The Book of Scottish Song/Here's to thee, my Scottish lassie

Here's to thee, my Scottish lassie.

[Written by the Rev. — Moultrie, a clergyman, if we mistake not, of the Church of England.]

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 look and speech sincere, yet sweet as speech can be,
Here's a health, my Scottish lassie! here's a hearty health to thee!

Here's to thee, my Scottish lassie!—though my glow of youth is o'er;
And I, as once I felt and dreamed, must feel and dream no more;
Though the world, with all its frosts and storms, has chilled my soul at last,
And genius, with the foodful looks of youthful friendship, past,
Though 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!

Here's to thee, my Scottish lassie!—though I know that not for me
Is thine eye so bright, thy form so light, and thy step so firm and free;
Though thou, with cold and careless looks wilt often pass me by,
Unconscious of my swelling heart, and of my wistful eye;
Though thou wilt wed some Highland love, nor waste one thought on me—
Here's a health, my Scottish lassie! here's a hearty health to thee!

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 through the baser crowd, like lightning through 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.

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 through heaven;
I shall hear thy sweet and touching voice, in every wind that grieves,
As it whirls from the abandoned oak, its withered 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 on thee.

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 blossoms on the tree,
Is the thought, my Scottish lassie! is the lonely thought on thee.

Here's to thee, my Scottish lassie!—though my muse must soon be dumb,
(For graver thoughts and duties, with my graver years, are come,)
Though my soul must burst the bonds of earth, and learn to soar on high,
And to look on this world's follies with a calm and sober eye;
Though the merry wine must seldom flow, the revel cease for me,—
Still to thee, my Scottish lassie! still I'll drink a health to thee.

Here's a health, my Scottish lassie! here's a parting health to thee;
May thine be still a cloudless lot, though it be far firom 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 my after fate, my dearest toast shall be,—
Still a health, my Scottish lassie! still a hearty health to thee!

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