General.
Sighing softly to the river
Comes the loving breeze,
Setting nature all a-quiver,
Rustling through the trees.
Chorus.
Through the trees.

General.
And the brook, in rippling measure,
Laughs for very love,
While the poplars, in their pleasure,
Wave their arms above.

Chorus.
Yes, the trees, for very love,
Wave their leafy arms above.

General & Chorus.
River, river, little river,
May thy loving prosper ever!
Heaven speed thee, poplar tree,
May thy wooing happy be.
Heaven speed thee, poplar tree,
May thy wooing happy be.

General.
Yet, the breeze is but a rover,
When he wings away,
Brook and poplar mourn a lover
Sighing, "Well-a-day!"

Chorus.
Well-a-day!

General.
Ah! the doing and undoing,
That the rogue could tell!
When the breeze is out a-wooing,
Who can woo so well?

Chorus.
Shocking tales the rogue could tell,
Nobody can woo so well.

General & Chorus.
Pretty brook, thy dream is over,
For thy love is but a rover;
Sad the lot of poplar trees,
Courted by a fickle breeze,
Sad the lot of poplar trees,
Courted by a fickle breeze!

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