Ye banks and braes

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,

how can you bloom so fresh and fair?

How can ye chaunt, ye little birds,

and I'm so weary, full of care?

Ye'll break my heart, ye warbling birds

that wanton on the flow'ry thorn,

ye mind me o' departed joys,

departed, never to return.

Oft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon,

to see the rose and woodbine twine.

And ilka bird sang o' its love,

and fondly sae did I o' mine.

With lightsome heart I pu'd a rose

fu' sweet upon its tree.

But my false lover stole my rose,

and ah! he left the thorn wi' me.