Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/307



pale and sickly lamp, Now glimmering like the glow-worm of the swamp, Shine on, I pray thee, for another hour, And shed thy wan and feeble lustre o'er This precious volume of forgotten lore My eyes devour. Shine on, I pray thee, but some little while Soon w'ill the morning's ruddy smile Peep through the casement, like a well-known guest, And give thee needful rest.

Even now the grey owl seeks his nest; And in the farm-yards, lusty cocks begin To flap their wings, and, with a rousing din, Cheer on the lagging morn. Right soon the careful churle will go To view his ripening corn; And up, and up, in a merry row, A thousand many-voiced birds will spring, And in one general chorus sing Their matins to the skies.