Poems and Lancashire Songs :: :: University of Virginia Library

There lives a lass on yonder moor—
She wears a gown of green;
She's handsome, young, and sprightly,
With a pair of roguish een:
She's graceful as the mountain doe
That snuffs the forest air;
And she brings the smell of the heather-bell
In the tresses of her hair.

II

'Twas roaming careless o'er the hills,
As sunlight left the sky,
That first I met this moorland maiden
Bringing home her kye:

Her native grace, her lovely face,
The pride of art outshone;—
I wondered that so sweet a flower
Should blossom thus alone.

III

Alas, that ever I should meet
Those beaming eyes of blue,
That round about my thoughtless heart
Their strong enchantment threw.
I could not dream that falsehood lurked
In such an angel smile;
I could not fly the fate that lured
With such a lovely wile.

IV

And when she comes into the vale,
To try her beauty's power,
She'll leave a spell on many a heart
That fluttered free before.

But, oh, beware her witching smile,—
'Tis but a fowler's snare;
She's fickle as the mountain wind
That frolics with her hair!