An Ossian out of mural rock, What though the Granite would deny Yet, in some fit of anger sharp, 85 90 95 The wind might force the deep-grooved harp To utter melancholy moans Not unconnected with the tones Of soul-sick flesh and weary bones; While grove and river notes would lend, Vain pleasures of luxurious life, For ever with yourselves at strife; Through town and country both deranged And all the perishable gauds That heaven-deserted man applauds; That seeks its wisdom through the heart? 100 105 115 Thus (where the intrusive Pile, ill-graced O'erlooks the torrent breathing showers IV. YARROW VISITED. SEPTEMBER, 1814. (See page 96.) AND is this-Yarrow?-This the Stream Of which my fancy cherished, So faithfully, a waking dream? 120 125 O that some Minstrel's harp were near, 5 And chase this silence from the air, Yet why?-a silvery current flows With uncontrolled meanderings; And, through her depths, Saint Mary's Lake Is visibly delighted; For not a feature of those hills Is in the mirror slighted. ΙΟ 15 A blue sky bends o'er Yarrow vale, Mild dawn of promise! that excludes Though not unwilling here to admit. Where was it that the famous Flower Of Yarrow Vale lay bleeding? His bed perchance was yon smooth mound 20 25 30 The Water-wraith ascended thrice- That paints, by strength of sorrow, The unconquerable strength of love; 40 But thou, that didst appear SO fair Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation: Meek loveliness is round thee spread, The grace of forest charms decayed, 45 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! 50 The shattered front of Newark's Towers, 55 Renowned in Border story. Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom, 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 sober Hills thus deck their brows I see but not by sight alone, A ray of fancy still survives 75 Her sunshine plays upon thee! And gladsome notes my lips can breathe, 80 |