The Banks o' Doon (1)

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'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird,That wantons thro' the flowering thorn:Thou minds me o' departed joys,Departed—never to return.

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird,That sings beside thy mate;For sae I sat, and sae I sang,And wist na o' my fate.Aft hae I rov'd by bonie Doon,To see the rose and woodbine twine;And ilka bird sang o' its luve,And sae did I o' mine.

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree;And my fause luver staw my rose,But ah! he left the thorn wi' me.Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a roseUpon a morn in June;And sae I flourish'd on the morn,And sae was pu'd on noon.