Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/128

 Where newte, and toad, and rat would sit, Debating for my life, On my breast-bone; while one and all Hissed, fought, and voided on their thrall.

Yet lived I on, and madman-like, With unchanged heart I lay; No venom to its core could strike, For it was far away:— 'Twas even here beside this Tree, Its Trysting-place of yore, Where that fond maiden swore to me, "Thine, thine, for evermore." Faith in her vow made that pit seem The palace of Arabian dream.

And so was passed a weary time, How long I cannot tell, 'Twas years ere in that sunny clime A sunbeam on me fell. But from that tomb I rushed in tears, The fetters fell from me, They rusted through with damp and years, And rotted was the tree,