Delphi Complete Works of the Brontes Charlotte, Emily, Anne Brontë (Illustrated) (415 page)

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Authors: CHARLOTTE BRONTE,EMILY BRONTE,ANNE BRONTE,PATRICK BRONTE,ELIZABETH GASKELL

BOOK: Delphi Complete Works of the Brontes Charlotte, Emily, Anne Brontë (Illustrated)
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Cruel Death!
 
The young leaves droop and languish;
Evening’s gentle air may still restore —
 
No! the morning sunshine mocks my anguish-
Time, for me, must never blossom more!
 
Strike it down, that other boughs may flourish
Where that perished sapling used to be;
Thus, at least, its mouldering corpse will nourish
That from which it sprung — Eternity.

 

 

 

 

STANZAS TO —
 
—

 
 
Well, some may hate, and some may scorn,
And some may quite forget thy name;
But my sad heart must ever mourn
Thy ruined hopes, thy blighted fame!
‘Twas thus I thought, an hour ago,
Even weeping o’er that wretch’s woe;
One word turned back my gushing tears,
And lit my altered eye with sneers.
Then “Bless the friendly dust,” I said,
“That hides thy unlamented head!
Vain as thou wert, and weak as vain,
The slave of Falsehood, Pride, and Pain —
 
My heart has nought akin to thine;
Thy soul is powerless over mine.”
But these were thoughts that vanished too;
Unwise, unholy, and untrue:
Do I despise the timid deer,
Because his limbs are fleet with fear?
Or, would I mock the wolf’s death-howl,
Because his form is gaunt and foul?
Or, hear with joy the leveret’s cry,
Because it cannot bravely die?
No!
 
Then above his memory
Let Pity’s heart as tender be;
Say, “Earth, lie lightly on that breast,
And, kind Heaven, grant that spirit rest!”

 

 

 

 

HONOUR’S MARTYR.

 
 
The moon is full this winter night;
The stars are clear, though few;
And every window glistens bright
With leaves of frozen dew.
 
The sweet moon through your lattice gleams,
And lights your room like day;
And there you pass, in happy dreams,
The peaceful hours away!
 
While I, with effort hardly quelling
The anguish in my breast,
Wander about the silent dwelling,
And cannot think of rest.
 
The old clock in the gloomy hall
Ticks on, from hour to hour;
And every time its measured call
Seems lingering slow and slower:
 
And, oh, how slow that keen-eyed star
Has tracked the chilly gray!
What, watching yet! how very far
The morning lies away!
 
Without your chamber door I stand;
Love, are you slumbering still?
My cold heart, underneath my hand,
Has almost ceased to thrill.
 
Bleak, bleak the east wind sobs and sighs,
And drowns the turret bell,
Whose sad note, undistinguished, dies
Unheard, like my farewell!
 
To-morrow, Scorn will blight my name,
And Hate will trample me,
Will load me with a coward’s shame —
 
A traitor’s perjury.
 
False friends will launch their covert sneers;
True friends will wish me dead;
And I shall cause the bitterest tears
That you have ever shed.
 
The dark deeds of my outlawed race
Will then like virtues shine;
And men will pardon their disgrace,
Beside the guilt of mine.
 
For, who forgives the accursed crime
Of dastard treachery?
Rebellion, in its chosen time,
May Freedom’s champion be;
 
Revenge may stain a righteous sword,
It may be just to slay;
But, traitor, traitor, — from THAT word
All true breasts shrink away!
 
Oh, I would give my heart to death,
To keep my honour fair;
Yet, I’ll not give my inward faith
My honour’s NAME to spare!
 
Not even to keep your priceless love,
Dare I, Beloved, deceive;
This treason should the future prove,
Then, only then, believe!
 
I know the path I ought to go
I follow fearlessly,
Inquiring not what deeper woe
Stern duty stores for me.
 
So foes pursue, and cold allies
Mistrust me, every one:
Let me be false in others’ eyes,
If faithful in my own.

 

 

 

 

STANZAS.

 
 
I’ll not weep that thou art going to leave me,
There’s nothing lovely here;
And doubly will the dark world grieve me,
While thy heart suffers there.
 
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.
 
Deep down, concealed within my soul,
That light lies hid from men;
Yet glows unquenched — though shadows roll,
Its gentle ray cannot control —
 
About the sullen den.
 
Was I not vexed, in these gloomy ways
To walk alone so long?
Around me, wretches uttering praise,
Or howling o’er their hopeless days,
And each with Frenzy’s tongue; —
 
A brotherhood of misery,
Their smiles as sad as sighs;
Whose madness daily maddened me,
Distorting into agony
The bliss before my eyes!
 
So stood I, in Heaven’s glorious sun,
And in the glare of Hell;
My spirit drank a mingled tone,
Of seraph’s song, and demon’s moan;
What my soul bore, my soul alone
Within itself may tell!
 
Like a soft, air above a sea,
Tossed by the tempest’s stir;

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