At bughts in the morning nae blythe lads are scorning;
The lasses are lanely, and dowie, and wae;
Nae daffing, nae gabbing, but sighing and sabbing,
Ilk ane lifts her leglin, and hies her away.
In hairst, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering:
The bandsters are lyart, and runkled, and gray.
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;