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Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore, O'erhung with wild woods, thick 'ning green; The fragrant birch and hawthorn hoar

"Twin'd amorous round the raptur'd scene: The flow'rs sprang wanton to be prest, The-birds sang love on every spray, Till too, too soon the glowing west

Proclaim'd the speed of wingèd day.

Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes,
And fondly broods with miser care!
Time but th' impression stronger makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear.
My Mary, dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest?
See'st thou thy lover lowly laid?

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My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;

My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer;

A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,

My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.

Farewell to the mountains, high-cover'd with snow;

Farewell to the straths1 and green valleys below;

Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods, Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;

My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer;

A-chasing the wild deer, and following the

roe,

My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.

THE BANKS O' DOON

Ye flowery banks o' bonie Doon,
How can ye blume sae fair?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae 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 bird sang o' its luve,
And sae did I o' mine.

Wi' lightsome heart I pù'd a rose,
Frae aff its thorny tree;
And my fause luver staw2 my rose
But left the thorn wi' me.

AFTON WATER

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The birth-place of valour, the country of Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy greer worth;

Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

Mary Campbell, who died in 1786; Burns's "Highland Mary."

braes,3

Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;

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Wi' monie a vow, and lock'd embrace,
Our parting was fu' tender;
And, pledging aft to meet again,
We tore oursels asunder;
But O, fell death's untimely frost,
That nipt my flower sae carly!
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay,
That wraps my Highland Mary!

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,
I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly!
And closed for aye the sparkling glance
That dwelt on me sae kindly!
And mould'ring now in silent dust,
That heart that lo'ed me dearly!
But still within my bosom's core
Shall live my Highland Mary.

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Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, By your sons in servile chains!

Your waters never drumlic! 2
There simmer first unfalds her robes,
And there the langest tarry;

For there I took the last fareweel
O' my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk,
How rich the hawthorn's blossom,
As underneath their fragrant shade
I clasp'd her to my bosom!
The golden hours on angel wings,
Flew o'er me and my dearie;
For dear to me, as light and life,
Was my sweet Highland Mary.

birch muddy

We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!

Lay the proud usurpers low!

8 Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!-
Let us do or die!

CONTENTED WI' LITTLE AND CANTIE WI' MAIR

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Contented wi' little, and cantie1 wi' mair, Whene'er I forgather2 wi' Sorrow and Care,

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16 I gie them a skelp3 as they're creeping alang,

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Wi' a cog o' gude swats2 and an auld Scot- | Ye see yon birkie,1 ca'd a lord,

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A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT

Is there,s for honest poverty,

That hings his head, an' a' that? The coward slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor for a' that! For a' that, an' a' that,

Our toils obscure, an' a' that; The rank is but the guinea's stamp;

The man's the gowds for a' that.

What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hodden-grey,10 an' a' that;

Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,'
A man's a man for a' that.

For a' that, an' a' that,

Their tinsel show, an' a' that;

The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor,
Is king of men for a' that.

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Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that; Tho' hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that. For a' that, an' a' that,

His riband, star, an' a' that,
The man o' independent mind,
He looks and laughs at a' that.

A prince can mak a belted knight,
But an honest man's aboon his might,
A marquis, duke, an' a' that;
Guid faith, he mauna fa's that!
For a' that, an' a' that,

Their dignities, an' a' that,
The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth,
Are higher rank than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may,

As come it will for a' that, That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, an' a' that. For a' that, an' a' that,

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O, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST

O, wert thou in the cauld blast,
On yonder lea, on yonder lea,

My plaidie to the angry airt,

I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee.

Or did misfortune's bitter storms

Around thee blaw, around thee blaw,

Thy bield should be my bosom,

To share it a', to share it a'.

Or were I in the wildest waste,

Sae black and bare, sae black and bare, The desert were a paralise,

If thou wert there, if thou wert there.

Or were I monarch o' the globe,

Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign,
The brightest jewel in my crown
Wad be my queen, wad be my queen.

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THE ROMANTIC REVIVAL

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Wordsworth thought it worth while to print this "extract from the conclusion of a poem" which was written, at the age of sixteen. just before he left his school at Hawkshead. It both reveals his strong local attachment and anticipates his reliance upon what became for him a chief source of poetic inspiration, namely, "emotion recollected in tranquillity."

She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad:
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
-Her beauty made me glad.

"Sisters and brothers, little Maid,
How many may you be?''

"How many? Seven in all,'' she said
And wondering looked at me.

"And where are they? I pray you tell."
She answered, "Seven are .we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea.

"Two of us in the church-yard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And in the church-yard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother.' ""

"You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea.
Yet ye are seven!-I pray you tell,
Sweet Maid, how this may be."

Then did the little Maid reply,
"Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the church-yard lie,
Beneath the church-yard tree."

"You run about, my little Maid,
Your limbs they are alive;

If two are in the church-yard laid,
Then ye are only five."

"Their graves are green, they may be seen,"
The little Maid replied,

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Twelve steps or more from my mother's door,
And they are side by side.

"My stockings there I often knit,
My kerchief there I hem;
And there upon the ground I sit,
And sing a song to them.

66 'And often after sunset, Sir,

This, and the two poems that follow it, were
among those contributed by Wordsworth to
the joint volume of Lyrical Ballads which
he and Coleridge published in 1798 (see p.
428; also Eng. Lit., pp. 232-235). This poem When it is light and fair,
was written to show "the obscurity and
perplexity which in childhood attend our I take my little porringer,
notion of death, or rather our utter in-
ability to admit that notion."
And eat my supper there.

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