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 Brontë, Patrick, 1777-1861.: Brontë, Patrick, 1777-1861.:
AN ELEGY.
[from Brontëana. The Rev. Patrick Brontë, A.B., His Collected Works and Life. The Works; And The Brontës of Ireland. Edited, &c., By J. Horsfall Turner (1898)]
1 And is he gone?---and has he left behind,
2 A mourning widow, to deplore his loss?
3 And have his little babes no father kind,
4 To watch their tender years,
5 And daily food procure?
6 And must they guileless toss,
7 Amidst a sea of troubles, cares and fears?
8 Unpitied, unprotected, must they roam,
9 Without a friend, without a home,
10 And unsupported, all the ills of life endure?
11 And shall those hopeful boys who once their father's pride,
12 Would smiling prattle, by his guardian side,
13 Be left a prey, to each temptation strong?
14 And shall sweet Mary, guileless, lovely maid,
15 Without his sage advice, and tender aid,
16 Be left so helpless, and so young?
17 He's gone.---He's gone.---And never shall return;
18 His bier was slowly carried down that lonely way.---
19 The humble few, by whom his corse was borne,
20 In plaintive air, were often heard to say,
[Page 86 ]
21 "He's dead, and has not left behind,
22 One so faithful, one so kind;
23 He loved his neighbour,
24 Truly served his God,
25 And 'midst his daily labour,
26 Walked the heavenly road."
27 This modest eulogy of lowly swains,
28 Who lived obscurely, on the rural plains,
29 Shall have the range, that verses such as mine can give,---
30 Their worthy hero, for the transient age,
31 Assigned to this my humble page,
32 Nor unlamented, nor unwept, shall live.
33 Scarce known, a furlong from his cot,
34 In lowly plight, it was his lot,
35 'Midst honest shifts, to strive for daily bread;
36 Yet he was happy, rich, and wise;
37 And known, and loved, beyond the skies,
38 Where, now, his disembodied soul is fled,
39 And crowned with glory reigns,
40 Amidst the heavenly host,---
41 No longer on a sea of trouble tossed,
42 In full seraphic choir,
43 It strikes the golden wire,
44 In loudest, sweetest strains.
45 No politician, he, with skilful hand, to guide
46 The helm of state,
47 With kind auspicious fate,
48 Along the foaming tide;
49 Nor warrior stern, with dauntless heart, to weild (sic)
50 His conquering sword, amidst the bloody field,---
51 Yet, for his sake, the foe's intentions fail,
52 Whole routed armies fly,---
53 Or supplicating, lie,
54 Around Britannia's ever-during throne?
55 Whilst she in stately pomp, does sail,
56 The conscious wave,
57 Wide opening to the foe, a sure, relentless grave,---
58 And justly claims, the watery world, her own.
59 The man was taught of God,
60 And walked the heavenly road,
[Page 87 ]
61 Hence, blest, and blessing, rolled his years away:
62 But, now, he's from us torn,---
63 And shall his widow, and his orphans mourn,
64 Without one helping hand to guide them on their way?
65 No, God will be their Friend,
66 And every comfort lend,
67 And save them for his sake, that hence is fled.---
68 In heaven lives his prayer,
69 And shall be answered there,
70 Although, his mouldering body's numbered with the dead.
Brontë, Patrick, 1777-1861.:
THE EPITAPH.
[from Brontëana. The Rev. Patrick Brontë, A.B., His Collected Works and Life. The Works; And The Brontës of Ireland. Edited, &c., By J. Horsfall Turner (1898)]
1 This humble stone, that marks my head,
2 Says, Once he lived, who now is dead.
3 The lowly cot, that mouldering falls,
4 Whilst the long grass, o'ertops the walls;
5 The weedy brook, and daisied green,
6 Point out the place, where I have been,
7 Thus far, things earthly have a voice,
8 And tell you where to fix your choice:
9 Not on the palace, or the cot,
10 Both are assigned an equal lot,---
11 But on religion's word, and way,
12 Which lead to never-ending day.
13 Where, with the Virgin's Son, are laid,
14 The riches, that shall never fade,---
15 I lived in him, and had my rest,
16 In him I died, and now am blest.
Brontë, Patrick, 1777-1861.:
REFLECTIONS, BY MOONLIGHT.
[from Brontëana. The Rev. Patrick Brontë, A.B., His Collected Works and Life. The Works; And The Brontës of Ireland. Edited, &c., By J. Horsfall Turner (1898)]
1 Ruddy and round, the slowly rising moon,
2 Hangs on the verge of yon horizon gray;
3 In cloudy majesty she moves, but soon
4 Will purge her dross, and hazy stains away:
[Page 88 ]
5 And looking clearer on the night,
6 Will shed a flood of silver light,
7 On the delighted world;
8 The nodding tower, will catch her beam,
9 And glance will every limpid stream,
10 That tinkles down the vale.---
11 And whilst her silver wain, is upward hurled,
12 And countless stars, in twinkling beauty scale,
13 The glowing, crystal sky.---
14 With milder beauties, on the wondering eye,
15 Reflected in the glassy lake below;
16 Another moonlight, starry heaven, will glow.
17 Hail, luna! empress of the silent night;
18 Thy changing form, and thy uncertain light,
19 Fit emblems are, of this terrestrial scene,
20 Where, ever-changing objects flit around,
21 Leave no impression, where they once have been,
22 And as they pass, proclaim, with solemn sound,
23 "Vain are all things, here below,
24 Like rapid brooks, with constant flow,
25 They run, unheeded by.
26 Prepare to meet your God,
27 And walk the heavenly road,
28 Fast anchoring all your hopes, beyond the sky."
29 Hail, luna! empress of the silent night;
30 No genial heat, attends thy watery beam:
31 E'en when full-orbed, and clear as silver bright,
32 Thou dost, midheaven, emit thy strongest beam,
33 And twinkling stars, bedeck the cloudless sky;
34 The wretch extended, on the gelid snow,
35 Whilst cutting frosty winds, relentless blow,
36 May stretch his arms, to thee, in vain, and die.
37 Thus, all the world is moonshine, and in time of need,
38 When from this earthly prison, the soul is free'd,
39 And trembling stands before the bar of God,
40 Will leave it there, beneath his sin-avenging rod.
41 Hail, luna! empress of the silent night;
42 Though passing fair, thine's but a borrowed light:
43 Should phoebus, king of day,
44 Withhold his brighter ray,
[Page 89 ]
45 Along the sky, thy sable globe unseen, would roll,
46 Whilst utter darkness, would involve the saddened pole.
47 So, if we shine,
48 With rays divine,
49 And taste, believing, of celestial joy;
50 The Saviour is our sun,
51 By him the glorious work is done,---
52 But if in wrath, he turn his face, away,
53 The saddened soul, benighted, goes astray,
54 And gnawing sorrows, all its peace destroy.
Brontë, Patrick, 1777-1861.:
WINTER.
[from Brontëana. The Rev. Patrick Brontë, A.B., His Collected Works and Life. The Works; And The Brontës of Ireland. Edited, &c., By J. Horsfall Turner (1898)]
1 See! how the winter's howling storms,
2 Burst forth, in all their awful forms,
3 And hollow frightful sound!
4 The frost is keen, the wind is high,
5 The snow falls drifting from the sky,
6 Fast whitening all around.
7 The muffled sun, withdraws his light,
8 And leaves the cheerless world, to night,
9 And all her gloomy train;
10 Still louder raves the savage blast,
11 The frowning shades, are thickening fast,
12 And darker scowls the plain.
13 Ye feathered songsters of the grove,
14 Sweet philomel and cooing dove,
15 Goldfinch, and linnet gray,
16 And mellow thrush, and blackbird loud,
17 And lark, shrill warbler, of the cloud,
18 Where do ye pensive stray?
19 The milk-white thorn, the leafy spray,
20 The fragrant grove, and summer's day,
21 Are seen by you, no more;
22 Ah! may you light on friendly sheds,
23 To hide your drooping, pensive heads,
24 From winter's chilling roar.
[Page 90 ]
25 In hops the redbreast, half afraid---
26 Ah! lend the little stranger aid,
27 Throw gently o'er the floor,
28 With silent twitch, a fallen crumb;
29 And lest grimalkin, prowling come,---
30 Close fast the dreaded door.
31 Ill fares, the lowly helpless shed,
32 Where, o'er their nightly slumbers, spread,
33 The chilling, drifted snow,
34 Congeals their blood, and breaks their rest,
35 And wakes the terrors of their breast,
36 To keenest sense of woe.
37 May he, who clothes the lilies fair,
38 And feeds the wandering birds of air,---
39 Relieve their great distress!
40 Haste ye, who lie on beds of down,
41 With bounteous hand, their table crown,
42 And make their sorrow less.
43 Loud howls, the wild, unconstant blast,
44 Deep sullen glooms, the sky o'ercast,
45 And all the heartless scene;
46 Stern winter's breath, locks up the flood,
47 Thrills through the nerves, and chills the blood;
48 Fierce, freezing, sharp and keen.
49 I think upon the stormy wave,
50 Which, thundering, opes a watery grave,
51 For the faint, shivering crew:
52 And ye that wander in the air,
53 Through drifting snows, ye know not where,
54 I grieving, think on you.
55 May he who calmed the raging sea,
56 Haste in his boundless mercy free,
57 And lend you instant aid!
58 His, are the storms, that rend the night;
59 If he but speak, they take their flight;
60 In peaceful silence laid.
61 Though adverse winds should fiercely blow,
62 Or heave the breast, with sorrow's throe,
63 Or death, stand threatening by;
[Page 91 ]
64 Blessed is the man, and free from harm,
65 O'er whom is stretched, his saving arm,
66 Who peerless, reigns on high.
Brontë, Patrick, 1777-1861.:
RURAL HAPPINESS.
[from Brontëana. The Rev. Patrick Brontë, A.B., His Collected Works and Life. The Works; And The Brontës of Ireland. Edited, &c., By J. Horsfall Turner (1898)]
1 The smile of spring, the fragrant summer's breeze,
2 The fields of autumn, and the naked trees,
3 Hoarse, braying, thro' stern winter's doubling storms;
4 E'en rural scenery, in all its forms,
5 When pure religion, rules the feeling heart---
6 Compose the soul, and sweetest joys impart.
7 With heart enraptured, oft have I surveyed,
8 The vast, and bounteous works, that God has made.
9 The tinkling rill, the floods astounding roar,
10 The river's brink, and ocean's frothy shore,
11 The feathered songster's notes, and winter's howl,
12 The sky serene, and frowning ether's scowl,
13 The softest sound, the hoarsest thunder's roll,
14 Have each, their sweetest pleasures for my soul.
15 As roves my mind, o'er nature's works abroad,
16 It sees, retlected, their creative God,
17 The insects, dancing in the sunny beam,---
18 Whose filmy wings, like golden atoms gleam,
19 The finny tribe, that glance across the lake,
20 The timid hare, that rustles through the brake,
21 The squirrel blithe, that frisks on yonder spray,
22 The wily fox, that prowls about for prey,
23 Have each a useful lesson for my heart,
24 And sooth my soul, and rural sweets impart.
25 The smiling landscape, bounded by the skies,
26 With all its groves, and dales, that hail the eyes,
27 Its mountains blue, and rocky hillocks gray,
28 And hamlets, glittering, in the sunny ray;
29 When pure religion rules the feeling heart;
30 The soul delight, and sweetest joys impart.
[Page 92 ]
31 But, if unpardoned sins, the mind oppress,
32 No earthly comforts make our burden less;
33 Sweet rural beauties, can afford no ease,
34 E'en Eden's rosy bowers, would cease to please.
35 O, Thou above! who rulest the boundless whole,
36 With grace divine, becalm my swelling soul;
37 Let thy religion sway my willing mind,
38 And still, with choicest rural sweets combined,
39 Give peace serene, fruit of thy boundless love,
40 And cheering antepast, of joys above!
Brontë, Patrick, 1777-1861.:
THE DISTRESS AND RELIEF.
[from Brontëana. The Rev. Patrick Brontë, A.B., His Collected Works and Life. The Works; And The Brontës of Ireland. Edited, &c., By J. Horsfall Turner (1898)]
1 Almighty God, enthroned on high,
2 In mercy, deign to hear,
3 A helpless worm's feeble cry;
4 In my distress, be near.
5 A load oppressive, lies upon my breast,
6 Weighs down my spirits, and disturbs my rest.
7 Once, peaceful, as the sleepy lakes that shew,
8 In their broad watery mirror, clear, below;
9 The golden sun, hung in the glowing skies;
10 My bosom was the seat of soft repose,
11 But now, rude whirlwind, o'er its surface flies,
12 Disturbs the lovely scene, and fierce, and fiercer blows.
13 What are this world's pleasures all?---
14 They're but an empty dream;
15 Mere painted bubbles, on a fatal stream,
16 Whose crumbling banks, in hideous ruin fall,
17 With those, who eager seek the empty toy,
18 Still, fondly dreaming of the fleeting joy.
19 What are worldly pomp and show?
20 And, what the flattery, base and low,
21 Which modest merit scorns?
22 What are passions, most refined,
23 Or strong, or mild, or fierce, or kind,
[Page 93 ]
24 But slowly wasting, hidden fires,
25 That oft inflame impure desires,
26 Blow up the kindling wrath of God,
27 Bring down the judgments of his sin-avenging rod,
28 And give acutest pain?
29 What is power? What is universal sway,
30 And all the dreams that round ambition's fancy play?
31 What is honour? What is gain?
32 But beds of roses, laid on sharpest thorns.
33 What is all this sinful world to me?
34 An empty fleeting toy.---
35 My sickened mind abhors the loathsome sight;
36 Haste, tardy death, and instant free,
37 My wearied soul, from this tormenting plight,
38 And launch me into purest joy;
39 Where I shall dwell with God,
40 For aye, disburdened of this painful load.
41 To be removed from hence---and numbered with the dead---
42 With utter ruin fraught,
43 The overwhelming thought,
44 My trembling soul benumbs,
45 With hideous revolution comes,
46 And horrid thundering back, on my defenceless head!
47 I hear the Judge Eternal say,
48 "Hence, from my presence, go thou cursed away,---
49 To the dread vengeance, of my hottest ire,
50 The fiercest, quenchless fire,
51 And ever-living worm, a prey."---
52 Almighty God, enthroned on high,
53 In mercy deign to hear,
54 A helpless worm's feeble cry,
55 In my distress be near!
56 A load oppressive, lies upon my breast,
57 Weighs down my spirits, and disturbs my rest.
58 Thus said, Convictus, leaning 'gainst an oak,
59 That groaned, in sad accordance, shaken by the wind,
60 Which brushed the lake, its glossy surface broke,
61 In piteous murmurs, swept the scowling plain,
[Page 94 ]
62 Sang through the bending wood,
63 In solemn, slow, and melancholy mood,
64 As if to sooth his mind,
65 And chase away his heart-corroding pain.
66 Like faded lily, drooped his head,
67 Whilst pale despair, sat on his clouded brow;
68 And whilst he weeping cried, "My peace is fled,"---
69 A still, small voice, was heard to say,
70 "Awake! behold the shining way,
71 That opens to you now."---
72 He quickly turned him round, and on the tree was laid,
73 A golden volume, which he opened soon,---
74 And half encouraged, half afraid,
75 He read this gracious boon,
76 "Immanuel's blood was shed for thee,
77 Thy sins are pardoned, thou art free.---
78 Then go, and sin no more,
79 Jehovah Jesus, worshipping adore;
80 And his good Spirit, reigning in thy heart,
81 Will sooth its sorrows, purest joys impart,
82 And paint, in lively colours, on thy glowing mind,
83 The Saviour, ever merciful, and kind;
84 Divesting death of his all-dreaded sting,
85 And clothing him in peaceful smiles;
86 So shalt thou, borne on angel wing,
87 Pass hence, triumphant, midst rejoicing seraph files,
88 To the abode of never-ending joy,
89 Where death, and sin, and sorrow, ne'er annoy."
90 Convictus closed the blessed auspicious book,
91 And bowing, raised to heaven, a gracious look;
92 Joy lighted up his faded eye:
93 A heavenly ardour, swell'd his heaving breast,
94 He wiped the falling tear, suppressed the rising sigh,
95 And all his soul had rest.
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© Митрофанова Екатерина Борисовна, 2009 |  |