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Her breath is like the fragrant breeze,

That gently stirs the blossom'd bean, When Phoebus sinks behind the seas;

An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

Her voice is like the ev'ning thrush,

That sings on Cessnock banks unseen, While his mate sits nestling in the bush; An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

But it's not her air, her form, her face,
Tho' matching beauty's fabled queen;
'Tis the mind that shines in ev'ry grace,
An' chiefly in her roguish een.

Tune-"The Braes o' Balquhidder."

Chor. And I'll kiss thee yet, yet,

And I'll kiss thee o'er again:

And I'll kiss thee yet, yet,
My bonie Peggy Alison.

Ilk care and fear, when thou art near
I evermair defy them, O!

Young kings upon their hansel throne
Are no sae blest as I am, O!

And I'll kiss thee yet, yet, &c.

When in my arms, wi' a' thy charms,
I clasp my countless treasure, O!
I seek nae mair o' Heaven to share
Than sic a moment's pleasure, O!
And I'll kiss thee yet, yet, &c.

And by thy een sae bonie blue,

I swear I'm thine for ever, O!

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ary, canst thou wreck his peace,
ha for thy sake wad gladly die?
cast thou break that heart of his,
ase only faut is loving thee?
ve for love thou wilt na gie,
At least be pity to me shown;

A bought ungentle canna be
The thought o' Mary Morison.


Tus wintry west extends his blast,
And hail and rain does blaw;

Or the stormy north sends driving forth
The blinding sleet and snaw:

While, tumbling brown, the burn comes down,
And roars frae bank to brae;

And bird and beast in covert rest,

And pass the heartless day.

"The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,"
The joyless winter day

Let others fear, to me more dear

Than all the pride of May:

The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul,

My griefs it seems to join;

The leafless trees my fancy please,

Their fate resembles mine!

Thou Power Supreme whose mighty scheme

These woes of mine fulfil,

Here firm I rest; they must be best,

Because they are Thy will!

Then all I want-O do Thou grant
This one request of mine!—
Since to enjoy Thou dost deny,
Assist me to resign.



O THOU Great Being! what Thou art,

Surpasses me to know;

Yet sure I am, that known to Thee

Are all Thy works below.

Thy creature here before Thee stands,
All wretched and distrest;

Yet sure those ills that wring my soul
Obey Thy high behest.

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why? that God the good adore, fa giv'n them peace and rest, But bath decreed that wicked men Soal ne'er be truly blest.


O THOU, the first, the greatest friend

Of all the human race!

Whose strong right hand has ever been
Their stay and dwelling place!

Before the mountains heav'd their heads
Beneath Thy forming hand,
Before this ponderous globe itself
Arose at Thy command;

That Pow'r which rais'd and still upholds

This universal frame,

From countless, unbeginning time

Was ever still the same.

Those mighty periods of years

Which seem to us so vast,
Appear no more before Thy sight
Than yesterday that's past.

Thou giv'st the word: Thy creature, man,
Is to existence brought;

Again Thou say'st, "Ye sons of men,
Return ye into nought!"

Thou layest them, with all their cares,
In everlasting sleep;

As with a flood Thou tak'st them off
With overwhelming sweep.

They flourish like the morning flow'r,
In beauty's pride array'd;

But long ere night cut down it lies
All wither'd and decay'd.

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