_This life’s most jolly_, Amiens said,
Heigh-ho, the Holly! So sang he.
As the good Duke was comforted
In forest exile, so may we!
The years may darken as they flee,
And Christmas bring his melancholy:
But round the old mahogany tree
We drink, we sing _Heigh-ho_, _the Holly_!
Though some are dead and some are fled
To lands of summer over sea,
The holly berry keeps his red,
The merry children keep their glee;
They hoard with artless secresy
This gift for Maude, and that for Molly,
And Santa Claus he turns the key
On Christmas Eve, _Heigh-ho_, _the Holly_!
Amid the snow the birds are fed,
The snow lies deep on lawn and lea,
The skies are shining overhead,
The robin’s tame that was so free.
Far North, at home, the ‘barley bree’
They brew; they give the hour to folly,
How ‘Rab and Allan cam to pree,’
They sing, we sing _Heigh-ho_, _the Holly_!