Musa Burschicosa A Book of Songs for Students and University Men. By John Stuart Blackie |
 |
A SPRIG OF WHITE HEATHER. |
 | Musa Burschicosa |  |
96
A SPRIG OF WHITE HEATHER.
A sprig of white heather I plucked on the brae;
To whom shall I give it?
To whom shall I give it?
Not to the sportive, the light, and the gay,
Not to Jessie with flashing display,
In the flush of the June, when the roses are out,
Flinging her frolicsome fancies about;
But beautiful Phœbe, to thee, to thee,
Thou deep-thoughted Phœbe, to thee!
To whom shall I give it?
To whom shall I give it?
Not to the sportive, the light, and the gay,
Not to Jessie with flashing display,
In the flush of the June, when the roses are out,
Flinging her frolicsome fancies about;
But beautiful Phœbe, to thee, to thee,
Thou deep-thoughted Phœbe, to thee!
A sprig of white heather I plucked on the brae;
To whom shall I give it?
To whom shall I give it?
Not to the haughty, the high, and the proud,
Not to Clotilda, who sails through the crowd
With a lofty look and a fine disdain,
As if all were born to hold her train;
But beautiful Phœbe, to thee, to thee,
Thou mild-eyed Phœbe, to thee!
To whom shall I give it?
To whom shall I give it?
Not to the haughty, the high, and the proud,
Not to Clotilda, who sails through the crowd
With a lofty look and a fine disdain,
As if all were born to hold her train;
But beautiful Phœbe, to thee, to thee,
Thou mild-eyed Phœbe, to thee!
97
A sprig of white heather I plucked on the brae;
To whom shall I give it?
To whom shall I give it?
Not to the clever, the keen and the knowing,
With eye never resting, and tongue ever going,
Not to Rebecca, who all has read
That goes, and goes not into her head;
But beautiful Phœbe, to thee, to thee,
Thou silently-loving, to thee!
To whom shall I give it?
To whom shall I give it?
Not to the clever, the keen and the knowing,
With eye never resting, and tongue ever going,
Not to Rebecca, who all has read
That goes, and goes not into her head;
But beautiful Phœbe, to thee, to thee,
Thou silently-loving, to thee!
A sprig of white heather I plucked on the brae;
To whom shall I give it?
To whom shall I give it?
I'll give it to one, or I'll give it to none,
I'll give it to Phœbe, my beautiful one;
The rare white bloom that peeps from the brae
So chaste and so pure 'mid the purple display,
It grew, dear Phœbe, for thee, for thee,
Thou rarest and fairest, for thee!
To whom shall I give it?
To whom shall I give it?
I'll give it to one, or I'll give it to none,
I'll give it to Phœbe, my beautiful one;
The rare white bloom that peeps from the brae
So chaste and so pure 'mid the purple display,
It grew, dear Phœbe, for thee, for thee,
Thou rarest and fairest, for thee!
| Musa Burschicosa | |