Page:Sentimental songster.pdf/8

  lost were my days, till I met wi’ my Jessy,

The sports o' the city seem’d foolish an’ vain;

I na’er saw a nymph I would ca’ my dear lassie,

Till charm’d wi’ young Jessy, the flower o’ Dumblain;

Though mine were the station o’ loftiest grandeur,

Amidst its profusion I’d languish in pain,

An’ reckon as naething the height o’ its splendour,

If wanting sweet Jessy, the flower o’ Dumblain.

If wanting, &c.

Donald is the blithest lad

That e’er made love to me;

Whene’er he’s by, my heart is glad,

He seems so gay and free;

Then on his pipe he plays so sweet,

And in his plaid he looks so neat,

It cheers my heart at eve to meet

Young Donald o’ Dundee.

Whene’er I gang to yonder grove,

Young Sandy follows me,

And fain he wants to be my love,

But ah! it canna be.

Tho’ mither frets both air and late,

For me to wed this youth I hate;

There’s none need hope to gain young Kate,

But Donald o’ Dundee.

When last we rang’d the banks of Tay,

The ring he show’d to me,

And bade me name the bridal day,

Then happy would he be.

I ken the youth will aye prove kind,

Nae mair my mither will I mind,

Mess John to me shall quickly bind,

Young Donald o’ Dundee.

Lawland lads thinks they are fine,

But O they’re vain an’ idle gaudy!