O sacred marriage-bed of death, That keeps[390] them side by side In bond of peace, in bond of love,[391] 35 That may not be untied! [377] 1839. Wept for that Pair’s unhappy end, Whose Grave may here be seen. MS. letter of Dorothy Wordsworth’s. [378] 1839. … these stormy Heights, MS. [379] 1839. Six little ones the Pair had left, And could not find their home. MS. [380] 1839. Down the dark precipice he fell, And she was left alone, Not long to think of her children dear, Not long to pray, or groan. Added in MS. [381] 1839. A few wild steps--she too was left, MS. [382] 1839. The chain of but a few wild steps. MS. in Dorothy Wordsworth’s handwriting--sent to Lady Beaumont. [383] 1839. Four stanzas are here added in MS., only one of which need be given-- Our peace is of the immortal soul, Our anguish is of clay; Such bounty is in Heaven: so pass The bitterest pangs away. [384] 1839. Now do the … MS. [385] 1839. … is the depth … MS. [386] 1839. In shelter more profound. MS. [387] 1839. … ground. MS. [388] 1839. From fear, and from all need of hope From sun or guiding star. MS. [389] 1839. … how calm, MS. [390] 1839. That holds … MS. [391] 1839. In bond of love, in bond of God, MS. 1818 “THE SCOTTISH BROOM ON BIRD-NEST BRAE”[392] The Scottish Broom on Bird-nest brae[393] Twelve tedious years ago, When many plants strange blossoms bore That puzzled high and low, A not unnatural longing felt, 5 What longing would ye know? Why, friend, to deck her supple twigs With _yellow_ in full blow. To Lowther Castle she addressed A prayer both bold and sly, 10 (For all the Brooms on Bird-nest brae Can talk and speechify) That flattering breezes blowing thence Their succour would supply, Then she would instantly put forth 15 A flag of _yellow_ dye. But from the Castle turret blew A chill forbidding blast, Which the poor Broom no sooner felt Than she shrank up so fast; 20 Her _wished-for_ yellow she forswore, And since that time has cast Fond looks on colours three or four And put forth _Blue_ at last. And now, my lads, the Election comes 25 In June’s sunshining hours, When every field and bank and brae Is clad with yellow flowers. While faction Blue from shops and booths Tricks out her blustering powers, 30 Lo! smiling Nature’s lavish hand Has furnished wreaths for ours. [392] “Written, in my opinion, at the General Election of 1818.”--(The Rev. Thomas Hutchinson of Kimbolton.)