Page:The complete poems of Emily Bronte.djvu/371

Rh And twenty years of tyrant pride

Which strove this modern God to hide,

At last have vanished in the rays

Of his unquenched, unclouded blaze,

Oh! is not Jesus come again

Over his thousand saints to reign?

To free the world from tyrant's chain,

While sin and hatred vainly spit

Their venomed fury, as they sit.

Their reign is past, their power is gone,

For fallen is mighty Babylon.

Through the hoarse howling of the storm

I saw, but did I truly see

One glimpse of that unearthly form

Whose very form is Victory?

'Twas but a glance, and all seems past,

For cares like clouds again return,

And I'll forget him till the blast

For ever from my soul has flown—

That vision of a mighty host

Crushed helpless into earth and Dust!

Forget him! In the cannon's smoke

How dense it thickens, till on high,

By the wild storm blasts roughly broke,

It parts in volumes through the sky

That hurriedly are drifting by,

'Till the dread burst breaks forth once more

With whitening clouds which seem to fly

Affrightened from that ceaseless roar.