Before me begging did she stand, Grief after grief:-on English Land Such woes I knew could never be; And yet a boon I gave her; for the Creature Was beautiful to see; "a Weed of glorious feature!'' I left her, and pursued my way ; A pair of little Boys at play, Chasing a crimson butterfly; The Taller followed with his hat in hand, Wreathed round with yellow flowers, the gayest of the land. The Other wore a rimless crown, In their fraternal features I could trace Unquestionable lines of that wild Suppliant's face. 66 They bolted on me thus, and lo! Your Mother has had alms of mine." "That cannot be," one answered, "She is dead." Nay but I gave her pence, and she will buy you bread." "She has been dead, Sir, many a day." "Sweet Boys, you're telling me a lie ; It was your Mother, as I say And in the twinkling of an eye, "Come, come!" cried one; and, without more ado, Off to some other play they both together flew. XXVI. YARROW UNVISITED. 1803. (See the various Poems the Scene of which is laid upon the Banks of the Yarrow; in particular, the exquisite Ballad of Hamilton, beginning "Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny, bonny Bride, FROM Stirling Castle we had seen Had trod the banks of Clyde, and Tay, And, when we came to Clovenford, Then said my "winsome Marrow," "Whate'er betide, we'll turn aside, And see the Braes of Yarrow." "Let Yarrow Folk, frae Selkirk Town, Go back to Yarrow, 'tis their own, On Yarrow's Banks let herons feed, There's Galla Water, Leader Haughs, Both lying right before us; And Dryborough, where with chiming Tweed The Lintwhites sing in chorus; There's pleasant Tiviot-dale, a land Made blithe with plough and harrow : Why throw away a needful day What's Yarrow but a River bare That glides the dark hills under? There are a thousand such elsewhere As worthy of your wonder." - Strange words they seemed of slight and scorn; My True-love sighed for sorrow; And looked me in the face, to think I thus could speak of Yarrow ! "Oh! green," said I, "are Yarrow's Holms, And sweet is Yarrow flowing! Fair hangs the apple frae the rock *, But we will leave it growing. O'er hilly path, and open Strath, We'll wander Scotland thorough; But, though so near, we will not turn Let Beeves and home-bred Kine partake The sweets of Burn-mill meadow; Be Yarrow Stream unseen, unknown! 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 ! * See Hamilton's Ballad, as above. |