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I gaed a waefu' gate, yestreen, A gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue; I gat my death frae twa sweet een, Twa lovely e'en o' bonie blue. 'Twas not her golden ringlets bright, Her lips like roses, wat wi' dew, Her heaving bosom, lily-white, It was her een sae bonie blue. She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wyl'd, She charm'd my soul I wist na how; And ay the stound, the deadly wound, Cam frae her een sae bonie blue. But spare to speak, and spare to speed; She'll aiblins listen to my vow: Should she refuse, I'll lay my dead To her twa een sae bonie blue.