while willie's far frae logan braes.

within yon milk-white hawthorn bush,

amang her nestlings sits the thrush:

her faithfu' mate will share her toil,

or wi' his song her cares beguile;

but i wi' my sweet nurslings here,

nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer,

pass widow'd nights and joyless days,

while willie's far frae logan braes.

o wae be to you, men o' state,

that brethren rouse to deadly hate!

as ye make mony a fond heart mourn,

sae may it on your heads return!

how can your flinty hearts enjoy

the widow's tear, the orphan's cry?

but soon may peace bring happy days,

and willie hame to logan braes!