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33

"What's Yarrow but a River bare"That glides the dark hills under?"There are a thousand such elsewhere"As worthy of your wonder."—Strange words they seem'd of slight and scorn;My True-love sigh'd for sorrow;And look'd me in the face, to thinkI thus could speak of Yarrow!
"Oh! green," said I, "are Yarrow's Holms,"And sweet is Yarrow flowing!"Fair hangs the apple frae the rock[1],"But we will leave it growing."O'er hilly path, and open Strath,We'll wander Scotland thorough;"But, though so near, we will not turn"Into the Dale of Yarrow.
  1. ↑ See Hamilton's Ballad as above.
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