OF a' the airts the wind can blaw,
I dearly like the West;
For there the bony Lassie lives,
The Lassie I lo'e best:
There 's wild-woods grow, and rivers row,
And mony a hill between:
But day and night my fancy’s flight
Is ever wi' my Jean.----

I see her in the dewy flowers,
I see her sweet and fair;
I hear her in the tunefu' birds,
I hear her charm the air:
There 's not a bony flower that springs
By fountain, shaw, or green;
There 's not a bony bird that sings
But minds me o' my Jean.----