Way down in the meadow where the lily first blows,
Where the wind from the mountain ne'er ruffles the rose;
Lives fond Evelina, the sweet little dove,
The pride of the valley, the girl that I love.

Sweet Evelina, dear Evelina,
My love for thee shall never, never die.
Dear Evelina, sweet Evelina,
My love for thee shall never, never die.

She's fair as a rose, like a lamb she is meek,
And she never was known to put paint on her cheek;
In the most graceful curls hangs her raven-black hair,
And she never requires perfumery there.

Evelina and I, one fine evening in June,
Took a walk all alone by the light of the moon;
The plants all shone for the heavens were clear,
And I felt round the heart, oh! most mightily queer.

Three years have gone by and I've not got a dollar,
Evelina still lives in the green valley holler,
Altho' I am fated to marry her never,
I'll love her I'm shure for ever and ever.

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