20
XXIV.
YARROW VISITED,
September, 1814.
And is this—Yarrow?—This the Stream
Of which my fancy cheris'd,
So faithfully, a waking dream?
An image that hath perish'd!
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.
