THE CATRINE woods were yellow seen,
The flowers decayd on Catrine lee,
Nae lavrock sang on hillock green,
But nature sickend on the ee.
Thro faded groves Maria sang,
Hersel in beautys bloom the while;
And aye the wild-wood ehoes rang,
Fareweel the braes o Ballochmyle!
Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers,
Again yell flourish fresh and fair;
Ye birdies dumb, in withring bowers,
Again yell charm the vocal air.
But here, alas! for me nae mair
Shall birdie charm, or floweret smile;
Fareweel the bonie banks of Ayr,
Fareweel, fareweel! sweet Ballochmyle!
