Song—By Allan Stream
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?