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.