449. Song—The Flowery banks of Cree

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


’Tis not Maria’s whispering call;
 ’Tis but the balmy breathing gale,
Mixt with some warbler’s dying fall,
 The dewy star of eve to hail.
It is Maria’s voice I hear; So calls the woodlark in the grove, His little, faithful mate to cheer; At once ’tis music and ’tis 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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