"Sweet Afton"
Flow gently, Sweet Afton,
among thy green braes,
Flow gently, I'll sing thee
a song in thy praise;
My Mary's asleep
by the murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton,
disturb not her dream.
Thou stock dove whose echo
resounds through the glen,
Ye wild whistley blackbirds
in yon thorny den,
Thou green crested lapwing
thy screaming forbear,
I charge you, disturb not
my slumbering fair.
How lofty, sweet Afton,
thy neighboring hills,
Far marked with the courses
of clear winding rills;
There daily I wonder
as noon rises high,
My flocks and my Mary's
sweet cot in my eye.
How pleasant thy banks
and green valleys below,
Where, wild in the woodlands,
the primroses blow;
There oft, as mild evening
weeps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shades
my Mary and me.
The crystal stream, Afton,
how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where
my Mary resides;
How wanton thy waters
her snowy feet lave,
as, gathering sweet flowerets,
she stems thy clear wave.
Flow gently, sweet Afton,
among thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river,
the theme of my lays;
My Mary's asleep
by the murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton,
disturb not her dreams.
