And if the word had been fulfilled, As might have been, then, thought of joy! France would have had her present Boast, And we our own Rob Roy!
O, say not so! compare them not; I would not wrong thee, Champion brave! Would wrong thee nowhere; least of all Here standing by thy grave.
For thou, although with some wild thoughts, Wild Chieftain of a savage Clan! Hadst this to boast of: thou didst love
And had it been thy lot to live With us who now behold the light, Thou wouldst have nobly stirred thyself, And battled for the Right.
For thou wert still the poor man's stay, The poor man's heart, the poor man's hand; And all the oppressed, who wanted strength, Had thine at their command.
Bear witness many a pensive sigh Of thoughtful Herdsman when he strays Alone upon Loch Vool's heights,
And by Loch Lomond's braes.
And, far and near, through vale and hill, Are faces that attest the same ;
The proud heart flashing through the eyes, At sound of ROB ROY's name.
DEGENERATE Douglas! O the unworthy Lord! Whom mere despite of heart could so far please, And love of havoc, (for with such disease Fame taxes him,) that he could send forth word To level with the dust a noble horde, A brotherhood of venerable Trees,
Leaving an ancient dome, and towers like these, Beggared and outraged! - Many hearts deplored The fate of those old Trees; and oft with pain The traveller, at this day, will stop and gaze On wrongs, which Nature scarcely seems to heed: For sheltered places, bosoms, nooks, and bays, And the pure mountains, and the gentle Tweed, And the green, silent pastures, yet remain.
See the various Poems the scene of which is laid upon the banks of the Yarrow; in particular, the exquisite Ballad of Hamilton beginning,
"Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny, bonny Bride, Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome Marrow!"
FROM Stirling Castle we had seen The mazy Forth unravelled; Had trod the banks of Clyde and Tay, And with the Tweed had travelled; 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, 't is 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 Tiviot-dale, 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 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;
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 't is fair, 'T will be another Yarrow!
"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, 'T will soothe us in our sorrow, That earth has something yet to show, The bonny holms of Yarrow!"
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