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In spots like these it is we prizeOur Memory, feel that she hath eyes:Then, why should I be loth to stir?I feel this place was made for her;To give new pleasure like the past,Continued long as life shall last.Nor am I loth, though pleased at heart,Sweet Highland Girl! from Thee to part;For I, methinks, till I grow old,As fair before me shall behold,As I do now, the Cabin small,The Lake, the Bay, the Waterfall;And Thee, the Spirit of them all!
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