Young Lochinvar (1)/Blythe Was She
BLYTHE WAS SHE.
Blythe, blythe and merry was she,
Blythe was she but and ben:
Blythe by the banks of Earn,
And blythe in Glenturin glen.
By Ochtertyre grows the aik,
On Yarrow braes the birken shaw;
But Phemie was a bonnier lass,
Than braes o’ Yarrow ever saw.
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.
Her bonnie face it was as meek,
As onie lamb upon the lea:
The ev’ning sun was ne’er sae sweet,
As was the blink o’ Phemie’s e’e.
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.