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

It promises protection

To studious ease and generous cares,

And every chaste affection!

How sweet on this autumnal day,
The wild wood's 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,
Lov'd 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 1 go,
Thy genuine image, Yarrow!
Will dwell with me-to heighten joy,
And cheer my mind in sorrow.

THE MATRON OF JEDBURGH AND HER HUSBAND.

At Jedburgh, in the course of a tour in Scotland, 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 call a train of laughing hours;

And bid them dance, and bid them sing;
And thou, too, mingle in the ring!
Take to thy heart a new delight;

If not, make merry in despite

For there is one who scorns thy power.
But dance! for, under Jedburgh Tower,
There liveth, in the prime of glee,

A woman, whose years are seventy-three,
And she will dance and sing with thee.

Nay! start not at that figure-there!
Him who is rooted to his chair!
Look at him-look again! for he
Hath long been of thy family.
With legs that move not, if they can,
And useless arms, a trunk of man,
He sits, and with a vacant eye;
A sight to make a stranger sigh!
Deaf, drooping, that is now his doom:
His world is in this single room:
Is this a place for mirth and cheer
Can merry-making enter here?

The joyous woman is the mate
Of him in that forlorn estate!
He breathes a subterraneous damp;
But bright as vesper shines her lamp:
He is as mute as Jedburgh Tower;
She jocund as it was of yore,
With all its bravery on; in times,
When all alive with merry chimes,
Upon a sun-bright morn of May,
It roused the vale to holiday.

I praise thee, Matron! and thy duc
Is praise; heroic praise, and true!
With admiration I behold
Thy gladness unsubdued and bold:
Thy looks, thy gestures, all present
The picture of a life well-spent:
This do I see; and something more;
A strength unthought of heretofore!
Delighted am I for thy sake;
And yet a higher joy partake.
Our human nature throws away
Its second twilight, and looks gay

A land of promise and of pride
Unfolding, wide as life is wide.

Ah! see her helpless charge! enclosed
Within himself, as seems; composed;
To fear of loss, and hope of gain,
The strife of happiness and pain,
Utterly dead! yet, in the guise
Of little infants, when their eyes
Begin to follow to and fro

The persons that before them go,
He tracks her motions, quick or slow.

Her buoyant spirit can prevail

Where common cheerfulness would fail
She strikes upon him with the heat
Of July suns; he feels it sweet;
An animal delight though dim!
"Tis all that now remains for him!

I looked, I scanned her o'er and o'er
The more I looked I wondered more
When suddenly I seemed to espy
A trouble in her strong black eye;
A remnant of uneasy light,
A flash of something over-bright!
And soon she made this matter plain;
And told me, in a thoughtful strain,
That she had borne a heavy yoke,
Been stricken by a twofold stroke;
Ill health of body; and had pined
Beneath worse ailments of the mind.
So be it!-but let praise ascend
To Him who is our lord and friend!
Who from disease and suffering
Hath called for thee a second spring;
Repaid thee for that sore distress
By no untimely joyousness;

Which makes of thine a blissful state;
And cheers thy melancholy mate!

DEGENERATE Douglas! oh, 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 noed:
For sheltered places, bosoms, nooks, and bays,
And the pure mountains, and the gentle Tweed,
And the green silent pastures, yet remain.

OCTOBER 1803.

SIX thousand Veterans practised in war's game,
Tried men, at Killicranky were arrayed
Against an equal host that wore the plaid,
Shepherds and herdsmen.-Like a whirlwind came
The Highlanders, the slaughter spread like flame;
And Garry, thundering down his mountain-road,
Was stopped, and could not breath beneath the load
Of the dead bodies.-'Twas a day of shame
For them whom precept and the pedantry
Of cold mechanic battle do enslave.

Oh! for a single hour of that Dundee

Who on that day the word of outset gave !
Like conquest would the men of England see;

And her foes find a like inglorious grave.

ON APPROACHING HOME AFTER A TOUR IN
SCOTLAND, 1803.

FLY, some kind spirit, fly to Grasmere Vale!
Say that we come, and come by this day's light;
Glad tidings?-spread them over field and height;
But chiefly let one cottage here the tale;

There let a mystery of joy prevail,

The kitten frolic with unruly might,
And Rover whine, as at a second sight

Of near-approaching good that shall not fail ;-
And from that infant's face let joy appear;
Yea, let our Mary's one companion child,
That hath her six week's solitude beguiled
With intimations manifold and dear,

While we have wandered over wood and wild,
Smile on his Mother now with bolder cheer.

POEMS REFERRING TO THE PERIOD

OF OLD AGE.

THE OLD CUMBERLAND BEGGAR.

A DESCRIPTION.

The class of Beggars to which the old man here described belongs, wil. probably soon be extinct. It consisted of poor, and, mostly, old and infirm persons, who confined themselves to a stated round in their neighbourhood, and had certain fixed days, on which, at different houses, they regularly received alms, sometimes in money, but mostly in provisions.

I SAW an aged Beggar in my walk;

And he was seated, by the highway side,

On a low structure of rude masonry

Built at the foot of a huge hill, that they

Who lead their horses down the steep rough road
May thence remount at ease. The aged man

Had placed his staff across the broad smooth stone
That overlays the pile; and, from a bag

All white with flour, the dole of village dames,
He drew his scraps and fragments, one by one;
And scanned them with a fixed and serious look
Of idle computation. In the sun,

Upon the second step of that small pile,
Surrounded by those wild unpeopled hills,
He sat, and ate his food in solitude:
And ever, scattered from his palsied hand,
That, still attempting to prevent the waste,
Was baffled still, the crumbs in little showers
Fell on the ground; and the small mountain birds,
Not venturing yet to peck their destined meal,
Approached within the length of half his staff.

Him from my childhood have I known; and then
He was so old, he seems not older now;
He travels on, a solitary man,
So helpless in appearance, that for him

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