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 yet

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, may, throughout, earthly

Betide her waÿ, to happy rest,

An’ mid she, all her weanèn life, waning

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.