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Updated: June 15, 2025
Then he broke out clearly into the old Jacobite air with words of his own making: "Ye weave a bonny primrose ring; Ye hear the River callin'; Ye ken the Land whaur faeries sing Whaur starlicht beams are fallin'. 'Tis there the pipers play things true; 'Tis there ye'll gae my dearie The bonny Land 'at waits for you, Whaur ye'll be nae mair weary.
And eh, bonny man, willna ye come doon sometime or lang, and walk the hill here, that I may luik upo' ye ance mair as i' the days of old, whan the starlicht muntain shook wi' the micht o' the prayer ye heavit up til yer father in h'aven? Eh, gien ye war but ance to luik in at the door o' this my hoose that ye hae gien me, it wud thenceforth be to me as the gate o' paradise!
"Listen again!" Mellow and sweet came the notes of the Jacobite air a bar of it; and then the faeries began to sing, sending the song back to Sandy like a belated echo: "Ye weave a bonny primrose ring; Ye hear the River callin'; Ye ken the Land whaur faeries sing Whaur starlicht beams are fallin'." "For the love o' Mike!" laughed Sandy. "A'm unco glad a am."
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