O bright the beaming queen o' night Shines in yon flow'ry vale, And softly sheds her silver light O'er mountain, path, and dale. Short is the way, when light 's the heart That 's bound in love's soft spell; Sae I 'll awa' to Armadale, To Jessie o' the Dell, To Jessie o' the Dell, Sweet Jessie o' the Dell; The bonnie lass o' Armadale, Sweet Jessie o' the Dell.
We 've pu'd the primrose on the braes Beside my Jessie's cot, We 've gather'd nuts, we 've gather'd slaes, In that sweet rural spot. The wee short hours danced merrily, Like lambkins on the fell; As if they join'd in joy wi' me And Jessie o' the Dell.
There's nane to me wi' her can vie, I 'll love her till I dee; For she's sae sweet and bonnie aye, And kind as kind can be. This night in mutual kind embrace, Oh, wha our joys may tell; Then I 'll awa' to Armadale, To Jessie o' the Dell.
Meet me on the gowan lea, Bonnie Mary, sweetest Mary; Meet me on the gowan lea, My ain, my artless Mary.
Before the sun sink in the west, And nature a' hae gane to rest, There to my fond, my faithful breast, Oh, let me clasp my Mary. Meet me on the gowan lea, Bonnie Mary, sweetest Mary; Meet me on the gowan lea, My ain, my artless Mary.
The gladsome lark o'er moor and fell, The lintie in the bosky dell, Nae blyther than your bonnie sel', My ain, my artless Mary. Meet me, &c.
We 'll join our love notes to the breeze That sighs in whispers through the trees, And a' that twa fond hearts can please Will be our sang, dear Mary. Meet me, &c.
There ye shall sing the sun to rest, While to my faithfu' bosom prest; Then wha sae happy, wha sae blest, As me and my dear Mary. Meet me, &c.
Ye ken whar yon wee burnie, love, Rins roarin' to the sea, And tumbles o'er it's rocky bed, Like spirit wild and free. The mellow mavis tunes his lay, The blackbird swells his note, And little robin sweetly sings Above the woody grot. There meet me, love, by a' unseen, Beside yon mossy den, Oh, meet me, love, at dewy eve, In Morag's fairy glen; Oh, meet me, love, at dewy eve, In Morag's fairy glen.
Come when the sun, in robes of gold, Sinks o'er yon hills to rest, An' fragrance floating in the breeze Comes frae the dewy west. And I will pu' a garland gay, To deck thy brow sae fair; For many a woodbine cover'd glade An' sweet wild flower is there.