I 'll tend thy bower, my bonnie May,
In spring time o' the year;
When saft'ning winds begin to woo
The primrose to appear;
When daffodils begin to dance,
And streams again flow free;
And little birds are heard to pipe,
On the sprouting forest tree.
I 'll tend thy bower, my bonnie May,
When summer days are lang,
When nature's heart is big wi' joy,
Her voice laden wi' sang;
When shepherds pipe on sunny braes,
And flocks roam at their will,
And auld and young, in cot an' ha',
O' pleasure drink their fill.
I 'll tend thy bower, my bonnie May,
When autumn's yellow fields,
That wave like seas o' gowd, before
The glancin' sickle yields;
When ilka bough is bent wi' fruit--
A glorious sight to see!--
And showers o' leaves, red, rustling, sweep
Out owre the withering lea.
I 'll tend thy bower, my bonnie May,
When, through the naked trees,
Cauld, shivering on the bare hill-side,
Sweeps wild the frosty breeze;
When tempests roar, and billows rise,
Till nature quakes wi' fear,
And on the land, and on the sea,
Wild winter rules the year.