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THE WAITS. 53
Unlike om- ain, by Nature made,
Unlike the saft delight they gie.
For weel I ween they warm the breast.
Though sair oppressed wi' poortith cauld ;
An' sae an auld man's heart they cheer.
He tines the thought that he is auld.
O sweetest Minstrels ! halt a wee :
Anither lilt afore ye gang.
An' syne I'll close my waukrife e'e.
Enraptured wi' your bonny sang.
They're gane !-^The morn begins to dawn ;
They're weary paidlin through the weet :
They're gane — ^but on my ravished ear
The dying sounds yet thrill fu' sweet.
DS

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