Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/418



deed wi' smylis the cheek, Goe fill wi' licht the eye— O vain when sorrows seek The fontis of bliss to drie!

Quhan Hope hath pyned away, Quhan carke and care haif sprung, Quhan hert hath faun a prey To grief that hed nae tongue; O then it is nae tyme To feinzie quliat we fele, Or wi' ane merrie chime, To droun the solemne peal Quhilk ringis dreir and dul, Quhan hert and eyne ar ful.

Nae joy is thair for me In lyf againe to knowe— Nae plesuir can I see In its fais and fleetinge schew!—