« AnteriorContinuar »
On Yarrow's banks let herons feed,
'There's Galla Water, Leader Haughs,
Both lying right before us;
And Dryborough, where with chiming Tweed
There's pleasant Tiviot-dale, a land
'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 rock1,
O'er hilly path, and open strath,
'Let beeves and home-bred kine partake
1 See Hamilton's ballad, as above.
'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,
'If Care with freezing years should come,
And yet be melancholy;
Should life be dull, and spirits low,
'Twill soothe us in our sorrow,
TO THE CUCKOO.
O blithe New-comer! I have heard,
O Cuckoo shall I call thee Bird,
While I am lying on the grass
Though babbling only to the Vale,
Thou bringest unto me a tale
Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring!
No bird, but an invisible thing,
The same whom in my school-boy days I listened to; that Cry
Which made me look a thousand ways In bush, and tree, and sky.
To seek thee did I often rove
And I can listen to thee yet;
That golden time again.
O blessed Bird! the earth we pace
AT THE GRAVE OF BURNS.
(Seven Years after his Death.)
I shiver, Spirit fierce and bold,
At thought of what I now behold:
Strike pleasure dead,
So sadness comes from out the mould
And have I then thy bones so near,
And both my wishes and my fear
Off weight-nor press on weight !-away
To him, and aught that hides his clay
Fresh as the flower, whose modest worth
Doth glorify its humble birth
The piercing eye, the thoughtful brow,
Full soon the Aspirant of the plough,
The prompt, the brave,
Slept, with the obscurest, in the low
I mourned with thousands, but as one
How Verse may build a princely throne
Alas! where'er the current tends,
By Skiddaw seen,—
Neighbours we were, and loving friends
True friends though diversely inclined; But heart with heart and mind with mind, Where the main fibres are entwined,
Through Nature's skill,
May even by contraries be joined
The tear will start, and let it flow;
Might we together
Have sate and talked where gowans blow,
What treasures would have then been placed
But why go on?—
Oh! spare to sweep, thou mournful blast,
There, too, a Son, his joy and pride,
Yet one to which is not denied
For he is safe, a quiet bed
And surely here it may be said
And oh for Thee, by pitying grace
Sighing I turned away; but ere
A ritual hymn,
Chaunted in love that casts out fear