My Bonnie lies over the sea;"
She went in the first flush of spring-time,
To return in the autumn to me.
She said that she'd write, "oh, so often!"
And would never, no never, forget
The dearly loved boy she was leaving
With such tender and tearful regret.
'T was May when she went, and now autumn
Has come with its days bleak and chill;
But not once have I heard from the Fair One;
Not a word my soul's anguish to still.
Last night, as I glanced through my paper,
I read in the "Letter from France"
That my true, loving Bonnie was married
To the Comte Le Diable de Lance.
"My Bonnie lies over the ocean;"
And it grows to me more and more clear,
That as now she lies over the ocean,
So last spring she did lie over here.