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"He promis'd me a milk-white steed
To bear me to his father's bowers;
He promis'd me a little page

To 'squire me to his father's towers;
He promis'd me a wedding-ring,—
The wedding-day was fix'd to-morrow;
Now he is wedded to his grave,

Alas! his watery grave is Yarrow.

"Sweet were our words when last we met,
My passion I as freely told him,
Clasp'd in his arms, I little thought
That I should never more behold him.
Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost,
It vanish'd with a shriek of sorrow;
Thrice did the water-wraith ascend,

And give a doleful groan through Yarrow.1
"His mother from the window look'd,
With all the longing of a mother;
His little sister, weeping, walk'd

The greenwood-path to find her brother. They sought him east, they sought him west, They sought him all the forest thorough;

They only saw the cloud of night,

They only heard the roar of Yarrow.

"No longer from the window look,
Thou hast no son, thou tender mother;
No longer walk the lonely wood,

Alas! thou hast no more a brother.
No longer seek him east and west,
And search no more the forest thorough,
For, wandering in the night so dark,
He fell a lifeless corse in Yarrow.

"The tear shall never leave my cheek, No other youth shall be my marrow,

I'll seek thy body in the stream,

And then with thee I'll sleep in Yarrow." The tear did never leave her cheek,

No other youth became her marrow,

She found his body in the stream,

And now she sleeps with him in Yarrow.

(1) Vide Wordsworth's "Yarrow Revisited."

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"Now Heaven thee save, thou reverend friar! I pray thee tell to me,

If ever at yon holy shrine

My true love thou didst see."

"And how should I know your true love

From many another one?"

"Oh, by his cockle hat and staff,

And by his sandal shoon.

"But chiefly by his face and mien,
That were so fair to view;

His flaxen locks that sweetly curl'd,
And eyne of lovely blue.'

"O lady, he is dead and gone!
Lady, he's dead and gone!

And at his head a green grass turf,
And at his heels a stone.

"Within these holy cloisters long He languish'd, and he died, Lamenting of a lady's love,

And 'plaining of her pride.

"Here bore him bare-faced on his bier
Six proper youths and tall;
And many a tear bedew'd his grave
Within yon kirk-yard wall.”

"And art thou dead, thou gentle youth!
And art thou dead and gone!
And didst thou die for love of me!
Break, cruel heart of stone!"

"Oh weep not, lady, weep not so
Some ghostly comfort seek;
Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart,
Nor tears bedew thy cheek."

"Oh do not, do not, holy friar,
My sorrow now reprove;
For I have lost the sweetest youth
That e'er won lady's love.

"And now, alas! for thy sad loss,
I'll e'ermore weep and sigh;

For thee I only wish'd to live,
For thee I wish to die."

"Weep no more, lady, weep no more, Thy sorrow is in vain:

For violets pluck'd, the sweetest showers
Will ne'er make grow again.

"Our joys as winged dreams do fly;
Why, then, should sorrow last?
Since grief but aggravates thy loss,
Grieve not for what is past."

"Oh say not so, thou holy friar; I pray thee, say not so;

For since my true love died for me, 'Tis meet my tears should flow.

"And will he never come again?
Will he ne'er come again?

Ah! no, he is dead, and laid in his grave,
For ever to remain.

"His cheek was redder than the rose,
The comeliest youth was he:-
But he is dead, and laid in his grave,
Alas! and woe is me!"

"Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever:

One foot on sea, and one on land,
To one thing constant never.

"Hadst thou been fond, he had been false,
And left thee sad and heavy:

For young men e'er were fickle found,
Since summer trees were leafy."

"Now say not so, thou holy friar,
I pray thee, say not so;

My love he had the truest heart;
Oh he was ever true!

"And art thou dead, thou much-lov'd youth?

And didst thou die for me?

Then farewell home! for evermore

A pilgrim I will be.

"But first upon my true love's grave

My weary limbs I'll lay,

And thrice I'll kiss the green grass turf

That wraps his breathless clay."

Yet stay, fair lady, stay awhile

Beneath yon cloister wall:

See, through the hawthorn blows the cold wind, And drizzling rain doth fall."

"Oh stay me not, thou holy friar,
Oh stay me not, I pray:

No drizzling rain that falls on me
Can wash my fault away."

"Yet stay, fair lady, turn again,
And dry those pearly tears;
For see, beneath this gown of gray,
Thy own true love appears.

"Here, forced by grief and hopeless love,
These holy weeds I sought:
And here, amidst these lonely walls,
To end my days I thought.

"But haply, for my year of grace 1
Is not yet pass'd away,

Might I still hope to win thy love,
No longer would I stay."

“Now farewell grief, and welcome joy,
Once more unto my heart;

For since I've found thee, lovely youth,
We never more will part."

As the foregoing song (says Percy) has been thought to have suggested to Dr. Goldsmith the plan of his ballad of "Edwin and Emma," it is but justice to say, that his poem was written first, and that if there is any imitation in the case, they will be found both to be indebted to the beautiful old ballad "Gentle Herdsman," &c. printed in this work. (See p. 82.)

(1) The year of probation, or noviciate.

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