The Banks of the Dee.
[In most collections this once popular song is ascribed to John Home, author of the tragedy of Douglas. The real author, however, was John Tait, a writer to the signet, and some time judge of the Edinburgh police court. Mr. Tait in early life wrote many fugitive pieces, which appeared in the periodicals of the day. He died in 1817. The present song was composed in 1775, on the occasion of a friend leaving Scotland to join the British forces in America. Hence the allusion to the "proud rebels" in the second stanza, America being then struggling for her independence. Burns objected to the second line of the song for two sufficient reasons. "In the first place," he says, "the nightingale sings in a low bush, but never from a tree; and, in the second place, there never was a nightingale seen or heard on the banks of the Dee, or on the banks of any other river in Scotland." The author felt the justice objections, and, thirty years after the first appearance of the song, altered the opening lines thus:—
'Twas summer, and saftly the breezes were blowing,
And sweetly the wood-pigeon coo'd from the tree,
At the foot of a rock, where the wild-rose was growing,
I sat myself down on the banks of the Dee.
The song is sung to the Irish air of Langolee.]
'Twas summer, and saftly the breezes were blowing,
And sweetly the nightingale sung from the tree;
At the foot of a 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 banks, purest stream, shall be dear to me ever:
For there first I gain'd the affection and favour
Of Jamie, the glory and pride of the Dee.
But now he's gone from and left me thus mourning,
To quell the proud rebels—for valiant is he;
And ah! 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 the once loved 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 returns, with such care I'll watch o'er him,
He never shall leave 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,
While I with my Jamie am carelessly straying,
And tasting again all the sweets of the Dee.