the bonie lad that's far awa
o how can i be blythe and glad,
or how can i gang brisk 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 no the driving drift and snaw;
but aye the teares in my e'e,
to think on him that's far awa.
my father pat me frae his door,
my friends they hae disown'd me a';