O Lizzie is so mild o' mind,
Vor ever kind, an' ever true;
A-smilèn, while her lids do rise
To show her eyes as bright as dew.
An' comely do she look at night,
A-dancèn in her skirt o' white,
An' blushèn wi' a rwose o' red
Bezide her glossy head.
Feäir is the rwose o' blushèn hue,
Behung wi' dew, in mornèn's hour,
Feäir is the rwose, so sweet below
The noontide glow, bezide the bow'r.
Vull feäir, an' eet I'd rather zee
The rwose a-gather'd off the tree,
An' bloomèn still with blossom red,
By Lizzie's glossy head.
Mid peace droughout her e'thly day,
Betide her way, to happy rest,
An' mid she, all her weanèn life,
Or maïd or wife, be loved and blest.
Though I mid never zing anew
To neäme the maïd so feäir an' true,
A-blushèn, wi' a rwose o' red,
Bezide her glossy head.
