Here Is The Glen.

A poem by Robert Burns

Tune - "Banks of Cree."


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,
Mix'd 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 flow'ry banks of Cree.

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