Page:The complete poems of Emily Bronte.djvu/212

156 The raving, dying victim see,

Lost, cursed, degraded all for thee!

Gaze on the wretch—recall to mind

His golden days left long behind.

Does Memory sleep in Lethean rest?

Or wakes its whisper in thy breast?

O Memory wake! Let scenes return,

That e'en her haughty heart must mourn!

Reveal; where o'er a lone green wood

The moon of summer pours

Far down from heaven its silver flood

On deep Eldenna's shores;

There, lingering in the wild embrace

Youth's warm affections gave,

She sits and fondly seems to trace

His features in the wave.

And while on that reflected face

Her eyes intently dwell;

'Fernando, sing to-night,' she says,

'The lays I love so well.'

He smiles and sings, through every air

Betrays the faith of yesterday;

His soul is glad to cast for her

Virtue and faith and Heaven away.