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My friend so rare, my girl so fair, With such, what mortal can be richer?

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Give me but these-a fig for care, With my sweet girl, my friend, and pitcher.

From morning sun I'd never grieve,
To toil a hedger or a ditcher,
If that, when I come home at eve,
I might enjoy my friend and pitcher.
My friend so rare, &c.
Though fortune ever shuns my door,
I do not know what can bewitch

With all my heart can I be poor, With my sweet girl, my friend, and pitcher.

My friend so rare, &c


OH! my luve's like a red, red rose,

That's newly sprung in June; Oh my luve's like the melodie

That's sweetly play'd in tune. As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I—

And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

'Till a 'the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun; I will luve thee still, my dear,

While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only luve,

And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my luve,
Though it were ten thousand mile


LIFE let us cherish

While yet the taper glows,
And the fresh flow'ret

Pluck ere it close.

Why are we fond of toil and care?
Why choose the rankling thorn to wear,
And heedless by the lily stray,
Which blossoms in our way?

Life let us cherish, &c.
When clouds obscure the atmosphere,
And forked lightnings rend the air,
The sun resumes his silver crest,
And smiles adorn the west.

Life let us cherish, &c.

The genial seasons soon are o'er,
Then let us, ere we quit this shore,
Contentment seek-it is life's rest,
The sunshine of the breast.
Life let us cherish, &c

Away with every toil and care,
And cease the rankling thorn to wear
With manful heart life's conflicts meet.
'Till death sounds the retreat.
Life let us cherish, &c.


THE morn was fair, the skies were clear,
No breath came o'er the sea,
When Mary left her highland cot,
And wander'd forth with me:
Though flowers deck 'd the mountain's


And fragrance fill'd the vale, By far the sweetest flower there, Was the Rose of Allandale.

Where'er I wander'd, east or west,
Though fate began to lower,
A solace still was she to me,
In sorrow's lonely hour:

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When tempests lash'd our gallant bark, And rent our shivering sail,

One maiden form withstood the storm, 'Twas the Rose of Allandale.

And when my fever'd lips were parch'd,
On Afric's burning sands,
She whisper'd hopes of happiness,
And tales of distant lands:

My life had been a wilderness,
Unblest by fortune's gale,
Had fate not link'd my lot to her's,
The Rose of Allandale.


OH! take her, but be faithful still,
And may the bridal vow
Be sacred held in after years,
And warmly breathed as now
Remember, 'tis no common tie

That binds her youthful heart : "Tis one that only truth should weave, And only death can part

The joys of childhood's happy hour,
The home of riper years,
The treasured scenes of early youth,
In sunshine and in tears;


The purest hopes her bosom knew,
When her young heart was free,
All these and more she now resigns,
To brave the world with thee.

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Her lot in life is fix'd with thine,
Its good and ill to share;
And well I know 'twill be her pride
To sooth each sorrow there;
Then take her, and may fleeting time
Mark only joy's increase;
And may your days glide sweetly on
In happiness and peace.


COME, arouse thee, arouse thee, my brave Swiss boy,

Take thy pail, and to labour away:
Take thy pail, and to labour away:
The sun is up with ruddy beam,
The kine are thronging to the stream.
Come, arouse thee, arouse thee, my
brave Swiss boy,

Take thy pail, and to labour away.

Am noi I, am not I, say, a merry Swiss boy,

When I hie to the mountains away?

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