And now the house-dog stretched once more His limbs upon the glowing floor; The children half resume their play, Though from the warm hearth scared away; The good-wife left her spinning-wheel And spread with smiles the evening meal; The shepherd placed a seat and pressed To their poor fare the unknown guest, And he unclasped his mantle now, And raised the covering from his brow, Said, voyagers by land and sea Were seldom feasted daintily, And cheered his host by adding 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 room, The cheerful welcome sank to gloom; But not those words, though cold or high, So froze their hospitable joy. No--there was something in his face, Some nameless thing which hid not grace, And something 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 most ghastly 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 brow with all its pride. But when upraised his eye would dart An icy shudder through the heart, Compassion changed to horror then, And fear to meet that gaze again. It was not hatred's tiger-glare, Nor the wild anguish of despair; It was not either misery Which quickens friendship's sympathy; No--lightning all unearthly shone Deep in that dark eye's circling zone, Such withering lightning as we deem None but a spirit's look may beam; And glad were all when he turned away And wrapt him in his mantle grey, And hid his head upon his arm, And veiled from view his basilisk charm. That, I take it, is Zamorna, that Byronic hero, again; but it is also uncommonly like Heathcliff, with "his basilisk eyes". And it is dated July 1839, seven years before _Wuthering Heights_ was written. The other crucial instance is a nameless poem to the Earth.