Puslapio vaizdai
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We will not see them; will not go,
To-day, nor yet to-morrow;

Enough if in our hearts we know
There's such a place as Yarrow.

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,
We'll keep them, winsome Marrow!
For when we're there, although 'tis fair,
"Twill be another Yarrow!

If Care with freezing years should come,
And wandering seem but folly,-
Should we be loth to stir from home,
And yet be melancholy;

Should life be dull, and spirits low,

"Twill soothe us in our sorrow,

That earth has something yet to show,
The bonny holms of Yarrow!"

YARROW VISITED.*

SEPTEMBER, 1814.

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;

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* Wordsworth's first visit to the Yarrow was in 1814, accompanied by Hogg (the Ettrick Shepherd ") and Dr. Anderson, editor of an edition of "The British Poets."

Though not unwilling here to 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,

* And most delicious is the verse in which this sentiment is expressed. -ED.

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,
The wild-wood fruits to gather,
And on my True-love's forehead plant
A crest of blooming heather!
And what if I enwreathed my own!
"Twere no offence to reason;

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—
Her sunshine plays upon thee!
Thy ever-youthful waters keep
A course of lively pleasure;

*It promises protection

To studious ease and generous cares
And every chaste affection.-Edit. 1815.

And gladsome notes my lips can breathe,
Accordant to the measure.

The vapours 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,
Thy genuine image, Yarrow!

Will dwell with me-to heighten joy,

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THERE was a roaring in the wind all night;
The rain came heavily and fell in floods;
But now the sun is rising calm and bright;
The birds are singing in the distant woods;
Over his own sweet voice the Stock-dove broods;
The Jay makes answer as the Magpie chatters;
And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters.

"I seldom read or think of this poem without regretting that my dear sister was not of the party, as she would have had so much delight in recalling the time when, travelling together in Scotland, we declined going in search of this celebrated stream, not altogether, I will frankly confess, for the reasons assigned in the poem on the occasion."-W. W.

"This fine poem is especially characteristic of the author. There is scarce a defect or excellence in his writings of which it would not present a specimen."-S. T. Coleridge, Biog. Lit. Miss Wordsworth's journal says this poem was written May 7, 1802. The circumstance of meeting with the man will be found described in the Biography by Dr. C. Wordsworth, i. 17 Mr. Wordsworth put the date of 1807 to the poem.

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