their countless myriads of stars, or upon the earth beneath with its garment of green, and its hills, and valleys, and running streams, his mind was equally impressed with the majesty and power of that great Being who made and sustains all things.
O God! this is an holy hour:—
Thy breath is o'er the land:
I feel it in each little flower
Around me where I stand.
In all the moonshine scattered fair,
Above, below me, everywhere—
In every dew-bead glistening sheen,
In every leaf and blade of green—
And in this silence grand and deep,
Wherein thy blessed creatures sleep.[1]
An elaborate analysis of Motherwell's character as a poet would not be compatible with the objects and limits of this slight sketch; but it is fortunately rendered unnecessary by the criticism of Professor Wilson, which appeared in Blackwood's Magazine for April, 1833. 'All his perceptions are clear, for all his senses are sound; he has fine and strong sensibilities, and a powerful intellect. He has been led by the natural bent of his genius to the old haunts of inspiration—the woods and glens of his native country—and his ears delight to drink the music of her old songs. Many a beautiful ballad has blended its pensive and plaintive pathos with his day-
- ↑ Midnight and Moonshine.
