Classic and Contemporary Poetry
YARROW VISITED, by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH Poet's Biography First Line: And is this -- yarrow? -- tis the stream Last Line: And cheer my mind in sorrow. Subject(s): Yarrow (water), Scotland | ||||||||
AND is this -- Yarrow? -- 'This' the Stream Of which my fancy cherished, So faithfully, a waking dream? An image that hath perished! O that some Minstrel's harp were near, To utter notes of gladness, And chase this silence from the air, That fills my heart with sadness! Yet why? -- a silvery current flows With uncontrolled meanderings; Nor have these eyes by greener hills Been soothed, in all my wanderings. And, through her depths, Saint Mary's Lake Is visibly delighted; For not a feature of those hills Is in the mirror slighted. A blue sky bends o'er Yarrow vale, Save where that pearly whiteness Is round the rising sun diffused, A tender hazy brightness; Mild dawn of promise! that excludes All profitless dejection; Though not unwilling here to admit A pensive recollection. Where was it that the famous Flower Of Yarrow Vale lay bleeding? His bed perchance was yon smooth mound On which the herd is feeding: And haply from this crystal pool, Now peaceful as the morning, The Water-wraith ascended thrice -- And gave his doleful warning. Delicious is the Lay that sings The haunts of happy Lovers, The path that leads them to the grove, The leafy grove that covers: And Pity sanctifies the Verse That paints, by strength of sorrow, The unconquerable strength of love; Bear witness, rueful Yarrow! But thou, that didst appear so fair To fond imagination, Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation: Meek loveliness is round thee spread, A softness still and holy; The grace of forest charms decayed, And pastoral melancholy. That region left, the vale unfolds Rich groves of lofty stature, With Yarrow winding through the pomp Of cultivated nature; And, rising from those lofty groves, Behold a Ruin hoary! The shattered front of Newark's Towers, Renowned in Border story. Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom, For sportive youth to stray in; For manhood to enjoy his strength; And age to wear away in! Yon cottage seems a bower of bliss, A covert for protection Of tender thoughts, that nestle there -- The brood of chaste affection. How sweet, on this autumnal day, The wild-wood fruits to gather, And on my True-love's forehead plant A crest of blooming heather! And what if I enwreathed my own! 'Twere no offence to reason; The sober Hills thus deck their brows To meet the wintry season. I see -- but not by sight alone, Loved Yarrow, have I won thee; A ray of fancy still survives -- Her sunshine plays upon thee! Thy ever-youthful waters keep A course of lively pleasure; And gladsome notes my lips can breathe, Accordant to the measure. The vapours linger round the Heights, They melt, and soon must vanish; One hour is theirs, nor more is mine -- Sad thought, which I would banish, But that I know, where'er I go, Thy genuine image, Yarrow! Will dwell with me -- to heighten joy, And cheer my mind in sorrow. | Other Poems of Interest...THE BRAES OF YARROW by JOHN LOGAN (1748-1788) EXTEMPORE EFFUSION UPON THE DEATH OF JAMES HOGG by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH YARROW REVISITED by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH YARROW UNVISITED by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH "RARE WILLIE DROWNED IN YARROW, OR, THE WATER O GAMRIE" by ANONYMOUS WILLIE DROWNED IN YARROW by UNKNOWN A JEWISH FAMILY; IN A SMALL VALLEY OPPOSITE ST. GOAR by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH ADMONITION [TO A TRAVELLER] by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |
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