Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/167

 Moveless all droop, in slumberous quiet; How beautiful they be! And blissful as soft infants lulled Upon a mother's knee.

Far down yon dell the melody Of a small brook is audible; The shadow of a thread-like tone,—- It murmurs over root and stone, Yet sings of very love its fill;— And hark! even now, how sweetly shrill It trolls its fairy glee, Skywards unto that pure bright one; O! gentle heart hath she, For, leaning down to earth, with pleasure, She lists its fond and prattling measure.

It is indeed a silent night Of peace, of joy, and purest light;— No angry breeze, in surly tone, Chides the old forest till it moan; Or breaks the dreaming of the owl, That, warder-like, on yon gray tower, Feedeth his melancholy soul With visions of departed power;