Robert Burns, 1791
Flow gently, sweet Afton, amang thy green braes,|
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
2. Though stockdove whose echo resounds thro' the glen,
3. How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,
4. How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,|
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow;
There oft, as mild ev'ning creeps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.
5. Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
6. Flow gently, sweet Afton, amang thy green braes,
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