Here is the glen, and here the bower
All underneath the birchen shade,
The village bell has toll'd 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 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 !