Yon banks and hills of bonnie Doon,
 How can you bloom so fresh and fair?
 And little birds, how can you chaunt
 With me so weary... full o' care?

 You'll break my heart, you warbling birds
 That wanton thru the flow'ry thorns
 You remind me of departed joys
 Departed... never to return.

 Oft did I rove by bonnie Doon
 To see the rose and woodbine twine
 And every bird sang of its love
 As fondly once I sang of mine.

 With lightsome heart I pulled a rose
 Full sweet from off its thorny tree
 But my first lover stole that rose
 And, ah! has left its thorns with me.