Anne Brontë – A Fragment

'Maiden, thou wert thoughtless once

Of beauty or of grace,

Simple and homely in attire

Careless of form and face.

Then whence this change, and why so oft

Dost smooth thy hazel hair?

And wherefore deck thy youthful form

With such unwearied care?

'Tell us ­- and cease to tire our ears

With yonder hackneyed strain ­-

Why wilt thou play those simple tunes

So often o'er again?'

'Nay, gentle friends, I can but say

That childhood's thoughts are gone.

Each year its own new feelings brings

And years move swiftly on,

And for these little simple airs,

I love to play them o'er ­-

So much I dare not promise now

To play them never more.'

I answered and it was enough;

They turned them to depart;

They could not read my secret thoughts

Nor see my throbbing heart.

I've noticed many a youthful form

Upon whose changeful face

The inmost workings of the soul

The gazer's eye might trace.

The speaking eye, the changing lip,

The ready blushing cheek,

The smiling or beclouded brow

Their different feelings speak.

But, thank God! you might gaze on mine

For hours and never know

The secret changes of my soul

From joy to bitter woe.

Last night, as we sat round the fire

Conversing merrily,

We heard without approaching steps

Of one well known to me.

There was no trembling in my voice,

No blush upon my cheek,

No lustrous sparkle in my eyes,

Of hope or joy to speak;

But O my spirit burned within,

My heart beat thick and fast.

He came not nigh ­- he went away

And then my joy was past.

And yet my comrades marked it not,

My voice was still the same;

They saw me smile, and o'er my face ­-

No signs of sadness came;

They little knew my hidden thoughts

And they will never know

The anguish of my drooping heart,

The bitter aching woe!

Anne Brontë – 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;

These blushing took a rosy hue;

Beneath them shone a flood of green;

Nor less divine, the glorious blue

That smiled above them and between.

I cannot name each lovely shade;

I cannot say how bright they shone;

But one by one, I saw them fade;

And what remained when they were gone?

Dull clouds remained, of sombre hue,

And when their borrowed charm was o'er,

The azure sky had faded too,

That smiled so softly bright before.

So, gilded by the glow of youth,

Our varied life looks fair and gay;

And so remains the naked truth,

When that false light is past away.

Why blame ye, then, my keener sight,

That clearly sees a world of woes

Through all the haze of golden light

That flattering Falsehood round it throws?

When the young mother smiles above

The first-born darling of her heart,

Her bosom glows with earnest love,

While tears of silent transport start.

Fond dreamer! little does she know

The anxious toil, the suffering,

The blasted hopes, the burning woe,

The object of her joy will bring.

Her blinded eyes behold not now

What, soon or late, must be his doom;

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.

The sad survivor cannot see

The grave above his darling close;

Nor how, despairing and alone,

He then must wear his life away;

And linger, feebly toiling on,

And fainting, sink into decay.

Oh, Youth may listen patiently,

While sad Experience tells her tale,

But Doubt sits smiling in his eye,

For ardent Hope will still prevail!

He hears how feeble Pleasure dies,

By guilt destroyed, and pain and woe;

He turns to Hope--and she replies,

"Believe it not-it is not so!"

"Oh, heed her not!" Experience says;

"For thus she whispered once to me;

She told me, in my youthful days,

How glorious manhood's prime would be.

"When, in the time of early Spring,

Too chill the winds that o'er me pass'd,

She said, each coming day would bring

a fairer heaven, a gentler blast.

"And when the sun too seldom beamed,

The sky, o'ercast, too darkly frowned,

The soaking rain too constant streamed,

And mists too dreary gathered round;

"She told me, Summer's glorious ray

Would chase those vapours all away,

And scatter glories round;

With sweetest music fill the trees,

Load with rich scent the gentle breeze,

And strew with flowers the ground

"But when, beneath that scorching ray,

I languished, weary through the day,

While birds refused to sing,

Verdure decayed from field and tree,

And panting Nature mourned with me

The freshness of the Spring.

"'Wait but a little while,' she said,

'Till Summer's burning days are fled;

And Autumn shall restore,

With golden riches of her own,

And Summer's glories mellowed down,

The freshness you deplore.'

And long I waited, but in vain:

That freshness never came again,

Though Summer passed away,

Though Autumn's mists hung cold and chill.

And drooping nature languished still,

And sank into decay.

"Till wintry blasts foreboding blew

Through leafless trees--and then I knew

That Hope was all a dream.

But thus, fond youth, she cheated me;

And she will prove as false to thee,

Though sweet her words may seem.

Stern prophet! Cease thy bodings dire--

Thou canst not quench the ardent fire

That warms the breast of youth.

Oh, let it cheer him while it may,

And gently, gently die away--

Chilled by the damps of truth!

Tell him, that earth is not our rest;

Its joys are empty--frail at best;

And point beyond the sky.

But gleams of light may reach us here;

And hope the ROUGHEST path can cheer:

Then do not bid it fly!

Though hope may promise joys, that still

Unkindly time will ne'er fulfil;

Or, if they come at all,

We never find them unalloyed,--

Hurtful perchance, or soon destroyed,

They vanish or they pall;

Yet hope ITSELF a brightness throws

O'er all our labours and our woes;

While dark foreboding Care

A thousand ills will oft portend,

That Providence may ne'er intend

The trembling heart to bear.

Or if they come, it oft appears,

Our woes are lighter than our fears,

And far more bravely borne.

Then let us not enhance our doom

But e'en in midnight's blackest gloom

Expect the rising morn.

Because the road is rough and long,

Shall we despise the skylark's song,

That cheers the wanderer's way?

Or trample down, with reckless feet,

The smiling flowerets, bright and sweet,

Because they soon decay?

Pass pleasant scenes unnoticed by,

Because the next is bleak and drear;

Or not enjoy a smiling sky,

Because a tempest may be near?

No! while we journey on our way,

We'll smile on every lovely thing;

And ever, as they pass away,

To memory and hope we'll cling.

And though that awful river flows

Before us, when the journey's past,

Perchance of all the pilgrim's woes

Most dreadful--shrink not--'tis the last!

Though icy cold, and dark, and deep;

Beyond it smiles that blessed shore,

Where none shall suffer, none shall weep,

And bliss shall reign for evermore!

Anne Brontë – The Three Guides

Spirit of Earth! thy hand is chill:

I've felt its icy clasp;

And, shuddering, I remember still

That stony-hearted grasp.

Thine eye bids love and joy depart:

Oh, turn its gaze from me!

It presses down my shrinking heart;

I will not walk with thee!

"Wisdom is mine," I've heard thee say:

"Beneath my searching eye

All mist and darkness melt away,

Phantoms and fables fly.

Before me truth can stand alone,

The naked, solid truth;

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?

If in my heart arose a spring,

A gush of thought divine,

At once stagnation thou wouldst bring

With that cold touch of thine.

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;

A path through every tangled wood,

But thou wilt not believe.

Striving to make thy way by force,

Toil-spent and bramble-torn,

Thou'lt fell the tree that checks thy course,

And burst through brier and thorn:

And, pausing by the river's side,

Poor reasoner! thou wilt deem,

By casting pebbles in its tide,

To cross the swelling stream.

Right through the flinty rock thou'lt try

Thy toilsome way to bore,

Regardless of the pathway nigh

That would conduct thee o'er

Not only art thou, then, unkind,

And freezing cold to me,

But unbelieving, deaf, and blind:

I will not walk with thee!

Spirit of Pride! thy wings are strong,

Thine eyes like lightning shine;

Ecstatic joys to thee belong,

And powers almost divine.

But 'tis a false, destructive blaze

Within those eyes I see;

Turn hence their fascinating gaze;

I will not follow thee.

"Coward and fool!" thou mayst reply,

Walk on the common sod;

Go, trace with timid foot and eye

The steps by others trod.

'Tis best the beaten path to keep,

The ancient faith to hold;

To pasture with thy fellow-sheep,

And lie within the fold.

"Cling to the earth, poor grovelling worm;

'Tis not for thee to soar

Against the fury of the storm,

Amid the thunder's roar!

There's glory in that daring strife

Unknown, undreamt by thee;

There's speechless rapture in the life

Of those who follow me.

Yes, I have seen thy votaries oft,

Upheld by thee their guide,

In strength and courage mount aloft

The steepy mountain-side;

I've seen them stand against the sky,

And gazing from below,

Beheld thy lightning in their eye

Thy triumph on their brow.

Oh, I have felt what glory then,

What transport must be theirs!

So far above their fellow-men,

Above their toils and cares;

Inhaling Nature's purest breath,

Her riches round them spread,

The wide expanse of earth beneath,

Heaven's glories overhead!

But I have seen them helpless, dash'd

Down to a bloody grave,

And still thy ruthless eye has flash'd,

Thy strong hand did not save;

I've seen some o'er the mountain's brow

Sustain'd awhile by thee,

O'er rocks of ice and hills of snow

Bound fearless, wild, and free.

Bold and exultant was their mien,

While thou didst cheer them on;

But evening fell,--and then, I ween,

Their faithless guide was gone.

Alas! how fared thy favourites then,--

Lone, helpless, weary, cold?

Did ever wanderer find again

The path he left of old?

Where is their glory, where the pride

That swelled their hearts before?

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;

Thy comforts are divine!

Earth calls thee blind, misguided one,--

But who can shew like thee

Forgotten things that have been done,

And things that are to be?

Secrets conceal'd from Nature's ken,

Who like thee can declare?

Or who like thee to erring men

God's holy will can bear?

Pride scorns thee for thy lowly mien,--

But who like thee can rise

Above this toilsome, sordid scene,

Beyond the holy skies?

Meek is thine eye and soft thy voice,

But wondrous is thy might,

To make the wretched soul rejoice,

To give the simple light!

And still to all that seek thy way

This magic power is given,--

E'en while their footsteps press the clay,

Their souls ascend to heaven.

Danger surrounds them,--pain and woe

Their portion here must be,

But only they that trust thee know

What comfort dwells with thee;

Strength to sustain their drooping pow'rs,

And vigour to defend,--

Thou pole-star of my darkest hours

Affliction's firmest friend!

Day does not always mark our way,

Night's shadows oft appal,

But lead me, and I cannot stray,--

Hold me, I shall not fall;

Sustain me, I shall never faint,

How rough soe'er may be

My upward road,--nor moan, nor plaint

Shall mar my trust in thee.

Narrow the path by which we go,

And oft it turns aside

From pleasant meads where roses blow,

And peaceful waters glide;

Where flowery turf lies green and soft,

And gentle gales are sweet,

To where dark mountains frown aloft,

Hard rocks distress the feet,--

Deserts beyond lie bleak and bare,

And keen winds round us blow;

But if thy hand conducts me there,

The way is right, I know.

I have no wish to turn away;

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;

By thy help all things I can do,

In thy strength all things bear,--

Teach me, for thou art just and true,

Smile on me, thou art fair!

Anne Brontë – The Narrow Way

Believe not those who say

The upward path is smooth,

Lest thou shouldst stumble in the way,

And faint before the truth.

It is the only road

Unto the realms of joy;

But he who seeks that blest abode

Must all his powers employ.

Bright hopes and pure delight

Upon his course may beam,

And there, amid the sternest heights,

The sweetest flowerets gleam.

On all her breezes borne,

Earth yields no scents like those;

But he that dares not gasp the thorn

Should never crave the rose.

Arm--arm thee for the fight!

Cast useless loads away;

Watch through the darkest hours of night;

Toil through the hottest day.

Crush pride into the dust,

Or thou must needs be slack;

And trample down rebellious lust,

Or it will hold thee back.

Seek not thy honour here;

Waive pleasure and renown;

The world's dread scoff undaunted bear,

And face its deadliest frown.

To labour and to love,

To pardon and endure,

To lift thy heart to God above,

And keep thy conscience pure;

Be this thy constant aim,

Thy hope, thy chief delight;

What matter who should whisper blame

Or who should scorn or slight?

What matter, if thy God approve,

And if, within thy breast,

Thou feel the comfort of His love,

The earnest of His rest?

Anne Brontë – I hoped

I hoped, that with the brave and strong,

My portioned task might lie;

To toil amid the busy throng,

With purpose pure and high.

But God has fixed another part,

And He has fixed it well;

I said so with my bleeding heart,

When first the anguish fell.

Thou, God, hast taken our delight,

Our treasured hope away:

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.

Should death be standing at the gate,

Thus should I keep my vow:

But, Lord! whatever be my fate,

Oh, let me serve Thee now!