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The winds were laid, the air was still,
The stars they shot alang the sky;
The tod was howling on the hill,
And the distant echoing glens reply.
A lassie, &c.

The burn adown its hazally path,
Was rushing by the ruin'd wa',
Hasting to join the sweeping Nith,
Whase roarings seems to rise and fa'.
A lassie, &c:

The cauld blae north was streaming forth
Her lights, wi' hissing eerie din;
Athort the lift they start and shift,
Like fortune's favours, tint as win.
A lassie, '&c.

Now, looking over firth and fauld,
Her horn the pale-fac'd Cynthia rear'd,
When, lo! in form of minstrel auld,
A stern and stalwart ghaist appear’d.
A lassie, &c.

And frae his harp sic strains did flow,
Might rous'd the slumbering dead to hear,
But, oh! it was a tale of woe
As ever met a Briton's ear.
A lassie, &c.