A North country maid up to London has strayed
Although with her nature it did not agree.
So she wept and she sighed and bitterly she cried,
"Oh, I wish once again in the North I could be."
For the oak and the ash and the bonny ivy tree
They all grow green in the North country.
While sadly I roam I regret my dear home,
Where the lads and young lasses are making the hay.
Where the birds sweetly sing, and the merry bells do ring
And the maidens and meadows are pleasant and gay.
For the oak and the ash and the bonny ivy tree
They all grow green in the North country.