Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell. Anne Bronte

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СКАЧАТЬ petrel on the sea.

       Thought followed thought, star followed star,

      ⁠Through boundless regions, on;

       While one sweet influence, near and far,

      ⁠Thrilled through, and proved us one!

       Why did the morning dawn to break

      ⁠So great, so pure, a spell;

       And scorch with fire the tranquil cheek,

      ⁠Where your cool radiance fell?

       Blood-red, he rose, and, arrow-straight,

      ⁠His fierce beams struck my brow;

       The soul of nature, sprang, elate,

      ⁠But mine sank sad and low!

       My lids closed down, yet through their veil,

      ⁠I saw him, blazing, still,

       And steep in gold the misty dale,

      ⁠And flash upon the hill.

       I turned me to the pillow, then,

      ⁠To call back night, and see

       Your worlds of solemn light, again,

      ⁠Throb with my heart, and me!

       ​It would not do—the pillow glowed,

      ⁠And glowed both roof and floor;

       And birds sang loudly in the wood,

      ⁠And fresh winds shook the door;

       The curtains waved, the wakened flies

      ⁠Were murmuring round my room,

       Imprisoned there, till I should rise,

      ⁠And give them leave to roam.

       Oh, stars, and dreams, and gentle night;

      ⁠Oh, night and stars return!

       And hide me from the hostile light,

      ⁠That does not warm, but burn;

       That drains the blood of suffering men;

      ⁠Drinks tears, instead of dew;

       Let me sleep through his blinding reign,

      ⁠And only wake with you!

      Ellis.

      For other versions of this work, see The Philosopher.

      ​

THE PHILOSOPHER.

       Table of Contents

      "Enough of thought, philosopher!

      ⁠Too long hast thou been dreaming

       Unlightened, in this chamber drear,

      ⁠While summer's sun is beaming!

       Space-sweeping soul, what sad refrain

       Concludes thy musings once again?

       ​"Oh, for the time when I shall sleep

       Without identity,

       And never care how rain may steep,

       Or snow may cover me!

       No promised heaven, these wild desires,

       Could all, or half fulfil;

       No threatened hell, with quenchless fires,

       Subdue this quenchless will!"

      "So said I, and still say the same;

      ⁠Still, to my death, will say—

       Three gods, within this little frame,

      ⁠Are warring night and day;

       Heaven could not hold them all, and yet

      ⁠They all are held in me;

       And must be mine till I forget

      ⁠My present entity!

       Oh, for the time, when in my breast

      ⁠Their struggles will be o'er!

       Oh, for the day, when I shall rest,

      ⁠And never suffer more!"

      "I saw a spirit, standing, man,

      ⁠Where thou dost stand—an hour ago,

       And round his feet three rivers ran,

      ⁠Of equal depth, and equal flow—

       A golden stream—and one like blood;

      ⁠And one like sapphire seemed to be;

       But, where they joined their triple flood

      ⁠It tumbled in an inky sea.

       ​The spirit sent his dazzling gaze

      ⁠Down through that ocean's gloomy night

       Then, kindling all, with sudden blaze,

      ⁠The glad deep sparkled wide and bright—

       White as the sun, far, far more fair

      ⁠Than its divided sources were!"

      "And even for that spirit, seer,

      ⁠I've watched and sought my life-time long;

       Sought him in heaven, hell, earth, and air—

      ⁠An endless search, and always wrong!

       Had I but seen his glorious eye

      ⁠Once light the clouds that wilder me, I ne'er had raised this coward cry ⁠To cease to think, and cease to be; I ne'er had called oblivion blest, ⁠Nor, stretching eager hands to death, Implored to change for senseless rest ⁠This sentient soul, this living breath— Oh, let me die—that power and will ⁠Their cruel strife may close; And conquered good, and conquering ill ⁠Be lost in one repose!"

      Ellis.

      ​

THE ARBOUR.

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