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The waves along thy pebbly shore,
There's pleasant Teviot-dale, a land As blows the north-wind, heave their foam Made blithe with plough and harrow: And curl around the dashing oar,
Why throw away a needful day As late the boatman hies him home. To go in search of Yarrow?
“There's Galla Water, Leader Haughs,
“If care with freezing years should come, Both lying right before us;
And wandering seem but folly, -
And yet be melancholy,
Should life be dull, and spirits low, * See the various poems, the scene of which is laid upon the banks of the Yarrow; in particular, the exquisite T will soothe us in our sorrow, ballad of Hamilton, on page 450 of this volumo, begin. That earth has something yet to showning:
The bonny holms of Yarrow!" "Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny, bonny Bride, Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome Marrow!"
If, then, some natural shadows spread
Our inward prospect over,
The soul's deep valley was not slow
Its brightness to recover. The following Stanzas are a memorial of a day passed with Sir Walter Scott and other friends, visiting the banks of the Yarrow under his guidance-immediately before Eternal blessings on the Muse, his departure from Abbotsford, for Naples.
And her divine employment!
The blameless Muse, who trains her sons The gallant youth, who may have gained,
For hope and calm enjoyment; Or seeks, a “winsome marrow,'
Albeit sickness, lingering yet, Was but an infant in the lap
Has o'er their pillow brooded; When first I looked on Yarrow;
And care waylays their steps,-a sprite Once more, by Newark's Castle-gate
Not easily eluded.
For thee, O Scott! compelled to change
Green Eildon Hill and Cheviot
For warm Vesuvio's vine-clad slopes; Grave thoughts ruled wide on that sweet day, And leave thy Tweed and Teviot Their dignity installing
For mild Sorrento's breezy waves; In gentle bosoms, while sere leaves
May classic fancy, linking
With native fancy her fresh aid,
The forest to embolden;
0, while they minister to thee, Transparence through the golden.
Each vying with the other,
With strength, her venturous brother;
And Tiber, and each brook and rill
Renowned in song and story,
With unimagined beauty shine,
Nor lose one ray of glory! No public and no private care
The freeborn mind enthralling, We made a day of happy hours,
For thou, upon a hundred streams,
By tales of love and sorrow,
Hast shed the power of Yarrow; Brisk Youth appeared, the morn of youth, And streams unknown, hills yet unseen, With freaks of graceful folly, —
Wherever they invite thee, Life's temperate noon, her sober eve,
At parent Nature's grateful call
With gladness must requite thee.
A gracious welcome shall be thine Like guests that meet, and some from far,
Such looks of love and honor By cordial love invited.
As thy own Yarrow gave to me
When first I gazed upon herAnd if, as Yarrow, through the woods Beheld what I had feared to see, And down the meadow ranging,
Unwilling to surrender Did meet us with unaltered face,
Dreams treasured up from early days Though we were changed and changing The holy and the tender.