My love was once a bonny lad, 
He was the flow'r of a' his kin;
The absence of his bonny face 
Has rent my tender heart in twain.
I day nor night, find no delight, 
In silent tears I still complain;
And exclaim 'gainst those my rival foes, 
That ha'e ta'en from me my darling swain.

Despair and anguish fill my breast, 
Since I have lost my blooming rose;
I sigh and moan, while others rest, 
His absence yields me no repose.
To seek my love I'll range and rove, 
Thro' ev'ry grove and distant plain;
Thus I'll ne'er cease, but spend my days, 
To hear tidings from my darling swain.