Robert Burns

Damon and Sylvia

YON wand’ring rill, that marks the hill,
  And glances o’er the brae, Sir,
Slides by a bower where mony a flower
  Sheds fragrance on the day, Sir.

There Damon lay, with Sylvia gay:
  To love they thought nae crime, Sir;
The wild-birds sang, the echoes rang,
  While Damon’s heart beat time, Sir.