William Cameron was born on the 3d December 1801, in the parish of Dunipace, and county of Stirling. His father was employed successively in woollen factories at Dumfries, Dalmellington, and Dunipace. He subsequently became proprietor of woollen manufactories at Slamannan, Stirlingshire, and at Blackburn and Torphichen, in the county of Linlithgow. While receiving an education with a view to the ministry, the death of his father in 1819 was attended with an alteration in his prospects, and he was induced to accept the appointment of schoolmaster at the village of Armadale, parish of Bathgate. In 1836 he resigned this situation, and removed to Glasgow, where he has since prosperously engaged in mercantile concerns. Of the various lyrics which have proceeded from his pen, "Jessie o' the Dell" is an especial favourite. The greater number of his songs, arranged with music, appear in the "Lyric Gems of Scotland," a respectable collection of minstrelsy published in Glasgow.
SWEET JESSIE O' THE DELL. 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. 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.
MORAG'S FAIRY GLEN. 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.
There 's music in the wild cascade,
There 's love amang the trees,
There 's beauty in ilk bank and brae,
An' balm upon the breeze;
There 's a' of nature and of art,
That maistly weel could be;
An' oh, my love, when thou art there,
There 's bliss in store for me.
OH! DINNA CROSS THE BURN, WILLIE. Oh! dinna cross the burn, Willie,
Dinna cross the burn,
For big 's the spate, and loud it roars;
Oh, dinna cross the burn.
Your folks a' ken you 're here the nicht,
And sair they wad you blame;
Sae bide wi' me till mornin' licht—
Indeed, you 're no gaun hame.
The thunder-storm howls in the glen,
The burn is rising fast;
Bide only twa-three hours, and then
The storm 'll a' be past.
Oh, dinna cross, &c.
Then bide, dear Willie, here the nicht,
Oh, bide till mornin' here;
My faither, he 'll see a' things richt,
And ye 'll hae nocht to fear.
See, dark 's the lift, no moon is there,
The rains in torrents pour;
And see the lightning's dreadful glare,
Hear how the thunders roar!
Oh, dinna cross, &c.
Away he rode, no kind words could
His mad resolve o'erturn;
He plunged into the foaming flood,
But never cross'd the burn!
And now though ten long years have pass'd
Since that wild storm blew by—
Oh! still the maniac hears the blast,
And still her crazy cry,
Oh, dinna cross, &c.
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