Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/504

 With pleasant musings, such as childhood knows When basking on some greenwood shady knoll, And weaving garlands with the drooping boughs. Or dost thou sing of woman—of the eye That pierces through the heart, and wrays Its own fond secrets by a sympathy That scorns slow words and idle phrase? Or of the lips that utter wondrous love, And yet do scarcely move Their ruby portals to emit a sound, Or syllable a name, but round and round Irradiate themselves with pensive smiles? Or of the bosom, stranger to the wiles And thoughts of worthless worldlings, which doth swell With soft emotion underneath its cover, And speaks unto the keen-eyed conscious lover Thoughts, feelings, sympathies, tongue ne'er could teft? Sing'st thou of arms—of glory in the field— Where patriots meet in death's embrace, To reap high honours where the clanging shield And gleaming spear—the swayful ponderous mace, And the shrill trumpet rings aloud its peal Of martial music furious and strong; Where ardent souls together throng