Flow Gently Sweet Afton Among Thy Green


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.
Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds from the hill,
Ye wild whistling black-birds in yon thorny dell,
Thou green-crested lapwing thy screaming forbear,
I charge you, disturb not my slumbering fair.

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighboring hills,
Far mark’d with the courses of clear winding rills!
There daily I wander, as morn 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 creeps over the lea,
The sweet scented birk shades my Mary and me.

Thy 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, gath’ring sweet flow’rets, she stems thy clear wave!
Flow gently, sweet Afton, amang thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays:
My Mary’s asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.