In youth’s brave quest for winsome Marrow,
A babe upon Yarrow’s breast,
By Newark’s gate, in days long past,
Stood I, with thee, Border’s minstrel blessed.

Grave musings graced that sweetened day,
Dignity in gentle hearts prevailing,
Amidst falling leaves, or on the bough,
Breezes played, and sunlight, unfailing.

The Stream flowed on with foamy song,
In crystal pools, in quiet repose,
No cares enthralling freeborn minds,
Happy hours in retrospection rose.

Brisk Youth danced in morning’s light,
With graceful folly, life’s temperate noon,
Sober eve, not melancholy’s blight,
Past, present, future in harmony attune.

As Yarrow through the woods did range,
Meeting us with unaltered grace,
Though we, in change, through time estranged,
Natural shadows on our inward prospect trace.

Eternal blessings on the Muse,
Divine in her sacred employ,
She trains her sons for hope’s pursuit,
For calm and unbroken joy.

Oh, Scott! compelled to change thy scene,
From Eildon-hill to Vesuvio’s slope,
May classic Fancy and native sheen,
Preserve thy heart from sinking, and fill it with hope.

While ministering spirits, vying in grace,
Bring health to mellow age and strength,
May streams and hills, in every place,
Shine with unimagined beauty, and preserve their glory’s length.

A gracious welcome shall be thine,
With looks of love and honor,
As Yarrow’s glances greeted me,
When first I beheld her.

Witness, ye who centred thoughts that day
In Yarrow’s groves, through Newark’s portal arch,
Climbing the stair where the “last Minstrel” lay,
Before recounting his enchanting march.

Flow on, Yarrow Stream, fulfill thy duty,
Pleased that future bards will chant
For simple hearts thy enduring beauty,
Dear to dreams, to sunshine, and to memory’s shadowy haunt.