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 ( 7 ) Frenchmen fhould juft,—Bite at our'duft, But not a bit more of the Ifland.

THE HIGHL AND QUEEN.

NO more my fong fhall be ye fwains, Of purling ftreams or flow’ry plains, More pleafig beauties now infpire, And Phoebus deigns the warbling lyre, Divineiy aided thu I mean, To celebrate my Highland Queen.

In her fweet innocence I find, With beauty, truth, and freedom join'd, Strict honour fills her f; lefs foul. And gives a tuftre go the whole, A matchlefs fhape and lovely mein, All center in my Highland Queen.

No fudden rufh, no trifling joy. No fett'led calm of mind deftroy; From pride and from ambition free. Alike fhe fmiles on you and me: The brighteft nypmh that trades the green, I do pronounce my Highland Queen.

How bleft that youth whom gentle Fate, Has deftin'd to fo fair a mate. With all thofe wondrous gifts in sfore. While each returning day brings more: No man more happy can be feen, Poffeffing thee my Highland Queen.