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And join the bold united men, while soft winds shake the barley" 

While sad I kissed away her tears, my fond arms round her flinging
The foeman's shot
And join the bold united men, while soft winds shake the barley" 

While sad I kissed away her tears, my fond arms round her flinging
The foeman's shot
harp shall praise thee!"
The Minstrel fell! But the foeman's steel
Could not bring that proud soul under;
The harp he lov'd ne'er spoke again,
For he
And join the bold united men, while soft winds shake the barley" 

While sad I kissed away her tears, my fond arms round her flinging
The foeman's shot
the foeman.
But never again frae the fields o the slain
Tae his Moira will he come by Loch Lomond.

The thistle may bloom, the king hae his ain,
And fond
harp shall praise thee!"

The Minstrel fell! But the foeman's steel
Could not bring that proud soul under;
The harp he lov'd ne'er spoke again,
For
And join the bold united men, while soft winds shake the barley" 

While sad I kissed away her tears, my fond arms round her flinging
The foeman's shot
praise thee!"

The minstrel fell! - but the foeman's chain
Could not bring that proud soul under;
The harp he loved ne'er spoke again
For he tore is
praise thee!"

The Minstrel fell! But the foeman's chain
Could not bring that proud soul under
The harp he lov'd ne'er spoke again
For he tore its
praise thee!"

The minstrel fell! - but the foeman's chain
Could not bring that proud soul under;
The harp he loved ne'er spoke again
For he tore is
praise thee!"

The Minstrel fell! But the foeman's chain
Could not bring that proud soul under
The harp he lov'd ne'er spoke again
For he tore its
praise thee!"

The minstrel fell! But the foeman's chain
Could not bring his proud soul under;
The harp he loved ne'er spoke again,
For he tore its
praise thee!"

The Minstrel fell! But the foeman's chain
Could not bring that proud soul under
The harp he lov'd ne'er spoke again
For he tore its
tae the foeman.
But never again frae the fields o the slain
Tae his Moira will he come by Loch Lomond.

The thistle may bloom, the king hae his ain,
the foeman.
But never again frae the fields o the slain
Tae his Moira will he come by Loch Lomond.

The thistle may bloom, the king hae his ain,
And fond
blessing
And His help in woes distressing

Praise the Lord in joyful numbers
Your Protector never slumbers
At the will of your Defender
Ev?ry foeman must
They gonna sit back and relax the worse nightmare 
Chasing me like imma foeman need to be secure 
They are making life critical 
Flipping like
As dauntless in battle as tender in love He'd yield ne'er a foor toe the foeman (enemy) But never again frae the field o' the slain (from) Tae his Moira will he

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