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Still echo his ditties of love, Well a well a-day, Still echo his ditties of love.

The ſad ſound of echo I'll fun, Robin Gray, He dying notes live on my mind; Can you then as you roam, From your forefathers' home, Leave your country's feeling behind, Well a well a day. Leave your country's feeling behind.

Still the blackbird ſhall ſing on the them, Robin Gray. And the lark early carol on high, But the lowly lodg'd ſwain, As he ſcatters his grain, Will chant Robin's verſe with a ſigh, Well a well a-day. Will chant Robin's verſe with a ſigh,

Soft lies on his bcfom the turl, Robin Gray, Reſt his aſhes unmingled and pure, May the tomb of his urn Caledonia adorn, And his much lov'd remains ay ſecure, Well a well a-day, And his much lov'd remains ay ſecure.

For a' that, and a' that

Two women's minds like winter winds May shift and turn, and a' that,