With Yarrow winding through the pomp

Of cultivated nature;

And, rising from those lofty groves,

Behold a ruin hoary!

The shattered front of Newark's towers,
Renowned in border story.

Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom,
For sportive youth to stray in,
For manhood to enjoy his strength,

And age to wear away in :

Yon cottage seems a bower of bliss,
A covert for protection

Of tender thoughts that nestle there,
The brood of chaste affection.

How sweet, on this autumnal day,
The wild-wood fruits to gather,
And on my true-love's forehead plant
A crest of blooming heather!
And what if I enwreathed my own?-
"Twere no offence to reason;

The sober hills thus deck their brows
To meet the wintry season.

I see-but not by sight alone,
Loved Yarrow, have I won thee;

A ray of fancy still survives,

Her sunshine plays upon thee.

With Yarrow winding through the pomp

Of cultivated nature;

And, rising from those lofty groves,

Behold a ruin hoary!

The shattered front of Newark's towers,
Renowned in border story.

Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom,
For sportive youth to stray in,
For manhood to enjoy his strength,

And age to wear away in :

Yon cottage seems a bower of bliss,
A covert for protection

Of tender thoughts that nestle there,
The brood of chaste affection.

How sweet, on this autumnal day,
The wild-wood fruits to gather,
And on my true-love's forehead plant
A crest of blooming heather!
And what if I enwreathed my own?-
"Twere no offence to reason;

The sober hills thus deck their brows
To meet the wintry season.

I see-but not by sight alone,
Loved Yarrow, have I won thee;

A ray of fancy still survives,

Her sunshine plays upon thee.