In the white cot where Peggy dwells,
Her daughter fair the rose excels
That round her casement sweetly blows,
And on the gale its fragrance throws.
O were she mine, the lovely maid!
She soon would leave the lonely shade.

I'd bear her where the beams of morn
Should with their brightest rays adorn
Each budding charm and op'ning grace,
That moulds her form and decks her face.
O were she mine, the lovely maid!
I'd bear her from the lonely shade.

But, should the sultry orb of day
Too fiercely dart his fervid ray,
The rose upon its stalk might die,
And zephyr o'er its ruins sigh!
No -- I would keep my lovely maid
Secure beneath the friendly shade.