ROBERT BURNS
Fair and lovely as thou art, Thou hast stown my very heart; I can die but canna part, My Bonnie dearie.
While waters wimple to the sea, While day blinks in the lift sae hie; Till clay-cauld death shall blin' my e'e, Ye shall be my dearie.
Ca y the. yowes to the knowes . . .
��A N
��HENRY ROWE 521 Sun
^NGEL, king of streaming morn,
Cherub, call'd by Hcav'n to shine; T' orient tread the waste forlorn; Guide xthenal, pow'r divine, Thou, Lord of all within!
Golden spirit, lamp of day, Host, that dips in blood the plain, Bids the crimson 'd mead be gay, Bids the green blood burst the vein; Thou, Lord of all within'
Soul, that wraps the globe in light; Spirit, beckoning to arise, Drives the frowning brow of night, Glory bursting o'er the skies; Thou, Lord of all within! 520 lift] sky.
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