Ye banks and braes of bonnie Doon How can ye bloom so fresh and fair? How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae weary, full of care! Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird That wantons through the flowery thorn; Thou mind'st me of departed joys, Departed, never to return. Oft have I rov'd by bonnie Doon To see the rose and woodbine twine; And ilka bird sang of its love, And fondly sae did I of mine. Wi' lightsome heart I pulled a rose Full sweet upon its thorny tree; nd my fause lover stole my rose, But Ah! he left the thorn wi' me.