Cottage Poems Part 1

Cottage Poems.

by Patrick Bronte.

EPISTLE TO THE REV. J--- B---, WHILST JOURNEYING FOR THE RECOVERY OF HIS HEALTH.

When warm'd with zeal, my rustic Muse Feels fluttering fain to tell her news, And paint her simple, lowly views With all her art, And, though in genius but obtuse, May touch the heart.

Of palaces and courts of kings She thinks but little, never sings, But wildly strikes her uncouth strings In some pool cot, Spreads o'er the poor hen fostering wings, And soothes their lot.

Well pleased is she to see them smile, And uses every honest wile To mend then hearts, their cares beguile, With rhyming story, And lend them to then G.o.d the while, And endless glory.

Perchance, my poor neglected Muse Unfit to hara.s.s or amuse, Escaping praise and loud abuse, Unheard, unknown, May feed the moths and wasting dews, As some have done.

Her aims are good, howe'er they end-- Here comes a foe, and there a friend, These point the dart and those defend, Whilst some deride her; But G.o.d will sweetest comforts blend, Whate'er betide her.

Thus heaven-supported, forth she goes Midst flatterers, critics, friends, and foes; Secure, since He who all things knows Approves her aim, And kindly fans, or fostering blows Her sinking flame.

Hence, when she shows her honest face, And tells her tale with awkward grace, Importunate to gain a place Amongst your friends, To ruthless critics leave her case, And hail her ends.

To all my heart is kind and true, But glows with ardent love for you; Though absent, still you rise in view, And talk and smile, Whilst heavenly themes, for ever new, Our cares beguile.

The happy seasons oft return, When love our melting hearts did burn, As we through heavenly themes were borne With heavenward eyes, And Faith this empty globe would spurn, And sail the skies.

Or, when the rising sun shines bright, Or, setting, leaves the world in night, Or, dazzling, sheds his noon-day light, Or, cloudy, hides, My fancy, in her airy flight, With you resides.

Where far you wander down the vale, When balmy scents perfume the gale, And purling rills and linnets hail The King of kings, To muse with you I never fail, On heavenly things.

Where dashing cataracts astound, And foaming shake the neighbouring ground, And spread a h.o.a.ry mist around, With you I gaze!-- And think, amid'st the deaf'ning sound, On wisdom's ways.

Where rocky mountains prop the skies, And round the smiling landscape lies, Whilst you look down with tearful eyes On grovelling man, My sympathetic fancy flies, The scene to scan.

From Pisgah's top we then survey The blissful realms of endless day, And all the short but narrow way That lies between, Whilst Faith emits a heavenly ray, And cheers the scene.

With you I wander on the sh.o.r.e To hear the angry surges roar, Whilst foaming through the sands they pour With constant roll, And meditations heavenward soar, And charm the soul.

On life's rough sea we're tempest-driven In crazy barks, our canvas riven!

Such is the lot to mortals given Where sins resort: But he whose anchor's fixed in heaven Shall gain the port.

Though swelling waves oft beat him back, And tempests make him half a wreck, And pa.s.sions strong, with dangerous tack, r.e.t.a.r.d his course, Yet Christ the pilot all will check, And quell their force.

So talk we as we thoughtful stray Along the coast, where dashing spray With rising mist o'erhangs the day, And wets the sh.o.r.e, And thick the vivid flashes play And thunders roar!

Whilst pa.s.sing o'er this giddy stage, A pious and a learned sage Resolved eternal war to wage With pa.s.sions fell; How oft you view with holy rage These imps of h.e.l.l!

See! with what madd'ning force they sway The human breast and lead astray, Down the steep, broad, destructive way, The giddy throng; Till grisly death sweeps all away The fiends among!

As when the mad tornado flies, And sounding mingles earth and skies, And wild confusion 'fore the eyes In terrors dressed.

So pa.s.sions fell in whirlwinds rise, And rend the breast!

But whilst this direful tempest raves, And many barks are dashed to staves, I see you tower above the waves Like some tall rock, Whose base the harmless ocean laves Without a shock!

'Tis He who calmed the raging sea, Who bids the waves be still in thee, And keeps you from all dangers free Amidst the wreck; All sin, and care, and dangers flee E'en at His beck.

And on that great and dreadful day When heaven and earth shall pa.s.s away, Each soul to bliss He will convey, That knows His name; And give the giddy world a prey To quenchless flame.

So oft when Sabbaths bade us rest, And heavenly zeal inspired your breast, Obedient to the high behest You preached to all, Whilst G.o.d your zealous efforts blessed, And owned your call.

The very thought my soul inspires, And kindles bright her latent fires; My Muse feels heart-warm fond desires, And spreads her wing, And aims to join th' angelic choirs, And sweetly sing.

May rosy Health with speed return, And all your wonted ardour burn, And sickness buried in his urn, Sleep many years!

So, countless friends who loudly mourn, Shall dry their tears!

Your wailing flock will all rejoice To hear their much-loved shepherd's voice, And long will bless the happy choice Their hearts have made, And tuneful mirth will swell the noise Through grove and glade.

Your dearer half will join with me To celebrate the jubilee, And praise the Great Eternal Three With throbbing joy, And taste those pleasures pure and free Which never cloy.

THE HAPPY COTTAGERS.

One sunny morn of May, When dressed in flowery green The dewy landscape, charmed With Nature's fairest scene, In thoughtful mood I slowly strayed O'er hill and dale, Through bush and glade.

Throughout the cloudless sky Of light unsullied blue, The larks their matins raised, Whilst on my dizzy view, Like dusky motes, They winged their way Till vanished in The blaze of day.

The linnets sweetly sang On every fragrant thorn, Whilst from the tangled wood The blackbirds hailed the morn; And through the dew Ran here and there, But half afraid, The startled hare.

The balmy breeze just kissed The countless dewy gems Which decked the yielding blade Or gilt the st.u.r.dy stems, And gently o'er The charmed sight A deluge shed Of trembling light.

A sympathetic glow Ran through my melting soul, And calm and sweet delight O'er all my senses stole; And through my heart A grateful flood Of joy rolled on To Nature's G.o.d.

Time flew unheeded by, Till wearied and oppressed, Upon a flowery bank I laid me down to rest; Beneath my feet A purling stream Ran glittering in The noontide beam.

I turned me round to view The lovely rural scene; And, just at hand, I spied A cottage on the green; The street was clean, The walls were white, The thatch was neat, The window bright.

Bold chanticleer, arrayed In velvet plumage gay, With many an amorous dame, Fierce strutted o'er the way; And motley ducks Were waddling seen, And drake with neck Of glossy green.

The latch I gently raised, And oped the humble door; An oaken stool was placed On the neat sanded floor; An aged man Said with a smile, "You're welcome, sir: Come rest a while."

His coa.r.s.e attire was clean, His manner rude yet kind: His air, his words, and looks Showed a contented mind; Though mean and poor, Thrice happy he, As by our tale You soon shall see.

But don't expect to hear Of deeds of martial fame, Or that our peasant mean Was born of rank or name, And soon will strut, As in romance, A knight and all In armour glance.

I sing of real life; All else is empty show-- To those who read a source Of much unreal woe: Pollution, too, Through novel-veins, Oft fills the mind With guilty stains.

Our peasant long was bred Affliction's meagre child, Yet gratefully resigned, Loud hymning praises, smiled, And like a tower He stood unmoved, Supported by The G.o.d he loved.