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hen dry that tearful ee, Jean;
My soul langs to be free, Jean,
And angels wait on me
To the land o’ the leal.
Now, fare ye weel, my ain, Jean,
This warld’s care is vain, Jean,
We’ll meet, and aye be fain,
In the land o’ the leal.
———
BONNIE DOON.
Ye banks and braes o’ bonnie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair;
How can ye chant ye little birds
And I sae weary fu’ o’ care!
Thou’ll break my heart thou warbling bird,
That wantons thro’ the flowering thorn:
That minds me o’ departed joys,
Departed never to return.
Oft hae I rov’d by bonnie Doon,
To see the rose and woodbine twine;
And ilk a bird sang o’ its luve,
