Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/383



of this wilderness, Pure gushing stream, Dear to the Summer Is thy murmuring! Note of the song-bird, Warbling on high, Ne'er with my spirit made Such harmony As do thy deep waters, O'er rock, leaf, and flower, Bubbling and babbling The long sunny hour!

Tongue of this desert spot, Spelling sweet tones, To the mute listeners— Old mossy stones; Who ranged these stones near Thy silver rim, Guarding the temple Where rises thy hymn?