This page has been validated.
POEMS OF EMILY BRONTË
193
LVII
Were they shepherds, who sat all day
On that brown mountain's side?
But neither staff nor dog had they,
Nor woolly flock to guide.
They were clothed in savage attire;
Their locks were dark and long;
And at each belt a weapon dire,
Like bandit-knife was hung.
One was a woman tall and fair;
A princess she might be
From her stately form and her features rare,
And her look of Majesty.
But, oh! she had a sullen frown,
A lip of cruel scorn;
As sweet tears never melted down
Her cheeks since she was born.
'Twas well she had no sceptre to wield,
No subject land to sway;
Fear might have made her vassals yield,
But love had been far away.
