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 wild woods grow, and rivers row,   And monie 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.

airts] points of the compass. row] roll.