Robert Burns, 1787
Where, braving angry winter's storms,|
The lofty Ochils rise,
Far in their shade my Peggy's charms
First blest my wondering eyes.
As one who by some savage stream
A lonely gem surveys,
Astonish'd doubly, marks its beam
With art's most polish'd blaze.
2. Blest be the wild, sequester'd glade,|
And blest the day and hour,
Where Peggy's charms I first survey'd,
When first I felt their pow'r!
The tyrant Death, with prim control
May seize my fleeting breath,
But tearing Peggy from my soul
Must be a stronger death.
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