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.