The Complete Poems of Emily Brontë/Roderic

by Emily Brontë

LIV

RODERIC

Lie down and rest, the fight is done,
Thy comrades to the camp retire;
Gaze not so earnestly upon
The far gleam of the beacon fire.

O list not to the wind-born sounds,
Of music and of soldiers' cheer;
Thou canst not go—remember wounds
Exhaust thy life and hold thee here.

Had that hand power to raise the sword
Which since this morn laid many low;
Had that tongue strength to speak the word,
That urged thy followers on the foe;

Were that warm blood within thy veins
Which now upon the earth is flowing,
Splashing its sod with crimson stains,
Redding the pale heath round thee growing;

Then Roderic, thou mightst still be turning
With eager eye and anxious breast
To where those signal lights are burning,
To where thy war-worn comrades rest.

But never more—look up and see
The twilight fading from the skies,
That last dim beam that sets for thee,
Roderic, for thee shall never rise!

December 18, 1843.