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Out over the Forth, I look to the North, But what is the North and its Highlands to me; The South, nor the East, gie ease to my breast, The far foreign land, or the wide rolling sea: But I look to the West, when I gae to rest, That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be; For far in the West lives he I lo'e best, The man that is dear to my babie and me.