I neither ha'e tocher nor mailings,
I ha'e but ae boast—I am free;
But a' wad be tint, without failing,
Amang the green brakens wi' thee."
"Dear lassie, how can ye upbraid me,
And by your ain love to beguile,
For ye are the richest young lady
That ever gaed o'er the kirk-stile?
Your smile that is blither than ony,
The bend o' your sunny e'e-bree,
And the love-blinks aneath it sae bonnie
Are five hunder thousand to me."
There's joy in the blythe blooming feature,
When love lurks in every young line;
There's joy in the beauties of nature,
There's joy in the dance and the wine;
But there's a delight will ne'er perish
'Mong pleasures so fleeting and vain,
And that is to love and to cherish
The fond little heart that's our ain.
The Flower o' Dunblane.
[This once universally popular song, written by Tannahill, and set to music by R. A. Smith, was first introduced to the public in the year 1808. "The third stanza," says Smith, "was not written till several months after the others were finished. The poet," he adds, "had no particular fair one in his eye at the time, and Jessie was quite an imaginary personage." The truth is, Tannahill wrote the words to supplant the old coarse song, called "Bob o' Dunblane"—hence the title. He never was in Dunblane, but from his favourite Braes o' Gleniffer had often doubtless seen the sun go down o'er the lofty Ben Lomond.]
The sun has gane down o'er the lofty Ben Lomond,
And left the red clouds to preside o'er the scene,
While lonely I stray, in the calm simmer gloamin',
To muse on sweet Jessie, the flower o' Dunblane.
How sweet is the brier, wi' its saft fauldin' 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' Dunblane.
She's modest as onie, and blythe as she's bonnie;
For guileless simplicity marks her its ain;
And far be the villain, divested o' feeling,
Wha'd blight in its bloom the sweet flower o' Dunblane.
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 flower o' Dunblane.
How lost were my days till I met wi' my Jessie!
The sports o' the city seemed foolish and vain;
I ne'er saw a nymph I could ca' my dear lassie,
Till charmed wi' sweet Jessie, the flower o' Dunblane.
Though mine were the station o' loftiest grandeur,
Amidst its profusion I'd languish in pain,
And reckon as naething the height o' its splendour,
If wanting sweet Jessie, the flower o' Dunblane.
The Braes o' Gleniffer.
[This beautiful song was written by Tannahill to the old air of "Bonnie Dundee." Mr. Ross of Aberdeen also composed a tune for it. Gleniffer braes lie at a short distance south-west of Paisley.]
Keen blaws the wind o'er the braes o' Gleniffer,
The auld castle turrets are cover'd wi' snaw,
How changed frae the time when I met wi' my lover,
Amang the broom bushes by Stanley green shaw.
The wild flowers o' simmer were spread a' sae bonnie,
The mavis sang sweet frae the green birken tree;
But far to the camp they ha'e march'd my dear Johnnie,
And now it is winter wi' nature and me.
Then ilk thing around us was blythesome and cheerie,
Then ilk thing around us was bonnie and braw;
Now naething is heard but the wind whistling drearie,
And naething is seen but the wide-spreading snaw.
The trees are a' bare, and the birds mute and dowie,
They shake the cauld drift frae their wings as they flee;
And chirp out their plaints, seeming wae for my Johnnie;
'Tis winter wi' them and 'tis winter wi' me.
