LOVE.

His dying words-but when I reach'd
That tenderest strain of all the ditty,
My faltering voice and pausing harp
Disturb'd her soul with pity!

All impulses of soul and sense
Had thrill'd my guileless Genevieve,

The music and the doleful tale,

The rich and balmy eve;

And hopes, and fears that kindle hope,
An undistinguishable throng;
And gentle wishes long subdued,
Subdued and cherish'd long!

She wept with pity and delight,

She blush'd with love and virgin shame ;

And, like the murmur of a dream,

I heard her breathe my name.

Her bosom heaved-she stept aside;
As conscious of my look, she stept-
Then suddenly, with timorous eye
She fled to me, and wept.

She half inclosed me with her arms,
She press'd me with a meek embrace ;
And, bending back her head, look'd up
And gazed upon my face.

'Twas partly love, and partly fear,

And partly 'twas a bashful art
That I might rather feel, than see,
The swelling of her heart.

I calm'd her fears; and she was calm,
And told her love with virgin pride:
And so I won my Genevieve,

My bright and beauteous Bride!

THE

FLOWERS OF THE FOREST.

I'VE seen the smiling

Of Fortune beguiling:

I've felt all its favours, and found its decay:

Sweet was its blessing,

Kind its caressing;

But now it is fled-it is fled far away.

I've seen the forest

Adorned the foremost

With flowers of the fairest most pleasant and gay;

Sae bonnie was their blooming!

Their scent the air perfuming!

But now they are wither'd and weded away.

I've seen the morning

With gold the hills adorning,

And loud tempest storming before the mid-day.

THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST.

I've seen Tweed's silver streams

Shining in the sunny beams, Grow drumly and dark as he row'd on his way.

Oh, fickle Fortune,

Why this cruel sporting?

Oh, why still perplex us, poor sons of a day? Nae mair your smiles can cheer me,

Nae mair your frowns can fear me;

For the Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.

FROM Stirling Castle we had seen

The mazy Forth unravell'd;

Had trod the banks of Clyde, and Tay,
And with the Tweed had travell'd;
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, 'tis their own;
Each maiden to her dwelling!
On Yarrow's banks let herons feed,
Hares couch, and rabbits burrow!
But we will downwards 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 blythe with plough and harrow :

Why throw away a needful day

To go in search of Yarrow?

YARROW UNVISITED.

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 seem'd of slight and scorn; My true-love sigh'd for sorrow,

And look'd me in the face, to think

I thus could speak of Yarrow!

66

Oh! 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 home-bred 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 'tis fair,
"Twill be another Yarrow!