O how can I be blythe and glad,
Orhow can I gangbrisk and braw,
When the bonie lad that I lo’e best
Is o’er the hills and far awa!
It’s no the frosty winter wind,
It’s nothe driving drift and snaw;
But aye the tear comes in my e’e,
To think on him that’s far awa.
My father patme fraehis door,
My friends they hae disown’d me a’;
ButI haeanewill takmy part,
The bonie lad that’s far awa.
A pair o’glooves he bought to me,
And silken snoodshe gaeme twa;
And I will wear them for his sake,
The bonielad that’s far awa.
O weary Winter soon will pass,
And Springwill cleedthe birkenshaw;
And my young babie will be born,
And he’ll be hamethat’s far awa.