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By Allan Stream

By Allan stream I chanc'd to rove
While Pheobus sank beyond Ben Ledi;
The winds were whispering thro' the grove,
The yellow corn was waving ready;
I listen'd to a lover's sang,
An' thought on youthfu' pleasures monie,
And ay the wild-wood echoes rang -
'O, my love Annie's very bonnie!'
'O happy be the woodbine bower,
Nae nightly bogle make it erie!
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 monie 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 raptured dart,
Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure?

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