The Book of Scottish Song/The Lady of my Heart

The Lady of my Heart.

[William Motherwell.]

The murmur of the merry brook,
As, gushingly and free,
It wimples, with its sun-bright look,
Far down yon shelter'd lea,
Humming to every drowsy flower
A low quaint lullaby,
Speaks to my spirit, at this hour,
Of love and thee.

The music of the gay green wood.
When every leaf and tree
Is coaxed by winds, of gentlest mood
To utter harmony;
And the small birds, that answer make
To the winds' fitful glee,
In me most blissful visions wake,
Of love and thee.

The rose perks up its blushing cheek,
So soon as it can see,
Along the eastern hills, one streak
Of the sun's majesty:
Laden with dewy gems, it gleams
A precious freight to me,
For each pure drop thereon me seems
A type of thee.

And when abroad in summer morn,
I hear the blythe bold bee
Winding aloft his tiny horn,
(An errant knight perdy,)
That winged hunter of rare sweets,
O'er many a far country,
To me a lay of love repeats,
Its subject—thee.

And when, in midnight hour, I note
The stars so pensively,
In their wild beauty, onward float
Through heaven's own silent sea:
My heart is in their voyaging
To realms where spirits be,
But its mate, in such wandering,
Is ever thee.

But, oh, the murmur of the brook,
The music of the tree;
The rose with its sweet shamefaced look,
The booming of the bee;
The course of each bright voyager,
In heaven's unmeasured sea,
Would not one heart pulse of me stir,
Loved I not thee!

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