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By
(Bridge of) Allan Stream
IE users should turn up the volume...
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? |
