How sweet are the flowers that grow by yon fountain,
      And sweet are the cowslips that spangle the grove,
And sweet is the breeze that blows over yon mountain,
      Yet none is so sweet as the lad that I love.

            Then I'll weave him a garland,
            A fresh flowing garland,
            With lilies and roses
            And sweet blooming posies
A garland I'll weave for the Lad that I love.

I was down in the vale, where the sweet Porza gliding
      Its murmuring stream ripples through the dark grove,
I own'd what I felt, all my passion confiding,
      To ease the fond heart of the Lad that I love.

            Then I'll weave him a garland,
            A fresh flowing garland,
            With lilies and roses
            And sweet blooming posies
A garland I'll weave for the Lad that I love.