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A creature not too bright or good “0, green,” said I, “are Yarrow's For human nature's daily food,
holms, For transient sorrows, simple wiles, And sweet is Yarrow flowing ! Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, smiles.
But we will leave it growing.
O'er hilly path and open strath And now I see with eye serene
We'll wander Scotland thorough; The very pulse of the machine;
But, though so near, we will not turn A being breathing thoughtful breath, Into the dale of Yarrow. A traveller between life and death; The reason firm, the temperate will,
“Let beeves and home-bred kine partake Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
The sweets of Burn Mill meadow; A perfect woman, nobly planned
The swan on still Saint Mary's Lake To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet a spirit still, and bright
Float double, swan and shadow!
We will not see them; will not go
To-day, nor yet to-morrow ;
There's such a place as Yarrow.
“ Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown! From Stirling Castle we had seen
It must, or we shall rue it: The mazy Forth unravelled;
We have a vision of our own; Had trod the banks of Clyde and Tay,
Ah! why should we undo it? And with the Tweed had travelled;
The treasured dreams of times long past, And when we came to Clovenford, Then said my “winsome Marrow,"
We'll keep them, winsome Marrow !
For when we're there, although 't is fair, “Whate'er betide, we 'll turn aside,
"T will be another Yarrow ! And see the Braes of Yarrow." “Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town,
“If care with freezing years should come, Who have been buying, selling,
And wandering seem but folly, Go back to Yarrow, 't is their own,
Should we be loath to stir from home, Each maiden to her dwelling!
And yet be melancholy; On Yarrow's banks let herons feed,
Should life be dull, and spirits low, Hares couch, and rabbits burrow!
"T will soothe us in our sorrow But we will downward with the Tweed, That earth has something yet to show, Nor turn aside to Yarrow.
The bonny holms of Yarrow!" "There's Galla Water, Leader Haughs,
Both lying right before us ;
PAINTED BY SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT.
I was thy neighbor once, thou rugged To go in search of Yarrow?
Four summer weeks I dwelt in sight of “What's Yarrow but a river bare,
thee: That glides the dark hills under?
I saw thee every day; and all the while There are a thousand such elsewhere Thy form was sleeping on a glassy sea.
As worthy of your wonder." - Strange words they seemed of slight So pure the sky, so quiet ras the air ! and scorn;
So like, so very like, was day to day! My true-love sighed for sorrow, Whene'er I looked, thy image still was And looked me in the face, to think
there; I thus could speak of Yarrow! It trembled, but it never passed away.
How perfect was the calm! It seemed | That hulk which labors in the deadly no sleep,
swell, No mood, which season takes away, or This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear!
brings : I could have fancied that the mighty And this huge castle, standing here subDeep
lime, Was even the gentlest of all gentlethings. I love to see the look with which it
braves Ah! then if mine had been the painter's Cased in the unfeeling armor of old hand
timeTo express what then I saw; and add The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampthe gleam,
ling waves. The light that never was on sea or land, The consecration, and the poet's dream, - Farewell, farewell the heart that lives
alone, I would have planted thee, thou hoary Housed in a dream, at distance from the pile,
kind! Amid a world how different from this! Such happiness, wherever it be known, Beside a sea that could not cease to smile; Is to be pitied; for 't is surely blind. On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss.
But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer, A picture had it been of lasting ease, And freqnent sights of what is to be Elysian quiet, without toil or strife;
borne ! No motion but the moving tide, a breeze; Such sights, or worse, as are before me Or merely silent Nature's breathing life. here:
Not without hope we suffer and we mourn. Such, in the fond illusion of my heart, Such picture would I at that time have
made; And seen the soul of truth in every part,
ODE TO DUTY. A steadfast peace that might not be betrayed.
STERN daughter of the voice of God!
O Duty! if that name thou love, So once it would have been,-'t is so no Who art a light to guide, a rod more;
To check the erring, and reprove;
From vain temptations dost set free,
manity! Not for a moment could I now behold A smiling sea, and be what I have been : There are who ask not if thine eye The feeling of my loss will ne'er be Be on them; who, in love and truth, old;
Where no misgiving is, rely
Glad hearts ! without reproach or blot ;
Who do thy work, and know it not: Then, Beaumont, Friend! who would May joy be theirs while life shall last! have been the friend,
And thou, if they should totter, teach If he had lived, of him whom I deplore, them to stand fast! This work of thine I blame not, but commend ;
Serene will be our days and bright, This sea in anger, and that dismal shore. And happy will our nature be,
When love is an unerring light, 0, 't is a passionate work ! - yet wise and And joy its own security. well,
And blest are they who in the main Well chosen is the spirit that is here; This faith, even now, do entertain :
Live in the spirit of this creed;
Must hear, first uttered from my orchard Yet find that other strength, according to trees, their need.
And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry. I, loving freedom, and untried,
Even thus. last night, and two nights No sport of every random gust,
more I lay, Yet being to myself a guide,
And could not win thee, Sleep! by any Too blindly have reposed my trust;
stealth: Full oft, when in my heart was heard So do not let me wear to-night away: Thy timely mandate, 1 deferred
Without thee what is all the morning's The task imposed, from day to day;
wealth? But thee I now would serve more strict. Come, blesséd barrier between day and ly, if I may.
Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous Through no disturbance of my soul,
health! Or strong compunction in me wrought, I supplicate for thy control;
THE WORLD. But in the quietness of thought: Me this unchartered freedom tires; The world is too much with us; late and I feel the weight of chance desires : Mly hopes no more must change their Getting and spending, we lay waste our name,
powers : I long for a repose which ever is the same. Little we see in nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid Stern lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
boon! The Godhead's most benignant grace;
This sea that bares her bosom to the Nor know we anything so sair
moon, As is the smile upon thy face. Flowers laugh before thee on their beds, The winds that will be howling at all
hours And fragrance in thy footing treads;
And are up-gathered now like sleeping Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong, And the most ancient heavens, through For this, for everything, we are out of
flowers, thee, are fresh and strong.
tune; To humbler functions, awful power!
It moves us not. Great God! I'd rather
be I call thee: I myself commend l'nto thy guidance from this hour;
A pagan suckled in a creed outworn; O, let my weakness have an end !
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Give unto me, made lowly wise,
Have glimpses that would make me less The spirit of self-sacrifice;
forlorn, The confidence of reason give;
Have sight of Proteus coming from the And, in the light of truth, thy bondman let me live!
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathéd
TO THE RIVER DUDDON. A FLOCK of sheep that leisurely pass by I thought of thee, my partner and my One after one; the sound of rain, and bees guide, Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds
As being passed away, — vain sympa.
thies ! Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and
For backward, Duddon! as I cast my pure sky;
I see what was, and is, and will abide: I've thought of all by turns, and still I Still glides the stream, and shall forever lie
glide; Sleepless; and soon the small birds' The form remains, the function never melodies
While we, the brave, the mighty, and | “O, come ye in peace here, or come ye in the wise,
war, We men, who in our morn of youth Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord defied
Lochinvar ?" The elements, must vanish ;- be it so! Enough, if something from our hands "I long wooed your daughter, my suit To live, and act, and serve the future Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like hour;
its tide! And if, as toward the silent tomb we And now am I come, with this lost love go,
of mine, Through love, through hope, and faith's To lead but one measure, drink one cup transcendent dower,
of wine! We feel that we are greater than we know. There be maidens in Scotland more
lovely by far, That would gladly be bride to the young
took it up,
SIR WALTER SCOTT.
The bride kissed the goblet; the knight (1771-1832.)
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw
down the cup! YOUNG LOCHINVAR.
She looked down to blush, and she looked
up to sigh, O, YOUNG Lochinvar is come ont of the With a smile on her lips and a tear in
west, Through all the wide Border his steed He took her soft hand, ere her mother was the best;
could bar, And save his good broadsword he weapon “Now tread we a measure !” said young
Lochinvar. He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.
So stately his form, and so lovely her So faithful in love, and so dauntless in
That never a hall such a galliard did There never was knight like the young
While her mother did fret, and her father
did fume, He stayed not for brake, and he stopped And the bridegroom stood dangling his not for stone,
bonnet and plume, He swam the Esk River where ford there And the bride-maidens whispered,
“'T were better by far But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, To have matched our fair cousin with The bride had consented, the gallant came
young Lochinvar!” late: For a laggard in love, and a dastard in One touch to her hand, and one word in
war', Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Loch. When they reached the hall door, and invar,
the charger stood near,
So light to the croupe the fair lady he So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, swung, Mong bridesmen, and kinsmen, and So light to the saddle before her he brothers, and all !
sprung. Then spoke the bride's father, his hand “She is won! we are gone, over bank, on his sword,
bush, and scaur; For the poor craven bridegroom said They'll have fleet steeds that follow!" never a word,
quoth young Lochinvar.