SONG.
I
Here's to thee, my Scottish lassie !—here's a hearty health to thee!
For thine eye so bright, thy form so light, and thy step so firm and free;
For all thine artless elegance, and all thy native grace,
For the music of thy mirthful voice, and the sunshine of thy face;
For thy guileless looks, and speech sincere, yet sweet as speech can be,—
Here's a health, my Scottish lassie !—here's a hearty health to thee.
II
Here's to thee, my Scottish lassie !—though my glow of youth is o'er,
And I, as once I felt and dream'd, must feel and dream no more;
Though the world, with all its frosts and storms, has chill'd my soul at last,
And genius with the foodful looks of youthful friendship past;
Tho' my path is dark and lonely now, o'er this world's dreary sea,—
Here's a health, my Scottish lassie !—here's a hearty health to thee!
III
Here's to thee, my Scottish lassie !—tho' I feel that not for me
Is thine eye so bright, thy form so light, and thy step so firm and free;
Tho' thou with cold and careless looks wilt often pass me by,
Unconscious of my swelling heart and of my wistful eye;
Tho' thou wilt bless some happier love, nor care a jot for me,—
Here's a health, my Scottish lassie! here's a hearty health to thee.
IV
Here's to thee, my Scottish lassie !—when I meet thee in the throng
Of merry youths and maidens dancing lightsomely along,
I'll dream away an hour or twain still gazing on thy form,
As it flashes thro' the baser crowd, like lightning thro' a storm;
And I perhaps shall touch thy hand, and share thy looks of glee,
And for once, my Scottish lassie! dance a giddy dance with thee.
V
Here's to thee, my Scottish lassie !—I shall think of thee at even,
When I see its first and fairest star come smiling up thro' Heaven;
I shall hear thy sweet and touching voice in every wind that grieves,
As it whirls from the abandon'd oak its wither'd autumn leaves;
In the gloom of the wild forest, in the stillness of the sea,
I shall think, my Scottish lassie—I shall often think of thee.
VI
Here's to thee, my Scottish lassie !—in my sad and lonely hours
The thought of thee comes o'er me like the breath of distant flowers:
Like the music that enchants mine ear, the sights that bless mine eye,
Like the verdure of the meadow, like the azure of the sky,
Like the rainbow in the evening, like the blossom on the tree,
Is the thought, my Scottish lassie—is the lonely thought of thee.
VII
Here's to thee, my Scottish lassie—tho' my muse must soon be dumb,
(For graver thoughts and duties, with my graver years are come)
Tho' my soul must break the bonds of earth and learn to soar on high,
And to look on this world's follies with a calm and sober eye;
Tho' the merry wine must cease to flow, the song be mute for me,—
Still to thee, my Scottish lassie! still I'll drink a health to thee.
VIII
Here's to thee, my Scottish lassie !—here's a parting health to thee!
May thine be still a cloudless lot, tho' it be far from me:
May still thy laughing eye be bright, and open still thy brow,
Thy thoughts as pure, thy speech as free, thy heart as light as now!
And whatsoe'er may be my fate, my dearest toast shall be
Still a health, my Scottish lassie, still a hearty health to thee!
