This page has been validated.
120
POEMS OF EMILY BRONTË
Were Gondal's monarchs bending low,
After the hour of silent prayer,
Take in heaven's sight their awful vow,
And never-dying union swear.
King Julius lifts his impious eye
From the dark marble to the sky,
Blasts with that oath his perjured soul,
And changeless is his cheek the while,
Though burning thoughts that spurn control,
Kindle a short and bitter smile,
As face to face the King's men stand,
His false hand clasped in Gerald's hand.
May 22, 1838.
