Ye banks and braes o' Bonnie Doon
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?
How can ye chant, ye little birds
And I'm sae weary, fu' o' care!
Ye'll break my heart, ye warbling birds
That wanton through the flow'ring thorn
Ye mind me o' departed joys
Departed, never to return

Oft I have rove by Bonnie Doon
To see the rose of woodbine twine
And ilka bird sang of its love
And fondly sae did I o' mine
Wi' lightsome heart I put a rose
Full sweet upon the thorny tree
But my false lover stole my rose
And ah, she left the thorn wi' me