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’lt break my heart, thou warbling bird, That wantons thro’ the flowering thorn: Thou minds me o’ departed joys, Departed never to return.

Aft 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. Wi’ lightsome heart I pu’d a rose, Fu’ sweet upon its thorny tree; And my fause lover stole my rose, But ah! s he left the thorn wi’ me.

(EARLIER VERSION)

YE flowery banks o’ bonnie Doon, How can ye blume sae fair? How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae fu’ o’ care ?

Thou’ll break my heart, thou bonnie bird, That sings upon the bough ; Thou minds me o’the happy days, When my fause luve was true.

Thou’ll break my heart, thou bonnie bird, That sings beside thy mate; For sae I sat, and sae I sang, And wist na o’ my fate.

Aft hae I rov’d by bonnie Doon, To see the wood-bine twine, And ilka bird sang o’ its love, And sae did I o’ mine.

Wi’ lightsome heart I pu’d a rose Frae off its thorny tree : But my fause luver staw my rose, And left the thorn wi’ me.

Wi’ lightsome heart I pu’d a rose Upon a morn in June; And sae I flourish’d on the morn, And sae was pu’d ere noon.