First Version |
Second Version |
Third 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.
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- Ye flowery banks o’ bonnie Doon,
- How can ye bloom sae fair;
- How can ye chant, ye little birds,
- And I sae fu’ o’ care!
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- 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!
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- 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:
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- 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.
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- Thou’lt break my heart, thou warbling bird,
- That wantons thro’ the flowering thorn:
- Thou minds me o’ departed joys,
- Departed — never to return!
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- 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.
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- 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.
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- Thou’ll break my heart, thou warbling bird,
- That wantons thro’ the flowering thorn:
- Thou minds me o’ departed joys,
- Departed never to return.
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- 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:
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- Aft hae I rov’d by bonie Doon,
- To see the woodbine twine;
- And ilka bird sang o’ its Luve,
- And sae did I o’ mine.
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- Aft hae I rov’d by Bonie Doon,
- To see the rose and woodbine twine:
- And ilka bird sang o’ its Luve,
- And fondly sae did I o’ mine;.
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- 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:
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- 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.
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- Wi’ lightsome heart I pu’d a rose,
- Fu’ sweet upon its thorny tree!
- And may fause Luver staw my rose,
- But ah! She left the thorn wi’ me.
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- 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!
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- 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.
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