Roll on, lovely Doon, all amang the green valleys*
The fields which I used to adore
I will wander beside you and weep in the willows
Where my Billy did wander before
My Billy was handsome, with manners adorning
He was the sport of the youths on the lawn
He was as fresh as the rose on a sweet summer's morning
Embathed in the dew of the dawn
The lamb on the mountain could not be more artless
The dove no more constant than he
When the gaudy a**embled for the night-brawling parties
My Billy came always to me
Roll on lovely Doon, Roll on lovely Doon
When the work of the day in the meadow was over
By the light of the pale silver moon
I would wander and talk with my true hearted lover
Amang the sweet windings of Doon
Alas he did sail to a far distant nation
Embossed in the white rolling wave
Where the sons of the wealthy divide the plantation
My Billy got nought but a grave
Oh the sailors burst out in a heart felt emotion
Our messmate alas is no more
And they wept as they weighed to return across the ocean
For the youth they entombed on the shore
The scourge of the climes has destroyed all the blossom