At fair or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching,
The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away.
At e’en in the gloaming, nae swankies are roaming
’Bout stacks wi’ the lasses at bogle to play;
But ilk maid sits eerie, lamenting her dearie,
The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away.
Dool and wae for the order sent our lads to the Border!
The English, for ance, by guile won the day;
The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost,
The prime of our land, lie cauld in the clay.