Why dowie and sad sits poor Marian,
And why steal the tears frae her e'e?
The flow'rs that in spring time were blooming,
Bloom'd nae half sae bonie to see.

Wha ance was sae blythe as Marian,
Wha danc'd half sae light on the green;
But now a' the lave weep, sin' Marian
Nae mair with the younkers is seen.

The flocks on the hills are a' sporting,
The gowdspink sings sweet on the spray;
While Marian sits wailing where Sandy
Aft pip'd at the close of the day.

Nae mair in the hairst, at the sheering,
The jokes and the blythe tales are told;
Nae music is heard in the loanings,
When wearing the sheep to the fold.

O! dool tak' the loons, whase ambition
Sends lads frae the lasses awa',
And mak's Marian weep by the burnie
For Sandy, the flower o' them a'!