Page:The complete poems of Emily Bronte.djvu/350

294 His eye was full of that sinful fire

Which oft unhallowed passions light.

It spoke of quickly kindled ire,

Of love too warm, and wild, and bright.

Bright, but yet sullied, love which could never

Bring good in rising, leave peace in decline,

Woe to the gifted, crime to the giver,

Wherever reposed all the light of its shine.

Beauty had lavished her treasures upon him,

Youth's early sunshine was poured on his brow:

Alas! that the magic of sin should have won him;

But he is her slave, and her chained victim now.

Now from his curled and shining hair,

Circling the brow of marble fair,

His dark, keen eyes on Percy gaze

With stern, and yet repenting rays.

Sometimes they shimmer through the haze

Of sadly gushing tears,

And then a sudden flash of flame,

Speaking wild feelings none could tame,

The dim suffusion clears.

Young savage! how he bends above

The object of his wrath and love,

How tenderly his fingers press

The hand that shrinks from their caress,