Oh, were my Love a Country Lass.
Oh, were my love a country lass,
That I might see her every day;
And sit with her on hedge-row grass
Beneath a bough of May;
And find her cattle when astray,
Or help to drive them to the field,
And linger on our homeward way,
And woo her lips to yield
A twilight kiss before we parted,
Full of love, yet easy-hearted!
Oh, were my love a cottage maid,
To spin through many a winter night,
Where ingle-corner lends its shade
From fir-wood blazing bright.
Beside her wheel what dear delight
To watch the blushes go and come,
With tender words that took no fright
Beneath the friendly hum;
Or rising smile, or tear-drop swelling,
At a fireside legend's telling!
Oh, were my love a peasant girl,
That never saw the wicked town;
Was never dight with silk or pearl,
But graced a homely gown.
How less than weak were fashion's frown
To vex our unambitious lot!
How rich were love and peace to crown
Our green secluded cot,
Where age would come serene and shining,
Like an autumn day's declining!
