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318. Song—The Banks o' Doon (Third Version)

by
 YE banks and braes o’ bonie Doon,
 How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
 And I sae weary fu’ o’ care!
Thou’ll break my heart, thou warbling bird,
 That wantons thro’ the flowering thorn:
Thou minds me o’ departed joys,
 Departed never to return.
Aft hae I rov’d by Bonie Doon, To see the rose and woodbine twine: And ilka bird sang o’ its Luve, And fondly sae did I o’ mine; Wi’ lightsome heart I pu’d a rose, Fu’ sweet upon its thorny tree! And may fause Luver staw my rose, But ah! he left the thorn wi’ me.

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