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For there the bonny lassie lives,
The lassie I loe best;
There wild-woods grow, and rivers row,
And mony a hill between;
But day and night my fancy's flight,
Is ever wi' my Jean.
I see her in the dewy flowers,
I see her sweet and fair,
I hear her in the tunefu’ birds,
I hear her charm the air:
There’s not a bonnie flower that springs,
By fountain, shaw or green.
There’s not a bonnie bird that sings,
But minds me o' my Jean.
Upon the banks of flowing Clyde,
The lasses busk them braw;
But when their best they hae put on,
My Jeanie dings them a';
In hamely weeds she far exceeds,
The fairest of the town;
Baith grave and gay confess it sae,
Tho' dress'd in russet gown.
