“Cold in the earth—and fifteen wild Decembers,From those brown hills, have melted into spring.”

“The night is darkening round me,The wild winds coldly blow;But a tyrant spell has bound me,And I cannot, cannot go.”

“I wish I were a girl again, half savage and hardy, and free... Why am I so changed? I'm sure I should be myself were I once among the heather on those hills.”

“Ah! you are come, are you, Edgar Linton?' she said, with angry animation. 'You are one of those things that are ever found when least wanted, and when you are wanted, never! I suppose we shall have plenty of lamentations now - I see we shall - but they can't keep me from my narrow home out yonder: my resting-place, where I'm bound before spring is over! There it is: not among the Lintons, mind, under the chapel-roof, but in the open air, with a head-stone; and you may please yourself whether you go to them or come to me!”

“A LITTLE while, a little while,The weary task is put away,And I can sing and I can smile,Alike, while I have holiday.Where wilt thou go, my harassed heart--What thought, what scene invites thee nowWhat spot, or near or far apart,Has rest for thee, my weary brow?There is a spot, 'mid barren hills,Where winter howls, and driving rain;But, if the dreary tempest chills,There is a light that warms again.The house is old, the trees are bare,Moonless above bends twilight's dome;But what on earth is half so dear--So longed for--as the hearth of home?The mute bird sitting on the stone,The dank moss dripping from the wall,The thorn-trees gaunt, the walks o'ergrown,I love them--how I love them all!Still, as I mused, the naked room,The alien firelight died away;And from the midst of cheerless gloom,I passed to bright, unclouded day.A little and a lone green laneThat opened on a common wide;A distant, dreamy, dim blue chainOf mountains circling every side.A heaven so clear, an earth so calm,So sweet, so soft, so hushed an air;And, deepening still the dream-like charm,Wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere.THAT was the scene, I knew it well;I knew the turfy pathway's sweep,That, winding o'er each billowy swell,Marked out the tracks of wandering sheep.Could I have lingered but an hour,It well had paid a week of toil;But Truth has banished Fancy's power:Restraint and heavy task recoil.Even as I stood with raptured eye,Absorbed in bliss so deep and dear,My hour of rest had fleeted by,And back came labour, bondage, care.”

“The Night Is Darkening Round MThe night is darkening round me, The wild winds coldly blow; But a tyrant spell has bound me, And I cannot, cannot go. The giant trees are bending Their bare boughs weighed with snow; The storm is fast descending, And yet I cannot go. Clouds beyond clouds above me, Wastes beyond wastes below; But nothing drear can move me; I will not, cannot go.”

“She bounded before me, and returned to my side, and was off again like a young greyhound; and, at first, I found plenty of entertaiment in listening to the larks singing far and near; and enjoying the sweet, warm sunshine; and watching her, my pet, and my delight, with her golden ringlets flying loose behind, and her bright cheek, as soft and pure in its bloom, as a wild rose, and her eyes radiant with cloudless pleasure. She was a happy creautre, and an angel in those those days. It is a pity she could not stay content.”