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By Allan Stream
TUNE: Allan Water

 

 

Burns Original

Standard English Translation

1.
By Allan stream I chanc'd to rove,
While Phebus sank beyond Benledi;
The winds were whispering thro' the grove,
The yellow corn was waving ready;
I liste'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 bonie!
2.
' 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 monie a kiss the seal imprest -
The sacred vow we ne'er should sever.'
3.
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?


By Allan stream I chanced to rove,
While Phebus sank beyond Benledi;
The winds were whispering through the grove,
The yellow corn was waving ready;
I listeed to a lover's song,
And thought on youthful pleasures many,
And always the wild-wood echoes rang:-
' O, my love Annie is very lovely!

' O, happy be the woodbine bower,
No nightly spectre makes it fearful!
Nor ever sorrow stain the hour,
The place and time I met my dear!
Her head upon my throbbing breast,
She, sinking, said:- " I am yours for ever!"
While many a kiss the seal impressed -
The sacred vow we never should sever.'

The haunt of Spring is the primrose-bank.
The Summer joys the flocks to follow.
How cheery through her shortening day
Is Autumn in her weeds of 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?

 

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