Robert Burns


The Flowery Banks of Cree


HERE is the glen, and here the bower,
  All underneath the birchen shade;
The village-bell has tolled the hour,
  O, what can stay my lovely maid?

íT is not Mariaís whispering call,
  íT is but the balmy-breathing gale,
Mixed with some warblerís dying fall,
  The dewy star of eve to hail.

It is Mariaís voice I hear!ó
  So calls the woodlark in the grove,
His little faithful mate to cheer;
  At once ít is music and ít is love.

And art thou come? and art thou true?
  O, welcome, dear, to love and me!
And let us all our vows renew,
  Along the flowery banks of Cree.






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