| |
| 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, | 5 |
| 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; | 10 |
| 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 | 15 |
| 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; | 20 |
| 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 | 25 |
| 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, | 30 |
| 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, | 35 |
| 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! | 40 |
| |
| But thou, that didst appear so fair | |
| To fond imagination, | |
| Dost rival in the light of day | |
| Her delicate creation: | |
| Meek loveliness is round thee spread, | 45 |
| A softness still and holy; | |
| The grace of forest charms decayed, | |
| And pastoral melancholy. | |
| |
| That region left, the vale unfolds | |
| Rich groves of lofty stature, | 50 |
| With Yarrow winding through the pomp | |
| Of cultivated nature; | |
| And, rising from those lofty groves, | |
| Behold a ruin hoary! | |
| The shattered front of Newark’s towers | 55 |
| Renowned in border story. | |
| |
| Fair scenes for childhood’s opening bloom, | |
| For sportive youth to stray in; | |
| For manhood to enjoy his strength, | |
| And age to wear away in! | 60 |
| Yon cottage seems a bower of bliss, | |
| A covert for protection | |
| Of tender thoughts that nestle there,— | |
| The brood of chaste affection. | |
| |
| How sweet, on this autumnal day, | 65 |
| The wildwood fruits to gather, | |
| And on my true-love’s forehead plant | |
| A crest of blooming heather! | |
| And what if I inwreathed my own! | |
| ’T were no offence to reason; | 70 |
| The sober hills thus deck their brows | |
| To meet the wintry season. | |
| |
| I see,—but not by sight alone, | |
| Loved Yarrow, have I won thee; | |
| A ray of fancy still survives, | 75 |
| Her sunshine plays upon thee! | |
| Thy ever-youthful waters keep | |
| A course of lively pleasure; | |
| And gladsome notes my lips can breathe, | |
| Accordant to the measure. | 80 |
| |
| The vapors linger round the heights, | |
| They melt and soon must vanish; | |
| One hour is theirs, nor more is mine,— | |
| Sad thought, which I would banish, | |
| But that I know, where’er I go, | 85 |
| Thy genuine image, Yarrow! | |
| Will dwell with me,—to heighten joy, | |
| And cheer my mind in sorrow. | |
| |
