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Ye banks and braes o' bonnie doon
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And i'm sae weary, fu' o' care!
Y'ell break my heart, ye warbling bird,
That wantons through the flow'ring thorn
Ye mind me o' departed joys,
Departed, never to return.
Oft i have roved by bonnie doon
To see the rose of woodbine twine;
And ilka bird sand o' its luve,
And fondly sae did i o'mine.
We lightsome hearts i stretch'd my hand
And pu'd a rosebud from the tree;
But my fause lover stole the rose
And left, and left the thorn wi' me
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