the banks o' doon—first version
sweet are the banks—the banks o' doon,
the spreading flowers are fair,
and everything is blythe and glad,
but i am fu' o' care.
thou'll break my heart, thou bonie 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 bonie bird,
that sings beside thy mate;
for sae i sat, and sae i sang,
and wist na o' my fate.
aft hae i rov'd by bonie doon,
to see the woodbine twine;
and ilka birds sang o' its luve,
and sae did i o' mine:
wi' lightsome heart i pu'd a rose,
upon 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 flourished on the morn,
and sae was pu'd or noon!