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The Banks O' Doon—First Version

     Sweet are the banks—the banks o' Doon,
     The spreading flowers are fair,
     And everything is blythe and glad,
     But I am fu' o' care.
     Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird,
     That sings upon the bough;
     Thou minds me o' the happy days
     When my fause Luve was true:
     Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird,
     That sings beside thy mate;
     For sae I sat, and sae I sang,
     And wist na o' my fate.

     Aft hae I rov'd by bonie Doon,
     To see the woodbine twine;
     And ilka birds sang o' its Luve,
     And sae did I o' mine:
     Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
     Upon its thorny tree;
     But my fause Luver staw my rose
     And left the thorn wi' me:
     Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
     Upon a morn in June;
     And sae I flourished on the morn,
     And sae was pu'd or noon!

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