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Poem by James Hogg
Sing on, Sing on
Sing on, sing on, my bonnie bird, The sang ye sang yestreen, O, When here, aneath the hawthorn wild, I met my bonnie Jean, O. My blude ran prinklin through my veins, My hair began to steer, O; My heart play'd deep against my breast, As I beheld my dear, O. O weels me on my happy lot! O weels me on my dearie! O weels me on the charmin' spot, Where a' combin'd to cheer me. The mavis liltit on the bush, The lavrock on the green, O; The lily bloom'd, the daisy blush'd, But a' was nought to Jean, O. Sing on, sing on, my bonnie thrush, Be neither flee'd nor eerie; I'll wad your love sits in the bush, That gars ye sing sae cheerie: She may be kind, she may be sweet, She may be neat and dean, O; But O she's but a drysome mate, Compar'd wi' bonnie Jean, O. If love wad open a' her stores, An' a' her bloomin' treasures, And bid me rise, an' turn an' choose, And taste her chiefest pleasures; My choice wad be the rosy cheek, The modest beamin' eye, O; The yellow hair, the bosom fair, The lips o' coral dye, O. A bramble shade around her head, A burnie poplin' by, O; Our bed the swaird, our sheet the plaid, Our canopy the sky, O. And here's the burn, an' there's the bush Around the flowerie green, O; An' this the plaid, an' sure the lass Wad be my bonnie Jean, O. Hear me, thou bonnie modest moon! Ye starnies twinklin' high, O! An' a' ye gentle powers aboon, That roam athwart the sky, O. To see me gratefu' for the past, Ye saw me blest yestreen, O; An' ever till I breathe my last Ye'll see me true to Jean, O.
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