the bonied that's far awa

o how can i be blythe and d,

or how can i gang brisk and braw,

when the bonied 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 tear es 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';