,
While joyful shouts rise from the shore
Its homeward prow to hail.

We cast our lines in Largo bay, &c

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JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO

JOHN ANDERSON, my jo, John,
When we were first acquent,
Your locks were like the raven, John,
Your bonnie brow was brent!
But now your head's turn'd bald, John,
Your locks are like the snow-
Yet, blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,
When nature first began
To try her cannie hand, John,

Her master-work was man ;
And you amang them a,' John,
Sae trig frae tap to toe,
She proved to be nae journey-wark,
John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,
Ye were my first conceit;

And ye need na think it strange, John,
Though I ca' ye trim and neat:
Though some folks say ye're auld,
John,

I never think ye so,

But I think ye're aye the same to me, John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,
We've seen our bairns' bairns,
And yet, my dear John Anderson,
I'm happy in your arms;
And sae are ye in mine, John-
I'm sure ye'll ne'er say no-
Though the days are gane that we have

seen,

John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,
What pleasure does it gie,
To see so many sprouts, John,
Spring up 'tween you and me :
And ilka lad and lass, John,
In our footsteps to go,
Make perfect heaven here on earth,
John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,

Frae year to year we've past; And soon that year maun come, John, Will bring us to our last;

But let na' that affright us, John,

Our hearts were ne'er our foe, While in innocent delight we've lived, John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,

We clamb the hill thegither,

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And monie a cantie day, John,

We've had wi' ane anither:

Now we maun totter down, John,
But hand in hand we'll go,

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And we'll sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson, my jo.

THE BLOOM IS ON THE RYE

My pretty Jane! my pretty Jane!
Ah! never, never look so shy;
But meet me, meet me in the evening,
While the bloom is on the rye.
Spring is waning fast, my love,
The corn is in the ear;

The summer nights are coming, love,
The moon shines bright and clear:
Then, pretty Jane! my dearest Jane!
&c.

But name the day-the wedding day,
And I will buy the ring;

The lads and maids in favours white,
And village bells shall ring.

Spring is waning fast, my love, &c.

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