The Book of Scottish Song/The Scotch Blue-bell

The Scotch Blue-bell.

[Alex. Maclagan.—Here first printed.]

The Scotch blue-bell, the Scotch blue-bell,
The dear blue-bell for me!
O! I wadna gi'e the Scotch blue-bell
For a' the flowers I see.

I lo'e thee weel, thou Scotch blue-bell,
I hail thee, floweret fair;
Whether thou bloom'st in lanely dell,
Or waves mid mountain air—
Blythe springing frae our bare, rough rocks,
Or fountain's flowery brink:
Where, fleet as wind, in thirsty flocks,
The deer descend to drink.
The Scotch blue-bell, &c.

Sweet flower! thou deck'st the sacred nook
Beside love's trystin' tree;
I see thee bend to kiss the brook,
That kindly kisseth thee.
'Mang my love's locks ye're aften seen,
Blythe noddin' o'er her brow,
Meet marrows to her lovely een
O' deep endearin' blue!
The Scotch blue-bell, &c.

When e'enin's gowden curtains hing
O'er moor and mountain grey,
Methinks I hear the blue-bells ring
A dirge to deein' day;
But when the light o' mornin' wakes
The young dew-droucket flowers,
I hear amid their merry peals
The mirth o' bridal hours!
The Scotch blue-bell, &c.

How oft wi' rapture have I strayed
The mountain's heather crest,
There aft wi' thee ha'e I array'd
My Mary's maiden breast:—
Oft tremblin' mark'd amang thy bells
Her bosom fa' an' rise,
Like snawy cloud that sinks an' swells
'Neath summer's deep blue skies.
The Scotch blue-bell, &c.

O! weel ye guess, when mornin' daws,
I seek the blue-bell grot;
And weel ye guess, when e'enin' fa's,
Sae sweet, I leave it not,—
And when upon my tremblin' breast
Reclines my maiden fair,
Thou knowst full well that I am blest,
And free frae ilka care.

The Scotch blue-bell, the Scotch blue-bell,
The dear blue-bell for me!
O! I wadna gi'e the Scotch blue-bell
For a' the flowers I see.

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