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 But didna Jeanies heart loup light, And didna joy blink in her e'e, As Robie tauld a tale of love, At e'ening on the lily lee?

The sun was sinking in the west, The birds sang sweet in ilka grove; His cheek to her's he fondly prest, And whisper'd thus his tale of love:–

O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear; O canst thou think to fancy me Or wilt thou leave thy mither's cot, And learn to tent the farms wi' me?

At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge, Or naething else to trouble thee; But stray amang the heather bells, And tent the waving corn wi' me.

Now what could artless Jeanie do? She had nae will to say him na; At length she blush'd a sweet consent, And love was aye between them twa.