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.

Four summer suns, beside a placid bay,
I watched you slumber, fortress old and gray.
Your form, a mirage on the mirrored sea,
A timeless sentinel, serene and free.

The sky, a canvas painted crystal clear,
Each day a brushstroke, tranquil year by year.
Your image danced upon my inner eye,
A constant echo in the endless sky.

That calm, it whispered tales of endless peace,
No seasonal shift, no storm to bring release.
The mighty ocean, tamed, a gentle friend,
Its depths reflecting love that knew no end.

Oh, had I Rembrandt’s brush, or Blake’s wild hand,
To capture what I saw, in this still land.
A light beyond the sun, a dream’s embrace,
Your soul unveiled, a sacred, holy space.

I’d plant you on a canvas vast and bright,
Where skies wept rainbows, and stars danced in the night.
A world unlike this one, where shadows lie,
A haven sculpted in serenity’s high sky.

No longer would you stand in stoic might,
But hold a treasure trove of sunlit light.
A chronicle of joy, a whispered hymn,
Each ray a symphony, forever within.

A postcard from Elysium, serene and still,
No tides of toil, no storms to test your will.
Just gentle whispers on the windblown breeze,
And nature’s lullaby, a symphony of peace.

This vision, etched within my heart’s soft clay,
A picture painted in a simpler day.
I saw a truth in every crag and stone,
An everlasting peace, forever known.

But time, it marches on, a relentless tide,
My tranquil dream, by harsh reality, defied.
A power lost, a void that cannot mend,
Grief’s touch upon my soul, a journey without end.

Now, when I gaze upon the ocean’s wrath,
No calm reflection, only tempest’s path.
My heart, a mirror to the storm-tossed sea,
The memory of that peace, a fading memory.

Yet, Beaumont, friend, your brush has caught the core,
Not gentle waves, but waves forevermore.
This angry sea, this shore of dark despair,
A canvas painted with a truth to bear.

Passionate brushstrokes, wisdom in their strife,
The vessel battling, clinging to its life.
The mournful sky, a tapestry of fear,
A testament to what we hold most dear.

And this grand fortress, defiant and sublime,
I see the strength it wields, against the sands of time.
Clad in the armor of forgotten years,
It braves the lightning, wind, and ocean’s tears.

Farewell, the solace of a lonely dream,
Far from the world, where shadows dance and gleam.
Such bliss, unknown by those who truly feel,
Is blind to scars, and passions that reveal.

But welcome, friend, the strength that knows no pain,
The steady gaze that meets the coming rain.
For sights like these, and worse, may lie ahead,
But hope remains, a light within, unled.

We suffer, grieve, but rise with each new dawn,
For even in the storm, a brighter day is born.