Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/127

 My time shall come; and then, ay, then The wanton stars shall reel Like drunkards all, when we madmen Upraise our laughter-peal. I see the cause: the —the — The that gibbered in the sun!

You pinch my wrist, you press my knee, With fingers long and small; Light fetters these—not so on me Did heathen shackles fall, When I was captived in the fight On Candy's fatal shore; And paynims won a battered knight, A living well of gore How the knaves smote me to the ground, And hewed me like a tree all round!

They hammered irons on my hand, And irons on my knee; They bound me fast with many a band, To pillar and to tree; They flung me in a loathsome pit, Where loathly things were rife—