VII. YARROW UNVISITED. (See 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 "Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town, "There's Galla Water, Leader Haughs, And Dryburgh, where with chiming Tweed There's pleasant Tiviot-dale, a land Made blithe with plough and harrow; Why throw away a needful day To go in search of Yarrow? "What's Yarrow but a river bare, As worthy of your wonder." Strange words they seem'd of slight and scorn; My true love sigh'd for sorrow, And look'd me in the face, to think I thus could speak of Yarrow! "Oh! green," said I, are Yarrow's holms, And sweet is Yarrow flowing! Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, But we will leave it growing. O'er hilly path and open strath "Let beeves and home-bred kine partake "Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown! The treasured dreams of times long past, "If care with freezing years should come, 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!" VIII. YARROW VISITED. AND is this-Yarrow?-this the stream Of which my fancy cherish'd, So faithfully, a waking dream? Oh, that some ministrel's harp were near, To utter notes of gladness, And chase this silence from the air, 1803. Yet why?-a silvery current flows And, through her depths, Saint Mary's Lake For not a feature of those hills Is in the mirror slighted. A blue sky bends o'er Yarrow Vale, Though not unwilling here t' admit Where was it that the famous flower Delicious is the lay that sings 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 With Yarrow winding through the pomp Of cultivated nature; And, rising from those lofty groves. The shattered front of Newark's towers, 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, I see but not by sight alone, A ray of fancy still survives- And gladsome notes my lips can breathe, The vapours linger round the heights, IX. 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.] THEgallant youth, who may have gained, Was but an infant in the lap When first I looked on Yarrow; I stood, looked, listened, and with thee, Grave thoughts ruled wide on that sweet day, 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. No public and no private care The freeborn mind enthralling, We made a day of happy hours, Brisk youth appeared, the morn of youth, Life's temperate noon, her sober eve, Her night not melancholy; Past, present, future, all appeared In harmony united, Like guests that meet, and some from far, By cordial love invited. And if, as Yarrow, through the woods And down the meadow ranging, Did meet us with unaltered face, Though we were changed and changing; |