| As I roved out on a summer’s morning a-speculating most curiously
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| To my surprise, I there espied a charming fair maid approaching me
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| I stood awhile in deep meditation contemplating what I should do
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| 'Til at length recruiting all my sensations I thus accosted the Cailin Rua
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| Are you Aurora or the goddess Flora, Artemidora or Venus bright?
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| Or Helen, fair beyond compare, that Paris stole from the Grecian sight?
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| Oh fairest maiden, you have enslaved me, I’m captivated in Cupid’s clew
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| Your golden sayings are infatuations that have enslaved me, a Cailin Rua
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| Kind sir, be easy and do not tease me with your false praises so jestingly
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| Your dissimulation and invocation are vaunting praises alluring me
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| I am not Aurora or the goddess Flora, I’m a rural maid to all men’s view
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| Who’s here condoling my situation, my appelation the Cailin Rua
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| Oh were I Hector, that noble victor, who died a victim to Grecian skill
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| Or were I Paris whose deeds are various, an arbitrator on Ida’s Hill
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| I’d rage through Asia like Abyssinia Pennsylvania seeking you
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| The burning raygions like sage Orpheus to see your face, my sweet Cailin Rua |