The softly breathing song，

    Where innocent eyes do glance，

    And where lisps the maiden's tongue.

    I love the laughing vale，

    I love the echoing hill，

    Where mirth does never fail，

    And the jolly swain laughs his fill.

    I love the pleasant cot，

    I love the innocent bow'r，

    Where white and brown is our lot，

    Or fruit in the mid-day hour.

    I love the oaken seat，

    Beneath the oaken tree，

    Where all the old villagers meet，

    And laugh our sports to see.

    I love our neighbours all，

    But， Kitty， I better love thee；

    And love them I ever shall；

    But thou art all to me.