the airts the wind can blow
I dearly like the west,
For there the bonnie lassie lives,
The lassie I lo’e best,
Where wild-woods grow, and rivers row,
And many a hill between,
But day and night my fancy’s flight
Is ever wi’ my Jean.
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.