Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell

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• Publisher: The Floating Press
• Year: 2014
• ISBN:
  9781776537051
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Poetry
• Index: Literature

Fans of the Bronte sisters should add this remarkable volume of poetry to their must-read list. Initially released in 1846, this volume was the first work published by any of the sisters. In order to protect their identities and avoid the condescension often directed at female writers during the period, the Bronte sisters used gender-neutral pen names. Though the volume did not fare well commercially in its first printing, it became a success later after the sisters' novels gained popularity.

Gilbert

*

I. THE GARDEN.

Above the city hung the moon,
Right o'er a plot of ground
Where flowers and orchard-trees were fenced
With lofty walls around:
'Twas Gilbert's garden—there to-night
Awhile he walked alone;
And, tired with sedentary toil,
Mused where the moonlight shone.

This garden, in a city-heart,
Lay still as houseless wild,
Though many-windowed mansion fronts
Were round it; closely piled;
But thick their walls, and those within
Lived lives by noise unstirred;
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.

Those thoughts recur to early love,
Or what he love would name,
Though haply Gilbert's secret deeds
Might other title claim.
Such theme not oft his mind absorbs,
He to the world clings fast,
And too much for the present lives,
To linger o'er the past.

But now the evening's deep repose
Has glided to his soul;
That moonlight falls on Memory,
And shows her fading scroll.
One name appears in every line
The gentle rays shine o'er,
And still he smiles and still repeats
That one name—Elinor.

There is no sorrow in his smile,
No kindness in his tone;
The triumph of a selfish heart
Speaks coldly there alone;
He says: "She loved me more than life;
And truly it was sweet
To see so fair a woman kneel,
In bondage, at my feet.

"There was a sort of quiet bliss
To be so deeply loved,
To gaze on trembling eagerness
And sit myself unmoved.
And when it pleased my pride to grant
At last some rare caress,
To feel the fever of that hand
My fingers deigned to press.

"'Twas sweet to see her strive to hide
What every glance revealed;
Endowed, the while, with despot-might
Her destiny to wield.
I knew myself no perfect man,
Nor, as she deemed, divine;
I knew that I was glorious—but
By her reflected shine;

"Her youth, her native energy,
Her powers new-born and fresh,
'Twas these with Godhead sanctified
My sensual frame of flesh.
Yet, like a god did I descend
At last, to meet her love;
And, like a god, I then withdrew
To my own heaven above.

"And never more could she invoke
My presence to her sphere;
No prayer, no plaint, no cry of hers
Could win my awful ear.
I knew her blinded constancy
Would ne'er my deeds betray,
And, calm in conscience, whole in heart.
I went my tranquil way.

"Yet, sometimes, I still feel a wish,
The fond and flattering pain
Of passion's anguish to create
In her young breast again.
Bright was the lustre of her eyes,
When they caught fire from mine;
If I had power—this very hour,
Again I'd light their shine.

"But where she is, or how she lives,
I have no clue to know;
I've heard she long my absence pined,
And left her home in woe.
But busied, then, in gathering gold,
As I am busied now,
I could not turn from such pursuit,
To weep a broken vow.

"Nor could I give to fatal risk
The fame I ever prized;
Even now, I fear, that precious fame
Is too much compromised."
An inward trouble dims his eye,
Some riddle he would solve;
Some method to unloose a knot,
His anxious thoughts revolve.

He, pensive, leans against a tree,
A leafy evergreen,
The boughs, the moonlight, intercept,
And hide him like a screen
He starts—the tree shakes with his tremor,
Yet nothing near him pass'd;
He hurries up the garden alley,
In strangely sudden haste.

With shaking hand, he lifts the latchet,
Steps o'er the threshold stone;
The heavy door slips from his fingers—
It shuts, and he is gone.
What touched, transfixed, appalled, his soul?—
A nervous thought, no more;
'Twill sink like stone in placid pool,
And calm close smoothly o'er.

II. THE PARLOUR.

Warm is the parlour atmosphere,
Serene the lamp's soft light;
The vivid embers, red and clear,
Proclaim a frosty night.
Books, varied, on the table lie,
Three children o'er them bend,
And all, with curious, eager eye,
The turning leaf attend.

Picture and tale alternately
Their simple hearts delight,
And interest deep, and tempered glee,
Illume their aspects bright.
The parents, from their fireside place,
Behold that pleasant scene,
And joy is on the mother's face,
Pride in the father's mien.

As Gilbert sees his blooming wife,
Beholds his children fair,
No thought has he of transient strife,
Or past, though piercing fear.
The voice of happy infancy
Lisps sweetly in his ear,
His wife, with pleased and peaceful eye,
Sits, kindly smiling, near.

The fire glows on her silken dress,
And shows its ample grace,
And warmly tints each hazel tress,
Curled soft around her face.
The beauty that in youth he wooed,
Is beauty still, unfaded;
The brow of ever placid mood
No churlish grief has shaded.

Prosperity, in Gilbert's home,
Abides the guest of years;
There Want or Discord never come,
And seldom Toil or Tears.
The carpets bear the peaceful print
Of comfort's velvet tread,
And golden gleams, from plenty sent,
In every nook are shed.

The very silken spaniel seems
Of quiet ease to tell,
As near its mistress' feet it dreams,
Sunk in a cushion...

Table of contents

• POEMS BY CURRER, ELLIS, AND ACTON BELL
• Contents
• POEMS BY CURRER BELL
• Pilate's Wife's Dream
• Mementos
• The Wife's Will
• The Wood
• Frances
• Gilbert
• Life
• The Letter
• Regret
• Presentiment
• The Teacher's Monologue
• Passion
• Preference
• Evening Solace
• Stanzas
• Parting
• Apostasy
• Winter Stores
• The Missionary
• POEMS BY ELLIS BELL
• Faith and Despondency
• Stars
• The Philosopher
• Remembrance
• A Death-Scene
• Song
• Anticipation
• The Prisoner
• Hope
• A Day Dream
• To Imagination
• How Clear She Shines
• Sympathy
• Plead for Me
• Self-Interogation,
• Death
• Stanzas to —
• Honour's Martyr
• Stanzas
• My Comforter
• The Old Stoic
• POEMS BY ACTON BELL
• A Reminiscence
• The Arbour
• Home
• Vanitas Vanitatum, Omnia Vanitas
• The Penitent
• Music on Christmas Morning
• Stanzas
• If this Be All
• Memory
• To Cowper
• The Doubter's Prayer
• A Word to the "Elect"
• Past Days
• The Consolation
• Lines Composed in a Wood on a Windy Day
• Views of Life
• Appeal
• The Student's Serenade
• The Captive Dove
• Self-Congratulation
• Fluctuations
• SELECTIONS FROM THE LITERARY REMAINS OF ELLIS AND ACTON BELL
• SELECTIONS FROM POEMS BY ELLIS BELL
• I
• II - The Bluebell
• III
• The Night-Wind
• Love and Friendship
• The Elder's Rebuke
• The Wanderer from the Fold
• Warning and Reply
• Last Words
• The Lady to Her Guitar
• The Two Children
• The Visionary
• Encouragement
• Stanzas
• SELECTIONS FROM POEMS BY ACTON BELL
• Despondency
• A Prayer
• In Memory of a Happy Day in February
• Confidence
• Lines Written from Home
• The Narrow Way
• Domestic Peace
• The Three Guides
• Endnotes