how pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,

where, wild in the woodlands, the primroses blow;

there oft, as mild ev'ning weeps 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, gathering sweet flowerets, 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.