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The Banks O' Doon—Third Version

     Ye banks and braes o' bonie Doon,
     How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?
     How can ye chant, ye little birds,
     And I sae weary fu' o' care!
     Thou'll break my heart, thou warbling bird,
     That wantons thro' the flowering thorn:
     Thou minds me o' departed joys,
     Departed never to return.

     Aft hae I rov'd by Bonie Doon,
     To see the rose and woodbine twine:
     And ilka bird sang o' its Luve,
     And fondly sae did I o' mine;
     Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
     Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree!
     And may fause Luver staw my rose,
     But ah! he left the thorn wi' me.

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