426. Song—By Allan Stream

 BY Allan stream I chanc’d to rove,
 While Phoebus sank beyond Benledi;
The winds are whispering thro’ the grove,
 The yellow corn was waving ready:
I listen’d to a lover’s sang,
 An’ thought on youthfu’ pleasures mony;
And aye the wild-wood echoes rang—
 “O, dearly do I love thee, Annie!


“O, happy be the woodbine bower,
 Nae nightly bogle make it eerie;
Nor ever sorrow stain the hour,
 The place and time I met my Dearie!
Her head upon my throbbing breast,
 She, sinking, said, ‘I’m thine for ever!’
While mony a kiss the seal imprest—
 The sacred vow we ne’er should sever.
”


The haunt o’ Spring’s the primrose-brae,
 The Summer joys the flocks to follow;
How cheery thro’ her short’ning day,
 Is Autumn in her weeds o’ yellow;
But can they melt the glowing heart,
 Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure?
Or thro’ each nerve the rapture dart,
 Like meeting her, our bosom’s treasure?

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