CXCV. CLAUDINE LIV'D CONTENTED. Claudine liv'd contented, and peace was her lot, To Love, she unthinkingly open'd the door, With just indignation, she saw him depart, Ah! why, simple girl, did she open the door, To one who could leave her, Could leave her, because she was poor. CXCVI. THE BRAES OF YARROW *. "Thy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream! Thou art to me a stream of sorrow; Behold my love, the flower of Yarrow. "He promis'd me a milk-white steed, *The subject of the following lament, is the grief of a young woman for the death of her lover, who was drowned in the Yarrow. She is supposed to be on the banks of that rivulet, which recal to her memory scenes that had passed there between her and her lover; and her recollection being thus awakened, every circumstance connected with their interviews is reflected on with delight. Although the poem cannot lay claim to originality of ideas, being founded on the fragment of " Willie's drown'd in Yarrow," yet the simple, natural, and pathetic style in which it is composed, place it on a level with any poem of the same kind in our language. It was written by the Rev. John Logan, late one of the Ministers of South Leith, a man of genins and refined taste. He promis'd me a little page, To squire me to his father's towers; He promis'd me a wedding-ring, The wedding-day was fix'd to-morrow; Now he is wedded to his grave, Alas! his watery grave in Yarrow. "Sweet were his words, when last we met; And gave a doleful groan thro' Yarrow. "His mother from the window look'd, With all the longing of a mother; His little sister weeping walk'd, The green-wood path, to meet her brother: They sought him east, they sought him west, They sought him all the forest thorough; They only saw the cloud of night, They only heard the roar of Yarrow! "No longer from thy window look, Thou hast no son, thou tender mother! No longer walk, thou lovely maid! Alas! thou hast no more a brother! No longer seek him east or west, And search no more the forest thorough; "The tear shall never leave my cheek, No other youth shall be my marrow; I'll seek thy body in the stream, And then with thee I'll sleep in Yarrow." The tear did never leave her cheek, No other youth became her marrow; She found his body in the stream, And now with him she sleeps in Yarrow. CXCVII. THE CYPRESS AND THE YEW. OI hae twin'd wi' mickle love, A garland for ye're brow, And broken is ye're vow : Syne I will tak' the cypress wreath, The gladsome hours of love are gone, The lily pale has stain'd my cheek, The cypress shall my chaplet be O why does love sae sweetly smile, The rue was thine-but aye is mine, CXCVIII. CARLISLE YETTS". White was the rose in his gay bonnet, As he faulded me in his brooched plaidie; *This little picce, no less enchanting by the sweetness and simplicity of its style, than by the richness of its poetical beauties, is said to have been written |