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More precious that diviner part
Of David, even the Lord's own heart

Great, beautiful, and new;
In all things where it was intent,
In all extremes, in each event,

Proof-answering true to true.

Glorious the sun in mid career;
Glorious the assembled fires appear;

Glorious the comet's train:
Glorious the trumpet and alarm;
Glorious the Almighty's stretched-out arm;

Glorious the enraptured main:

Glorious the northern lights a-stream;
Glorious the song, when God's the theme;

Glorious the thunder's roar:
Glorious Hosannah from the den;
Glorious the catholic Amen;

Glorious the martyr's gore:

Glorious,-more glorious,-is the crown
Of Him that brought salvation down,

By meekness called Thy Son;
Thou that stupendous truth believed ;-
And now the match ss deed's achieved,

Determined, Dared, and Done.

ANONYMOUS

302

WILLY DROWNED IN YARROW

Down in yon garden sweet and gay

Where bonnie grows the lily,
I heard a fair maid sighing say,

‘My wish be wi' sweet Willie !

*Willie's rare, and Willie's fair,

And Willie's wondrous bonny;

And Willie hecht' to marry me

Gin e'er he married ony.

'O gentle wind, that bloweth south,

From where my Love repaireth,
Convey a kiss frae his dear mouth

And tell me how he fareth!

O tell sweet Willie to come doun

And hear the mavis singing,
And see the birds on ilka bush

And leaves around them hinging.

• The lav'rock there, wi' her white breast

And gentle throat sae narrow;
There's sport eneuch for gentlemen

On Leader haughs and Yarrow.

‘O Leader haughs are wide and braid

And Yarrow haughs are bonny;
There Willie hecht to marry me

If e'er he married ony.

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' But Willie's gone, whom I thought on,

And does not hear me weeping;
Draws many a tear frae true love's e'e

When other maids are sleeping.

Yestreen I made my bed fu' braid,

The night I'll mak' it narrow,
For a' the live-lang winter night

I lie twined o' my marrow.

'O came ye by yon water-side?

Pou'd you the rose or lily?
Or came you by yon meadow green,

Or saw you my sweet Willie?' 3 Promised.

• Meadows by a river, • Separated from my mate.

2 Lark.

She sought him up, she sought him down,

She sought him braid and narrow;
Syne, in the cleaving of a craig,

She found him drown'd in Yarrow!

JOHN LOGAN

[1748-1788]

303

THE BRAES OF YARROW

Thy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream,
When first on them I met my lover;
Thy braes how dreary, Yarrow stream,
When now thy waves his body cover!
For ever now, O Yarrow stream!
Thou art to me a stream of sorrow;
For never on thy banks shall I
Behold my Love, the flower of Yarrow.

He promised me a milk-white steed
To bear me to his father's bowers;
He promised me a little page
To squire me to his father's towers;
He promised me a wedding-ring,-
The wedding-day was fix'd to-morrow;-
Now he is wedded to his grave,
Alas, his watery grave, in Yarrow!

Sweet were his words when last we met;
My passion I as freely told him;
Clasp'd in his arms, I little thought
That I should never more behold him!
Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost;
It vanish'd with a shriek of sorrow;
Thrice did the water-wraith ascend,
And gave a doleful groan thro' Yarrow.

His mother from the window look'd
With all the longing of a mother;

His little sister weeping walk'd
The green-wood path to meet her brother;
They sought him east, they sought him west,
They sought him all the forest thorough;
They only saw the cloud of night,
They only heard the roar of Yarrow.

No longer from thy window look-
Thou hast no son, thou tender mother!
No longer walk, thou lovely maid;
Alas, thou hast no more a brother!
No longer seek him east or west
And search no more the forest thorough;
For, wandering in the night so dark,
He fell a lifeless corpse in Yarrow.

The tear shall never leave my cheek,
No other youth shall be my marrow-
I'll seek thy body in the stream,
And then with thee I'll sleep in Yarrow.
—The tear did never leave her cheek,
No other youth became her marrow;
She found his body in the stream,
And now with him she sleeps in Yarrow.

HENRY FIELDING

(1707-1754)

304

A HUNTING SONG

The dusky night rides down the sky,

And ushers in the morn;
The hounds all join in glorious cry,
The huntsman winds his horn,

And a-hunting we will go.

The wife around her husband throws

Her arms, and begs his stay;

My dear, it rains, and hails, and snows,
You will not hunt to-day?'

But a-hunting we will go.

'A brushing fox in yonder wood

Secure to find we seek:
For why? I carried, sound and good,
A cartload there last week,

And a-hunting we will go.'
Away he goes, he fies the rout,

Their steeds all spur and switch,
Some are thrown in, and some thrown out,
And some thrown in the ditch;

But a-hunting we will go.

At length his strength to faintness worn,

Poor Reynard ceases Alight;
Then, hungry, homeward we return,
To feast away the night.

Then a-drinking we will go.

CHARLES DIBDIN

(1745-1814] Tom BOWLING

305

HERE, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling,

The darling of our crew;
No more he'll hear the tempest howling,

For Death has broached him to.
His form was of the manliest beauty,

His heart was kind and soft;
Faithful below he did his duty,

And now he's gone aloft.

Tom never from his word departed,

His virtues were so rare;
His friends were many and true-hearted,

His Poll was kind and fair:

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