Page:The complete poems of Emily Bronte.djvu/260

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Showed a fixed impress of keen suffering past,
And the raised lids did show
No wandering gleam below
But a dark anguish, self-destroyed at last.

Long he gazed and held his breath,
Kneeling on the blood-stained heath;
Long he gazed those lids beneath,
Looking into Death!

Not a word from his followers fell;
They stood by mute and pale;
That black treason uttered well
Its own heart-harrowing tale.

But earth was bathed in other gore;
There were crimson drops across the moor,
And Lord Eldred glancing round,
Saw those tokens on the ground.

'Bring him back!' he hoarsely said;
'Wounded is the traitor fled;
Vengeance may hold but minutes brief
And you have all your lives for grief.'

He is left alone—he sees the stars
Their quiet course continuing:
And, far away, down Elmor scars

He hears the stream its waters fling;