How blythe ilk morn was I to see
My swain come o'er the hill!
He skipt the burn, and flew to me,
I met him with good will.
   O the broom, the bonny, bonny broom,
   The broom of Cowdenknows;
   I wish I were with my dear swain,
   At hame to tend the ewes.

 ... 

He tun'd his pipe and reed sae sweet,
The birds stood list'ning by;
Ev'n the dull cattle stood and gaz'd,
Charm'd with his melody.
   O the broom, etc.

 ... 

Adieu, ye Cowdenknows, adieu!
Farewell a' pleasures there!
Ye gods, restore me to my swain,
Is a'  I crave or care!
   O the broom, etc.