Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/507

 O tall hill, whose gray head Is weeping in heaven, We come not to pierce thro' Thy dim holy chambers— We see thee and love thee, And never will mar thee:— O beautiful valley, Bright lake, and tall mountain, The Ritters ride forth!

Churls scratch, with the base share, The flower-girdled valley; And sheer, with the sharp keel, The dream-loving billow; They pierce to the heart of The grand giant mountain, And fling on the fierce flame His pale yellow life-strings. We come to avenge thee, To slay the destroyer. O, beautiful valley, Bright lake, and tall mountain, The Ritters ride forth!