Of a’ the airts the wind can blaw,
I dearly like the West;
For there the bonny Lassie lives,
The Lassie I lo’e best:
Where wild-woods grow, and rivers row,
And mony a hill between:
Be it day or nicht my fancy’s flight
Is ever wi’ my Jean.
I see her in the dewy green,
Sae lovely sweet and fair;
I hear voice, an ilka voice
And music charms the air:
O’ there ‘s no’ a bonny flower that blooms
By bank or il or brae;
Nor yet a bonny bird that sings
That minds me o’ my Jean.