YE BANKS O' DOON

(Third Version)

Robert Burns 1759-96

Ye banks and braes o' bonie Doon, 

How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair? 

How can ye chant, ye little birds, 

And I sae weary fu' o' care! 

Thou'll break my heart, thou warbling bird, 

That wantons thro' the flowering thorn: 

Thou minds me o' departed joys, 

Departed never to return. 

Aft hae I rov'd by bonie Doon, 

To see the rose and woodbine twine: 

And ilka bird sang o' its Luve, 

And fondly sae did I o' mine; 

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 

Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree! 

And may fause Luver staw my rose, 

But ah! he left the thorn wi' me.

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