Page:Ayrshire melodist, or, The muses' delight.pdf/10



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It is the moon, I ken her horn, That's blinkin' in the lift sae hie; She shines sae bright to wile us hame, But by my ssoth she'll wait a wee. We are na fou, &c.

Wha first shall rise to gang awa, A cuckold, coward loon is he; Wha first beside his chair shall fa', He is the king amang us three. We are na fou, &c.

—o —

Flora Macdonald.

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FAR over yon hills of the heather so green, And down by the correi that sings to the sea, The bonny young Flora sat sighing her lane, The dew on her plaid, and the tear in her e'e.                         She look'd at a boat with the breezes that swung Away on the wave, like a bird of the main: