Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/253



Merry Gallant girds his sword, And dons his helm in mickle glee! He leaves behind his lady love For tented fields and deeds which prove Stout hardiment and constancy.

When round him rings the din of arms— The notes of high-born chivalry, He thinks not of his bird in bower, And scorns to own Love's tyrant power Amid the combats of the Free.

Yet in the midnight watch, I trow, When cresset lights all feebly burn, Will hermit Fancy sometimes roam With eager travel back to home, Where smiles and tears await—return.

"Away! away!" he boldly sings, "Be thrown those thoughts which cling to me;