Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie 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 mids me o' departed joys,
Departed never to return

Oft hae I rov'd me bonnie Doon,
To see the rose and woodbine twine;
And ilka bird sang o' it's luve,
And fondly sae did I o' mine.

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
Fu' sweet upon it's thorny tree
And my fause luver staw my rose,
But ah! He left the thorn wi' me.