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* Here supported, cheer'd, and cherish'd,
' Nine blest months ! I've liv'd, and mair ;
* See these infants clad, and nourish'd,
4 Dried my tears, and tint Despair ;
' Sometimes serving, sometimes spinning, t
' Light the lanesome hours gae round ;
* Lightly, too, ilk quarter rinning
4 Bring yon angel's helping Pound !'
" Eight pounds mair," cried Willie, kindly,
" Eight pounds mair will do nae harm !
e ' And, O Jean ! gin some ware friendly,
" Eight pounds soon might stock a farm.
il There, ance mair, to thrive by pee win,
" Freed frae a' that Peace destroys,
il Idle Waste, and drucken Ruin!
" War, and a' its murdering joys !"
Thrice he kiss'd his lang-lost treasure !
Thrice ilk bairn ! but cou'd na speak : •
Tears o' Luve, and Hope, and Pleasure,
Stream'd in silence down his cheek !

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