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ng—by aln strea

by aln strea i chanc&039;d to rove,

while phoeb sank beyond benledi;

the ds are whisperg thro&039; the grove,

the yellow rn was wavg ready:

i listen&039;d to a lover&039;s sang,

an&039; thought on youthfu&039; pleasures ony;

and aye the wild-wood echoes rang—

“o, dearly do i love thee, annie!

“o, happy be the woodbe bower,

nae nightly bogle ake it eerie;

nor ever rrow sta the hour,

the pce and ti i t y dearie!

her head upon y throbbg breast,

she, skg, said, &039;i&039; the for ever!&039;

while ony a kiss the seal iprest—

the sacred vow we ne&039;er should sever”

the haunt o&039; sprg&039;s the prirose-brae,

the sur joys the flocks to follow;

how cheery thro&039; her short&039;ng day,

is autun her weeds o&039; yellow;

but can they lt the glog heart,

or cha the ul speechless pleasure?

or thro&039; each nerve the rapture dart,

like etg her, our bo&039;s treasure?