A North Country maid up to London had strayed,
Although with her nature it did not agree.
She wept and she sighed and she bitterly cried,
"I wish once again in the North I could be.
Oh the oak and the ash and the bonny ivy tree,
They flourish at home in my own country."
"While sadly I roam I regret my dear home,
Where lads and young lasses are making the hay,
The merry bells ring and the birds sweetly sing,
And maidens and meadows are pleasant and gay.
Oh the oak and the ash and the bonny ivy tree,
They flourish at home in my own country."
"No doubt, did I please, I could marry with ease,
Where maidens are fair many lovers will come.
But he whom I wed must be North Country bred,
And carry me back to my North Country home.
Oh the oak and the ash and the bonny ivy tree,
They flourish at home in my own country.
Of parks they may talk, where 'tis fashion to walk,
I'll own the gay throng is a wonderful sight.
But nought have I seen like the Westmoreland green
Where all of us danced from the morning till night.
Oh the oak and the ash and the bonny ivy tree,
They flourish at home in my own country."
Oh the oak and the ash and the bonny ivy tree,
They flourish at home in my own country.
Flourish at home in my own country."