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The briars, clad with roses,
perfume the passing gale;
And sweet's the bonny hawthorn
that blooms in the vale.
That blooms, &c.

His words were so moving,
and looks soft and kind,
Convinc'd me the youth
had no guile in his mind;
My heart too confess'd him
the flower of the dale,
Beneath the bonny hawthorn
that blooms in the vale.
That blooms, &c.

Yet I oft bade him go,
for I could no longer stay,
But leave me he would not,
nor let me away;
Still pressing his suit,
and at last he did prevail,
Beneath the bonny hawthorn
that blooms in the vale.
That blooms, &c.

Now tell me, ye maids,
How could I refuse?
His lips they were sweet,
and so binding his vows:

D3