Oh brightly shines the sun there where wee birdies sing,
A glamour's o'er the buds in the green lap of spring,
In happy, happy laughter children's voices ring!
Like some fair enchanted ground,
In memory it is found,
Where my childhood's golden hours of happiness were spent;
There within a leafy nook,
I have pored upon a book
Till romance and fairy lore with every thought were blent.
I mind how fair the world was one bright summer day,
Sitting in a shady place better seemed than play;
Childhood's golden memories never fade away;
My child friend most sweet and fair,
My bright Lily she was there;
We read and mused in silence and spoke our thoughts by turns;
Lily, with her lofty look,
Turned oftenest to her book,
The book that lay between us was the peasant poet Burns.
The heaven-gifted man with winsome witching art,
Who touches at his will the kindly human heart,
'Till it throbs with joy like pain and tears begin to start;
He so tenderly touched ours
With his melting magic powers,
Made feelings which he felt within our bosoms spring,
Where he wished for Scotia's sake,
Some plan or book to make,
Or to write the bonnie songs his country loves to sing.
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