Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/354

 Amidst the pillared pomp of lofty hall, By many a jewelled throng Of smiling dames and soldier barons bold; When the loud cheer of generous wassail rolled From the high deis to where the warder strode, Proudly, along the battlemented wall, Beneath his polished armour's ponderous load; Who paused to hear, and carolled back again, With martial glee, the jocund vesper strain: Thou wilt forgive! Mine is no peering eye, That seeks, with glance malign, the suffering part, Thereby, with hollow show of sympathy, To smite again the poor world-wounded heart: No—thy misfortunes win from him a sigh Whose soul towers, like thyself, o'er each lewd passer-by.

Relique of earlier days, Yes, dear thou art to me!— And beauteous, marvellously, The moon-light strays Where banners glorious floated on thy walls— Clipping their ivied honours with its thread Of half-angelick light: And though o'er thee Time's wasting dews have shed Their all-consuming blight,