I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen,
A gate I fear I'll dearly rue:
I gat my death frae twa sweet een,
Twa lovely een o' bonie blue!
'Twas not her golden ringlets bright,
Her lips like roses wat wi' dew,
Her heaving bosom lily-white:
It was her een sae bonie blue!
She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she
wyl'd,
She charm'd my soul I wist na how;
And ay the stound, the deadly wound,
Cam frae her een sae bonie blue.
But 'spare to speak, and spare to speed' -
She'll aiblins listen to my vow:
Should she refuse, I'll lay my dead
To her twa een sae bonie blue!