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 sing, ye little bird?
And I sae weary, full o' care.

Ye'll break my heart, ye warblin' bird,
That wanders through the flowerin' thorn.
Ye 'mind me of departed joys;
Departed, never to return.

I've often rode by bonnie Doon
To see the rose and woodbine twine.
And every bird sang of its love,
And fondly so did I o' mine.

With lightsome heart I pu'd a rose
From sweet upon its thorny tree.
But my false lover stole my rose,
And all she left, the thorn for me.

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?
How can ye sing, ye little bird? 
And I sae weary, full o' care!