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POEMS OF EMILY BRONTË
169
And still on all who waited by
Oppressive mystery hung;
And swollen with grief was every eye,
And chained was every tongue.
They whispered nought, but, ' Lady, sleep,
Dear lady, slumber now!
Had we not bitter cause to weep
While you were laid so low?
'And hope can hardly deck the cheek
With sudden signs of cheer,
When it has worn through many a week
The sting of anguish drear.'
Fierce grew Rosina's gloomy gaze;
She cried, 'Dissembler, own
Erina's arms in victory blaze,
Brenzaida's crest is down.'
'Well, since it must be told, Lady,
Brenzaida's crest is down;
Brenzaida's sun is set, Lady,
His empire overthrown!
'He died beneath his palace dome,
True heart on every side;
Among his guards, within his home
Our glorious monarch died.
