Page:Young Lochinvar (3).pdf/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 simmer 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 upon a lee;

The ev'ning sun was ne'er sae sweet

As was the blink o' Phemie's e'e.

Blythe, &c.

The Highland hills I ve wander'd wide,

And o'er the Lowlands I hae been ;

But Phemie was the blythest lass,

That ever trod the dewy green.

Blythe, &c.

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 oʻer the warlock cragie.