The Book of Scottish Song/Beechen Tree

Beechen Tree.

[William Fergusson.—Here first printed.]

Beechen tree, ye was green, green,
Warm winds blawin' your branches atween,
When 'neath your shade,
A simple maid!
I met wi' my fause love late at e'en.

Beechen tree, his vows ye heard,
Breathed saft in mony a sweet-waled word:
Wha e'er could reck
Sic vows would break?
Nae dreams o' a snare has the younglin' bird.

Beechen tree, ye are bare, bare;
Warm shelter now ye ha'e nane to spare—
As 'neath your shade,
Nae mair a maid,
I cower me down i' the cauld night air.

Beechen tree, the comin' spring
Will green leaves back to your branches bring:
But spring, alas!
May come an' pass,
But canna renew my flourishing.

Beechen tree, bare beechen tree,
The warld is fu' o' treacherie!
And I maist could pray
That, ere the day,
Alane at your auld root I might dee!

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