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!