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(87) Page 51 - Waits
THE WAITS. 51
THE WAITS-
Aft whan the Waits were playing by,
I've marked their viol wi' a sigh ;
Sad as the sounds that never die,
O' partings sweet ;
Dear as a naither's lullaby.
Whan babies greet.
Silver Gun.
Wha's this, wi' voice o' music sweet,
Sae early wakes the weary wight ?
O weel ken I them by their souch.
The wandering Minstrels o' the night •
O weel ken I their bonny lilts.
Their sweetest notes o' melody ;
Fu' aft they've thrilled out-through my saul,
An' gart the tear fill ilka e'e.
D2

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