Part 18 (1/2)
What brought you here? I called you not
Are you a hawk to follow the prey, When led it flutters feebly away?
A sleuth-hound to track the deer by his blood, When wounded he wins to the darkest wood, There, if he can, to die alone?
It ht have been Heathcliff and a Linton
So much for Zamorna
Finally, there are two poeht have cohts_ One (inspired by Byron) certainly belongs to the Za stretched oncefloor; The children half resuood-wife left her spinning-wheel And spread with s meal; The shepherd placed a seat and pressed To their poor fare the unknown guest, And he unclasped his ers by land and sea Were seldo stern He'd no refinement to unlearn
Which is what Heathcliff would have said sternly Observe the effect of him
A silence settled on the roolooh, So froze their hospitable joy
No--there was sorace, And so in his voice's tone Which turned their blood as chill as stone
The ringlets of his long black hair Fell o'er a cheek hastly fair
Youthful he seemed--but worn as they Who spend too soon their youthful day
When his glance dropped, 'twas hard to quell Unbidden feelings' hidden swell; And Pity scarce her tears could hide, So sweet that broith all its pride
But when upraised his eye would dart An icy shudder through the heart, Coaze again
It was not hatred's tiger-glare, Nor the wild anguish of despair; It was not eitherall unearthly shone Deep in that dark eye's circling zone, Such withering lightning as we deelad were all when he turned away And wrapt hirey, And hid his head upon his arm, And veiled from view his basilisk charain; but it is also uncommonly like Heathcliff, with ”his basilisk eyes” And it is dated July 1839, seven years before _Wuthering Heights_ ritten
The other crucial instance is a nameless poerey Stretching their shadows far away
Beneath the turf my footsteps tread Lie low and lone the silent dead; Beneath the turf, beneath the mould, For ever dark, for ever cold
And my eyes cannot hold the tears That memory hoards from vanished years
For Tiain
Let me remember half the woe I've seen and heard and felt below, And heaven itself, so pure and blest, Could never give ht! Thy children fair Know nought akin to our despair; Nor have they felt, nor can they tell What tenants haunt each uests we hold within, Torments and madness, fear and sin!
Well,eternity of joy; At least ould not bring theroan
No, Earth would wish no other sphere To taste her cup of suffering drear; She turns from heaven a tearless eye And only mourns that _we_ must die!
Ah mother! what shall comfort thee In all this boundless er eyes awhile, We see thee sh the tender glow Thy deep, unutterable woe?
Indeed no darling hand above Can cheat thee of thy children's love
We all, in life's departing shi+ne, Our last dear longings blend with thine, And struggle still, and strive to trace With clouded gaze thy darling face