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5 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, 10 Who have been buying, selling,

Go back to Yarrow, 't is their own;
Each maiden to her dwelling !
On Yarrow's banks let herons feed,

Hares couch, and rabbits burrow !
15 But we will downward with the Tweed,

Nor turn aside to Yarrow.

“ There's Galla Water, Leader Haughs, Both lying right before us;

And Dryborough, where with chiming Tweed 20 The lintwhites sing in chorus ;

There's pleasant Tiviot-dale, a land
Made blithe with plough and harrow:
Why throw away a needful day

in search of Yarrow?

25" 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! 30 My true love sighed for sorrow;

And looked me in the face, to think
I thus could speak of Yarrow!

9. Frae. Scottish for from.

“Oh, green,” said I, " are Yarrow's holms,

And sweet is Yarrow flowing !
35 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 40 Into the dale of Yarrow.

“Let beeves and homebred kine partake
The sweets of Burn-mill meadow;
The swan on still St. Mary's Lake

Float double, swan and shadow!
45 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 ! 50 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! 55 For when we ’re there, although 't is fair,

'T will be another Yarrow !

“If care with freezing years should come, And wandering seem but folly,

Should we be loth to stir from home, 60 And yet be melancholy,

Should life be dull, and spirits low,
'T will soothe us in our sorrow,
That earth has something yet to show,
The bonny holms of Yarrow!”



my Fellow-traveller and I were walking by the side of Loch Ketterine, one fine evening after sunset, in our road to a hut where, in the course of our tour, we had been hospitably entertained some weeks before, we met, in one of the loneliest parts of that solitary region, two well-dressed women, one of whom said to us, by way of greeting, “What, you are stepping westward ?”

What, you are stepping westward?— “ Yea.- 'T would be a wildish destiny, If we, who thus together roam In a strange land, and far from home, 5 Were in this place the guests of chance : Yet who would stop, or fear to advance, Though home or shelter he had none, With such a sky to lead him on?

The dewy ground was dark and cold; 10 Behind, all gloomy to behold;

And stepping westward seemed to be
A kind of heavenly destiny:
I liked the greeting; ’t was a sound

Of something without place or bound; 15 And seemed to give me spiritual right

To travel through that region bright.

The voice was soft, and she who spake
Was walking by her native lake :

The salutation had to me
20 The very sound of courtesy:

Its power was felt; and while my eye
Was fixed upon the glowing sky,

The echo of the voice inwrought

A human sweetness with the thought
25 Of travelling through the world that lay

Before me in my endless way.



EARTH has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth, like a garment, wear
5 The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky,
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.

Never did sun more beautifully steep,
10 In his first splendor, valley, rock, or bill;

Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!


A FLOCK of sheep that leisurely pass by, One after one; the sound of rain, and bees Murmuring ; the fall of rivers, winds and seas, Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky; 5 I have thought of all by turns, and yet to lie Sleepless! and soon the small birds' melodies Must hear, first uttered from my orchard trees; And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry.

Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay, 10 And could not win thee, Sleep! by any stealth ;

So do not let me wear to-night away:
Without thee what is all the morning's wealth ?
Come, blessed barrier between day and day,
Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health !



It is a beauteous evening, calm and free,
The holy time is quiet as a nun
Breathless with adoration ; the broad sun
Is sinking down in its tranquillity;
5 The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the sea.
Listen! the mighty Being is awake,
And doth with his eternal motion make
A sound like thunder - everlastingly.

Dear child! dear girl! that walkest with me here, 10 If thou appear untouched by solemın thought,

Thy nature is not therefore less divine:
Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year ;
And worshipp'st at the temple’s inner shrine,
God being with thee when we know it not.



WHEN first, descending from the moorlands,
I saw the stream of Yarrow glide
Along a bare and open valley,

The Ettrick Shepherd was my guide. 4. James Hogg was a shepherd in the Vale of Ettrick, who had a slight but genuine poetic gift. He was a friend of Walter Scott's

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