Phillis The Fair
While larks with little wing
Fann'd the pure air,
Viewing the breathing spring,
Forth I did fare:
Gay the sun's golden eye
Peep'd o'er the mountains high;
Such thy morn! did I cry,
Phillis the fair.
In each bird's careless song,
Glad, I did share;
While yon wild flowers among
Chance led me there:
Sweet to the opening day,
Rosebuds bent the dewy spray;
Such thy bloom, did I say,
Phillis the fair.
Down in a shady walk,
Doves cooing were;
I mark'd the cruel hawk,
Caught in a snare:
So kind may Fortune be,
Such make his destiny!
He who would injure thee,
Phillis the fair.
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Works read by Lorraine McIntosh—The works of Robert Burns
All her recordings from the 250th anniversary project.
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