Afton Water

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among 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 thro' the glen,

Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,

Thou green-creste d lapwing, thy screaming forbear,

I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,

Far mark'd with the courses of clear winding rills;

There daily I wander 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 Ev'ning sweeps over the lea,

The sweet-scente d 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 gathering sweet flowrets 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 thy murmuring stream,

Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among 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 thro' the glen,

Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,

Thou green-creste d lapwing, thy screaming forbear,

I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring  hills,

Far mark'd with the courses of clear winding rills;

There daily I wander 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 Ev'ning sweeps over the lea,

The sweet-scente d 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 gathering sweet flowrets 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 thy murmuring stream,

Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among 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 thro' the glen,
    Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,
    Thou green-creste d lapwing, thy screaming forbear,
    I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.
    How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring  hills,
    Far mark'd with the courses of clear winding rills;
    There daily I wander 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 Ev'ning sweeps over the lea,
    The sweet-scente d 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 gathering sweet flowrets 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 thy murmuring stream,
    Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

Robert Burns

Robert Burns (born January 25, 1759, Alloway, Ayrshire, Scotland—died July 21, 1796, Dumfries, Dumfriesshire) national poet of Scotland, who wrote lyrics and songs in Scots and in English. Burns wrote in a variety of forms: epistles to friends, ballads, and songs. His best-known poem is the mock-heroic Tam o’ Shanter. He is also well known for the over three hundred songs he wrote which celebrate love, friendship, work, and drink with often hilarious and tender sympathy. He was also famous for his amours and his rebellion against orthodox religion and morality. Robert Burns died from heart disease at the age of thirty-seven. On the day of his death, Jean Armour gave birth to his last son, Maxwell.

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Afton Water

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