I’ll twine a wreath.
[This and the six succeeding songs originally appeared, under different signatures, in "The Literary Reporter," a weekly miscellany edited, published and printed, at Glasgow, by John Graham, in 1822-3, in 2 vols.—The author of the first which we give was William Bennie.]
I'll twine a wreath, I'll twine a wreath,
A garland for thy head—
The green, green leaves that fancy weaves
Shall balmy fragrance shed;
The blooming flowers from sylvan bowers
Shall show a thousand dyes
Around thy brow, like coloured bow
That girds the summer skies.
The heather-bell, from cliff and fell,
I'll seek where zephyr blows;
At early morn, from off the thorn,
I'll cull the new-blown rose;
And lily pale, from verdant vale,
That bends beneath the storm,
Emblem of you, all bathed in dew,
And spotless as thy form.
These, wreathed and bound, shall circle round,
Thy lovely brow of white,
Where glossy hair in tresses fair,
Like clouds of summer night,
Thine eyes o'ershade,—oh, lovely maid!
These eyes that oft beguile
And charm my heart with magic art—
So sweet thy dimpling smile.
This garland gay will soon decay
And lose its lovely hue;
But soul and heart shall rather part
Before I part from you.
This wreath will fade, ah, lovely maid!
With leaves and blossoms wove;
But age or care can ne'er impair
My heart's unchanging love.