My Ain Countree

The sun rises bright in France,

And fair sets he;

But he has tint the blythe blink he had

In my ain countree.

O, it 's nae my ain ruin

That saddens aye my e'e,

But the dear Marie I left behin'

Wi' sweet bairnies three.

My lanely hearth burn'd bonnie,

And smiled my ain Marie;

I've left a' my heart behin'

In my ain countree.

The bud comes back to summer,

And the blossom to the bee;

But I'll win back, O never,

To my ain countree.

O, I am leal to high Heaven,

Where soon I hope to be,

An' there I'll meet ye a' soon

Frae my ain countree!