II.

Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers, Again ye'll nourish fresh and fair; Ye birdies dumb, in withering bowers, Again ye'll charm the vocal air. But here, alas! for me nae mair Shall birdie charm, or floweret smile; Fareweel the bonnie banks of Ayr, Fareweel, fareweel! sweet Ballochmyle!

* * * * *