Above me stand the towering trees, While here I feel the gentle breeze; The water flows by chance around, And green enamels all the ground: Which gives new splendour to the scene, And adds a grace to Pandon Dean.
But when I mount the rising hill, And there survey the purling rill, My eye delighted--but I mourn, To think of winter’s quick return; With withering winds and frost so keen, I sighing leave the Pandon Dean.
O spare for once a female pen, And lash licentious wicked men; Your conscious cheek need never glow, If you your talents thus bestow: Scarce fifteen summers have I seen, Yet dare to sing of Pandon Dean.
_Set to Music by John Aldridge, Jun. of Newcastle._
Whilst bards, in strains that sweetly flow, Extol each nymph so fair, Be mine my Nanny’s worth to show-- Her captivating air. What swain can gaze without delight On beauty there so fine? The Graces all their charms unite In Nanny of the Tyne.
Far from the noise of giddy courts The lovely charmer dwells; Her cot the haunt of harmless sports, In virtue she excells. With modesty, good nature join’d, To form the nymph divine; And truth, with innocence combin’d, In Nanny of the Tyne.
Flow on, smooth stream, in murmurs sweet Glide gently past her cot; ’Tis peace and virtue’s calm retreat,-- Ye great ones envied not. And you, ye fair, whom folly leads Through all her paths supine, Tho’ drest in pleasure’s garb, exceeds Not Nanny of the Tyne.
Can art to nature e’er compare, Or win us to believe But that the frippery of the fair Were made but to deceive. Strip from the belle the dress so gay, Which fashion calls divine, Will she such loveliness display As Nanny of the Tyne?
Oh! where, and oh where does your bonny lassie dwell? Oh! where, and oh where does your bonny lassie dwell? She lives in canny Gateshead, at the sign of the Blue Bell: And it’s oh! in my heart, but I love my lassie well.
And what’s best compar’d to the mind of your true love? And what’s best compar’d to the mind of your true love? The meekness of a lamb, and th’ innocence of the dove; These are the true emblems of the mind of her I love.
In what, and in what does your bonny lass excell? In what, and in what does your bonny lass excell? She’s modest as the daisy, sweet as the heather-bell; And it’s oh! in my heart, I love my lassie well.