INTO BALLAD-LAND. IOI 



And even more beautifully an anonymous ballad-writer, 



" O gentle wind that bloweth south 

 From where my love repaireth, 

 Convey a kiss frae his dear mouth, 

 And tell me how he fareth. 



Oh came ye by yon water-side ? 



Pou'ed ye the rose or lily ? 

 Or came ye by yon meadow green, 



Or saw you my sweet Willie ? 



She sought him up, she sought him down, 



She sought him braid and narrow ; 

 Syne, in the cleaving of a craig, 



She found him drowned in Yarrow." 



Who could forget the cadences of Wordsworth's "Yarrow 

 Unvisited ? " 



" Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown ; 



It must, or we shall rue it ; 

 We have a vision of our own, 



Ah ! why should we undo it ? 

 The treasured dreams of times long past, 



We'll keep them, winsome marrow ! 

 For when we're there, although 'tis fair, 



'Twill be another Yarrow ! " 



And its charming pendant, "Yarrow Visited?" 



" But thou that didst appear so fair 



To fond imagination, 

 Dost rival in the light of day 



Her delicate creation : 

 Meek loveliness is round thee spread, 



A softness still and holy ; 

 The grace of forest charms decay'd 



And pastoral melancholy." 



We must add one more stanza to complete the subject, from 

 " Yarrow Revisited," and that under very painful circumstances 

 in the autumn of 1831, 



