Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/260



is gone! he is gone! Like the leaf from the tree; Or the down that is blown By the wind o'er the lea. He is fled, the light-hearted! Yet a tear must have started To his eye, when he parted From love-stricken me!

He is fled! he is fled! Like a gallant so free, Plumed cap on his head, And sharp sword by his knee; While his gay feathers fluttered, Surely something he muttered, He at least must have uttered A farewell to me!

He's away! he's away To far lands o'er the sea,—