A Poem by Robert Burns

The Catrine woods were yellow seen,
The flowers decay’d on Catrine lea,
Nae lav’rock sang on hillock green,
But nature sicken’d on the e’e.

Thro’ faded groves Maria sang,
Hersel’ in beauty’s bloom the while,
And ay the wild-wood echoes rang,
Fareweel the Braes o’ Ballochmyle!

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!