LITMIR.BIZ

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       Alone, in indigence and age,

       To linger out his pilgrimage?

       No; close beneath proud Newark’s tower,

       Arose the Minstrel’s lowly bower;

       A simple hut; but there was seen

       The little garden hedged with green,

       The cheerful hearth, and lattice clean.

       There shelter’d wanderers, by the blaze,

       Oft heard the tale of other days;

       For much he lov’d to ope his door,

       And give the aid he begg’d before.

       So pass’d the winter’s day; but still,

       When summer smil’d on sweet Bowhill,

       And July’s eve, with balmy breath,

       Wav’d the blue-bells on Newark heath;

       When throstles sung in Harehead-shaw,

       And corn was green on Carterhaugh,

       And flourish’d, broad, Blackandro’s oak,

       The aged Harper’s soul awoke!

       Then would he sing achievements high,

       And circumstance of chivalry,

       Till the rapt traveller would stay,

       Forgetful of the closing day;

       And noble youths, the strain to hear,

       Forsook the hunting of the deer;

       And Yarrow, as he roll’d along,

       Bore burden to the Minstrel’s song.