| Originale | Standard English Translation |
| LOGAN BRAES | LOGAN HILLSIDES |
| | |
| O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide, | O Logan, sweetly did you glide |
| That day I was my Willie's bride, | That day I was my Willie's bride, |
| And years sin syne hae o'er us run, | And years since then have over us run |
| Like Logan to the simmer sun: | Like Logan to the summer sun. |
| But now thy flowery banks appear | But now your flowery banks appear |
| Like drumlie Winter, dark and drear, | Like dull winter, dark and dreary, |
| While my dear lad maun face his faes, | While my dear lad must face his foes |
| Far, far frae me and Logan braes. | Far, far from me and Logan hillsides |
| | |
| Again the merry month of May | Again the merry month of May |
| Has made our hills and valleys gay; | Has made our hills and valleys gay; |
| The birds rejoice in leafy bowers, | The birds rejoice in leafy bowers, |
| The bees hum round the breathing flowers; | The bees hum round the breathing flowers; |
| Blythe Morning lifts his rosy eye, | Blythe Morning lifts his rosy eye, |
| And Evening's tears are tears o' joy: | And Evening tears are tears of joy: |
| My soul, delightless a' surveys, | My soul with no delight all surveys, |
| While Willie's far frae Logan braes. | While Willie is far from Logan hillsides |
| | |
| Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, | Within yonder milk-white hawthorn bush, |
| Amang her nestlings sits the thrush: | Among her nestlings sits the thrush: |
| Her faithfu' mate will share her toil, | Her faithful mate will share her toil, |
| Or wi' his song her cares beguile; | Or with his song her cares beguile. |
| But I wi' my sweet nurslings here, | But I with my sweet nurslings here, |
| Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer, | No mate to help, no mate to cheer, |
| Pass widow'd nights and joyless days, | Pass widowed nights and joyless days, |
| While Willie's far frae Logan braes. | While Willie is far from Logan hillsides |
| | |
| O wae be to you, Men o' State, | O, woe upon you, Men of State, |
| That brethren rouse to deadly hate! | That brethren rouse in deadly hate! |
| As ye make mony a fond heart mourn, | As you make many a fond heart mourn, |
| Sae may it on your heads return! | So may it on your heads return! |
| How can your flinty hearts enjoy | You remember not amid your cruel joys |
| The widow's tear, the orphan's cry? | The widow's tears, the orphan's cries; |
| But soon may peace bring happy days, | But soon may peace bring happy days, |
| And Willie hame to Logan braes! | And Willie home to Logan hillsides! |
