O HOW can I be blythe and glad,
Or how can I gang brisk and braw,
When the bonie lad that I loe best
Is oer the hills and far awa!
Its no the frosty winter wind,
Its no the driving drift and snaw;
But aye the tear comes in my ee,
To think on him thats far awa.
My father pat me frae his door,
My friends they hae disownd me a;
But I hae ane will tak my part,
The bonie lad thats far awa.
A pair o glooves he bought to me,
And silken snoods he gae me twa;
And I will wear them for his sake,
The bonie lad thats far awa.
O weary Winter soon will pass,
And Spring will cleed the birken shaw;
And my young babie will be born,
And hell be hame thats far awa.
