Percy Grainger — Ye Banks and Braes O Bonnie Doon

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair; How can ye chaunt, ye little birds And I sae weary, fu' o' care! Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird That warbles thro' the flow'ring thorn: Thou minds me o' departed joys Departed -- never to return! Aft hae I rov'd by bonnie 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; But my fause luver staw my rose But, ah! he left the thorn wi' me