Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/292

 Give but one span of earth for fight, And I once more am free!

A single hand, a single brand, Against uncounted foes; A heart that's withered like a leaf, In brooding o'er its woes, Are surely not such deadly odds For stout men to oppose.

But no; bound here midst rotting straw, Within this noisome cell, They joy to see a proud heart break, And ring its own sad knell; They joy to hear me, Silverwood, Bid thee and life farewell.

So let it be; sweet Silverwood, On daylight's latest beam, My spirit seeks again thy glades, Revisits flower and stream; And fleets through thee, unchanged in love, In this my dying dream.