New Zealand Minstrelsy
The Flower of Clyde
The Flower of Clyde.
Were I the lord of great estates,
And wealthy to extreme,
I’d let all wond’ring people see,
Who I do most esteem.
But would I e’er my love confess,
She’d never deign to me,
For I’m a humble shepherd swain.
And she’s of high degree.
The rose that blows in Sharon’s vale,
I never can compare
With the sweet flower of winding Clyde,
That blooms so fresh and fair:
She in her garden to the sun
Of fortune smiles so fair,
And nodding loads the passing breeze
With sweet perfumes so rare.
O could 1 reach her lofty stalk,
She would not long be there;
For I would plant her in my breast,
And bless her beauty fair.
Though I at distance may admire,
And never can enjoy;—
Oh! Heaven shield her from each storm
That would her charms destroy.