Robert Burns

By Allan Stream

By Allan stream I chanced to rove,
  While Phoebus sank behind Benledi;
The winds were whispering thro’ the grove,
  The yellow corn was waving ready:
I listen’d to a lover’s sang,
  And thought on youthfu’ pleasures mony;
And aye the wildwood echoes rang-
  O, dearly do I love thee, Annie!

O, happy be the woodbine bower,
  Nae nightly bogle mak 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 simmer joys the flocks to follow;
How cheery thro’ her shortening 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?