Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/491

 What are clustered pillars to The gnarled trunk of silvery hue, That, Titan-like, heaves its huge form Through centuries of change and storm, And stands as it were planted there, Alike for shelter and for prayer?

Hither, my jocund Fancy! Turn, And note how Heaven's pure watchfires burn In yonder fields of deepest blue, Investing space with glories new! And hark how in the bosky dell Warbles mate-robbed Philomel! Every sound from that glade stealing Sadness woos with kindred feeling— The notes of a love-broken heart Surpass the dull appeal of art; Here rest awhile, for every where, On lake, lawn, tower, and forest tree, Falleth in floods the moonshine fair— How beautiful night's glories be! No stir is heard upon the land, No murmur from the sea; The pulse of life seems at a stand As nature quaffeth, rapturously,