By Allan stream I chanc'd to rove,
While Phoebus sunk beyond Benledi;
The winds were whispering through the grove,
The yellow corn was waving ready ;
I listen'd to a lover's sang,
[An']1 thought on youthful pleasures [many]2,
And ay the wild wood echoes rang :
["O, my love Annie 's very bonie !"]3
 
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 [many]2 a kiss the seal imprest,
The sacred vow we ne'er should sever!
 
The haunt [o' Spring's]4 the primrose brae.
The Simmer joy's the flocks to follow.
How cheery [thro' her short'ning]5 day
Is Autumn in her weeds o' yellow !
But can they melt the glowing heart,
Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure,
Or through each nerve the rapture dart,
Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure ?