Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/177

 Where would I ride, In all the pride Of Elfin chivalry, With each sweet sound Far floating round, Of Faerye minstrelsy?— 'Tis o'er her neck of drifted snow, Her passion-breathing lip, Her dainty chin and noble brow, That I would trip.

Were I a glossy plumaged bird, A small glad voice of song, Where would my love-lays aye be heard— Where would I nestle long?— In Margaret's ear When none were near, I'd strain my little throat, To sing fond lays In Margaret's praise, That could not be forgot; Then on her bosom would I fall, And from it never part—- Dizzy with joy, and proud to call My home her heart!