the flowery banks of cree（1/1）

the flowery banks of cree

here is the glen, and here the bower

all underneath the birchen shade;

the village-bell has told the hour,

o what can stay my lovely maid?

'tis not maria's whispering call;

'tis but the balmy breathing gale,

mixt with some warbler's dying fall,

the dewy star of eve to hail.

it is maria's voice i hear;

so calls the woodlark in the grove,

his little, faithful mate to cheer;

at once 'tis music and 'tis love.

and art thoue! and art thou true!

o wee dear to love and me!

and let us all our vows renew,

along the flowery banks of cree.