Page:My bonnie Mary (1).pdf/8



Ye banks and braes o’ bonnie Doon,

How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair!

How can ye chant, ye little birds,

And I sae weary, fu' o' care.

Ye'll break my heart, ye little birds,

That wanton thro' the flow'ry thorn;

Ye mind me o' departed joys,

Departed never to return.

Oft hae I roam'd by bonnie Doon,

To see the rose and woodbine twine;

Whar ilka bird sang o‘ its love,

And fondly sae did I o’ mine.

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,

Fu‘ sweet upon its thorny tree;

And my fause love has stown the rose,

But ah! he left the thorn wi' me.