Sweet are the banks—the banks o’ Doon,The spreading flowers are fair,And everything is blythe and glad,But I am fu’ o’ care.Thou’ll break my heart, thou bonie bird,That sings upon the bough;Thou minds me o’ the happy daysWhen my fause Luve was true:Thou’ll break my heart, thou bonie bird,That sings beside thy mate;For sae I sat, and sae I sang,And wist na o’ my fate.12
Aft hae I rov’d by bonie Doon,To see the woodbine twine;And ilka birds sang o’ its Luve,And sae did I o’ mine:Wi’ lightsome heart I pu’d a rose,Upon its thorny tree;But my fause Luver staw my roseAnd left the thorn wi’ me:Wi’ lightsome heart I pu’d a rose,Upon a morn in June;And sae I flourished on the morn,And sae was pu’d or noon!24