Braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes,
  Ye wander amang the blooming heather;
But Yarrow braes, nor Ettrick shaws,
  Can match the lads o' Galla Water.

But there is ane, a secret ane,
  Aboon them a' I loo him better;
And I'll be his, and he'll be mine,
  The bonnie lad o' Galla Water.

Altho' his daddie was nae laird,
  And tho' I hae nae meikle tocher,
Yet rich in kindest, truest love,
  We'll tent our flocks by Galla Water.

It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth,
  That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure;
The bands and bliss o' mutual love,
  O that's the chiefest warld's treasure!