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 ay the tear comes in my e’e
To think on him that’s far awa.
My father pat me frae his door,
Myh friends they hae disown’d me a’;
But I hae ane will tak my part –
The bonie lad that’s far awa.
A pair o’ gloves he bought to me,
And silken snoods he gae me twa,
And I will wear them for his sake,
The bonie lad that’s far awa.
O, weary Winter soon will pass,
And Spring will cleed the birken shaw,
And my sweet babie will be born,
And he’ ll be hame that’s far awa!