O have you seen the blushing rose,
The blooming pink, or lily pale;
Fairer than any flow'r that blows
Was Lucy Gray of Allendale.

Pensive and sad by brae and burn,
Where oft the nymph they us'd to hail,
The shepherds now are heard to mourn
For Lucy Gray of Allendale.

With her to join the rural dance,
Far have I stray'd o'er hill and vale;
Then pleas'd each rustic stole a glance
At Lucy Gray of Allendale.

'Twas underneath the hawthorn shade
I told her first the tender tale;
But now low lays the lovely maid,
Sweet Lucy Gray of Allendale.

Bleak blows the wind, keen beats the rain,
Upon my cottage in the vale:
Long may I mourn a lonely swain,
For Lucy Gray of Allendale.