Is round the rising sun diffused, 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 On which the herd is feeding: And haply from this crystal pool, Now peaceful as the morning, The Water-wraith ascended thrice And gave his doleful warning. 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, 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, For manhood to enjoy his strength; And age to wear away in! Yon cottage seems a bower of bliss, A covert for protection Of tender thoughts that nestle there, How sweet, on this autumnal day, The sober Hills thus deck their brows To meet the wintry season. I see but not by sight alone, And gladsome notes my lips can breathe, The vapours linger round the Heights, YARROW REVISITED. 1831. 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 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 No public and no private care The freeborn mind enthralling, We made a day of happy hours, Brisk Youth appeared, the Morn of youth, 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; |