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OF WILL AND JEAN- 57
Then mark, sweet Minstrel o' the day.
Thy Scotia's sons an' maidens guy.
Her deep wild glens, her mountains gray,
Wi' misty head.
An' eke her ilka sunny brae,
Wi' flowers o'erspread ;
What time alane thou may'st retire.
May these thy fairy thoughts inspire^
An' set thy manly saul on fire.
In Scotia's praise.
An' mak thee strike thy native lyre
To saftest lays !
To wake the pangs Despair maun dree,
WTian wandering houseless o'er the lee ;
To strike the strings o' Sympathy,
Whan griefs combine ;
To start the tear in Pity's e'e.
The task be thine !

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