Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/130

 Blessed the wild prophet, and then brought Raiment and food unthanked, unsought.

I have a dreaming of the sea— A dreaming of the land— A dreaming that again to me Belonged a good knight's brand— A dreaming that this brow was pressed With plumed helm once more, That linked mail reclad this breast When I retrod the shore, The blessed shores of my father-land, And knelt in prayer upon its strand.

Years furrow brows and channel cheeks, But should not chase old loves away; The language which true heart first speaks, That language must it hold for aye." This poesie a war-worn man Did mutter to himself one night, As upwards to this cliff he ran, That shone in the moonlight; And by the moonlight curiously, He scanned the bark of this old tree.