IS IT PERCHANCE LEST MEN SHOULD COME TO TELL EACH UNTO OTHER WHAT A PAIN IT IS,-(WILLIAM MORRIS)

["And every hollow of the hills with echoing songs the mavis fills."]

Her homespun woollen raiment lies,
And her white limbs and sweet gray eyes
Shine from the calm green pool and deep,
While round about the swallows sweep.
[From "The Life and Death of Jason," book xiv.]

UNHOLPEN, WITH HIS PAIN UNNAMEABLE!-(MORRIS)

HOW LITTLE BALANCED BY THE SULLIED BLISS THEY WON FOR SOME FEW MINUTES OF THEIR LIFE?"-MORRIS.

"A WORD OF PRAISE, PERCHANCE OF BLAME;-(MOTHERWELL)

THE SWORD CHANT OF THORSTEIN RAUDI. 325

William Motherwell.

[WILLIAM MOTHERWELL was born at Glasgow in 1797. He received a legal education, and in 1818 was appointed to the office of sheriff-clerkdepute of the county of Renfrew, which he held until 1829. He then became editor of a Glasgow newspaper, and entering with too much ardour into the political warfare which preceded and attended the enactment of the great Reform measure of 1832, wore out his mental and physical strength, and eventually succumbed to an attack of apoplexy, on the 1st of November 1835. His scattered poetical compositions, which evidence a remarkable command of spirited versification, and an undercurrent of tender and pathetic feeling, have been collected in one small volume.]

"GREEN LIE THOSE THICKLY-TIMBERED SHORES FAIR-SLOPING TO THE SEA;-(W. MOTHERWELL)

THEY'RE CUMBERED WITH THE HARVEST-STORES THAT WAVE BUT FOR THE FREE."-MOTHERWELL.

THE SWORD CHANT OF THORSTEIN RAUDI.

IS not the gray hawk's flight
O'er mountain and mere ;
'Tis not the fleet hound's course
Tracking the deer;

'Tis not the light hoof-print
Of black steed or gray,
Though sweltering it gallop
A long summer's day;
Which mete forth the lordships

I challenge as mine;

Ha ha! 'tis the good brand
I clutch in my strong hand,
That can their broad marches
And numbers define.

LAND GIVER! I kiss thee.

Dull builders of house,
Base tillers of earth,

Gaping, ask me what lordships

I owned at my birth;

AY, THIS IS GLORY, THIS IS FAME!"- -WILLIAM MOTHERWELL.

"I'VE WANDERED EAST, I'VE WANDERED WEST, THROUGH MONY A WEARY WAY;-(MOTHERWELL)

326

"WHAT IS GLORY? WHAT IS FAME?-(MOTHERWELL)

WILLIAM MOTHERWELL.

But the pale fools wax mute
When I point with my sword,
East, west, north, and south,

Shouting, "There am I Lord!"
Wold and waste, town and tower,

Hill, valley, and stream,
Trembling, bow to my sway
In the fierce battle fray,

When the star that rules Fate is
His falchion's red gleam.
MIGHT GIVER! I kiss thee.

I've heard great harps sounding

In brave bower and hall,
I've drank the sweet music
That bright lips let fall,
I've hunted in greenwood,
And heard small birds sing;
But away with this idle
And cold jargoning;

The music I love is

The shout of the brave,

The yell of the dying,
The scream of the flying,
When this arm wields Death's sickle,
And garners the grave.
JOY GIVER! I kiss thee.

Far isles of the ocean
Thy lightning have known,
And wide o'er the mainland

Thy horrors have shone.
Great sword of my father,
Stern joy of his hand,

THE ECHO OF A LONG-LOST NAME."-MOTHERWELL.

BUT NEVER, NEVER CAN FORGET THE LUVE O' LIFE'S YOUNG DAY!"-WILLIAM MOTHERWELL.

"OH, MORNIN' LIFE! OH, MORNIN' LUVE! OH, LICHTSOME DAYS AND LANG,-(MOTHERWELL)

66

WHAT IS FAME?-AND WHAT IS GLORY?-(MOTHERWELL)

THE SWORD CHANT OF THORSTEIN RAUDI.

Thou hast carved his name deep on

The stranger's red strand,

And won him the glory

Of undying song.

Keen cleaver of gay crests,
Sharp piercer of broad breasts,
Grim slayer of heroes,

And scourge of the strong.
FAME GIVER! I kiss thee.

In a love more abiding

Than the heart knows,
For maiden more lovely
Than summer's first rose,
My heart's knit to thine,
And lives but for thee;
In dreamings of gladness,
Thou'rt dancing with me
Brave measures of madness
In some battle-field,
Where armour is ringing,
And noble blood springing,
And cloven, yawn helmet,
Stout hauberk and shield.
DEATH GIVER! I kiss thee.

The smile of a maiden's eye
Soon may depart;
And light is the faith of
Fair woman's heart;
Changeful as light clouds,
And wayward as wind,
Be the passions that govern

Weak woman's mind;

A DREAM, A JESTER'S LYING STORY."-W. MOTHERWELL.

327

WHEN HINNIED HOPES AROUND OUR HEARTS LIKE SIMMER BLOSSOMS SPRANG!"-MOTHERWELL.

"'TWERE TIME THIS WORLD SHOULD CAST ITS INFANT SLOUGH AWAY,(MOTHERWELL)

328

"WHEN THE BUSY STIR OF MAN IS GONE,-(motherwell)

WILLIAM MOTHERWELL.

But thy metal's as true
As its polish is bright;
When ills wax in number,
Thy love will not slumber,
But, star-like, burns fiercer

The darker the night.

HEART GLADDENER! I kiss thee.

My kindred have perished

By war or by wave-
Now, childless and sircless,
I long for the grave.
When the path of our glory

Is shadowed in death,
With me thou wilt slumber
Below the brown heath;
Thou wilt rest on my bosom,

And with it decay-
While harps shall be ringing,
And scalds shall be singing
The deeds we have done in

Our old fearless day.
SONG GIVER! I kiss thee.

[From "Poems of William Motherwell."]

THE SOUL IS LEFT WITH ITS GOD ALONE!"-MOTHERWELL.

AND HEARTS BURST FORTH AT LAST INTO THE LIGHT OF DAY."-WILLIAM MOTHERWELL.