The sun has gane doun o'er the lofty Benlomond,
And left the red clouds to preside o'er the scene,
While lanely I stray in the calm simmer gloaming,
To muse on sweet Jessie, the flower o Dunblane.

How sweet is the brier wi its saft faulding blossom,
And sweet is the birk, wi its mantle o green;
Yet sweeter, and fairer, and dear to this bosom,
Is lovely young Jessie, the flower o Dunblane.

She's modest as ony, and blythe as she's bonnie,
For guileless simplicity marks her its ain ;
And far be the villain, divested o feelin,
Wha'd blight in its bloom the sweet flower o Dunblane.

Sing on, thou sweet mavis, thy hymn to the e'enin,
Thou'rt dear to the echoes o Calderwood glen ;
Sae dear to this bosom, sae artless and winnin,
Is charming young Jessie, the flower o Dunblane.

How lost were my days till I met wi my Jessie,
The sports o the city seemed foolish and vain ;
I ne'er saw a nymph I would ca my dear lassie,
Till charmed wi sweet Jessie, the flower o Dunblane.

Tho mine were the station o loftiest grandeur,
Amidst its profusion I'd languish in pain,
And reckon as naething the heicht o its splendour,
If wantin sweet Jessie, the flower o Dunblane.