Thence in a summer shower Steeping the rocks around :—Oh, tell me where Yet lovelier, in my view, And livelier growth it gives,-itself unseen! It flows through flowery meads, Gladdening the herds which on its margin browse; The alders that o'ershade it with their boughs. Gently it murmurs by The village churchyard;—its low plaintive tone A dirge-like melody For worth and beauty modest as its own. More gaily now it sweeps By the small school-house, in the sunshine bright; Like happy hearts by holiday made light. May not its course express, In characters which they who run may read, Were but its still small voice allowed to plead? What are the trophies gained By power alone, with all its noise and strife, Niagara's streams might fail, And human happiness be undisturbed; But Egypt would turn pale, Were her still Nile's o'erflowing bounty curbed! BARTON. THE LEVEN. N Leven's banks, while free to rove, I envied not the happiest swain With white, round, polished pebbles spread; Still on thy banks, so gaily green, May numerous herds and flocks be seen; SMOLLETT. THE TAY. HOU Queen of Caledonia's mountain floods, Theme of a thousand gifted bards of yore, Majestic wanderer of the wilds and woods, That lov'st to circle cloud and mountain hoar, And with the winds to mix thy kindred roar, But scarcely are thy springs known to the sons of men. O that some spirit at the midnight noon Aloft would bear me, middle space, to see Thy thousand branches gleaming to the moon, By shadowy hill, gray rock, and fairy lea; Thy gleesome elves disporting merrily In glimmering circles by the lonely dell, Or by the sacred fount, or haunted tree, Where bowed the saint, as hoary legends tell, And Superstition's last, wild, thrilling visions dwell! To Fancy's eye the ample scene is spread: That bathes its gray head in celestial blue. To howling winds and storms that o'er thee flee: All hail, ye battlements of ancient liberty! There the dark raven builds her dreary home; The brindled fox around thee loves to roam, But bear me, spirit of the gifted eye, O'er gairish glens and straths of every dye, And in the floods beneath wave o'er a downward heaven. HOGG, THE YARROW. ND this is Yarrow?-this the stream Of which my fancy cherished, So faithfully, a waking dream, An image that hath perished! O that some minstrel's harp were near, Yet why?—a silvery current flows Been soothed, in all my wanderings. 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, Is round the rising sun diffused, Mild dawn of promise! that excludes All profitless dejection; Though not unwilling here t' admit Where was it that the famous Flower His bed perchance was yon smooth mound Delicious is the lay that sings The leafy grove that covers : 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 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 ; |