Far marked 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 evening sweeps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.
Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by my cot where my Mary resides;
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,