Page:Young Lochinvar (2).pdf/7

7 By Ochtertyre grows the aik,

On Yarrow braes the birken shaw;

But Phemie was a bonnier lass,

Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw.

Blythe, &c.

Her looks were like a flower in May,

Her smile was like a summer morn;

She tripped by the banks o' Earn,

As light's a bird upon a thorn.

Blythe, &c.

Her bonny face it was as meek,

As onie lamb nponupon [sic] a lee;

The ev'ning sun ne'er sae sweet

As was the blink o' Phemie's ee.

Blythe, &c.

The Highland hills I've wander'd wide,

And o'er the Lowlands I been;

But Phemie was the blythest lass,

That ever tred the dewy green.

Blythe, &c.

SLEEPIN' MAGGY.

Mirk an' rainy is the night,

No a starn in a' the carry,

Lightnings gleam athwart the lift,

An' win's drive wi' winter's fury.

O are ye sleepin', Maggy,

O are ye sleepin', Maggy;

Let me in, for loud the linn,

Is roaring o'er the warlock craigie.