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 Then weel may the boatie row,

She wis the bairns' bread,

And happy be the lot o' a',

That wish the boatie speed.





Rosie was faithfu', how happy was I,

Still glad some summer the time glided by.

I played my harp cheery, while fondly I sang

Of the charms o' my Rosie the winter nights lang.

But now I'm as weafu' as waefu' can be,

Come summer, come winter, 'tis a' ane to me,

For the dark gloom of falsehood sae clouds my sad soul,

That cheerless for aye is the Harper of Mull.

I wander the glens and the wild woods alane,

In their deepest recesses I make my sad mane,

My harp's mournfu' melody joins in the strain,

While sadly I sing of the day that are gane.

The Rosie is faithless, she's nae the less the fair,

The thought of her beauty but feeds my despair;

With painful remembrance my bosom is full,

And weary of life is the Harper of Mull.

As slumb'ring I lay by the dark mountain stream,

My lovely young Rosie appear'd in my dream;

I thought her still kind, and I ne'er was sae blest,

As in fancy I clasp'd the dear nymph to my brest.

Thou false fleeting vision, too soon thou wert o'er;

Thou waked'st me to tortures unequalled before;

But death's silent slumbers my griefs soon shall lull,

And the green grass wave over the Harper of Mull.





I and my Jenny thegither were tied,

We had but sma' share o' the world between us;

Yet lo'ed ither weel, and had youth on our side,

And strength and guid health were abundantly gi'en us;

I warsled and toiled through the fair and the foul,

And she was right carfu' o' what I brought till her,

For aye we had mind o' the canny auld rule,

Just "marry for love, and work for siller,"