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LANGSYNE BESIDE THE WOODLAND BURN

LANGSYNE beside the woodland burn, Amang the broom sae yellow, I lean'd me 'neath the milkwhite thorn, On natures mossy pillow; Around my seat the flow'rs were strow'd,                         That frae the wildwood I had pu'd,                          To weave mysel' a simmer snood, To pleasure my dear fellow

I twin'd the woodbine round the rose, Its richer hues to mellow, Green sprigs of fragrant birk I chose To busk tho sedge sae yellow. The craw-flow'r blue, and meadow pink, I wove in primrose braided link, But little, little did I think, I should have wove the willow.

My bonnie lad was forced afar, Toss'd on the raging billow, Perhaps he's fa'n in bludy war, Or wrecked on rocky shallow; Yet, aye I hope for his return, As round our wonted haunts I mourn, And aften by the woodland burn, I pu' the weeping willow.

--

MOLLY, MY DEAR.

THE harvest is o'er, and the lads are so funny, Their hearts lined with love and their pockets with money; From morning till night, 'tis My jewel, my honey, "Och, go to the North with me, Molly, my dear!"