Nor deem that localized Romance Ah, no! the visions of the past Bear witness, ye, whose thoughts that day By the "last Minstrel," (not the last!) Flow on for ever, Yarrow Stream! Fulfil thy pensive duty, Well pleased that future Bards should chant For simple hearts thy beauty; To dream-light dear while yet unseen, Dear to the common sunshine, And dearer still, as now I feel, To memory's shadowy moonshine! II. ON THE DEPARTURE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT FROM ABBOTS FORD, FOR NAPLES. A TROUBLE, not of clouds, or weeping rain, Engendered, hangs o'er Eildon's triple height: Saddens his voice again, and yet again. Lift up your hearts, ye Mourners! for the might Ye winds of ocean, and the midland sea, III. A PLACE OF BUKIAL IN THE SOUTH OF SCOTLAND. PART fenced by man, part by a rugged steep That curbs a foaming brook, a Graveyard lies; The hare's best couching-place for fearless sleep; Which moonlit elves, far seen by credulous eyes, Enter in dance. Of church, or Sabbath ties, IV. ON THE SIGHT OF A MANSE IN THE SOUTH OF SCOTLAND, SAY, ye far-travelled clouds, far-seeing hills, Among the happiest-looking homes of men Scattered all Britain over, through deep glen, On airy upland, and by forest rills, And o'er wide plains cheered by the lark that trills His sky-born warblings,-does aught meet your ken More fit to animate the Poet's pen, Aught that more surely by its aspect fills Pure minds with sinless envy, than the Abode Nor covets lineal rights in lands and towers. (We know not whence) ministers for a bell* Tho' Christian rites be wanting! From what bank Came those live herbs? by what hand were they sown, Where dew falls not, where rain-drops seem unknown? Yet in the Temple they a friendly niche Share with their sculptured fellows, that, green grown, Copy their beauty more and more, and preach, VI. THE TROSACHS. THERE's not a nook within this solemn Pass, Taught by his summer spent, his autumn gone, Withered at eve. Frem scenes of art which chase That thought away, turn, and with watchful eyes Feed it 'mid Nature's old felicities, Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glass Untouched, unbreathed upon. Thrice-happy quest If from a golden perch of aspen spray (October's workmanship to rival May) The pensive warbler of the ruddy breast That moral sweeten by a heaven-taught lay, Lulling the year, with all its cares, to rest! VII. THE pibroch's note, discountenanced or mute; Of quaint apparel for a half-spoilt boy; Among the conquests of civility, Survives Imagination, to the change Superior? Help to Virtue does she give? If not, O Mortals, better cease to live! |