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 And ay sho wrought her mither's wark, And ay sho sang sae merrilie; The blithest bird upon the bush, Had no'er a lighter heart than she.

But hawks will rob tho tender joys That bless tho little lintwhito's nest: And frost will blight tho fairest flowers, And levo will break the soundest rest.

Young Robie was the brawest lad, The flower and pride of a' the glen; And he had owsen, sheep, and kye, And wanton nagies nine or ten.

He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryst, He danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down; And lang ere witless Jeanie wist, Her heart was tint, her peace was stewn,

As in tho boson o' the stream The moon-beam dwells at dewy e'en; So trembling pure, was tender love Within the breast o' bonny Jean.

And now she works her mither's wark, And ay she sighs wi' care and pain; Yet wist na what her ail might be, Or what wad mak her weel again.