Page:Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë, 1846).djvu/57

Rh Obedient to the goad of grief,

Her steps, now fast, now lingering slow,

In varying motion seek relief

From the Eumenides of woe.

Wringing her hands, at intervals—

But long as mute as phantom dim—

She glides along the dusky walls,

Under the black oak rafters, grim.

The close air of the grated tower

Stifles a heart that scarce can beat,

And, though so late and lone the hour,

Forth pass her wandering, faltering feet;

And on the pavement, spread before

The long front of the mansion grey,

Her steps imprint the night-frost hoar,

Which pale on grass and granite lay.

Not long she stayed where misty moon

And shimmering stars could on her look,

But through the garden arch-way, soon

Her strange and gloomy path she took.

Some firs, coeval with the tower,

Their straight black boughs stretched o'er her head,

Unseen, beneath this sable bower,

Rustled her dress and rapid tread.