Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon, How can ye blume sae fair? How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae 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 false love was true. Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird, That sings beside thy mate; For sae I sat, and sae I sang, And wist na o' my fate. Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon To see the wood-bine twine, And ilka bird sang o' its luve, And sae did I o' mine. Wi' lightsome heart I pulled a rose Frae aff its thorny tree; And my false luver stole my rose But left the thorn wi' me.