Page:The complete poems of Emily Bronte.djvu/202

146 XXXVI

hither, child; who gifted thee

With power to touch that string so well?

How darest thou wake thoughts in me,

Thoughts that I would—but cannot quell!

Nay, chide not, lady; long ago

I heard those notes in Elbe Hall,

And had I known they'd waken woe,

I'd weep their music to recall.

But thus it was one festal night,

When I was hardly six years old,

I stole away from crowds and light

And sought a chamber dark and cold.

I had no one to love me there,

I knew no comrade and no friend,

And so I went to sorrow where

Heaven only heaven could me fend.

Loud blew the wind. 'Twas sad to stay

From all that splendour round away.

I imaged in the lonely room

A thousand forms, a fearful gloom;

And with my wet eyes raised on high,

I prayed to God that I might die.

Suddenly in the silence drear

A sound of music reached my ear: