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Ye banks and braes o bonnie Doon
how can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?
How can ye chaunt, ye little bird,
And Im sae weary fu o care?
Yell break my heart, ye warbling bird,
That warbles on the flowry thorn,
Ye mind me o departed joys.
Departed never to return.
Oft hae I revd by Bonnie Doon,
By morning and by evening shine
To hear the birds sing o their loves
As fondly once I sang o mine.
Wi lightsome heart I stretchd my head
And pud a rosebud from the tree.
But my fause lover stole the rose,
And left the thron wi me.