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YARROW VISITED. And is this-Yarrow ?- This the stream Of which my fancy cherished, So faithfully, a waking dream ? An image that hath perished ! Oh, 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 With uncontrolled meanderings; Nor have these eyes by greener hills Been soothed, in all my wanderings. And, through her depths, St. 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, Save where that pearly whiteness Is round the rising sun diffused, A tender hazy brightness; Mild dawn of promise! that excludes All profitless dejection; Though not unwilling here to admit A pensive recollection. Where was it that the famous flower Of Yarrow vale lay bleeding? His bed perchance was yon smooth mound On which the herd is feeding : And haply from this crystal pool, Now peaceful as the morning, The water-wraith ascended thriceAnd gave his doleful warning,
Delicious is the lay that sings
That region left, the vale unfolds
Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom,
Yon cottage seems a bower of bliss,
How sweet, on this autumnal day,
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,
Long left without a warder,
I stood, looked, listened, and with thee,
Great minstrel of the Border !*
Their dignity installing
Were on the bough, or falling;
The forest to embolden;
Transparence through the golden.
In foamy agitation;
For quiet contemplation:
The freeborn mind enthralling,
Our happy days recalling.
With freaks of graceful folly,-
Her night not melancholy;
In harmony united,
By cordial love invited.
And down the meadow ranging,
Though we were changed and changing• These stanzas are a memorial of a day passed with Sir Walter Scott, and other friends, on the banks of the Yarrow, immediately before his departure from Abbotsford, for Naples.
If, then, some natural shadows spread
Our inward prospect over,
Its brightness to recover.
And her divine employment ! The blameless muse, who trains her sons
For hope and calm enjoyment;
Has o'er their pillow brooded;
Not easily eluded.
Green Eildon-hill and Cheviot
And leave thy Tweed and Teviot
May classic fancy, linking With native fancy her fresh aid,
Preserve thy heart from sinking ! Oh! while they minister to thee,
Each vying with the other, May health return to mellow age,
With strength, her venturous brother ; And Tiber, and each brook and rill,
Renowned in song and story,
Nor lose one ray of glory!
By tales of love and sorrow,
Hast shed the power of Yarrow;