。当我第一次看到亚罗的时候，这个勇敢的年轻人，也许已经获得了，或者正在寻找一颗“迷人的骨髓”，但他还只是一个抱在膝上的婴儿;再一次，在纽瓦克的城堡门口，我站着，看着，听着，和你一起，伟大的边境吟游诗人!在那甜蜜的日子里，沉郁的思想占据了一切，它们的威严放在温柔的胸中，枯叶或挂在枝头，或落在地上;但微风吹拂，阳光闪耀——森林给人壮胆;火红的色调变红了，透过金色的光线变得透明。为了忙碌的思绪，溪水在激荡的泡沫中奔流;在许多晶莹的水潭中沉睡，静静地沉思:没有公共和私人的关怀，自由自在的心灵迷人，我们创造了快乐时光的一天，回忆我们的快乐时光。轻快的青春出现了，青春的早晨，带着优雅的荒唐，——生命温和的正午，清醒的夜，不忧郁的夜;过去、现在、未来，全都和谐地出现在一起，就像远方的客人相遇，被诚挚的爱所邀请。 And if, as Yarrow, through the woods And down the meadow ranging, Did meet us with unaltered face, Though we were changed and changing; If, then, some natural shadows spread Our inward prospect over, The soul's deep valley was not slow Its brightness to recover. Eternal blessings on the Muse, And her divine employment! The blameless Muse, who trains her Sons For hope and calm enjoyment; Albeit sickness, lingering yet, Has o'er their pillow brooded; And Care waylays their steps-a Sprite Not easily eluded. For thee, O Scott! compelled to change Green Eildon-hill and Cheviot For warm Vesuvio's vine-clad slopes; And leave thy Tweed and Tiviot For mild Sorrento's breezy waves; May classic Fancy, linking With native Fancy her fresh aid, Preserve thy heart from sinking! Oh! while they minister to thee, Each vying with the other, May Health return to mellow Age With Strength, her venturous brother; And Tiber, and each brook and rill Renowned in song and story, With unimagined beauty shine, Nor lose one ray of glory! For Thou, upon a hundred streams, By tales of love and sorrow, Of faithful love, undaunted truth Hast shed the power of Yarrow; And streams unknown, hills yet unseen, Wherever they invite Thee, At parent Nature's grateful call, With gladness must requite Thee. A gracious welcome shall be thine, Such looks of love and honour As thy own Yarrow gave to me When first I gazed upon her; Beheld what I had feared to see, Unwilling to surrender Dreams treasured up from early days, The holy and the tender. And what, for this frail world, were all That mortals do or suffer, Did no responsive harp, no pen, Memorial tribute offer? Yea, what were mighty Nature's self? Her features, could they win us, Unhelped by the poetic voice That hourly speaks within us? Nor deem that localized Romance Plays false with our affections; Unsanctifies our tears-made sport For fanciful dejections: Ah, no! the visions of the past Sustain the heart in feeling Life as she is-our changeful Life, With friends and kindred dealing. Bear witness, Ye, whose thoughts that day In Yarrow's groves were centred; Who through the silent portal arch Of mouldering Newark entered; And clomb the winding stair that once Too timidly was mounted By the "last Minstrel,"(not the last!) Ere he his Tale recounted. Flow on for ever, Yarrow Stream! Fulfil thy pensive duty, Well pleased that future Bards should chant For simple hearts thy beauty; To dream-light dear while yet unseen, Dear to the common sunshine, And dearer still, as now I feel, To memory's shadowy moonshine!