Bonnie Doon
A sweet, plaintive melody from Scotland's son, Robert Burns.
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Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon
How ye can bloom sae fresh and fair
How can ye chaunt ye little birds
And I sae weary fu' o' care
Ye'll break my heart, ye warblin' birds
That wantons thro' the flowerin' thorn
Ye mind me o' departed joys
Departed ne'er to return
Oft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon
Tae see the rose and woodbine twine
And ilka bird sang o' its love
And fondly sae did I o' mine
Wi' lightsome heart, I pu'd a rose
Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree
But my false lover stole my rose
But ah! She left the thorn wi' me
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