When bonnie young Johnnie cam' ower the sea,
He said he saw naething sae lovely as me;
He hecht me baith rings and monie braw things;
And were na my heart licht I wad dee.
He hecht me, &c.
He had a wee titty that loo'd na me,
Because I was twice as bonnie as she;
She rais'd such a pother 'twixt him and his mother,
That were na my heart licht I wad dee.
She rais'd, &c.
The day it was set, and the bridal to be:
The wife took a dwam, and lay down to dee.
She main'd, and she graned, out o' dolour and pain,
Till he vow'd he never wad see me again.
She main'd, &c.
His kin was for ane of a higher degree,
Said, What had he to do wi' the like of me?
Albeit I was bonnie, I was na for Johnnie:
And were na my heart licht I wad dee.
Albeit I was bonnie, &c.
They said I had neither cow nor calf,
Nor dribbles o' drink rins through the draff,
Nor pickles o' meal rins through the mill-e'e;
And were na my heart licht I wad dee.
Nor pickles, &c.
His titty she was baith wylie and slee,
She spied me as I cam' ower the lea;
And then she ran in, and made a loud din;
Believe your ain een an ye trow na me.
And then she ran in, &c.
His bonnet stood aye fu' round on his brow;
His auld ane look'd aye as weel as some's new;
But now he lets 't wear ony gate it will hing,
And casts himself dowie upon the corn-bing.
But now he, &c.
And now he gaes daundrin' about the dykes,
And a' he dow do is to hund the tykes:
The live-lang nicht he ne'er steeks his e'e;
And were na my heart licht I wad dee.
The live-lang nicht, &c.
Were I young for thee, as I ha'e been,
We should ha'e been gallopin' down on yon green,
And linkin' it on yon lilie-white lea;
And wow! gin I were but young for thee!
And linkin' it, &c.
The Banks of the Dee.
[In most collections this once popular song is ascribed to John Home, author of the tragedy of Douglas. The real author, however, was John Tait, a writer to the signet, and some time judge of the Edinburgh police court. Mr. Tait in early life wrote many fugitive pieces, which appeared in the periodicals of the day. He died in 1817. The present song was composed in 1775, on the occasion of a friend leaving Scotland to join the British forces in America. Hence the allusion to the "proud rebels" in the second stanza, America being then struggling for her independence. Burns objected to the second line of the song for two sufficient reasons. "In the first place," he says, "the nightingale sings in a low bush, but never from a tree; and, in the second place, there never was a nightingale seen or heard on the banks of the Dee, or on the banks of any other river in Scotland." The author felt the justice objections, and, thirty years after the first appearance of the song, altered the opening lines thus:—
'Twas summer, and saftly the breezes were blowing,
And sweetly the wood-pigeon coo'd from the tree,
At the foot of a rock, where the wild-rose was growing,
I sat myself down on the banks of the Dee.
The song is sung to the Irish air of Langolee.]
'Twas summer, and saftly the breezes were blowing,
And sweetly the nightingale sung from the tree;
At the foot of a rock, where the river was flowing,
I sat myself down on the banks of the Dee.
Flow on, lovely Dee, flow on, thou sweet river,
Thy banks, purest stream, shall be dear to me ever:
For there first I gain'd the affection and favour
Of Jamie, the glory and pride of the Dee.
But now he's gone from and left me thus mourning,
To quell the proud rebels—for valiant is he;
And ah! there's no hope of his speedy returning,
To wander again on the banks of the Dee,
He's gone, hapless youth, o'er the loud roaring billows,
The kindest and sweetest of all the gay fellows,
And left me to stray 'mongst the once loved willows,
The loneliest maid on the banks of the Dee.
