Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/425



is the soul of the Minstrel— Wayward the flash of his eye; The voice of the proud is against him, The rude sons of earth pass him by.

Low is the grave of the Minstrel— Ungraced by the chissel of art; Yet his name will be blazoned for ever On the best of all 'scutcheons—the heart!

Strong is the soul of the Minstrel— He rules in a realm of his own; His world is peopled by fancies The noblest that ever were known.

Light is the rest of the Minstrel, Though heavy his lot upon earth; From the sward that lies over his ashes Spring plants of a heavenly birth!