For ever now, O Yarrow stream! Thou art to me a stream of sorrow; Behold my Love, the flower of Yarrow. He promised me a milk-white steed To squire me to his father's towers; Alas, his watery grave, in Yarrow ! Sweet were his words when last we met; His mother from the window look'd The green-wood path to meet her brother; No longer from thy window look- The tear shall never leave my cheek, I'll seek thy body in the stream, And now with him she sleeps in Yarrow. J. Logan CXXVIII WILLY DROWNED IN YARROW Down in yon garden sweet and gay I heard a fair maid sighing say My wish be wi' sweet Willie ! 'Willie's rare, and Willie's fair, 'O gentle wind, that bloweth south, 'O tell sweet Willie to come doun And see the birds on ilka bush And leaves around them hinging. 'The lav'rock there, wi' her white breast 'O Leader haughs are wide and braid There Willie hecht to marry me 'But Willie's gone, whom I thought on, 'Yestreen I made my bed fu' braid, 'O came ye by yon water-side? Or came you by yon meadow green, 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 ! Anon. CXXIX LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE Toll for the Brave! The brave that are no more! All sunk beneath the wave Fast by their native shore ! Eight hundred of the brave A land-breeze shook the shrouds And she was overset ; Down went the Royal George, With all her crew complete. Toll for the brave! Brave Kempenfelt is gone; It was not in the battle; His sword was in its sheath, Weigh the vessel up Once dreaded by our foes! The tear that England owes. Her timbers yet are sound, And she may float again Full charged with England's thunder, And plough the distant main : But Kempenfelt is gone, And he and his eight hundred Shall plough the wave no more. W. Cowper CXXX BLACK-EYED SUSAN All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd, William, who high upon the yard Rock'd with the billow to and fro, Soon as her well-known voice he heard He sigh'd, and cast his eyes below: The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands, And quick as lightning on the deck he stands. So the sweet lark, high poised in air, 'O Susan, Susan, lovely dear, My vows shall ever true remain ; Let me kiss off that falling tear; We only part to meet again. Change as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be The faithful compass that still points to thee. 'Believe not what the landmen say Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind: They'll tell thee, sailors, when away, In every port a mistress find: Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so, 'If to fair India's coast we sail, Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright, Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale, Thy skin is ivory so white. Thus every beauteous object that I view Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. Though battle call me from thy arms Love turns aside the balls that round me fly, Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.' The boatswain gave the dreadful word, The sails their swelling bosom spread ; No longer must she stay aboard; They kiss'd, she sigh'd, he hung his head. |