Anne Brontë

“ O'er these wintry wilds, ALONE, Thou wouldst joy to wander free; And it will not please thee less, Though that bliss be shared with me.
THE CAPTIVE DOVE. Poor restless dove, I pity thee; And when I hear thy plaintive moan, I mourn for thy captivity, And in thy woes forget mine own. To see thee stand prepared to fly, And flap those useless wings of thine, And gaze into the distant sky, Would melt a harder heart than mine. In vain—in vain! Thou canst not rise: Thy prison roof confines thee there; Its slender wires delude thine eyes, And quench thy longings with despair. ”

“ And, while the sky grows dim and dimmer, Feel no untold and strange distress— Only a deeper impulse given By lonely hour and darkened room, To solemn thoughts that soar to heaven Seeking a life and world to come.
STANZAS. If thou be in a lonely place, If one hour's calm be thine, As Evening bends her placid face O'er this sweet day's decline; If all the earth and all the heaven Now look serene to thee, As o'er them shuts the summer even, One moment—think of me! Pause, in the lane, returning home; 'Tis dusk, it will be still: Pause near the elm, a sacred gloom Its breezeless boughs will fill. ”

“ Though such blood-drops should fall from me As fell in old Gethsemane, Welcome the anguish, so it gave More strength to work—more skill to save. And, oh! if brief must be my time, If hostile hand or fatal clime Cut short my course—still o'er my grave, Lord, may thy harvest whitening wave. So I the culture may begin, Let others thrust the sickle in; If but the seed will faster grow, May my blood water what I sow! What! have I ever trembling stood, And feared to give to God that blood? What! has the coward love of life Made me shrink from the righteous strife? ”

“ Thou bid'st us now weep through the night And sorrow through the day. These weary hours will not be lost, These days of misery, These nights of darkness, anguish-tost, Can I but turn to Thee. With secret labour to sustain In humble patience every blow; To gather fortitude from pain, And hope and holiness from woe. Thus let me serve Thee from my heart, Whate'er may be my written fate: Whether thus early to depart, Or yet a while to wait. If Thou shouldst bring me back to life, More humbled I should be; More wise—more strengthened for the strife— More apt to lean on Thee. ”

“ The anguish that will cloud his brow, The bed of death, the dreary tomb. As little know the youthful pair, In mutual love supremely blest, What weariness, and cold despair, Ere long, will seize the aching breast. And even should Love and Faith remain, (The greatest blessings life can show,) Amid adversity and pain, To shine throughout with cheering glow; They do not see how cruel Death Comes on, their loving hearts to part: One feels not now the gasping breath, The rending of the earth-bound heart,— The soul's and body's agony, Ere she may sink to her repose. ”

“ Oh! not for them, should we despair, The grave is drear, but they are not there; Their dust is mingled with the sod, Their happy souls are gone to God! You told me this, and yet you sigh, And murmur that your friends must die. Ah! my dear father, tell me why? For, if your former words were true, How useless would such sorrow be; As wise, to mourn the seed which grew Unnoticed on its parent tree, Because it fell in fertile earth, And sprang up to a glorious birth— Struck deep its root, and lifted high Its green boughs in the breezy sky. ”

“ So I left my fevered couch, And I flew to waken thee! I have flown to waken thee— For, if thou wilt not arise, Then my soul can drink no peace From these holy moonlight skies. And this waste of virgin snow To my sight will not be fair, Unless thou wilt smiling come, Love, to wander with me there. Then, awake! Maria, wake! For, if thou couldst only know How the quiet moonlight sleeps On this wilderness of snow, And the groves of ancient trees, In their snowy garb arrayed, Till they stretch into the gloom Of the distant valley's shade; I know thou wouldst rejoice To inhale this bracing air ”

“ That none deserve eternal bliss I know; Unmerited the grace in mercy given: But, none shall sink to everlasting woe, That have not well deserved the wrath of Heaven. And, oh! there lives within my heart A hope, long nursed by me; (And should its cheering ray depart, How dark my soul would be!) That as in Adam all have died, In Christ shall all men live; And ever round his throne abide, Eternal praise to give. That even the wicked shall at last Be fitted for the skies; And when their dreadful doom is past, To life and light arise. ”

“ Since passion may not fire thee, Shall nature cease to bow? Thy mind is ever moving, In regions dark to thee; Recall its useless roving, Come back, and dwell with me. I know my mountain breezes Enchant and soothe thee still, I know my sunshine pleases, Despite thy wayward will. When day with evening blending, Sinks from the summer sky, I've seen thy spirit bending In fond idolatry. I've watched thee every hour; I know my mighty sway: I know my magic power To drive thy griefs away. Few hearts to mortals given, On earth so wildly pine; Yet few would ask a heaven More like this earth than thine. ”

“ Like wafting of an angel's wing, Time's flight by them was heard. Some soft piano-notes alone Were sweet as faintly given, Where ladies, doubtless, cheered the hearth With song that winter-even. The city's many-mingled sounds Rose like the hum of ocean; They rather lulled the heart than roused Its pulse to faster motion. Gilbert has paced the single walk An hour, yet is not weary; And, though it be a winter night He feels nor cold nor dreary. The prime of life is in his veins, And sends his blood fast flowing, And Fancy's fervour warms the thoughts Now in his bosom glowing. ”

“ I'll not weep, because the summer's glory Must always end in gloom; And, follow out the happiest story— It closes with a tomb! And I am weary of the anguish Increasing winters bear; Weary to watch the spirit languish Through years of dead despair. So, if a tear, when thou art dying, Should haply fall from me, It is but that my soul is sighing, To go and rest with thee.
MY COMFORTER. Well hast thou spoken, and yet not taught A feeling strange or new; Thou hast but roused a latent thought, A cloud-closed beam of sunshine brought To gleam in open view. ”

“ All masked in clouds her mien. "Scarce is the rustle of a leaf Heard in our garden now; The year grows old, its days wax brief, The tresses leave its brow. The rain drives fast before the wind, The sky is blank and grey; O Jane, what sadness fills the mind On such a dreary day!" "You think too much, my sister dear; You sit too long alone; What though November days be drear? Full soon will they be gone. I've swept the hearth, and placed your chair. Come, Emma, sit by me; Our own fireside is never drear, Though late and wintry wane the year, Though rough the night may be." ”

“ Let time and tears destroy, That we may overflow the sky With universal joy! "Let grief distract the sufferer's breast, And night obscure his way; They hasten him to endless rest, And everlasting day. "To thee the world is like a tomb, A desert's naked shore; To us, in unimagined bloom, It brightens more and more! "And, could we lift the veil, and give One brief glimpse to thine eye, Thou wouldst rejoice for those that live, BECAUSE they live to die." ”

“ What matters it, that all around Danger, and guilt, and darkness lie, If but within our bosom's bound We hold a bright, untroubled sky, Warm with ten thousand mingled rays Of suns that know no winter days? Reason, indeed, may oft complain For Nature's sad reality, And tell the suffering heart how vain Its cherished dreams must always be; And Truth may rudely trample down The flowers of Fancy, newly-blown: But thou art ever there, to bring The hovering vision back, and breathe New glories o'er the blighted spring, And call a lovelier Life from Death. ”

“ Something whose absence leaves a void— A cheerless want in every heart; Each feels the bliss of all destroyed, And mourns the change—but each apart. The fire is burning in the grate As redly as it used to burn; But still the hearth is desolate, Till mirth, and love, and PEACE return. 'Twas PEACE that flowed from heart to heart, With looks and smiles that spoke of heaven, And gave us language to impart The blissful thoughts itself had given. Domestic peace! best joy of earth, When shall we all thy value learn? White angel, to our sorrowing hearth, Return—oh, graciously return! ”

“ My own forebodings tell me more— For me, I know by presage sure, They'll ne'er return again. Ere long, nor sun nor storm to me Will bring or joy or gloom; They reach not that Eternity Which soon will be my home." Eight months are gone, the summer sun Sets in a glorious sky; A quiet field, all green and lone, Receives its rosy dye. Jane sits upon a shaded stile, Alone she sits there now; Her head rests on her hand the while, And thought o'ercasts her brow. She's thinking of one winter's day, A few short months ago, Then Emma's bier was borne away O'er wastes of frozen snow. ”

“ And even when, with the bitterest tear I ever shed, mine eyes were dim, Still, with the spirit's vision clear, I saw Hell's empire, vast and grim, Spread on each Indian river's shore, Each realm of Asia covering o'er. There, the weak, trampled by the strong, Live but to suffer—hopeless die; There pagan-priests, whose creed is Wrong, Extortion, Lust, and Cruelty, Crush our lost race—and brimming fill The bitter cup of human ill; And I—who have the healing creed, The faith benign of Mary's Son, Shall I behold my brother's need, And, selfishly, to aid him shun? ”

“ No more shall I behold her lying Calm on a pillow, smoothed by me; No more that spirit, worn with sighing, Will know the rest of infancy. If still the paths of lore she follow, 'Twill be with tired and goaded will; She'll only toil, the aching hollow, The joyless blank of life to fill. And oh! full oft, quite spent and weary, Her hand will pause, her head decline; That labour seems so hard and dreary, On which no ray of hope may shine. Thus the pale blight of time and sorrow Will shade with grey her soft, dark hair; Then comes the day that knows no morrow, And death succeeds to long despair. ”

“ My spirit does not quail,— How can it while I hear thee say, "Press forward and prevail!" Even above the tempest's swell I hear thy voice of love,— Of hope and peace, I hear thee tell, And that blest home above; Through pain and death I can rejoice. If but thy strength be mine,— Earth hath no music like thy voice, Life owns no joy like thine! Spirit of Faith, I'll go with thee! Thou, if I hold thee fast, Wilt guide, defend, and strengthen me, And bear me home at last ”

“ VIEWS OF LIFE. When sinks my heart in hopeless gloom, And life can show no joy for me; And I behold a yawning tomb, Where bowers and palaces should be; In vain you talk of morbid dreams; In vain you gaily smiling say, That what to me so dreary seems, The healthy mind deems bright and gay. I too have smiled, and thought like you, But madly smiled, and falsely deemed: TRUTH led me to the present view,— I'm waking now—'twas THEN I dreamed. I lately saw a sunset sky, And stood enraptured to behold Its varied hues of glorious dye: First, fleecy clouds of shining gold ”

“ And man matured by worth will own, If I am shunned by youth. "Firm is my tread, and sure though slow; My footsteps never slide; And he that follows me shall know I am the surest guide." Thy boast is vain; but were it true That thou couldst safely steer Life's rough and devious pathway through, Such guidance I should fear. How could I bear to walk for aye, With eyes to earthward prone, O'er trampled weeds and miry clay, And sand and flinty stone; Never the glorious view to greet Of hill and dale, and sky; To see that Nature's charms are sweet, Or feel that Heaven is nigh? ”

“ But a brave heart, with a tarnished name, Would rather fight than rest. "Well, thou hast fought for many a year, Hast fought thy whole life through, Hast humbled Falsehood, trampled Fear; What is there left to do? "'Tis true, this arm has hotly striven, Has dared what few would dare; Much have I done, and freely given, But little learnt to bear! "Look on the grave where thou must sleep Thy last, and strongest foe; It is endurance not to weep, If that repose seem woe. "The long war closing in defeat— Defeat serenely borne,— Thy midnight rest may still be sweet, And break in glorious morn!" ”

“ While yet the rolling earth abides, Men come and go like ocean tides; And ere one generation dies, Another in its place shall rise; THAT, sinking soon into the grave, Others succeed, like wave on wave; And as they rise, they pass away. The sun arises every day, And hastening onward to the West, He nightly sinks, but not to rest: Returning to the eastern skies, Again to light us, he must rise. And still the restless wind comes forth, Now blowing keenly from the North; Now from the South, the East, the West, For ever changing, ne'er at rest. ”

“ Where now the courage that defied The mightiest tempest's roar? What shall they do when night grows black, When angry storms arise? Who now will lead them to the track Thou taught'st them to despise? Spirit of Pride, it needs not this To make me shun thy wiles, Renounce thy triumph and thy bliss, Thy honours and thy smiles! Bright as thou art, and bold, and strong, That fierce glance wins not me, And I abhor thy scoffing tongue— I will not follow thee! Spirit of Faith! be thou my guide, O clasp my hand in thine, And let me never quit thy side ”

“ England's wild flowers are fair to view, Like balm is England's summer dew Like gold her sunset ray. But the white violets, growing here, Are sweeter than I yet have seen, And ne'er did dew so pure and clear Distil on forest mosses green, As now, called forth by summer heat, Perfumes our cool and fresh retreat— These fragrant limes between. That sunset! Look beneath the boughs, Over the copse—beyond the hills; How soft, yet deep and warm it glows, And heaven with rich suffusion fills; With hues where still the opal's tint, Its gleam of prisoned fire is blent, Where flame through azure thrills! ”

“ And why should mine to-night be moved With such a sense of woe? Too often thus, when left alone, Where none my thoughts can see, Comes back a word, a passing tone From thy strange history. Sometimes I seem to see thee rise, A glorious child again; All virtues beaming from thine eyes That ever honoured men: Courage and truth, a generous breast Where sinless sunshine lay: A being whose very presence blest Like gladsome summer-day. O, fairly spread thy early sail, And fresh, and pure, and free, Was the first impulse of the gale Which urged life's wave for thee! ”

“ Blossom—that the west-wind Has never wooed to blow, Scentless are thy petals, Thy dew is cold as snow! Soul—where kindred kindness, No early promise woke, Barren is thy beauty, As weed upon a rock. Wither—soul and blossom! You both were vainly given; Earth reserves no blessing For the unblest of heaven! Child of delight, with sun-bright hair, And sea-blue, sea-deep eyes! Spirit of bliss! What brings thee here Beneath these sullen skies? Thou shouldst live in eternal spring, Where endless day is never dim; Why, Seraph, has thine erring wing Wafted thee down to weep with him? ”

“ If, glancing up, I sought to snatch But one glimpse of the sky, My baffled gaze would only catch Thy heartless, cold grey eye. If to the breezes wandering near, I listened eagerly, And deemed an angel's tongue to hear That whispered hope to me, That heavenly music would be drowned In thy harsh, droning voice; Nor inward thought, nor sight, nor sound, Might my sad soul rejoice. Dull is thine ear, unheard by thee The still, small voice of Heaven; Thine eyes are dim and cannot see The helps that God has given. There is a bridge o'er every flood Which thou canst not perceive ”

“ WINTER STORES. We take from life one little share, And say that this shall be A space, redeemed from toil and care, From tears and sadness free. And, haply, Death unstrings his bow, And Sorrow stands apart, And, for a little while, we know The sunshine of the heart. Existence seems a summer eve, Warm, soft, and full of peace, Our free, unfettered feelings give The soul its full release. A moment, then, it takes the power To call up thoughts that throw Around that charmed and hallowed hour, This life's divinest glow. ”

“ There is a friendly roof I know, Might shield me from the wintry blast; There is a fire whose ruddy glow Will cheer me for my wanderings past. And so, though still where'er I go Cold stranger glances meet my eye; Though, when my spirit sinks in woe, Unheeded swells the unbidden sigh; Though solitude, endured too long, Bids youthful joys too soon decay, Makes mirth a stranger to my tongue, And overclouds my noon of day; When kindly thoughts that would have way Flow back, discouraged, to my breast, I know there is, though far away, A home where heart and soul may rest. ”