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!