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Claudine liv'd contented, and peace was her lot,

No care would have found her abode,
Hadn't Love, that destroyer, one day to her cot,

Unkindly, shewn Sorrow the road.
To Love, she unthinkingly opend the door,

But he laugh’d, and then left her,
He left her, because she was poor.

With just indignation, she saw him depart,

And perhaps had to fate been resign’d,
But Love not contented with stealing her heart,

Unkindly, left Sorrow behind.
Ah! why, simple girl, did she open thc door,

To one who could leave her,
Could leave her, because she was poor.


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* Thy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream!

When first on thee I met my lover;
Thy braes how dreary, Yarrow stream!

When now thy waves his body cover!
For ever now, O Yarrow stream!

Thou art to me a stream of sorrow;
For never on thy banks shall I

Behold my love, the flower of Yarrow.

“ He promis'd me a milk-white steed,

To bear me to his father's bowers;

Yarrow. She is supposed to be

* The subject of the following lament, is the grief of a young woman fort death of her lover, who was drowned in the Yarrow. She is supposed t on the banks of that rivulet, which recal to her memory scenes that passed there between her and her lover; and her recollection being tu awakened, every circumstance connected with their interviews is reflect on with delight. Although the poem cannot lay claim to originality of me being founded on the fragment of “ Willie's drown'd in Yarrow," yetu simple, natural, and pathetic style in which it is composed, place it on a with any poem of the same kind in our language. It was written by Rev, John Logan, late one of the Ministers of South Leith, a man of genia 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;

My passion I as freely told him; Clasp'd in his arms, I little thought, in

That I should never more behold him! Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost;

It vanish'd with a shriek of sorrow: Thrice did the water-wraith ascend,

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; For, wandering in the night so dark,

He fell a lifeless corpse in Yarrow.

“ 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.

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