Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/133

 I saw uprising from the ground, A ghastly shape like me. But no!—it was the War-worn wight, That pale as whited wall, Strode forth into the moonshine bright, And let such hoarse sounds fall. A voice uprushing from the tomb Than his, were less fulfilled with doom.

Judgment ne'er sleeps!" the War-worn said, As striding into light, He stood before that shuddering maid, Between her and that knight. Judgment ne'er sleeps! 'tis wondrous odd, One gurgle, one long sigh, Ended it all. Upon this sod Lay one with unclosed eye, And then the boiling linn that night, Flung on its banks a lady bright.

She tripped towards me as you have tripped, Pale maiden! and as cold; She sipped with me as you have sipped, Night dews, and then I told