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THEIR GROVES OF SWEET MYRTLE.
WRITTEN FOR THIS WORK
, BY BURNS.
AIR— BY NATHANIEL GOW.
Their groves of sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon,
Where bright-beaming- summers exalt the perfume ;
Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan,
Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom ;
Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers,
Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly, unseen ;
For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers,
A listening the linnet, oft wanders my Jean.
Though rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys,
And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave,
Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace,
What are they ? — The haunt of the tyrant and slave I
The slave's spicy forests, and gold bubbling fountains,
The brave Caledonian views with disdain ;
He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains,
Save love's willing fetters, the chains of his Jean.
VOL. II.

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