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8

Ye’ll break my heart ye little birds,
That wanton thro’ the flow’ring thorn,
Ye mind me of departed joys,
Departed never to return.

Oft have I roam’d by bonny Doun.
To see the rose and woodbine twine,
Where ilka bird sung o’er its note,
And cheerfully I join’d wi’ mine.

Wi’ heartsome glee I pu’d a rose,
A rose out o’ yon thorny tree;
But my fause love has stown the rose,
And left the thorn behind to me.

Ye roses blaw your bonny blooms,
And draw the wild birds to thy burn;
For Lumen promis’d me a ring,
And ye maun aid me should I mourn.

Ah! na, na, na, ye needna mourn,
My een are dim and drowsy worn;
Ye bonny birds ye needna sing,
For Luman never can return.

My Luman’s love, in broken sighs,
At dawn of day by Doun ye’se hear,
And mid-day, by the willow green,
For him I’ll shed a silent tear.

Sweet birds, I ken ye’ll pity me,
And join me wi’ a plantive sang,
While echo wakes, and joins the mane
I mak for him I lo’ed sae lang.