O the beam of thy dark eye was flame-like aiul bright
In the days which are fled, bonny maiden,
Its each changing glance eeem'd a varying delight.
In bright hours—now dead, bonny maiden ;
And mirth like a melody dwelt on thy tongue.
And a halo of brightness around thee was flung.
And my love was artless , and ardent, and young,
In days which are fled, bonney maiden.

O a smile in the rose on thy cheek us'd to dwell.
In days which are fled, bonny maiden,
Or flitted thy varying emotions to tell
In bright hours—now dead, pretty maiden ;
But the beam of thine eye has been quench'd in a tear,
Thy cheek is now pale, and no sweet smile is there,
And I through the dark world now roam in despair,
My bright hopes all fled, bonny maiden.

We parted—the spring in its beauty return'd.
As in days which are fled, bonny maiden,
But in winter's chill frost my cold heart was inurn'd—
Its joys were all dead, bonny maiden ;
O the pretty wild flowers still spangled the moor,
The lark went on high, and was gay as of yore.
But my broken heart withcr'd, love warm'd it no more.
And its bright hope all fled, bonny maiden.