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POEMS OF EMILY BRONTË
Yes, the arm that once would shudder,
Even to grieve a wounded deer,
I beheld it, unrelenting,
Clothe in blood its sovereign's prayer.
Glorious Dream! I saw the city,
Blazing in imperial shine;
And among adoring thousands
Stood a man of form divine.
None need point the princely victim,
Now he smiles with royal pride!
Now his glance is bright as lightning,
Now the knife is in his side!
Ha! I saw how death could darken,
Darken that triumphant eye!
His red heart's blood drenched my dagger;
My ear drank his dying sigh.
Shadows came! what means this midnight?
O my God, I know it all!
Know the fever-dream is over,
Unavenged, the Avenger's fall!
May 21, 1838.
