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"Tis past! the pangs of love are past;
 * I love, I love no more;

Yet who would think I am, at last,
 * More wretched than before?

The sun in the west fa's to rest in the e'enin'; Ilk morning blinks eheerfu' upon the green lee; But, ah! on the pillow o' sorrow ay leanin', Nae mornin', nae e'enin', brings pleasure to me. O! waefu' the parting, when, smiling at danger, Young Allan left Scotia to meet wi' the fae; Cauld, cauld, now he lies in a land amang strang Frae friends and frae Helen for ever away.

As the aik on the mountain resists the blast rairin Sae did he the brunt o' the battle sustain, Till treach'ry arrested his courage sae darin', And laid him pale, lifeless upon the drear plain. Cauld winter the flower divests o' its eleidin', In simmer again it blooms bonny to see; But naething, alas! ean e'er hale my heart bleid Drear winter remaining for ever wi' me.

Will ye gang o'er the lee rig,
 * My ain kind dearie, O;