The Banks O' Doon-Third Version

      Ye banks and braes o' bonie Doon,      How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?      How can ye chant, ye little birds,      And I sae weary fu' o' care!      Thou'll break my heart, thou warbling bird,      That wantons thro' the flowering thorn:      Thou minds me o' departed joys,      Departed never to return.       Aft hae I rov'd by Bonie Doon,      To see the rose and woodbine twine:      And ilka bird sang o' its Luve,      And fondly sae did I o' mine;      Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,      Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree!      And may fause Luver staw my rose,      But ah! he left the thorn wi' me.