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The Isle of Mull is of isles the fairest,
Of ocean's gems 'tis the first and rarest;
Green grassy island of sparkling fountains,
Of waving woods and high tow'ring mountains.
1
How pleasant 'twas in the sweet May morning,
The rising sun thy gay fields adorning;
The feathered songsters their lays were singing,
While rocks and woods were with echoes ringing.
The Isle of Mull, etc.
2
But gone are now all those joys for ever,
Like bubbles bursting on yonder river:
Farewell, farewell, to thy sparkling fountains,
Thy waving woods and high tow'ring mountains.
The Isle of Mull, etc.
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