CCI.
Reading edition
BY ALLAN STREAM.
[“Bravo! say I,” exclaimed Burns, when he wrote these verses for Thomson. “It is a good song. Should you think so too, not else, you can set the music to it, and let the other follow as English verses. Autumn is my propitious season; I make more verses in it than all the year else.” The old song of “O my love Annie’s very bonnie,” helped the muse of Burns with this lyric.]
I.
By Allan stream I chanced to rove While Phœbus sank beyond Benledi; The winds were whispering through the grove, The yellow corn was waving ready; I listened to a lover’s sang, And thought on youthfu’ pleasures mony: And aye the wild wood echoes rang— O dearly do I lo’e thee, Annie!
II.
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.
III.
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?
“O WHISTLE, AND I’LL COME TO YOU, MY LAD.”
