Cream of Tannahill's Songs (3)/The Flower o' Dumblane
For other versions of this work, see Jessie the Flower o' Dunblane.
SONGS.
JESSIE, THE FLOWER O' DUMBLANE.
The sun has gane down o'er the lofty Benlomond,
And left the red clouds to preside o'er the scene,
While lanely I stray in the calm summer gloaming,
To muse on sweet Jessie the flow'r o' Dumblane.
How sweet is the brier, wi' its saft faulding blossom.
And sweet is the birk, wi' its mantle o' green;
Yet sweeter and fairer, and dear to this bosom,
Is lovely young Jessie, the flower o' Dumblane.
And left the red clouds to preside o'er the scene,
While lanely I stray in the calm summer gloaming,
To muse on sweet Jessie the flow'r o' Dumblane.
How sweet is the brier, wi' its saft faulding blossom.
And sweet is the birk, wi' its mantle o' green;
Yet sweeter and fairer, and dear to this bosom,
Is lovely young Jessie, the flower o' Dumblane.
She's modest as ony, and blythe as she's bonny,
For guileless simplicity marks her its ain;
And far be the villian, divested of feeling,
Wha'd blight in its bloom the sweet flow'r o' Dumblane,
Sing on thou sweet mavis, thy hymn to the e'ening,
Thou'rt dear to the echoes of Calderwood glen;
Sae dear to this bosom, sae artless and winning,
Is charming young Jessie the flow'r o' Dumblane.
For guileless simplicity marks her its ain;
And far be the villian, divested of feeling,
Wha'd blight in its bloom the sweet flow'r o' Dumblane,
Sing on thou sweet mavis, thy hymn to the e'ening,
Thou'rt dear to the echoes of Calderwood glen;
Sae dear to this bosom, sae artless and winning,
Is charming young Jessie the flow'r o' Dumblane.
How lost were my days till I met wi' my Jessie,
The sports of the city seem'd foolish and vain,
I ne'er saw a nymph I could ca' my dear lassie,
Till charmed with young Jessie, the flower o' Dumblane.
Though mine were the station o' loftiest grandeur,
Amid its profusion I'd languish in pain;
And reckon as naething the height o' its splendour,
If wanting young Jessie, the flow'r o' Dumblane.
The sports of the city seem'd foolish and vain,
I ne'er saw a nymph I could ca' my dear lassie,
Till charmed with young Jessie, the flower o' Dumblane.
Though mine were the station o' loftiest grandeur,
Amid its profusion I'd languish in pain;
And reckon as naething the height o' its splendour,
If wanting young Jessie, the flow'r o' Dumblane.