The Banks of the Dee

It was summer, so softly the breezes were blowing, And sweetly the nightingale sung from a tree, At the foot of the rock, when 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, Where first I gained the affection and favour 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's gone, hapless youth, o'er the loud roaring billows, The sweetest and kindest of all his brave fellows, And has left me to mourn amongst these once lov'd willows, The loneliest maid on the banks of the Dee.

But time and my prayers may perhaps yet restore him, Blest peace may restore my dear shepherd to me; And when he comes home, with such care I'll watch o'er him, 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 plying, Whilst I with my Jamie am carelessly straying, And tasting again all the sweets of the Dee.