The best we can
say for it is that vast numbers of persons may, by the still waters of
these meres, enjoy the pleasures of hope. Even solitude is no longer to
be found in the scene which Scott, in "Marmion," chooses as of all places
the most solitary.
Here, have I thought, 'twere sweet to dwell,
And rear again the chaplain's cell.
But no longer does
"Your horse's hoof tread sound too rude,
So stilly is the solitude."
Stilly! with the horns and songs from omnibusses that carry tourists, and
with yells from nymphs and swains disporting themselves in the boats.
Yarrow is only the old Yarrow in winter. Ages and revolutions must pass
before the ancient peace returns; and only if the golden age is born
again, and if we revive in it, shall we find St. Mary's what St. Mary's
was lang syne--
Ah, Buddha, if thy tale be true,
Of still returning life,
A monk may I be born anew,
In valleys free from strife,--
A monk where Meggat winds and laves
The lone St. Mary's of the Waves.
Yarrow, which flows out of St. Mary's Loch was never a great favourite of
mine, as far as fishing goes. It had, and probably deserved, a great
reputation, and some good trout are still taken in the upper waters, and
there must be monsters in the deep black pools, the "dowie dens" above
Bowhill.
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