The Book of Scottish Song/The Thorn Tree
The Thorn Tree.
[From Tait's Magazine for Sept. 1838.]
I watch'd the moon blink owre the hill,
And, oh, she glentit bonnily!
Then met my lass, when a' was still,
Below the spreading thorn tree.
Oh! for the thorn tree—the fair, the spreading thorn tree!—
The flame o' love lowes bonnily aneath a spreading thorn tree!
The glow o' youth beam'd on her cheek,
And love was lowin' in her e'e,
And Cupids play'd at hide-and-seek
Around us at the thorn tree.
Oh! for the thorn tree—the fair, the spreading thorn tree!—
The flame o' love lowes bonnily aneath a spreading thorn tree!
The wanton breeze, wi' downy wing,
Cam' soofin' owre us cannily;
And saft and sweet the burn did sing,
When trottin' by the thorn tree.
Oh! for the thorn tree—the fragrant-scented thorn tree!—
I ken o' naught sic joys can gi'e as love aneath the thorn tree!
I clasp'd my lassie to my heart,
And vow'd my love should lasting be;
And wussed ilk ill to be my part,
When I forgot the thorn tree.
Oh! for the thorn tree—the fresh, the scented thorn tree!—
I'll ever mind, wi' blythsome glee, my lassie and the thorn tree!
We met beneath the rising moon—
She beddit maist as soon as we,
She hung the westlan' heights aboon
When we cam' frae the thorn tree.
Oh! for the thorn tree—the fresh, the milk-white thorn tree!—
'Twas past the midnight hour a wee, when we cam' frae the thorn tree!
I've seen the glass careerin' past—
I liked it too—I'll never lee;
But, oh! its joys can ne'er be class'd
Wi' love aneath the thorn tree!
Oh! for the thorn tree—the fresh, the milk-white thorn tree!—
Of a' the joys there's nane to me like love aneath the thorn tree!