130 The Braes of Yarrow For ever now, O Yarrow stream! Behold my Love, the flower of Yarrow. He promised me a milk-white steed To squire me to his father's towers; Alas, his watery grave, in Yarrow! Sweet were his words when last we met; thro' Yarrow. His mother from the window look'd With all the longing of a mother; The green-wood path to meet her brother; No longer from thy window look- Willy Drowned in Yarrow 131 No longer seek him east or west And search no more the forest thorough ; The tear shall never leave my cheek, And now with him she sleeps in Yarrow. J. LOGAN CXXVIII WILLY DROWNED IN YARROW Down in yon garden sweet and gay I heard a fair maid sighing say, 'Willie's rare, and Willie's fair, "O gentle wind, that bloweth south, O tell sweet Willie to come doun And leaves around them hinging. 132 Loss of the Royal George 'The lav'rock there, wi' her white breast But Willie's gone, whom I thought on, Yestreen I made my bed fu' braid, Or came you by yon meadow green, She sought him up, she sought him down, She sought him braid and narrow; Syne, in the cleaving of a craig, She found him drown'd in Yarrow! ANON. CXXIX LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE Toll for the Brave! The brave that are no more! Fast by their native shore! Loss of the Royal George Eight hundred of the brave A land-breeze shook the shrouds Down went the Royal George, Toll for the brave! His sword was in its sheath, Weigh the vessel up Once dreaded by our foes! The tears that England owes. Her timbers yet are sound, And she may float again Full charged with England's thunder, And plough the distant main : But Kempenfelt is gone, His victories are o'er ; And he and his eight hundred Shall plough the wave no more. W. COWPER 133 134 Black-Eyed Susan CXXX BLACK-EYED SUSAN All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd, Rock'd with the billow to and fro, The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands, So the sweet lark, high poised in air, Shuts close his pinions to his breast My vows shall ever true remain; Change as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be 'Believe not what the landmen say Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind: In every port a mistress find: Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so, For Thou art present wheresoe'er I go. |