Nae daffin, nae gabbin, but sighing and sabbing,
Ilka ane lifts her leglen, and hies her away.
At e’en at the gloming, nae swankies are roaming,
’Mong stacks, with the lasses, at bogle to play;
But ilka ane sits dreary, lamenting her deary,
The Flowers of the Forest that are a’ wede away.
At harrest, at the shearing, nae youngsters are jeering,
The bansters are runkled, lyart, and grey.
At a fair, or a preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching,
Since our braw forresters are a’ wede away.