YARROW: And long ago when the whole country was covered with wood the resemblance must have been even more striking than it is now. Yarrow, especially in its upper reaches, is peculiarly bare, but in olden times it was well wooded, and must have presented an aspect as cheerful as any part of the surrounding country. Why its " houms " should be more " dowie " than those of the Tweed and Ettrick cannot be satisfactorily accounted for by the mere grouping of the physical peculiarities. These are neither in themselves so striking, nor unique, as to call for any special characterisation. The most pronounced features of the vale are common to all the tributaries of the Tweed. She kissed his cheek, she kaim'd his hair. She searched his wounds all thorough ; She kissed him till her lips grew red, In the dowie houms of Yarrow." Such ballads were destined to live in the memory...These old pathetic singers have passed away and left no sign. They have crossed the river of death, and taken their secret with them. Unnamed and unknown as they are, they have, however, left behind them a magnetic witchery of vague and pathetic regret that cannot be shaken off or separated from the scene of their inspiration. No man of average sensibility ever entered that valley alone without coming to some extent under the weird fascination AND My True-love sighed for sorrow ; And looked me in the face, to think I 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, 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. " Let beeves and home-bred kine partake The sweets of Burn-mill meadow ; The swan on still St. Mary's Lake Float double, swan and shadow ! We will not see them ; will not go, To-day, nor yet to-morrow ; Enough if in our hearts we know There's such a place as Yarrow. " Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown ! It must, or we shall rue it : We have a vision of our own ; Ah ! why should we undo it ? endemic glamour of the place. Under its mysterious influence poets have been made and moulded like clay out of a cast." It would thus seem that the dominant and dominating influence is that exercised by the early literature of the valley. The "pastoral melancholy" which impressed Wordsworth so much has had but a small share in producing that element of " pathetic passion " which permeates the literature of Yarrow. The mind contemplates the scenery through the haze of local tradition, and the feeling produced is largely a result of the action of the subtle law of association After all it is not so much what the eye sees, as what it brings with it to the seeing ITS POETS AND POETRY WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES BY BORLAND MINISTER OF YARROW. DALBEATTIE: THOMAS FRASER. 1890. of the stream, or by the bleating of the sheep that, white and motionless amid the pasture, dot the knowes. We are attracted by the silence, and we are also depressed. There is the pleasure of hushed enjoyment. The spirit of the scene is in these immortal lines : 1 Meek loveliness around thee spread, A softness still and holy ; The grace of forest charms decayed, And pastoral melancholy.' Those deep green grassy knowes of the valley are peculiarly susceptible of change of light and shade. In the morning with a blue sky, or with breaks of sunlight through the fleeting clouds, the green hillsides and the stream smile and gleam in sympathy with the cheerfulness of heaven. "But under a grey sky, or at the gloamin', the Yarrow wears a peculiarly wan aspect a look of sadness. And no valley I know is more susceptible of sudden change. The spirit of the air can speedily weave out of the mists that gather up on the massive hills at the heads of the Meggat and the Talla, a wide-spreading web of greyish cloud the ' skaum ' of the sky that casts a gloom over the under green of the hills, and dims the face of loch and stream in a pensive shadow. The saddened heart would readily find there fit analogue and nourishment for its sorrow." This description is perfect ; but may not the same things be said of the Tweed, the Ettrick, and the Teviot ; indeed of all the streams in the Border country ? They have each an individuality of their own, but their general characteristics are the same.

Redoubted Ramsay's peasant skill, 
Flung some strained notes along the hill; 
His was some lyre from lady's hall, 
And not the mountain harp at all. 

Late at e'en drinking the wine, 

 And ere they paid the lawing, 
They set a combat them between 

To tight it in the dawing," 

cannot be genuine. And he has further introduced 

a verse 
which evidently belongs to the other ballad : 

" O gentle wind that bloweth south, 

From where my love repaireth, 
Convey a kiss from his dear mouth, 

And tell me how he fareth." 

There is another point in connection with the note appended to 
this ballad in the Minstrelsy, to which attention may be called. 
Sir Walter says: "In ploughing 'Annan's Treat/ a huge 
monumental stone with an inscription was discovered ; but 
being rather scratched than engraved, and the lines being run 
through each other, it is only possible to read one or two Latin 
words. It probably records the event of the combat. 

The 
person slain was the male ancestor of the present 

Lord Napier. 
" Tradition affirms that the hero of the song (be he who he 
may) was murdered by the brother, either of his wife or 
betrothed bride. The alleged cause of malice was the lady's 
father having proposed to endow her with half of his property, 
upon her marriage with a warrior of such renown. The name 
of the murderer is said to have been Annan, and the place 
of combat is still called Annan's Treat. It is a low moor 
lying to the west of Yarrow Kirk. Two tall unhewn masses of 
stone are erected, about eighty yards from each other

 LATE at e'en, drinking the wine, 
And ere they paid the lawing, 

They set a combat them between, 
To fight it in the dawing. 

" O stay at hame, my noble lord ! 
O stay at hame, my marrow ! 
My cruel brother will you betray, 
On the dowie houms of Yarrow. 



THE DOWIE DENS OF YARROW. 19 

" O fare ye weel, my ladye gaye ! 

fare ye weel, my Sarah ! 

For I maun gae, though I ne'er return 
Frae the dowie banks o' Yarrow. "- 

She kiss'd his cheek, she kaim'd his hair, 

As oft she had done before, O ; 
She belted him with his noble brand, 

And he's away to Yarrow. 

As he gaed up the Tennies bank, 

1 wot he gaed \vi' sorrow, 

Till, down in a den, he spied nine arm'd men, 
On the dowie houms of Yarrow. 

" O come ye here to part your land, 

The bonnie Forest thorough ? 
Or come ye here to wield your brand, 
On the dowie houms of Yarrow ?"- 

" I come not here to part my land, 

And neither to beg nor borrow ; 
I come to wield my noble brand, 
On the bonnie banks of Yarrow." 

If I see all, ye're nine to ane, 

And that's an unequal marrow, 
Yet will I fight, while lasts my brand, 

On the bonnie banks o' Yarrow. 

C2 



20 THE DOWIE DENS OF YARROW. 

Four has he hurt, and five has slain, 
On the bloody braes of Yarrow, 

Till that stubborn knight came him behind, 
And ran his body thorough. 

" Gae hame, gae hame, good-brother John, 

And tell your sister Sarah, 
To come and lift her leafu' lord ; 
He's sleepin' sound on Yarrow." 

Yestreen I dream'd a dolefu' dream ; 

I fear there will be sorrow ! 
I dream'd I pu'd the heather green, 

Wi' my true love on Yarrow. 

" But in the glen strive armed men ; 

They've wrought me dole and sorrow ; 
They've slain the comliest knight they've slain- 
He bleeding lies on Yarrow. 

As she sped down yon high high hill, 

She gaed wi' dole and sorrow, 
And in the den spied ten slain men, 

On the dowie banks of Yarrow. 

She kissed his cheek, she kaim'd his hair, 
She searched his wounds all thorough, 

She kiss'd them till her lips grew red, 
On the dowie houms of Yarrow. 



" Now baud your tongue, my daughter dear 

For a' this breeds but sorrow ; 
I'll wed ye to a better lord, 
Than him ye lost on Yarrow." 

" O baud your tongue, my father dear ! 

Ye mind me but of sorrow ; 
A fairer rose did never bloom 

Than now lies cropp'd on Yarrow."