As Sylvie was walking down by the riverside
And looking so sadly upon its swift tide
And looking so sadly
And looking so sadly
And looking so sadly upon its swift tide
She thought of the lover that left her in pride
On the banks of the meadow
She sat down and cried
On the banks of the meadow
On the banks of the meadow
On the banks of the meadow
She sat down and cried
And there she sat crying
When her young man came by
And he said: My dear jewel, what makes you to cry?
And she said
