I've heard them lilting, at the ewe-milking,  
Lasses a' lilting, before dawn of day; 
But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning; 
The flowers of the forest are a' wede awae. 

At bughts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning; 
Lasses are lonely, and dowie, and wae; 
Nae daffing, nae gabbing, but sighing and sabbing; 
Ilk ane lifts her leglin, and hies her awae. 

In har'st, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering; 
Bandsters are runkled, and lyart or gray; 
At fair, or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching; 
The flowers of the forest are a' wede awae.  

At e'en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming 
'Bout stacks with the lasses at bogle to play; 
But ilk maid sits dreary, lamenting her deary  --  
The flowers of the forest are a' wede awae. 

Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border! 
The English, for ance, by guile wan the day; 
The flowers of the forest, that fought aye the foremost, 
The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay.  

We'll hear nae mair lilting, at the ewe-milking; 
Women and bairns are heartless and wae: 
Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning  --  
The flowers of the forest are a' wede awae.