NOR Can I not believe but that hereby Great gains are mine; for thus I live remote From evil speaking; rancour, never sought, Comes to me not; malignant truth, or lie. Hence have I genial seasons, hence have I Smooth passions, smooth discourse, and joyous thought:
And thus, from day to day, my little boat Rocks in its harbour, lodging peaceably. Blessings be with them, and eternal praise, Who gave us nobler loves and nobler cares: The poets, who on earth have made us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays! Oh! might my name be number'd among theirs, Then gladly would I end my mortal days.
SONNET COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, SEPT. 3, 1803. 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 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 In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill; 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! VOL. II. D D
SWEET Highland girl, a very shower Of beauty is thy earthly dower! Twice seven consenting years have shed Their utmost bounty on thy head:
And these gray rocks, this household lawny These trees, a veil just half withdrawn ; This fall of water, that doth make
A murmur near the silent lake; This little bay, a quiet road That holds in shelter thy abode; In truth, together do ye seem Like something fashion'd in a dream; Such forms as from their covert peep When earthly cares are laid asleep! Yet, dream and vision as thou art, I bless thee with a human heart: God shield thee to thy latest years! I neither know thee nor thy peers, And yet my eyes are filled with tears. With earnest feeling I shall pray For thee when I am far away: For never saw I mien or face In which more plainly I could trace Benignity and homebred sense Ripening in perfect innocence. Here, scatter'd like a random seed, Remote from men, thou dost not need The embarrass'd look of shy distress, And maidenly shamefacedness: Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear The freedom of a mountaineer: A face with gladness overspread! Soft smiles, by human kindness bred! And seemliness complete, that sways Thy courtesies, about thee plays; With no restraint but such as springs From quick and eager visitings
Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach Of thy few words of English speech: A bondage sweetly brook'd, a strife That gives thy gestures grace and life! So have I, not unmoved in mind, Seen birds of tempest-loving kind, Thus beating up against the wind.
What hand but would a garland cull For thee, who art so beautiful? Oh happy pleasure! here to dwell Beside thee in some heathy dell; Adopt your homely ways, and dress, A shepherd, thou a shepherdess! But I could frame a wish for thee More like a grave reality: Thou art to me but as a wave
Of the wild sea: and I would have Some claim upon thee, if I could, Though but of common neighbourhood, What joy to hear thee, and to see! Thy elder brother I would be,
Thy father, anything to thee!
Now thanks to Heaven! that of its grace
Hath led me to this lonely place.
Joy have I had; and, going hence, I bear away my recompense. In spots like these it is we prize Our memory, feel that she hath eyes: Then why should I be loath to stir? I feel this place was made for her; To give new pleasure like the past, Continued long as life shall last. Nor am I loath, though pleased at heart, Sweet Highland girl! from thee to part; For I, methinks, till I grow old, As fair before me shall behold, As I do now, the cabin small, The lake, the bay, the waterfall, And thee, the spirit of them all!
YARROW UNVISITED.
FROM Stirling Castle we had seen The mazy Forth unravell'd;
Had trod the banks of Clyde, and Tay, And with the Tweed had travell'd; 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, Who have been buying, selling, Go back to Yarrow, 'tis their own- Each maiden to her dwelling!
On Yarrow's banks let herons feed, Hares couch, and rabbits burrow: 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, The Lintwhites sing in chorus;
There's pleasant Teviotdale, a land Made blithe with plough and harrow: Why throw away a needful day To go in search of Yarrow?
"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 seem'd, of slight and scorn;
My truelove sigh'd for sorrow;
And look'd 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 through; But, though so near, we will not turn Into the dale of Yarrow.
"Let beeves and homebred kine partake The sweets of Burnmill meadow; The swan on still St. Mary's Lake Float double, swan and shadow! 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! 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! For when we're there, although 'tis fair, "Twill be another Yarrow!
"If Care with freezing years should come, And wandering seem but folly;
Should we be loath to stir from home,
And yet be melancholy;
Should life be dull, and spirits low,
"Twill sooth us in our sorrow,
That earth has something yet to show,
The bonny holms of Yarrow!"
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