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THE
Ayrshire Melodist,
My aim dear Jean.
Of a’ the airts the win* can blawi
I dearly like the west.
For there the bonny lassie lives.
The lass that I love best:
Tho’ wild woods grow, and rivers row,
Wi’ mony a hill between,
Baitb day an’ night my fancy’s flight
Is ever wi’ my Jean.
I see her in the dewy flowers.
Sae lovely, sweet an’ fair,
I hear her voice in ilka bird,
Wi’ mirth that charms the air?
There’s not a bor.ny flower that springs
By fountain, shaw, or green,
Ner yet a bonny bird that sings.
But minds me o’ my Jean.
Upon the banks o’ flowing Clyde,
The lasses busk them braw.

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