Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?
How can ye chaunt, ye little birds,
And I'm sae weary fu' o' care?
Ye'll break my heart, ye warbling bird,
That warbles on the flowry thorn,
Ye mind me o' departed joys.
Departed never to return.

Oft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon,
By morning and by evening shine
To hear the birds sing o' their loves
As fondly once I sang o' mine.
Wi' lightsome heart I stretch'd my hand
And pu'd a rosebud from the tree.
But my fause lover stole the rose,
And left the thorn wi' me.