“Ye banks and braes o’ bonie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae weary fu’ o’ care!
Thou’ll break my heart, thou warbling bird,
That wantons thro’ the flowering thorn:
Thou minds me o’ departed joys,
Departed never to return.

AfthaeI rov’d byBonieDoon,
To see the rose and woodbine twine:
And ilka bird sang o’ its Luve,
And fondly saedid I o’mine;
Wi’ lightsome heart I pu’d a rose,
Fu’sweet upon its thorny tree!
And may fauseLuver stawmy rose,
Butah! he left the thorn wi’me.”