c. 1788, PUBL. 1796) SWEET AFTON (WR.

At his almost unrivalled best, he can sing in the sweetest strains the raptures or pathos of innocent youthful love, as in Sweet Afton or To Mary in Heaven; but straightway sinking from that elevation of feeling to the depths of vulgarity or grossness, he will chant with equal zest and skill the indulgence of the animal appetites.

SWEET AFTON Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes!

SWEET AFTON Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes!

My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream!

Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds through the glen, Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den, Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear, I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair! How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills, Far marked with the courses of clear winding rills!

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, And winds by the cot where my Mary resides!

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes!

My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream!

THE BLIND SLAVE BOY. AIRSweet Afton. Come back to me, mother!

AIRSweet Afton.

Ye canna bottle the light o' the moon on Afton Water; ye canna bring the air o' a Hieland moor to London in a box.