115

Banks of the Dee.

It was summer, so softly the breezes were blowing,
And sweetly the nightingale sung in each tree,
At the foot of the 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 bank's purest streams shall be dear to me ever,
'Twas there I first gained the affection and favour,

116

Of Jamie, the glory and pride of the Dee

But now he's gone from me, and left me thus mourning,
To quell the proud rebels, so valiant is he,
And yet there's no hope of his speedy returning,
To wander again on the banks of the Dee.

He is gone, hapless youth, o'er the loud roaring billows,
The sweetest and kindest of all the brave fellows,
And has left me to mourn among the green willows,
The lonesomest maid the banks of the Dee.

But time and prayer may yet restore him,
Blest peace may restore the dear shepherd to me,
And when he comes home with such care I'll watch o'er him.

117

He never shall quit the sweet banks of the Dee.

The Dee then shall flow, all its beauties displaying.
The lambs on its banks shall again be seen playing,
Whilst I, and my Jamie, are carelessly straying,
And tasting again all the sweets of the Dee.