Jessie, the Flower of Dumblane.
The sun has gane down o'er the lofty Ben Lomond,
And left the red clouds to preside o'er the scene;
While lanely I stray in a calm simmer 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 birck wi' its mantle o' green,
Yet sweeter and fairer, and dearer to this bosom,
Is lovely young Jessie, the flow'r o' Dumblaue.
She's modest as ony. and blithe as she's bonny,
For guileless simplicity marks her its ain,
And far be the villain divested o' feeling,
Wa'd blight in its bloom, the sweet flow'r o' Dumblane.
Sing on, thou sweet Mavis, thy hymns to the evening,
Thou'rt dear to the echoes o' Calderwood Glen;
Sae dear to his bosom, sae artless and winning.
Is charming young Jessie, the flow'r o' Dumnblane.
How lost were my days, 'till I met wi' Jessie,
The sports o' the city seem'd foolish and vain;
I ne'er saw a nymph I would ca' my dear lassie,
'Till charm'd wi' sweet Jessie, the flow'r o' Dumblane.