"Let beeves and home-bred kine partake "Be Yarrow Stream unseen, unknown! It must, or we shall rue it : We have a vision of our own; Ah! why should we undo it? The treasured dreams of times long past, "If Care with freezing years should come, And wandering seem but folly,— Should we be loth to stir from home, And yet be melancholy; Should life be dull, and spirits low, "Twill soothe us in our sorrow, That earth has something yet to show, The bonny Holms of Yarrow !" YARROW VISITED, SEPTEMBER, 1814. AND is this-Yarrow ?-This the Stream So faithfully, a waking dream? An image that hath perished! O that some Minstrel's harp were near, To utter notes of gladness, And chase this silence from the air, That fills my heart with sadness! Yet why?—a silvery current flows Been soothed, in all my wanderings. And, through her depths, Saint Mary's Lake Is visibly delighted; For not a feature of those hills Is in the mirror slighted. A blue sky bends o'er Yarrow vale, Is round the rising sun diffused, A tender hazy brightness; Mild dawn of promise! that excludes Though not unwilling here to admit Where was it that the famous Flower Of Yarrow Vale lay bleeding? His bed perchance was yon smooth mound And haply from this crystal pool, Delicious is the Lay that sings The path that leads them to the grove, And Pity sanctifies the verse That paints, by strength of sorrow, The unconquerable strength of love; Bear witness, rueful Yarrow ! But thou, that didst appear so fair To fond imagination, Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation : Meek loveliness is round thee spread, A softness still and holy; The grace of forest charms decayed, And pastoral melancholy. That Region left, the Vale unfolds Rich groves of lofty stature, With Yarrow winding through the pomp Of cultivated nature; And, rising from those lofty groves, Behold a Ruin hoary! The shattered front of Newark's Towers, Renowned in Border story. Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom, Yon Cottage seems a bower of bliss, Of tender thoughts that nestle there, How sweet, on this autumnal day, The sober Hills thus deck their brows I see-but not by sight alone, And gladsome notes my lips can breathe, The vapours linger around the Heights, Sad thought, which I would banish, But that I know, where'er I go, Thy genuine image, Yarrow ! Will dwell with me-to heighten joy, And cheer my mind in sorrow. YARROW REVISITED. [The following Stanzas are a memorial of a day passed with Sir Walter Scott, and other Friends visiting the Banks of the Yarrow under his guidance, immediately before his departure from Abbotsford for Naples.] THE gallant Youth, who may have gained, Or seeks, a "winsome Marrow," Was but an infant in the lap When first I looked on Yarrow; Once more, by Newark's Castle-gate I stood, looked, listened, and with Thee, Grave thoughts ruled wide on that sweet day, Their dignity installing In gentle bosoms, while sere leaves But breezes played, and sunshine gleamed- Reddened the fiery hues, and shot Transparence through the golden. For busy thoughts the Stream flowed on And slept in many a crystal pool For quiet contemplation: The freeborn mind enthralling, We made a day of happy hours, Our happy days recalling. |