Banks Of Doon

[FIRST VERSION.]

[An Ayrshire legend says the heroine of this affecting song was Miss
Kennedy, of Dalgarrock, a young creature, beautiful and accomplished,
who fell a victim to her love for her kinsman, McDoual, of Logan.]

I.
    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!
II.
    Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird,
      That sings upon the bough;
    Thou minds me o' the happy days
      When my fause love was true.
III.
    Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird,
      That sings beside thy mate;
    For sae I sat, and sae I sang,
      And wist na o' my fate.
IV.
    Aft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon,
      To see the woodbine twine,
    And ilka bird sang o' its love;
      And sae did I o' mine.
V.
    Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
      Frae aff its thorny tree:
    And my fause luver staw the rose,
      But left the thorn wi' me.
       *       *       *       *       *

THE BANKS O' DOON.
[SECOND VERSION.]
Tune--"_Caledonian Hunt's Delight._"
[Burns injured somewhat the simplicity of the song by adapting it to a
new air, accidentally composed by an amateur who was directed, if he
desired to create a Scottish air, to keep his fingers to the black
keys of the harpsichord and preserve rhythm.]

I.
    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 thro' the flowering thorn:
    Thou minds me o' departed joys,
      Departed--never to return!
II.
    Aft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon,
      To see the rose and woodbine twine;
    And ilka bird sang o' its luve,
      And fondly sae did I o' mine.
    Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
      Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree;
    And my fause luver stole my rose,
      But, ah! he left the thorn wi' me.
       *       *       *       *       *

Another “First 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.
     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:
     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.
     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:
     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:
     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!