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If, then, some natural shadows spread
Our inward prospect over,

The soul's deep valley was not slow
Its brightness to recover.

Eternal blessings on the Muse,
And her divine employment!

The blameless Muse, who trains her Sons
For hope and calm enjoyment;
Albeit sickness, lingering yet,

Has o'er their pillow brooded;

And Care waylays their steps-a Sprite Not easily eluded.

For thee, O SCOTT! compelled to change
Green Eildon-hill and Cheviot
For warm Vesuvio's vine-clad slopes;
And leave thy Tweed and Tiviot
For mild Sorento's breezy waves;
May classic Fancy, linking
With native Fancy her fresh aid,
Preserve thy heart from sinking!

O! while they minister to thee,
Each vying with the other,
May Health return to mellow Age

With Strength, her venturous brother;

And Tiber, and each brook and rill
Renowned in song and story,

With unimagined beauty shine,
Nor lose one ray of glory!

For Thou, upon a hundred streams,
By tales of love and sorrow,
Of faithful love, undaunted truth,
Hast shed the power of Yarrow;
And streams unknown, hills yet unseen,
Wherever they invite Thee,

At parent Nature's grateful call,
With gladness must requite Thee.

A gracious welcome shall be thine,
Such looks of love and honour
As thy own Yarrow gave to me
When first I gazed upon her;
Beheld what I had feared to see,
Unwilling to surrender

Dreams treasured up from early days,
The holy and the tender.

And what, for this frail world, were all
That mortals do or suffer,

Did no responsive harp, no pen,
Memorial tribute offer?

Yea, what were mighty Nature's self?

Her features, could they win us,

Unhelped by the poetic voice

That hourly speaks within us?

Nor deem that localised Romance
Plays false with our affections ;
Unsanctifies our tears-made sport
For fanciful dejections :

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Ah, no! the visions of the past
Sustain the heart in feeling

Life as she is our changeful Life,
With friends and kindred dealing.

Bear witness, Ye, whose thoughts that day
In Yarrow's groves were centred;
Who through the silent portal arch
Of mouldering Newark entered;
And clomb the winding stair that once
Too timidly was mounted

By the last Minstrel,' (not the last!)
Ere he his Tale recounted.

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 ABBOTSFORD,

FOR NAPLES.

A TROUBLE, not of clouds, or weeping rain,
Nor of the setting sun's pathetic light
Engendered, hangs o'er Eildon's triple height:
Spirits of Power, assembled there, complain

VOL. IV.

II

For kindred Power departing from their sight;
While Tweed, best pleased in chanting a blithe strain,
Saddens his voice again, and yet again.

Lift up your hearts, ye Mourners! for the might
Of the whole world's good wishes with him goes;
Blessings and prayers, in nobler retinue

Than sceptered king or laurelled conqueror knows,
Follow this wondrous Potentate. Be true,
Ye winds of ocean, and the midland sea,
Wafting your Charge to soft Parthenope!

III.

A PLACE OF BURIAL IN THE SOUTH OF SCOTLAND.

[SIMILAR places for burial are not unfrequent in Scotland. The one
that suggested this Sonnet lies on the banks of a small stream
called the Wauchope that flows into the Esk near Langholme.
Mickle, who, as it appears from his poem on Sir Martin, was
not without genuine poetic feelings, was born and passed his
boyhood, in this neighbourhood, under his father who was a
minister of the Scotch Kirk. The Esk, both above and below
Langholme, flows through a beautiful country, and the two
streams of the Wauchope and the Ewes, which join it near that
place, are such as a pastoral poet would delight in.]

PART fenced by man, part by a rugged steep
That curbs a foaming brook, a Grave-yard 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,
No vestige now remains; yet thither creep
Bereft Ones, and in lowly anguish weep

Their prayers out to the wind and naked skies.

"

Proud tomb is none; but rudely-sculptured knights,
By humble choice of plain old times, are seen
Level with earth, among the hillocks green:
Union not sad, when sunny daybreak smites
The spangled turf, and neighbouring thickets ring
With jubilate from the choirs of spring!

IV.

ON THE SIGHT OF A MANSE IN THE SOUTH OF SCOTLAND.

[THE manses in Scotland and the gardens and grounds about them have seldom that attractive appearance which is common about our English parsonages, even when the clergyman's income falls below the average of the Scotch minister's. This is not merely owing to the one country being poor in comparison with the other, but arises rather out of the equality of their benefices, so that no one has enough to spare for decorations that might serve as an example for others; whereas, with us, the taste of the richer incumbent extends its influence more or less to the poorest. After all, in these observations the surface only of the matter is touched. I once heard a conversation in which the Roman Catholic Religion was decried on account of its abuses. "You cannot deny, however," said a lady of the party, repeating an expression used by Charles 2nd, "that it is the religion of a gentleman." It may be left to the Scotch themselves to determine how far this observation applies to their Kirk, while it cannot be denied, if it is wanting in that characteristic quality, the aspect of common life, so far as concerns its beauty, must suffer. Sincere christian piety may be thought not to stand in need of refinement or studied ornament; but assuredly it is ever ready to adopt them, when they fall within its notice, as means allow; and this observation applies not only to manners, but to everything a christian (truly so in spirit) cultivates and gathers round him, however humble his social condition.]

SAY, ye far-travelled clouds, far-seeing hills-
Among the happiest-looking homes of men

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