And Dryborough, where with chiming Tweed There's pleasant Tiviot-dale, a land "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; My True-love sighed for sorrow; And looked me in the face, to think I thus could speak of Yarrow ! “O, 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 thorough; But, though so near, we will not turn Into the dale of Yarrow. "Let beeves and homebred kine partake The sweets of Burn-mill meadow ; Sce Hamilton's Ballad as above. The swan on still St. Mary's Lake "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, "If Care with freezing years should come, And wandering seem but folly, Should we be loth to stir from home, And yet be melancholy, Should life be dull, and spirits low, XIV. SONNET. IN THE PASS OF KILLICRANKY, An invasion being expected, October, 1803. SIX thousand veterans, practised in war's game, came The Highlanders, the slaughter spread like flame; Of the dead bodies.-'T was a day of shame O for a single hour of that Dundee, XV. THE MATRON OF JEDBOROUGH AND HER HUSBAND. At Jedborough, my companion and I went into private lodgings for a few days; and the following Verses were called forth by the character and domestic situation of our Hostess. AGE! twine thy brows with fresh spring flowers, And bid them dance, and bid them sing; Take to thy heart a new delight; That there is One who scorns thy power: And she will dance and sing with thee. Nay! start not at that Figure-there! Deaf, drooping, that is now his doom: The joyous Woman is the Mata With all its bravery on; in times I praise thee, Matron! and thy due Is praise, heroic praise, and true! With admiration I behold Thy gladness unsubdued and bold: |