Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/138



Death doing on earth is For ever his cry; And pillage and plunder His hope in the sky!

'Tis midnight, deep midnight, And dark is the heaven; Sir Halbert, in mockery, Wends to be shriven.

He kneels not to stone, And he bends not to wood; But he swung round his brown blade, And hewed down the Rood!

He stuck his long sword, with Its point in the earth; And he prayed to its cross hilt, In mockery and mirth.

Thus lowly he louteth, And mumbles his beads; Then lightly he riseth, And homeward he speeds.