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 t' 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 :

Meek loveliness is round thee spread,

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,
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, 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!

Yon cottage seems a bower of bliss ;
It promises protection

To studious ease, and generous cares,
And every chaste affection!

How sweet, on this autumnal day, The wild-wood's fruits to gather, And on my true-love's forehead plant A crest of blooming heather!