YARROW UNVISITED. 1803.

(See the various Poems the scene of which is laid upon the banks of the Yarrow; in particular, the exquisite Ballad of Hamilton beginning

"Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny, bonny Bride,

Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome Marrow!”—)

FROM Stirling Castle we had seen
The mazy Forth unravelled;

Had trod the banks of Clyde, and Tay,
And with the Tweed had travelled;
And when we came to Clovenford,
Then said my "winsome Marrow,”
"Whate'er betide, we'll turn aside,
And see the Braes of Yarrow."

"Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town,
Who have been buying, selling,
Go back to Yarrow, 'tis their own,
Each maiden to her dwelling!

On Yarrow's banks let herons feed,
Hares couch, and rabbits burrow !

But we will downward with the Tweed,
Nor turn aside to Yarrow.

"There's Galla Water, Leader Haughs,

Both lying right before us;

And Dryburgh, where with chiming Tweed
The lintwhites sing in chorus;

There's pleasant Tiviot-dale, a land

Made blithe with plough and harrow:

Why throw away a needful day

To go in search of Yarrow?

"What's Yarrow but a river bare That glides the dark hills under?

There are a thousand such elsewhere

As worthy of your wonder."

-Strange words they seemed of slight and scorn;

My true-love sighed for sorrow;

And looked me in the face, to think

I thus could speak of Yarrow !

"Oh! green," said I, are Yarrow's holms,

And sweet is Yarrow flowing!

Fair hangs the apple frae the rock,36

But we will leave it growing.

O'er hilly path, and open Stratlı,

We'll wander Scotland thorough;

But, though so near, we will not turn

Into the dale of Yarrow.

"Let beeves and home-bred kine partake

The sweets of Burn-mill meadow;

The swan on still Saint Mary's Lake
Float double, swan and shadow !

We will not see them; will not go

To-day, nor yet to-morrow;

Enough if in our hearts we know

There's such a place as Yarrow.

"Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown!

It must, or we shall rue it :

We have a vision of our own;

Ah! why should we undo it?

The treasured dreams of times long past,
We'll keep them, winsome Marrow !
For when we're there, although 't is fair,
"Twill be another Yarrow !

"If care with freezing years should come, And wandering seem but folly,

Should we be loth to stir from home,

And yet be melancholy;

Should life be dull, and spirits low,

'T will soothe us in our sorrow,

That earth has something yet to show,
The bonny holms of Yarrow !"

YARROW VISITED.

SEPTEMBER, 1814.

AND is this-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,

To utter notes of gladness,

And chase this silence from the air,
That fills my heart with sadness!

Yet why a silvery current flows

With uncontrolled meanderings;

Nor have these eyes by greener hills

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,
Save where that pearly whiteness
Is round the rising sun diffused,
A tender hazy brightness;

Mild dawn of promise! that excludes

All profitless dejection;

Though not unwilling here t' admit

A pensive recollection.

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 haunts of happy lovers,

The path that leads them to the grove,
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.