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for guileless simplicity marks her it’s ain;
An’ far be the villain divested o’ feeling,
wha’d blight in its bloom the sweet flow’r o’ Dumblane.
Sing on thou sweet mavis, thy hymn to the e’ening,
thou’rt dear to the echoes o’ Calderwood glen;
Sae dear to this bosom, sae artless and winning,
is charming young Jessy the flow’r o’ Dumblane.
⟨How lost⟩ were my days till I met wi’ my Jessie,
the sports o’ the city were 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.
Tho mine were the station o’ loftiest grandeur,
’midst its profusion I’d languish in vain,
An reckon as naething the height o its splendor
if wanting sweet Jessie the flow’r o’ Dumblane.
FINIS
