Meek loveliness is round thee spread, 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, A covert for protection Of tender thoughts, that nestle there— The brood of chaste affection. How sweet, on this autumnal day, And on my True-love's forehead plant And what if I enwreathed my own! The sober Hills thus deck their brows I see-but not by sight alone, And gladsome notes my lips can breathe, The vapours linger round the Heights, And cheer my mind in sorrow. L YARROW REVISITED: WITH SIR WALTER SCOTT, 1831 THE gallant Youth, who may have gained, When first I looked on Yarrow; I stood, looked, listened, and with Thee, Grave thoughts ruled wide on that sweet day, Their dignity installing In gentle bosoms, while sere leaves But breezes played, and sunshine gleamed— Reddened the fiery hues, and shot Transparence through the golden. For busy thoughts the Stream flowed on In foamy agitation; And slept in many a crystal pool For quiet contemplation: F No public and no private care The freeborn mind enthralling, We made a day of happy hours, Our happy days recalling. Brisk Youth appeared, the Morn of youth, Her Night not melancholy; In harmony united, Like guests that meet, and some from far, By cordial love invited. And if, as Yarrow, through the woods Did meet us with unaltered face, Though we were changed and changing; If, then, some natural shadows spread Our inward prospect over, The soul's deep valley was not slow Eternal blessings on the Muse, And her divine employment ! The blameless Muse, who trains her Sons For hope and calm enjoyment; Albeit sickness, lingering yet, Has o'er their pillow brooded; And Care waylays their steps-a Sprite Not easily eluded. For thee, O SCOTT! compelled to change. For warm Vesuvio's vine-clad slopes; O while they minister to thee, With Strength, her venturous brother; And Tiber, and each brook and rill For Thou, upon a hundred streams, |