XLIX YARROW VISITED, SEPTEMBER, 1814 AND is this-Yarrow ?-This the Stream So faithfully, a waking dream? An image that hath perished! O that some Minstrel's harp were near, And chase this silence from the air, Yet why? —a silvery current flows Been soothed, in all my wanderings. And, through her depths, Saint Mary's Lake Is visibly delighted; For not a feature of those hills Is in the mirror slighted. A blue sky bends o'er Yarrow vale, 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 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, The grace of forest charms decayed, And pastoral melancholy. That region left, the vale unfolds Rich groves of lofty stature, With Yarrow winding through the pomp Of cultivated nature; And, rising from those lofty groves, Behold a Ruin hoary! The shattered front of Newark's Towers, Renowned in Border story. Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom, For sportive youth to stray in ; For manhood to enjoy his strength; Yon cottage seems a bower of bliss, Of tender thoughts, that nestle there— How sweet, on this autumnal day, And on my True-love's forehead plant And what if I enwreathed my own! The sober Hills thus deck their brows I see-but not by sight alone, And gladsome notes my lips can breathe, The vapours linger round the Heights, Will dwell with me-to heighten joy, And cheer my mind in sorrow. L YARROW REVISITED: WITH SIR WALTER SCOTT, 1831 THE gallant Youth, who may have gained, When first I looked on Yarrow; I stood, looked, listened, and with Thee, Grave thoughts ruled wide on that sweet day, Their dignity installing In gentle bosoms, while sere leaves Were on the bough, or falling; But breezes played, and sunshine gleamed- Reddened the fiery hues, and shot For busy thoughts the Stream flowed on In foamy agitation; And slept in many a crystal pool For quiet contemplation : F |