the banks o' doon—first version
  sweet are the banks—the banks o' doon,
  the spreading flowers are fair,
  and everything is blythe and glad,
  but i am 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 fause luve was true:
  thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird,
  that sings beside thy mate;
  for sae i sat, and sae i sang,
  and wist na o' my fate.
  aft hae i rov'd by bonie doon,
  to see the woodbine twine;
  and ilka birds sang o' its luve,
  and sae did i o' mine:
  wi' lightsome heart i pu'd a rose,
  upon its thorny tree;
  but my fause luver staw my rose
  and left the thorn wi' me:
  wi' lightsome heart i pu'd a rose,
  upon a morn in june;
  and sae i flourished on the morn,
  and sae was pu'd or noon!