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Proudly towering in the skies;

When will the landscape tire the view! Rushing from the woods, the spires The fountain's fall, the river's flow; Seem from hence ascending fires; The woody valleys, warm and low; Half his beams Apollo sheds

The windy summit, wild and high, On the yellow mountain-heads,

Roughly rushing on the sky; Gilds the fleeces of the flocks,

The pleasant seat, the ruined tower, And glitters on the broken rocks. The naked rock, the shady bower;

Below me trees unnumbered rise, The town and village, dome and farm, Beautiful in various dyes :

Each gives each a double charm, The gloomy pine, the poplar blue, As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm. The yellow beech, the sable yew,

See on the mountain's southern side, The slenıler fir that taper grows,

Where the prospect opens wide, The sturdy oak with broad-spread Where the evening gilds the tile; boughs;

How close and small the hedges lie! And beyond the purple grove,

What streaks of meadow cross the Haunt of Phyllis, queen of love!

eye! Gaudy as the opening dawn,

A step methinks may pass the stream, Lies a long and level lawn,

So little distant dangers seem; On which a dark hill, steep and high, So we mistake the Future's face, Holds and charms the wandering eye. Eyed through Hope's deluding glass ; Deep are his feet in Towy's flood : As yon summits, soft and fair, His sides are clothed with waving Clad in colors of the air, wood,

Which to those who journey near,
And ancient towers crown his brow, Barren, brown, and rough appear;
That cast an awful look below;

Still we tread the same coarse way,
Whose ragged walls the ivy creeps, | The present's still a cloudy day.
And with her arms from falling keeps ; 0, may I with myself agree,
So both a safety from the wind

And never covet what I see;
In mutual dependence find.

Content me with an humble shade, "T is now the raven's bleak abode; My passions tamed, my wishes laid; "T is now the apartment of the toad; For while our wishes wildly roll, And there the fox securely feeds; We banish quiet from the soul: And there the poisonous adder breeds, 'T is thus the busy beat the air, Concealed in ruins, moss, and weeds; And misers gather wealth and care. While, ever and anon, there fall

Now, even now, my joys run high, Huge heaps of hoary mouldereid wall. As on the mountain-turf I lie; Yet Time has seen, — that lifts the low While the wanton Zephyr sings, And level lays the lofty brow,

And in the vale perfumes his wings; Has seen this broken pile complete, While the waters murmur deep; Big with the vanity of state.

While the shepherd charms his sheep; But transient is the smile of Fate! While the birds unbounded tly, A little rule, a little sway,

And with music fill the sky, A sunbeam in a winter's day,

Now, even now, my joys run high. Is all the proud and mighty have

Be full, ye courts; be great who Between the cradle and the grave.

will; And see the rivers how they run, Search for Peace with all your skill : Through woods and meads, in shade and Open wide the lofty door, sun,

Seek her on the marble floor. Sometimes swift, sometimes slow, – In vain you search ; she is not there! Wave succeeding wave, they go

In vain you search the domes of Care ! A various journey to the deep,

Grass and flowers Quiet treads,
Like buman life to endless sleep! On the meads and mountain-heads,
Thus is Nature's vesture wrought, Along with Pleasure, close allied,
To instruct our wandering thought: Ever by each other's side;
Thus she dresses green and gay,

And often, by the murmuring rill,
To disperse our cares away.

Hears the thrush, while all is still Ever charming, ever new,

Within the groves of Grongar Hill.

WILLIAM HAMILTON. "T is he, the comely swain I slew

Upon the duleful Braes of Yarrow. (1704 - 1754.]

Wash, 0, wash his wounds, his wounds in THE BRAES OF YARROW.

tears,

His wounds in tears with dule and Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny sorrow, bride,

And wrap his limbs in mourning weeds, Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow! And lay linn on the Braes of Yarrow. Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride, And think nae mair on the Braes of Then build, then build, ye sisters sisters Yarrow.

sad,

Ye sisters sad, his tomb with sorrow, Where gat ye that bonny bonny bride? And weep around in waeful wise,

Where gat ye that winsome marrow?" His helpless fate on the Braes of Yarrow. I gat her where I darena weil be seen, Pu'ing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. Curse ye, curse ye his useless uselessshield,

My arm that wrought the deed of sorrow, Weep not, weep not, my bonny bonny The fatal spear that pierced his breast, bride,

His comely breast, on the Braes of Weep not, weep not, my winsome Yarrow.

marrow! Nor let thy heart lament to leave

Did I not warn thee not to lo'e, Pu’ing the birkson the Braes of Yarrow.

And warn from fight, but to my sorrow;

O’er rashly bauld a stronger arm “Why does she weep, thy bonny bonny

Thou met'st, and fell on the Braes of bride?

Yarrow. Why does she weep, thy winsome

Sweet smells the birk, green grows, green marrow ? And why dare ye nae mair weil be seen,

grows the grass, Pu'ing the birks on the Braes of Yar- Fair hangs the apple frae the rock,

Yellow on Yarrow bank the gowan, row?"

Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowan. Lang maun she weep, lang maun she, Flows Yarrow sweet? as sweet, as sweet maun she weep,

flows Tweed, Lang maun she weep with dule and sor

As green its grass, its gowan as yellow, row,

As sweet smells on its braes the birk, And lang maun I nae mair weil be seen,

The apple frae the rock as mellow. Pu’ing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

Fair was thy love, fair fairindeed thy love, For she has tint her lover lover dear, In flowery bands thou him didst fetter;

Her lover dear, the cause of sorrow, Though he was fair and weil beloved again, And I hae slain the comeliest swain

Than me he never lo'ed thee better. That e'er pu’ed birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

Busk ye, then busk, my bonny bonny

bride, Why runs thy stream, O Yarrow, Yarrow, Busk

ye,

busk ye, my winsome marrow! red ?

Busk ye, and lo'e me on the banks of Why on thy braes heard the voice of Tweed, sorrow?

And think nae mair on the Braes of And why yon melancholious weeds

Yarrow. Hung on the bonny birks of Yarrow?

“How can I busk a bonny bonny bride, What's yonder floats on the rueful rueful How can I busk a winsome marrow, flude?

How lo'e him on the banks of Tweed, What's yonder floats? O dule and That slew my love on the Braes of Yarsorrow:

row ?

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