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.