Of A’ The Airts

Of a’ the airts the wind can blaw, I dearly like the west, For there the bonnie 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 bonnie flower that springs By fountain, shaw, or green; There’s not a bonnie bird that sings, But minds me o’ my Jean.

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.]