Page:The complete poems of Emily Bronte.djvu/125

Rh Why did the pilot, too confiding,

Dream o'er that ocean's foam,

And trust in Pleasure's careless guiding

To bring his vessel home?

For well he knew what dangers frowned,

What mists would gather, dim;

What rocks and shelves, and sands lay round

Between his port and him.

The very brightness of the sun,

The splendour of the main,

The wind which bore him wildly on

Should not have warned in vain.

An anxious gazer from the shore—

I marked the whitening wave,

And wept above thy fate the more

Because—I could not save.

It recks not now, when all is over:

But yet my heart will be

A mourner still, though friend and lover

Have both forgotten thee!