Classic Poem

Ye shepherds of this pleasant vale
Where Yarrow streams along,
Forsake your rural toils, and join
In my triumphant song.
She grants, she yields; one heavenly smile
A tones her long delays,
One happy minute crowns the pains
Of many suffering days.

Raise, raise the victor-notes of joy,
These suffering days are o'er,
Love satiates now his boundless wish
From beauty's boundless store;
No doubtful hopes, no anxious fears
This rising calm destroy,
Now every prospect smiles around
All opening into joy.

The sun with double lustre shone
That dear consenting hour,
Brighten'd each hill, and o'er each vale
New colour'd every flower;
The gales their gentle sighs withheld,
No leaf was seen to move,
The hovering songsters round were mute,
And wonder hush'd the grove.

The hills and dales no more resound
The lambkin's tender cry,
Without one murmur Yarrow stole
In dimpling silence by;
All Nature seem'd in still repose
Her voice alone to hear,
That gently roll'd the tuneful wave,
She spoke and blest my ear.

‘Take, take, whate'er of bliss or joy
You fondly fancy mine,
Whate'er of joy or bliss I boast
Love renders wholly thine;’
The woods struck up, to the soft gale
The leaves were seen to move,
The feather'd choir resum'd their voice,
And wonder filled the grove.

The hills and dales again resound
The lambkins tender cry,
With all his murmurs Yarrow trill'd
The song of triumph by;
Above, beneath, around, all on
Was verdure, beauty, song,
I snatch'd her to my trembling breast,
All nature joy'd along.