4
Though wild-woods grow, and rivers row,
Wi’ mony a hill between,
Baith day and night my fancy’s flight
Is ever wi’ my Jean.
I see her in the dewy flower,
Sae lovely, sweet, and fair;
I hear her voice in ilka bird,
Wi’ music charm the air.
There’s not a bonny spot that springs
By fountain, shaw, or green,
Nor yet a bonny bird that sings.
But minds me o’ my Jean.
O blaw, ye westlin winds, blaw saft,
Amang the leafy trees;
Wi’ gentle breath, frae muir and dale,
Bring hame the laden bees;
And bring the lassie back to me,
That’s aye sae neat and clean!
Ae blink o’ her wad banish care,
Sae charming is my Jean.
What sighs and vows amang the knowes,
Hae past atween us twa;
How fain to meet, how wae to part,
That day she gaed awa.
The Powers aboon can only tell,
To whom the heart is seen.
That nane can be sae dear to me,
As my sweet lovely Jean!
