Robert Burns, 1793
Behold the hour, the boat, arrive!|
My dearest Nancy, O fareweel!
Severed frae thee, can I survive,
Frae thee whom I hae lov'd sae weel?
2. Endless and deep shall be my grief;
3. Alang the solitary shore|
Where flitting sea-fowl round me cry,
Across the rolling, dashing roar,
I'll westward turn my wishful eye.
4. "Happy thou Indian grove," I'll say,
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