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8
For Lubin promis'd me a ring,
and ye maun aid me should I mourn,
Ah, na, na, na, ye needna bloom,
my een are dim and drowsy worn,
Ye bonny birds ye needna sing,
for Lubia never will return.
Ye roses blaw your bonny blooms,
And draw the wild birds by the burn,
Where oft I drop the silent tear,
For him that never will return.
Sweet birds I ken ye'll pity me,
And join me wi' a plaintive sang,
While echo wakes, and joins the mane
I mak for him I loe’d sae lang,
FINIS.
