Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/434



For me, my friend, I fear there's nought. In dim futurity, of gladness; There ever rises on my thought A dream of sadness:

Yet gazing upon guileless faces, Sunned by the light of laughing eyes, I recreant were to own no traces Of social ties.

Even I may borrow from another The smile I fain would call my own, Striving, with childish art, to smother The care unknown.

Farewell! Farewell!—All good attend thee— At home, abroad—on land, or sea— That Heaven may evermore befriend thee, My prayer shall be!

Should a dark thought of him arise Whose parting hand thou must resign, Let it go forth to stormy skies, Not tarnish thine: