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The Birks of Aberfeldy.

TUNE—The Birks of Aberfeldy."

BONNY lassie, will ye go,
Will ye go, will ye go;
Bonny lassie, will ye go
To the birks of Aberfeldy ?

Now simmer blinks on flowery braes, And o'er the crystal streamlet plays ; Come, let us spend the lightsome days

In the birks of Aberfeldy.

While o'er their heads the hazels hing,
The little birdies blithely sing,
Or lightly Ait on wanton wing

In the birks of Aberfeldy.

The braes ascend, like lofty wa's,
The foaming stream deep-roaring fa's,
O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws,

The birks of Aberfeldy.

The Birks of Aberfeldy.

The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers, White o'er the linns the burnie pours, And rising, weets wi' misty showers

The birks of Aberfeldy.

Let Fortune's gifts at random flee, They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me, Supremely blest wi' love and thee,

In the birks of Aberfeldy.

Blithe was She.

TUNE—Andrew and his Cutty Gun."

BLITHE, blithe, and merry was she,
Blithe was she butt and ben:
Blithe by the banks of Earn,
And blithe in Glenturit glen.

By Auchtertyre grows the aik,

On Yarrow banks the birken shaw;

But Phemie was a bonnier lass

Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw.

Her looks were like a flower in May,

Her smile was like a simmer morn; She tripped by the banks of Earn,

As light's a bird upon a thorn.

Blithe was She.

Her bonny face it was as meek

As ony lamb upon a lea;
The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet

As was the blink o' Phemie's ee.

The Highland hills I've wandered wide,

And o'er the Lowlands I hae been ; But Phemie was the blithest lass

That ever trod the dewy green.

The Banks of the Devon.

TUNE-" Bhanarach dhonn a chruidh."

How pleasant the banks of the clear, winding Devon, With green spreading bushes, and flowers blooming

fair! But the bonniest flower on the banks of the Devon

Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr.

Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower,

In the gay rosy morn, as it bathes in the dew! And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower,

That steals on the evening each leaf to renew.

Oh, spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes,

With chill hoary wing, as ye usher the dawn! And far be thou distant, thou reptile, that seizes

The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn!

Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies,

And England, triumphant, display her bright rose: A fairer than either adorns the green valleys

Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows.

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