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Macgregor! Macgregor! lond echo reſounded, And the hills rung in pity, Macgregor is wounded

Near the brook in the valley, the green turf did b her, And they laid down Macgregor ſound ſleeping be her; Secure is their dwelling from foes and black flande Near the roaring loud waters their ſpirits oft wan

When the teen chace is o'er ye bold ſons of the me tain, And ſoftly reclining by the clear murmuring fount Still look with a ſigh to the foot of Benbarra: Where died that bold chieftian, Macgregor Aura

Plaid amang the Heather

The wind blew hie o'er muir and lea. And dark and stormy grew the weather, The rain rain'd sair; nae shelter near, But my love's plaid amang the heather.

CHORUS.

O my bonny highland laddie, My winsome, welfar'd highland laddie Wha wad mind the wind and tain, Sae weel row't in his tartan plaidie?

Close to his breast he held me fast:- Sae coozy, warm, we lay thegither; Nae simmer heat was ha'f sae sweet, As my love's plaid amang the heather. O my bonny, &c.