"He promis'd me a milk-white steed To 'squire me to his father's towers; Alas! his watery grave is Yarrow. "Sweet were our words when last we met, And give a doleful groan through Yarrow.1 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, Alas! thou hast no more a brother. "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." "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, His flaxen locks that sweetly curl'd, "O lady, he is dead and gone! And at his head a green grass turf, "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 "And art thou dead, thou gentle youth! "Oh weep not, lady, weep not so "Oh do not, do not, holy friar, "And now, alas! for thy sad loss, For thee I only wish'd to live, "Weep no more, lady, weep no more, Thy sorrow is in vain: For violets pluck'd, the sweetest showers "Our joys as winged dreams do fly; "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? Ah! no, he is dead, and laid in his grave, "His cheek was redder than the rose, "Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more, One foot on sea, and one on land, "Hadst thou been fond, he had been false, For young men e'er were fickle found, "Now say not so, thou holy friar, My love he had the truest heart; "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, No drizzling rain that falls on me "Yet stay, fair lady, turn again, "Here, forced by grief and hopeless love, "But haply, for my year of grace 1 Might I still hope to win thy love, “Now farewell grief, and welcome joy, For since I've found thee, lovely youth, 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. |