Thou Fair Eliza（2 / 2）
while the life beats in my bosom,
thou shalt mix in ilka throe:
turn again, thou lovely maiden,
ae sweet smile on me bestow.
not the bee upon the blossom,
in the pride o' sinny noon;
not the little sporting fairy,
all beneath the simmer moon;
not the minstrel in the moment
fancy lightens in his e'e,
kens the pleasure, feels the rapture,
that thy presence gies to me.
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