Page:Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë, 1846).djvu/12

2 They've wrought all day, and well-earned slumbers steep

Their labours in forgetfulness, I trust;

Let me my feverish watch with patience bear,

Thankful that none with me its sufferings share.

Yet, Oh, for light! one ray would tranquilise

My nerves, my pulses, more than effort can;

I'll draw my curtain and consult the skies:

These trembling stars at dead of night look wan,

Wild, restless, strange, yet cannot be more drear

Than this my couch, shared by a nameless fear.

All black—­one great cloud, drawn from east to west,

Conceals the heavens, but there are lights below;

Torches burn in Jerusalem, and cast

On yonder stony mount a lurid glow.

I see men stationed there, and gleaming spears;

A sound, too, from afar, invades my ears.

Dull, measured, strokes of axe and hammer ring

From street to street, not loud, but through the night

Distinctly heard—­and some strange spectral thing

Is now upreared—­and, fixed against the light

Of the pale lamps; defined upon that sky,

It stands up like a column, straight and high.

I see it all—­I know the dusky sign—­

A cross on Calvary, which Jews uprear