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?