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 ’lt break my heart, thou warbling bird,
  That wantons through the flowering thorn;
Thou minds me o’ departed joys,
  Departed—never to return.

Thou ’lt break my heart, thou bonnie...