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8. They sought him east, they sought him west,

They sought him all the forest thorough ;
They only saw the clouds of night-

They only heard the roar of Yarrow !

9. No longer from thy window look

Thou hast no son, thou tender mother!
No longer walk, thou lovely maid-

Alas! thou hast no more a brother !

10. No longer seek him east or west,

No longer search the forest thorough,
For, murdered in the night so dark,

He lies a lifeless corpse in Yarrow !

11. The tears shall never leave my cheek,

No other youth shall be my marrow;
I'll seek thy body in the stream,

And there with thee I'll sleep in Yarrow !

12. The tear did never leave her cheek,

No other youth became her marrow;
She found his body in the stream,
And with him now she sleeps in Yarrow.


Yarrow.—The most classic stream in Scotland. Rises

in the south-west of Selkirkshire, and forms a small lake called the Loch of the Lowes, which communicates with the larger Lake of St. Mary's. The Yarrow joins the Ettrick a little above Selkirk, and the united streams fall into the Tweed. The stream is famous in Border story, and meets us in many of the old ballads, and in the writings of Scott and Hogg: Logan's ballad is a very good illustration of the kind of tales associated with the Yarrow. Wordsworth has two exquisite little poems on this stream entitled respectively, “Yarrow Unvisited," written in 1803, and " Yarrow Visited," written in 1814.


(ROBERT BLOOMFIELD, born 3rd December, 1766, author of

“Farmer's Boy,” published in 1800, and “Rural Tales,”
published in 1802, died 19th August, 1823.]
WHERE's the blind child, so admirably fair,
With guileless dimples, and with flaxen hair
That waves in every breeze? He's often seen
Beside yon cottage wall, or on the green,
With others matched in spirit and in size,
Health on their cheeks and rapture in their eyes.
That full

of voice to childhood dear,
Soul of their sports, is duly cherished here :
And hark! that laugh is his, that jovial cry ;
He hears the ball and trundling hoop brush by,
And runs the giddy course with all his might,
A very child in everything but sight;
With circumscribed, but not abated powers,
Play, the great object of his infant hours.
many a game

he takes a noisy part,
And shows the native gladness of his heart;
But soon he hears, on pleasure all intent,
The new suggestion and the quick assent;
The grove invites, delight fills every breast--
To leap the ditch, and seek the downy nest,
Away they start; leave balls and hoops behind,
And one companion leave—the boy is blind !
His fancy paints their distant paths so gay,
That childish fortitude awhile gives way:
He feels his dreadful loss; yet short the pain,
Soon he resumes his cheerfulness again,
Pondering how best his moments to employ
He sings his little songs of nameless joy ;
Creeps on the warm green turf for many an hour,
And plucks by chance the white and yellow flower;
Smoothing their stenis while, resting on his knees,
He binds a nosegay which he never sees;

Along the homeward path then feels his way,
Lifting his brow against the shining day,
And with a playful rapture round his eyes,
Presents a sighing parent with the prize.

BLOOMFIELD. Lifting his brow, &c.-An allusion to the singular habit

observed in all blind persons of keeping the head very erect, as if searching for the light.

LODGINGS FOR SINGLE GENTLEMEN. [GEORGE Colman, an able and successful dramatic author, was

born 21st October, 1762. His besi-known works are “Broad Grins,” “Poor Gentleman,” and “John Bull.”

He died 26th October, 1836.] 1. Who has e'er been in London, that overgrown

place, Has seen “Lodgings to Let” stare him full in the


Some are good, and let dearly; while some,

'tis well known, Are so dear, and so bad, they are best let alone. 2. Will Waddle, whose temper was studious and

lonely, Hired lodgings that took single gentlemen only; But Will was so fat, he appeared like a ton,

Or like two single gentlemen rolled into one.
3. He entered his rooms, and to bed he retreated,

But all the night long he felt fevered and heated;
And though heavy to weigh, as a score of fat

sheep He was not by any means heavy to sleep. 4. Next night 'twas the same; and the next, and

the next; He. perspired like an ox; he was nervous and


Week passed after week, till, by weekly succession,

His weakly condition was past all expression. 5. In six months his acquaintance began much to

doubt him ; For his skin, “like a lady's loose gown,” hung

about him ; He sent for a doctor, and cried like a ninny : “I have lost many pounds — make me well

there's a guinea. 6. The doctor looked wise : “A slow fever,” he said :

Prescribed sudorifics and going to bed. “Sudorifics in bed," exclaimed Will, "are humbugs! I've enough of them there without paying for

drugs !” 7. Will kicked out the doctor; but when ill indeed,

E'en dismissing the doctor don't always succeed;
So, calling his host, he said : “Sir, do you know,

I'm the fat single gentleman six months ago ? 8. “Look’e, landlord, I think,"argued Will with a grin,

“That with honest intentions you first took me in: But from the first night—and to say it I'm boldI've been so hanged hot, that I'm sure I caught

cold.” 9. Quoth the landlord : “ Till now I had ne'er a dis

pute; I've let lodgings ten years; I'm a baker to boot; In airing your sheets, sir, my wife is no sloven;

And your bed is immediately over my oven.” 10. “ The oven!” says Will. Says the host : “Why

this passion ?" In that excellent bed died three people of fashion. Why so crusty, good sir ?” “ Zounds !” cries Will,

in a taking, "Who wouldn't be crusty with half-a-year's baking?" 11. Will paid for his rooms; cried the host, with a

“Well, I see you've been going away

half a year.” “Friend, we can't well agree; yet no quarrel,”

Will said;
“But I'd rather not perish while you


your bread.



[CAROLINE OLIPHANT, BARONESS NAIRN, belonged to the family

of the Oliphants of Gask, in Perthshire. She was born on
the 16th of August, 1766 ; and died 27th October, 1845.
She is authoress of several fugitive pieces, of which our ex-
tract is perhaps the best known.]
1. I'm wearin' awa', John,

Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, John;
I'm wearin' awa'

To the land o' the leal.
There's nae sorrow there, John;
There's neither cauld nor care, John; cold.
The day's aye fair

I the land o' the leal.





2. Our bonny bairn's there, John;

She was baith gude and fair, John;
And oh! we grudged her sair

To the land oʻthe leal.
But sorrow's seľ wears past, John-
And joy 's a-comin' fast, John-
The joy that's aye to last

In the land o' the leal.

3. Sae dear's that joy was bought, John,

Sae free the battle fought, John,
That sinfu' man e'er brought

To the land o' the leal.

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