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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?

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“There's Galla Water, Leader Haughs,

“If care with freezing years should come, Both lying right before us;

And wandering seem but folly, -
And Dryborough, where with chiming Tweed Should we be loth to stir from home,
The lintwhites sing in chorus;

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!"

WILLIAX WORDSWORTH.

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If, then, some natural shadows spread

Our inward prospect over,
YARROW REVISITED.

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.
Long left without a warder,
I stood, looked, listened, and with thee,
Great Minstrel of the Border!

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
Were on the bough, or falling;

With native fancy her fresh aid,
But breezes playod, and sunshine gleamed, Preserve thy heart from sinking!

The forest to embolden;
Reddened the fiery hues, and shot

0, while they minister to thee, Transparence through the golden.

Each vying with the other,
May health return to mellow age,

With strength, her venturous brother;
For busy thoughts, the stream flowed on
In foamy agitation;

And Tiber, and each brook and rill

Renowned in song and story,
And slept in many a crystal pool
For quiet contemplation.

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,
Our happy days recalling.

By tales of love and sorrow,
Of faithful love, undaunted truth,

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
Her night not melancholy;

With gladness must requite thee.
Past, present, future, all appeared
In harmony united,

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.

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