How pleasant the banks of the clear winding Devon,With green spreading bushes and flow’rs blooming fair!But the boniest flow’r on the banks of the DevonWas once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr.Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower,In the gay rosy morn, as it bathes in the dew;And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower,That steals on the evening each leaf to renew!
O spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes,With chill hoary wing as ye usher the dawn;And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizesThe verdure and pride of the garden or lawn!Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies,And England triumphant display her proud rose:A fairer than either adorns the green valleys,Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows.