AS I came down from Earsdon Town,
A-lilting of a lay,
Whom did I meet but she, the sweet,
The blue-eyed Lotty Hay.

A crimson blush her cheek did flush,
Nor sin did that betray;
The pearl is sure a jewel pure,
And so is Lotty Hay.

All evil flees her heart, yet she's
To Slander's shafts a prey,
And words of ill do nearly kill
The lowly Lotty Hay.

Some deem her proud; in speech aloud
Some other mays will say
She's cold or fierce, and all to pierce
The heart of Lotty Hay.

Proud?-She's not proud: to-day I view'd
An ant beside her stray,
And that wee thing kind blinks did bring
From soft eyed Lotty Hay.

Fierce?-She's not fierce; a fly did pierce-
Late pierce her bosom-yea,
And made her cry, yet that bad fly
Was spared by Lotty Hay.

Not proud nor bold, not fierce nor cold,
But meek, kind, mild alway-
A soul of light did meet my sight
As I pass'd Lotty Hay.

Upon her way she went and, nay,
Not lighter moved to-day
The thistle-down then upward flown,
Than walked this Lotty Hay.

In cotton gown she tript to town,
And not a lady gay
In satin drest could be more blest
Than seemed sweet Lotty Hay.