BURNS’ SEASON : “Ye Banks and Braes”

Ye banks and braes o’ bonie Doon, How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair; How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae weary fu’ o’ care! Thou’ll break my heart thou warbling bird, That wantons thro’ the flowering thorn: Thou minds me o’ departed joys, Departed never to return. Aft hae IContinue reading “BURNS’ SEASON : “Ye Banks and Braes””