Page:The complete poems of Emily Bronte.djvu/319

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263
POEMS OF EMILY BRONTË

XXIII

TO THE HORSE BLACK EAGLE
WHICH I RODE AT THE BATTLE OF ZAMORNA

Swart steed of night, thou hast charged thy last
O'er the red war-trampled plain;
Now fall'n asleep is the battle blast,
It is stilled above the slain.


Now hushed is the clang of armour bright;
Thou wilt never bear me more
To the deadliest press of the gathering fight
Through seas of noble gore.


And the cold eyes of midnight skies
Shall not pour their light on thee,
When the wearied host of the conqueror lies
On a field of victory.


Rest now in thy glory, noble steed;
Rest! all thy wars are done;
True is the love and high the meed
Thou from thy lord hast won.


In daisied lawns sleep peacefully,
Dwell by the quiet wave,
Till death shall sound his signal cry,
And call thee to thy grave.