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We twa hae paidl't i' the burn,
Frae mornin' sun till dine;

But seas between us braid hae roared,

Sin' auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,

For auld lang syne,

We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne!

And here's a hand, my trusty fiere,
And gie's a hand o' thine;
And we'll take a right guid willie-
waught,

For auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,

For auld lang syne,

We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne!

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Аn! County Guy, the hour is nigh,
The sun has left the lea,
The orange-flower perfumes the
bower,

The breeze is on the sea.
The lark, his lay who trilled all day,
Sits hushed his partner nigh;
Breeze, bird, and flower confess the
hour,

But where is County Guy?

The village maid steals through the shade

Her shepherd's suit to hear;
To beauty shy, by lattice high,
Sings high-born Cavalier;
The star of Love, all stars above,

Now reigns o'er earth and sky, And high and low the influence know,

But where is County Guy?

RIVER SONG.

SCOTT.

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SONG FROM JASON.

I KNOW a little garden close
Set thick with lily and red rose,
Where I would wander if I might
From dewy dawn to dewy.night,
And have one with me wandering.

And though within it no birds sing, And though no pillared house is there, And though the apple-boughs are bare Of fruit and blossom, would to God Her feet upon the green grass trod, And I beheld them as before.

There comes a murmur from the shore,

And in the place two fair streams are, Drawn from the purple hills afar, Drawn down unto the restless sea; The hills whose flowers ne'er fed the bee,

The shore no ship has ever seen, Still beaten by the billows green, Whose murmur comes unceasingly Unto the place for which I cry.

For which I cry both day and night, For which I let slip all delight, That maketh me both deaf and blind, Careless to win, unskilled to find, And quick to lose what all men seek.

Yet tottering as I am and weak, Still have I left a little breath To seek within the jaws of death An entrance to that happy place, To seek the unforgotten face Once seen, once kissed, once reft

from me

Anigh the murmuring of the sea. WILLIAM MORRIS.

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As a gloriole sign o' grace,

Goldilocks, ah fall and flow,
On the blooming, childlike face,
Dimple, dimple, come and go.
Give her time: on grass and sky
Let her gaze if she be fain;
As they looked ere he drew nigh,
They will never look again.

Ah! the playtime she has known,
While her goldilocks grew long,
Is it like a nestling flown,

Childhood over like a song?
Yes, the boy may clear his brow,
Though she thinks to say him nay,
When she sighs, "I cannot now.
Come again some other day.”
JEAN INGELOW.

O MY LUVE'S LIKE A RED, RED ROSE.

O MY luve's like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June: O my luve's like the melodie, That's sweetly played in tune.

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