THOUGHTS SUGGESTED THE DAY FOLLOWING, ON THE BANKS OF NITH, NEAR THE POET'S RESIDENCE. Too frail to keep the lofty vow That must have followed when his brow Was wreathed-"The Vision" tells us how- He faultered, drifted to and fro, And passed away. Well might such thoughts, dear Sister, throng Over the grave of Burns we hung In social grief Indulged as if it were a wrong But, leaving each unquiet theme Where gentlest judgments may misdeem, And prompt to welcome every gleam Of good and fair, Let us beside this limpid Stream Enough of sorrow, wreck, and blight: When wisdom prospered in his sight Yes, freely let our hearts expand, When side by side, his Book in hand, Our pleasure varying at command How oft inspired must he have trode These pathways, yon far-stretching road! There lurks his home; in that Abode, With mirth elate, Or in his nobly-pensive mood, The Rustic sate. Proud thoughts that Image overawes. And ask of Nature, from what cause And by what rules She trained her Burns to win applause Through busiest street and loneliest glen He rules mid winter snows, and when Deep in the general heart of men What need of fields in some far clime Where Heroes, Sages, Bards sublime, And all that fetched the flowing rhyme From genuine springs, Shall dwell together till old Time Folds up his wings? Sweet Mercy! to the gates of Heaven And memory of Earth's bitter leaven But why to Him confine the prayer, The best of what we do and are, YARROW UNVISITED. (See the various Poems the Scene of which is laid upon the Banks of the Yarrow; in particular, the exquisite Ballad of Hamilton, beginning "Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny, bonny Bride, FROM Stirling Castle we had seen Had trod the banks of Clyde, and Tay, 'Let Yarrow Folk, frae Selkirk Town, "There's Galla Water, Leader Haughs, And Dryborough, where with chiming Tweed There's pleasant Tiviot-dale, a land Made blithe with plough and harrow: "What's Yarrow but a River bare, That glides the dark hills under? There are a thousand such elsewhere As worthy of your wonder." -Strange words they seemed of slight and scorn; My True-love sighed for sorrow; And looked me in the face, to think I thus could speak of Yarrow ! "Oh! green," said I, "are Yarrow's Holms, And sweet is Yarrow's flowing! Fair hangs the apple frae the rock,1 But we will leave it growing. O'er hilly path, and open Strath, But, though so near, we will not turn 1 See Hamilton's Ballad as above. "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 !" |