The Catrine woods were yellow seen,
The flowers decayed on Catrine lee,
Nae lav’rock sang on hillock green,
But nature sickened on the e’e.
Thro’ faded groves Maria sang,
Hersel in beauty’s bloom the whyle,
And aye the wild-wood echoes rang,
‘Fareweel the braes o’ Ballochmyle!
‘Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers,
Again ye’ll flourish fresh and fair;
Ye birdies dumb, in withering bowers,
Again ye’ll charm the vocal air.
But here, alas! for me nae mair
Shall birdie charm, or floweret smile;
Fareweel, the bonnie banks of Ayr,
Fareweel, fareweel, sweet Ballochmyle!’