The Book of Scottish Song/Hie to the woodlands, hie

Hie to the woodlands, hie.

[James Macdonald.—Here first printed.]

Hie to the woodlands, hie!
⁠The balmy morning breeze,
And the laughing voice of merry spring
⁠Are piping 'mong the trees.
The soft blue sky, the spangled earth,
The rich green woods, the streamlet's mirth—
All Nature's voice cries loud—Be gay!
Oh! 'tis the flowery month of May.

Hie to the woodlands, hie!
⁠The lambs frisk on the lea,
And the little birds are singing blythe
⁠From every brake and tree.
In every note that steals along
Is heard the tale of their sweet song;
'Tis love that bids them chant—Be gay!
Oh! 'tis the flowery month of May.

Hie to the woodlands, hie!
⁠And gather honey flowers
On mossy bank and brackeny braes
⁠The long sweet summer hours.
The cowslip and the sweet blue-bell,
The wild rose and the pimpernell,
And wild thyme too, all cry—Be gay!
Oh! 'tis the flowery month of May.

The happy hour is nigh—
⁠I'll seek the shady grove,
With her my heart longs for its own,
⁠And sing my notes of love.
The purest flower from earth that springs,
The sweetest bird on tree that sings,
Are nought to her I bid—Be gay!
Oh! 'tis the flowery month of May.

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