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Till love is united by the arrows of death,
O Flora shall mourn for her Charlie.


THE BANKS OF THE DEE.

'Twas summer and sweetly the breezes were blowing,
And sweetly the nightingale sung from the tree;
At the foot of a rock where the river was flowing,
I set myself down on the banks of the Dee.
Flow on lovely Dee, flow on thou sweet river,
Thy banks purest stream shall be dear to me ever,
For there I first gained the affection and favour
Of Jamie the pride and the flower of the Dee.

But now he's gone from me and left me this mourning,
To quell the proud rebels for valiant is he,
And oh 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 kindest and sweetest of all the gay fellows,
And left me to stray 'mongst these once loved willows,
The lonliest 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 returns with such care l'll watch o'er him,
He never shall leave the sweet banks of the Dee.