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And if, as Yarrow, through the woods
And down the meadow ranging, Did meet us with unaltered face,
Though we were changed and changing ; If, then, some natural shadows spread
Our inward prospect over,
Its brightness to recover.
Eternal blessings on the Muse,
And her divine employment ! The blameless Muse, who trains her Sons
For hope and calm enjoyment;
Has o'er their pillow brooded ;
Not easily eluded.
Green Eildon-hill and Cheviot
And leave thy Tweed and Teviot
May classic Fancy, linking
O! while they minister to thee,
Each vying with the other,
With Strength, her venturous brother ; And Tiber, and each brook and rill Renowned in
story, With unimagined beauty shine,
Nor lose one ray of glory!
For Thou, upon a hundred streams,
By tales of love and sorrow,
Hast shed the power of Yarrow;
Where'er thy path invite thee, At parent Nature's grateful call,
With gladness must requite Thee.
A gracious welcome shall be thine,
Such looks of love and honour As thy own Yarrow gave to me
When first I gazed upon her ;
Unwilling to surrender
The holy and the tender.
And what, for this frail world, were all
That mortals do or suffer,
Memorial tribute offer ?
Her features, could they win us,
That hourly speaks within us ?
Nor deem that localised Romance
Plays false with our affections ;
For fanciful dejections :
Sustain the heart in feeling
With friends and kindred dealing.
Bear witness, Ye, whose thoughts that day
In Yarrow's groves were center'd;
Of mouldering Newark enter'd,
Too timidly was mounted
Ere he his Tale recounted !
Flow on for ever, Yarrow Stream!
Fulfil thy pensive duty,
For simple hearts thy beauty,
Dear to the common sunshine,
To memory's shadowy moonshine!
ON THE DEPARTURE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT FROM
ABBOTSFORD, FOR NAPLES.
A TROUBLE, not of clouds, or weeping rain,