Song

The meadows fill with cowslips
The grass excessive green
Down oer the splashy slough dips
Where the Wagtail birds are seen
I walked there i' the morning
When awoke the early Bee
I went at evens dawning
For the Rose of Broomilea.

Sweet Rose of Broomilea
How it scents the evening gale
Where sings the early Bee
While the other flowers turn pale
The silver daiseys there
Like easter white they be
But nothing upon earth's more fair
Then the Rose of Broomilea.

How lily white her budding breast
Her eyes soft shade o' blue
The lovely Iris o' the west
Owns not a brighter hue
The emerald meadows oft I pass
When daylight shuts his e'e
& dewpearls hang each blade o' grass
For the Rose o' Broomilea.

Like a white Lamp the evening Star
Shines oer the glimmering stream
When I return from courting her
Oer whom I fondly dream
Shine on thou mild bright evening light
Shine on oer lake & tree
While I am blest beneath thy sight
Wi' the Rose o' Broomilea.
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