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 Dryborough, 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*,

But we will leave it growing.

* See Hamilton's Ballad as above.

O'er hilly path, and open Strath,
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 St. 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 'tis 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,
'Twill soothe us in our sorrow,
That earth has something yet to show,

The bonny holms of Yarrow !"

1803

XLVIII

MOST sweet it is with unuplifted eyes

To pace the ground, if path be there or none,
While a fair region round the traveller lies
Which he forbears again to look upon;

Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene,
The work of Fancy, or some happy tone
Of meditation, slipping in between
The beauty coming and the beauty gone.

If Thought and Love desert us, from that day Let us break off all commerce with the Muse: With Thought and Love companions of our way, Whate'er the senses take or may refuse,

The Mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews Of inspiration on the humblest lay.

XLIX

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 to 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: