Ye banks and braes o' bonnie doon How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair? How can ye chant, ye little birds, And i'm sae weary, fu' o' care! Y'ell break my heart, ye warbling bird, That wantons through the flow'ring thorn Ye mind me o' departed joys, Departed, never to return. Oft i have roved by bonnie doon To see the rose of woodbine twine; And ilka bird sand o' its luve, And fondly sae did i o'mine. We lightsome hearts i stretch'd my hand And pu'd a rosebud from the tree; But my fause lover stole the rose And left, and left the thorn wi' me