 | Lyra Pastoralis |  |
Yarrow and Saint Mary's Loch
I stood by Yarrow in a favoured hour,And joyed to catch the consecrating gleam
Of poesy, which haunts that classic stream,
And makes it rich with a pathetic dower.
The mighty bards were with me in their power;
But chiefly Wordsworth and the cherished dream
He feared to realize, lest he might deem
The bud of fancy fairer than the flower.
But when I turned to “still Saint Mary's Lake,”
With twinkling sunlight sweetly silvered o'er,
I felt another beauty round me break,
Another glory touch the winding shore;
I thought of Names which higher memories wake—
The Blessèd Virgin and the Child she bore!
| Lyra Pastoralis | |