The Song Book No. 4/Banks of Doon
For other versions of this work, see The Banks O' Doon.
Banks of Doon.
Ye banks and braes o' bonny Doon,
how can ye bloom sae fresh and fair!
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
and I sae weary, fu' o' care!
Thoul't break my heart thou warbling bird,
that wantons thro' the flow'ring thorn,
Thou minds me o' departed joys,
departed never to return.
how can ye bloom sae fresh and fair!
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
and I sae weary, fu' o' care!
Thoul't break my heart thou warbling bird,
that wantons thro' the flow'ring thorn,
Thou minds me o' departed joys,
departed never to return.
Oft hae I roved by bonny Doon,
to see the rose and woodbine twine;
And ilka birds sang o' its love,
and foundly 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 thorn wi' me.
to see the rose and woodbine twine;
And ilka birds sang o' its love,
and foundly 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 thorn wi' me.