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Poem by Robert Burns
The Gloomy Night
THE gloomy night is gathering fast, Loud roars the wild inconstant blast, Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, I see it driving o’er the plain; The hunter now has left the moor, The scatter’d coveys meet secure, While here I wander, prest with care, Along the lonely banks of Ayr. The Autumn mourns her ripening corn By early Winter’s ravage torn; Across her placid azure sky, She sees the scowling tempest fly: Chill runs my blood to hear it rave, I think upon the stormy wave, Where many a danger I must dare, Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr. ‘Tis not the surging billow’s roar, ‘Tis not that fatal, deadly shore; Tho’ death in ev’ry shape appear, The wretched have no more to fear: But round my heart the ties are bound, That heart transpierc’d with many a wound: These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, To leave the bonnie banks of Ayr. Farewell, old Coila’s hills and dales, Her heathy moors and winding vales; The scenes where wretched fancy roves, Pursuing past unhappy loves! Farewell, my friends! Farewell, my foes! My peace with these, my love with those; The bursting tears my heart declare, Farewell, the bonnie banks of Ayr!
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