285. Song—I Gaed a Waefu' Gate Yestreen

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 I GAED a waefu’ gate yestreen,
 A gate, I fear, I’ll dearly rue;
I gat my death frae twa sweet een,
 Twa lovely een o’bonie blue.
’Twas not her golden ringlets bright, Her lips like roses wat wi’ dew, Her heaving bosom, lily-white— It was her een sae bonie blue.
She talk’d, she smil’d, my heart she wyl’d; She charm’d my soul I wist na how; And aye the stound, the deadly wound, Cam frae her een so bonie blue.
But “spare to speak, and spare to speed;” She’ll aiblins listen to my vow: Should she refuse, I’ll lay my dead To her twa een sae bonie blue.

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