Robert Burns

Ye Banks and Braes

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?
Thou’lt break my heart, thou warbling bird,
  That wantons thro’ the flowering thorn:
Thou minds me o’ departed joys,
  Departed never to return.

Aft has I rov’d by bonnie Doon,
  To see the rose and woodbine twine;
And 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 lover stole my rose,
  But ah! he left the thorn wi’ me.

        (EARLIER VERSION.)

YE flowery banks o’ bonnie Doon,
  How can ye blume sae fair?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
  And I sae fu’ o’ care?

Thou’ll break my heart, thou bonnie bird,
  That sings upon the bough;
Thou minds me o’ the happy days,
  When my fause luve was true.

Thou’ll break my heart, thou bonnie bird,
  That sings beside thy mate;
For sae I sat, and sae I sang,
  And wist na o’ my fate.

Aft has I rov’d by bonnie Doon,
  To see the wood-bine twine,
And ilka bird sang o’ its love,
  And sae did I o’ mine.

Wi’ lightsome heart I pu’d a rose
  Frae off its thorny tree:
But my fause luver staw my rose,
  And left the thorn wi’ me.

Wi’ lightsome heart I pu’d a rose
  Upon a morn in June;
And sae I flourish’d on the morn,
  And sae was pu’d ere noon.