THE RURAL MINSTREL. 
 
 
[Page ]  
 
 
[Page 72 ]  
 


Brontë, Patrick, 1777-1861.:  THE  
SABBATH BELL. [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          Erewhile, the morning o'er the blushing sky,  
2          In milder beauty, held the soverign sway;  
3          The streaky east, with many a changing hue,  
4          Glowed on the confines of the ether blue,  
5          And gently ushered in the king of day.  
 
6          Now hangs the sun, his golden lamp on high,  
7             Diffusing, brighter, warmer light;  
8          The sleepy charms dissolving, of the drowsy night,  
9          The spirits cheering, with a quicker flow,  
10        And fostering all the rosy flowers of health that blow.  
11           How charming is the scene!  
12           The fields in flowery green,  
13        Scent the soft breezes, with their fragrant smell:  
14           The blackbird and the thrush,  
15           Make vocal every bush;  
16        Perched on the milk-white thorn, the linnet sweetly sings;  
17        The labouring bee, shakes music, from his mellow wings:  
18           Loud tolls the Sabbath Bell;  
19        From yonder ancient tower, proceeds the solemn sound,---  
20        Where dusky yews, and lofty ashes bend,  
21        Beneath a load of years, their crazy head,  
22        Mourn o'er the living, and protect the dead.---  
23        And as their shadows, softly waving blend,  
24        Amongst the tombstones, scattered all around,  
25        Their voice is heard, in reason's ear to say,  
26        "Time's on the wing, and soon will pass away.  
27        Religion, loud proclaims, Beware!---  
28        For judgment, all prepare:  
 
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29        Prepare, through him whose guiltless blood was shed,  
30        For guilty, helpless man, in his transgressions dead,  
31        And doomed to endless woe,  
32        Had not the Godlike Saviour come,  
33        And made this earth his home,  
34        And died to turn aside the sin-avenging blow.  
35        He bled---he bled---the Prince of glory bled!---  
36        To quell the ragings of his Father's ire,  
37        And save a guilty world from quenchless fire!  
38        But now in heaven he lifts his Sovereign head,  
39        And pleads the cause of all who love his name;  
40        Well pleased his Son to hear,  
41        The heavenly Father lends a gracious ear,  
42        Nor shall the great Redeemer miss his aim;  
43        For, soon the bowing heavens, will shew the saving God,  
44              In mercy come,  
45           To take his longing people home;  
46        And rule the sinner with an iron rod."  
47           Loud tolls, the Sabbath Bell;  
48           With soft, melodious swell;  
49        And cadence sweet, its undulations play,  
50           The varied deepening tone,  
51           To greater distance, flown,  
52        In quick vibrations, slowly dies away;  
53        The thoughtful soul, delighted, hears the sound;  
54        Hear, all the villagers, who dwell around,  
55           And thronging, to the church repair,  
56           Some grovelling deep, in earthly care,  
57           Or lost in thoughtless mood;  
58        Some with the tongue of slander railing;  
59        Some fast on seas of pleasure sailing,  
60           Whilst the elusive good,  
61        Tempts the disordered mind to go astray,  
62        Bewildered, more, and more, in pleasure's devious way.  
63              The favoured few,  
64           Whose hearts, by grace divine,  
65              Are made anew.  
66        Whose souls illumined, still enlivened shine,  
67        With rays of faith: in meditation sweet,  
68              The welcome Sabbath, greet,  
 
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69        And whilst they hear the solemn Bell,  
70        Drink pleasures, that no tongue can tell;  
71              Their souls all on fire,  
72              With heavenly desire,  
73           In holy transports wing their way,  
74           To regions of eternal day.  
75        Attend ye thoughtless, unbelieving throng,  
76        As through the monitory tombs ye go;  
77        The silent dead, accost you, as you move along,  
78        The mourning epitaphs, would have you know,  
79              That life, as a dream,  
80              Or fast running stream,  
81              Glides swiftly away,---  
82              Whole ages pass by,  
83              As lightnings do fly,  
84        When darkness and tempest envelop the day;  
85           Soon, soon, shall you die,  
86           And mouldering lie,  
87           The earth, your cold bed,  
88           And your cover, a stone;  
89        Then haste, ere your fugitive life-time is fled,  
90        And the day of contrition, for ever is flown.  
91           Haste, haste, and prepare;  
92           For soon through the air,  
93        The Judge Eternal, will descend, with glory crowned,  
94        Whilst the loud trumpet, sounding through the vast profound,  
95           When heaven, and earth, have fled,  
96           Will summon, quick and dead,  
97           To hear the final sentence passed,---  
98           Or, to be headlong cast,  
99        Into the dark abode, of never-ending woe,---  
100         Or, thence, conveyed to realms of light,  
101         Where streams of bliss, and pure delight,  
102      Through Eden's amaranthine shades, for ever flow.  
 
103      How vain a creature, is degenerate man!  
104         The glittering insect of to-day;  
105      Well pleased, the summer breeze to fan,  
106      In sportive dance, amidst the sunny ray:  
107      And then, ere phoebus drinks the western wave,---  
108      To sink, with all his gaudy colours, in the grave.  
 
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109            When he is gone;  
110            Upon his marble stone,  
111         This poor memento, strikes the searching eye,  
112         "Here fluttered, and here died, a silly fly."  
113         The voice of Heavenly wisdom cries,  
114         "Awake, ye sons of men! arise!  
115         Your fleeting life redeem;  
116      As when the deepening thunder bellowed,  
117      And night insatiate, quickly swallowed  
118         The lightning's speedy gleam,  
119      Lo, all your fleeting moments have passed by,  
120      Lo, all your future days, will quickly fly,  
121      Till death, arrived, dissolves the charm,  
122      And the last trumpet sounds the dread alarm."  
123      How wise is he, who changed by grace divine,  
124         Divests himself of worldly cares,  
125      And loathing every sin, prepares,  
126      With steady aim, to meet his God;  
127         And now, is on the road,  
128      That leads to bliss, where saints in glory shine!  
129      No chiding conscience, with its angry frown,  
130      Disturbs the calm serene, of his enlightened mind.  
131         Nor envy, nor despair, molest,  
132      The soft repose of his unruffled breast,  
133      Where hope, unfolds the Saviour, ever kind,  
134      And faith, unerring, shews the Victor's crown,  
135      Where charity, usurps the sovereign sway,  
136      And makes the joyous moments, pass away,  
137      Devoid of rankling passions, fell,  
138      That gnaw the vicious heart, and prove its hell.  
139         And when the hour of death is come,  
140      And Christ would take the wanderer home,  
141      By faith upheld, he sees, with fearless heart,  
142      The grisly king, prepare his fatal dart,  
143            And when it flies,  
144            He conquering dies,  
145      And singing loud hosannas, wings his way,  
146      'Midst seraph-bands, to realms of endless day.  
147      There, for the solemn Bell, will sweetly sound,  
148      The notes of heavenly music, ever new;  
149      There, for the summer sun, will beam around,  
 
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150            The rays of grace,  
151            From Jesu's face,  
152      The bright empyrean, through,  
153      There, countless saints, will swell the heavenly choir,  
154      Their tuneful voice, to joyful praise inure;  
155      Enraptured, strike the golden wire;  
156            To the Ancient of Days  
157            Hallelujahs they'll raise,  
158      As long eternity's ages endure.  
 


Brontë, Patrick, 1777-1861.:  KIRKSTALL ABBEY,  
A FRAGMENT OF A ROMANTIC TALE. [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             Her leaden sceptre, swayed the midnight hour,  
2             Nor cloud disturbed the pure ethereal way,  
3             The moon full orbed diffused a silver shower;  
4             The stars attendant on their nightly queen,  
5             In twinkling lustre, sailed the deep serene,  
6             Their mingling rays, shed placid light,  
7             That sweetly silvered o'er the night,  
8          Usurping half his empire from the King of day,  
9          Who wearied, with a tedious summer course had hurled,  
10        His golden chariot, to the lower world,  
11        With cheering ray, and swifter flight,  
12        To chase the lingering shadows of their moonless night.  
13        Slept all the gentle breezes, midst the listening wood  
14              The noiseless leaves were still,  
15              Nor murmuring from the hill,  
16           Was heard the falling flood,  
17        Nor stirred the wearied beetle, on his humming wing,  
18              Slept every shepherd's flute,  
19              And every sound was mute,  
20        E'en philomel herself, forgot to sing.  
 
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21              Amidst this solemn, silent hour,  
22              From Kirkstall Abbey's ruined tower,  
23                 Now rose; now fell;  
24        With cadence sweet, and soft melodious swell,  
25           Such notes as angels play,  
26           Where basking in eternal day,  
27              In full celestial choir,  
28              They touch the golden wire,  
29           And hallelujah's sing,  
30           To their Almighty King,  
31        Whilst every heavenly sound, in wondering silence hears,  
32        The more than music of the sweet harmonious spheres.  
33        When the sweet music ceased its mellow sound,  
34        And echoing, answered every arch, around;  
35        Whether, a tuneful shepherd, skilled in rustic lore,  
36        The verdant woodlands, wandered o'er;  
37        Or pilgrim late had found his way;  
38        Attracted by the ruin gray;  
39        Or, whether some unearthly being,  
40        The Abbey's nightly beauty seeing;  
41              Had on a moon-beam rode,  
42              From his serene abode;  
43              We say not here,  
44              But thus the ear,  
45        Hailed by a tuneful voice, drunk new delight,  
46        Whilst mute attention, held the listening night.  
 
47        Hail noble owner, of these ancient wall;  
48              Whose judgment sound, and taste refined,  
49              With grace, and elegance combined,  
50        Arrest the wasteful hand of time that falls,  
51        With quick progressive ruin, or unseen decay,  
52        Confounding all things, as they roll away,  
53              In blank oblivion's flood,  
54              The tower, that props the sky,  
55              The poor, the rich, the low, the high;  
56              The prince of royal blood;  
57              The beggar trembling at the door,  
 
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58              Of land unknown, and name obscure,  
59              And he that bears the rule;  
60        The blood-stained hero, and the conquered slave,  
61              The wise man, and the fool;  
62              The fearful, and the bold,  
63              And all, of earthly mould,  
64              Shall find a common grave,  
65        Where lethes waters, their dull mansions lave.  
66        There's one alone, the general wreck defies,  
67              The honest man who waits upon his God,  
68              In faith submissive to his Sovereign nod;  
69           And anchors all his hopes, beyond the skies.  
70        His name shall live, when all things else decay;  
71        And heaven, and earth, and time, shall pass away.  
72        Hail ruined tower! that like a learned sage,  
73        With lofty brow, looks thoughtful on the night;  
74              The sable ebony, and silver white,  
75           Thy ragged sides from age to age,  
76              With charming art inlays,  
77              When Luna's lovely rays,  
78              Fall trembling on the night,  
79           And round the smiling landscape, throw,  
80           And on the ruined walls below,  
81              Their mild uncertain light.  
82        How heavenly fair, the arches ivy-crowned,  
83              Look forth on all around!  
84           Enchant the heart, and charm the sight,  
85              And give the soul serene delight!  
86              Whilst here, and there,  
87        The shapeless openings spread a solemn gloom,  
88        Recal the thoughtful mind, down to the silent tomb,  
89        And bid us for another world prepare.  
90              Who would be solemn, and not sad,  
91              Who would be cheerful, and not glad,  
92              Who would have all his heart's desire,  
93              And yet, feel all his soul on fire,  
94        To gain the realms of his eternal rest,  
95        Who would be happy, yet not truly blest,  
96        Who in the world, would yet forget his worldly care,  
97           With hope fast anchored in the sands above,  
98           And heart attuned by sacred love,  
99        Let him by moonlight pale, to this sweet scene repair.  
 
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100            Here, unrequited love,  
101            Mild as the turtle-dove,  
102               Will lose its frown,  
103      Its slow consuming fire no longer burn;  
104            The lanquid pulse, will quicker play,  
105         The erring feelings cease to bear the sway,  
106      Whilst long discarded reason, will again return;  
107      And all the lovely scene with softest soothings crown;  
108               The fond, unloaded breast,  
109            Unruffled, will regain its rest,  
110            And every anxious throbbing quell,  
111               And each oppressive sigh;  
112            E'en wakeful jealousy will die,  
113               The slighted lover's hell.  
114            Here settled hate will milder grow,  
115            And charity, with easy flow,  
116               Invade the yielding soul;  
117      And o'er it, in a tide of fond sensations roll:  
118               Here, pale despair,  
119            Disburdened of her wonted care,  
120            Will every gloomy boding chide,  
121               And darkly smile on hope,---  
122            And raise her drooping spirits up,  
123      And all her dread resolves, will lay aside.  
124            Amid this lovely scene,  
125            So solemnly serene,  
126      The soul may think, its every care away,  
127               And swift as light.  
128               The cheerful night  
129               Evanished bring,  
130               On sudden wing,  
131            The unexpected day.  
132         Here, faith may stretch her wings and fly,  
133         To regions far beyond the sky,  
134            And dwell with God above;  
135      Whilst each celestial flame will play,  
136      Around the heart, with melting sway,  
137            And all the soul, be love.  
138      If lively faith exert her matchless power,  
139      And love celestial crown the blissful hour,  
 
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140         Here, worlds themselves, may pass away,  
141         And sun, and moon, and stars decay,  
142      Here, all the glories of the skies burst on the sight,  
143         And shed their pure effulgence bright,  
144            On the enraptured eyes;  
145      Whilst all around, sweet Eden's roses blow,  
146      And heaven's own blessings o'er the bosom flow.  
147      So spake the voice, through the still womb of night;  
148      The stars withdrew their twinkling, and the moon her light;  
149      The clouds fast tbickened, all the ether o'er;  
150      The darkening Abbey, like a mountain high,  
151      Gloomed in accordance, with the saddened sky,  
152            And faintly echoing round,  
153            Long held the sweet enchanting sound,  
154      That in soft warblings, slowly died away,---  
155               Because the voice no more,  
156               With music sweet,  
157               The ear did greet,  
158               In sable sad,  
159         E'en things inanimate were clad,  
160      If, we may credit, what the shepherds say;  
161      Who oft, with wondering crowds repair,  
162      To Kirkstall Abbey's ruin fair,---  
163      And while their lively fancy's on the wing,  
164      Imagine, that they hear the sweet musician sing.  
 


Brontë, Patrick, 1777-1861.:  EXTEMPORARY VERSES.  
WRITTEN AT A REVEREND FRIEND'S HOUSE, DURING HIS ABSENCE. [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          Magnificence, with all her cumberous train,  
2          In courts, and palaces, far hence, reside;  
3          Lank squal'd poverty, imprints no stain,  
4          On these pure walls, and cleanly fire side,  
5             Where polished steel, reflecting bright,  
6             The quivering blaze, sheds soothing light,  
 
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7                On the delighted eye;  
8                Or in fantastic dance,  
9                Wheels its uncertain glance,  
10        With bickering dazzle, on the ceiling high,  
11              Or round the papered walls,  
12        Where light, and shade soft undulating play,  
13              When evening's curtain gently falls,  
14        And clothes the face of things in silver gray.  
15        Here, chaste simplicity, in humble guise,  
16              Makes every thing complete,  
17           Nor dazzles, nor offends the eyes,  
18              But elegantly neat,  
19              Displays her charms,  
20        Steals o'er the heart, and all our senses warms.  
21           As when Aurora borne on Zephyr bland,  
22           With vernal sun-beams, in her hand,  
23           In softest colours, paints her fairest scene,  
24        And leaves the fields to summer, clothed in coarser green,  
25              So chaste simplicity, on all around,  
26              Exhausts her skill, flings to the ground,  
27              Her matchless pencil, and ethereal dies,---  
28        Like modest worth, in rosy blushes flies;  
29              Lest in her presence, bolder art,  
30           His laboured beauties to impart,  
31              The lovely scene despoil;  
32        And make her easy graces yield to anxious toil.  
 
33        No conscience, smitten with the wrath of heaven,  
34        In dread alliance, leagued with pale despair,  
35        No fostered sin, no heart-corroding care,  
36        Within these walls, by their unhallowed leaven,  
37        Infect the mass of his celestial joy.  
38           Here, golden bliss, without alloy,  
39              Her rarest sweets, bestows.  
40              Ambition, hence is fled,  
41              With all her restless train,  
42              And every thought is dead,  
43              By which our peace is slain.  
44        Here life's pellucid stream, for ever flows,  
45        And clothes the dreary wilderness, in gladening smiles;  
46        And makes the sandy desert, blossom, like the rose;  
 
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47        Here amaranth, for ever rooted, blows,  
48        Nor, faithless, hides the serpent's fatal wiles.  
49              The man is taught of God;  
50              Obeys his sovereign nod,---  
51        The sacred Scriptures, are his constant guide;-  
52        Though outward storms should blow with heaviest gust,  
53        And lightnings flash, and deepening thunder roll;  
54        Though day should hide his face in eddying dust,  
55        Old ocean heave, earth shake, from pole to pole;  
56        Though reeling stars, their jarring spheres confound,  
57        And heaven pass, in wild affright, away;  
58        Though wild chaotic roar, throughout resound,  
59        Armed with the terrors of the judgment-day;  
60        Unmoved, alone, the faithful soul will stand,  
61                 With brow serene,  
62                 Survey the scene,  
63        Upheld, and comforted, by God's Almighty hand.  
 


Brontë, Patrick, 1777-1861.:  LINES,  
ADDRESSED TO A LADY, ON HER BIRTH-DAY. [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             Grave night, in ebon chariot hurled,  
2                Down to the lower world,  
3                   Is seen no more:  
4             The morning blushing o'er the smiling sky,  
5             With rosy fingers opes the eastern door,  
6          And with its mildest beauties, strikes the wondering eye.  
 
7          Forth walks, in royal state, the golden sun:  
8          The slow retiring clouds, his presence shun,  
9             Unfolding every beauteous hue;  
10                 Till from the sight,  
11                 Evanished into light,  
12        They leave the spotless ether, decked in shining blue.  
 
13              Sweet is this April morn,  
14              That ushers in the day,  
15              It cheers the heart forlorn,  
16              And makes it blithe as May:  
 
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17                 E'en black despair,  
18                 With milder air,  
19              Seems half inclined to smile,  
20              And all her cares beguile;  
21           Whilst playful mirth on light tip-toe,  
22              Gayly dances to and fro,  
23              And hope, and joy, celestial pair,  
24              Enraptured, breathe the fragrant air.  
 
25              Sweet is this April morn,  
26              To every cheerful swain,  
27              Throughout the smiling plain;  
28        To me it glows, with sweeter far, and brighter charms,  
29           And all my throbbing bosom warms,---  
30              Advance celestial day;  
31              And with your brightest ray,  
32              The blithesome world adorn;  
33              In sympathetic glee,  
34              Unite your voice with me;  
35           Maria hail, your welcome guest,---  
36           She numbers up another year,  
37           When having run your bright career,  
38              You kiss the ruddy west.  
39           The landscape gayly smiles,  
40           And every care beguiles,---  
41        Maria, let us walk, and breathe, the morning air,  
42              And hear the cuckoo sing,---  
43        And every tuneful bird, that woos the gentle spring.  
44           Throughout the budding grove,  
45           Softly coos the turtle-dove,  
46              The primrose pale,  
47              Perfumes the gale,  
48        The modest daisy, and the violet blue,  
49        Inviting, spread their charms for you.  
 
50        How much enhanced is all this bliss to me,  
51        Since it is shared, in mutual joy with thee!  
52        And should our vernal sky with clouds o'ercast,  
53        Be rent by whirlwinds, and the sweeping blast;  
54              Should thunders roll,  
55              From pole to pole,  
56           And shake the fearful world;  
57        E'en then, thy sweet society would cheer the gloom,  
 
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58              And light a ray of hope,  
59              And bear my spirits up,  
60        And all my keener griefs, to blank oblivion hurled,  
61        Absorbed in her illimitable womb,  
62              Would leave the softened mind,  
63              Arrayed in solemn joy,---  
64           Whilst thou dost love, and still art kind,  
65        No gloomy changes can my peace destroy.  
 
66        O, love celestial! bent on themes divine;  
67           Nor self-consumed in fiercest flame;  
68        Nor as the moon, unwarming dost thou shine;  
69           But like a smiling morn of May,  
70           When phoebus lends a genial ray,  
71              Thou givest life, and light;  
72           Thy silken cord, is soft and strong,  
73        And draws the yielding mind, with easy force along:  
74           Should ocean heave, with adverse gales,  
75           Or prosperous winds, inflate the sails;  
76           Thy tender sympathy, is still the same;  
77           Thy constant glow, the bosom warms,  
78        Whilst each succeeding day, unfolds increasing charms,  
79           And fills the soul, with ever-new delight.  
 
80        But love divine! the spring of purest joy,  
81        With all that charm the heart, its cares destroy:  
82        The conscience cleanse from all its guilty stains,  
83              Produce unbroken rest,  
84              And make us truly blest;  
85              With the Father of love,  
86              Have their sources above,  
87        Which clear as crystal fountains, o'er the smiling plains,  
88              Their wholesome waters roll;  
89        Their courses marking, as they gently glide,  
90        By fresher verdure, and a margin wide,  
91        Of fragrant flowers decked in livelier hue,---  
92        That round the meadow, countless beauties strew,  
93        Regale each sense, and charm the ravished soul.  
 
94        Then, let the vernal landscape's ample bound,  
95              That gayly smiles around,  
96           With all the sweets, it richly spreads abroad,  
97           To us, our Father, and redeeming God,  
98              Progressively endear;  
 
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99           Whate'er we do, whate'er we say,  
100      Let pure religion, bear the sovereign sway;  
101            So shall each rolling year,  
102      Crowned with thy birth-day, solid joys impart;  
103      And gently sooth, our undivided heart;  
104         And when our spring of life is done,  
105            And sets our summer-sun;  
106         When time shall blot from memory's view,  
107         These humble lines addressed to you,  
108         And e'en the fields, and pleasant cot,  
109         Where, once we lived, shall be forgot,  
110         Conveyed to brightest realms above,  
111         And wrapped in purest, warmest love,  
112      Where sin, and death, and changes ne'er annoy,  
113      We'll taste of endless bliss, without alloy.  
 


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,  
 
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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.  
 
 
[Page 95 ]  
 


Brontë, Patrick, 1777-1861.:  THE  
CHRISTIAN'S FAREWELL. [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          With whelming force, the fierce disease,  
2          The racking pain, and burning fever, dry,  
3                My wasting body seize;  
4          Whilst death stands threatening by,  
5                And steady aims his fatal dart,  
6          To pierce my panting, languid heart.  
7                My eyes grow fixed, and dim,  
8          My pulse's palpitations faintly play,  
9                The ambient air, ten thousand angels skim,  
10        And soft, I hear, the joyous summons, "COME AWAY!"  
11              Then haste, my wife, and children dear,  
12              And lend a kind, attentive ear,  
13        I'm going hence, with blessed saints to dwell,  
14        And now receive, my long, my last farewell.  
 
15              Thou dearest partner of my life,  
16              My best beloved, and ever tender wife,  
17        By mutual kindness, twined around my heart,  
18        Weep not for me, nor mourn because we part.  
19              Thy pitying God, in boundless love,  
20        Will send his holy Spirit from above,  
21              And every aid and comfort lend,  
22        And prove a kinder husband---and a firmer friend.---  
 
23                 My tender children dear,  
24        Suppress the rising sigh, wipe off the falling tear,  
25              Be to your loving mother kind,  
26              And always keep in mind,  
27        The godly precepts I have often taught,  
28              Shun each temptation strong,  
29        That promises, but yields no real good,  
30        And sinks, relentless, in the fiery flood,  
31              The yielding, giddy throng.  
 
32        Sin not, by thought, or act, or dark connivance, mean,  
33           Survey this empty world, as a lurking foe;  
34        How bright soever, shines the tempting scene;  
35        And, whilst you o'er its dangerous quicksands ride,  
36           Where least does heave its swelling tide,  
 
[Page 96 ]  
 
37           Suspect a faithless rock, below,  
38           Let Jesus be your pole-star, bright,  
39        Who shines propitious, in the darkest night,  
40           So shall you safely land, on Canaan's shore,  
41           Where we shall meet, to part no more.  
 
42           My eyes grow fixed and dim,  
43        My pulse's palpitations faintly play,  
44           The ambient air, ten thousand angels skim,  
45        And soft, I hear, the joyous summons, "COME AWAY!"  
46           The opening heavens, around me shine!---  
47           I see the looks of Jesus, all benign!---  
48        I hear celestial music, where the seraphs dwell;---  
49           Loud, loud, my soul, triumphant sing!---  
50           The grave and hell, have vanquished fled!---  
51           And gently smiling o'er my bed,  
52              Pale death has lost his sting!---  
53        I go---I go---my wife---my children---all farewell!---  
 


Brontë, Patrick, 1777-1861.:  THE  
HARPER OF ERIN. [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          An ancient harper, skilled in rustic lore;  
2          When summer hailed the mild departing spring;  
3          High on a rock, on sweet Killarney's shore,†  
4          With flying fingers, touched the tuneful string.  
5                A wildly sentimental grace,  
6          Each feature marked, of his expressive face;  
7          And whilst his fingers swept the mellow chords along,  
8          In sweet accord, with his seraphic lyre,  
9          His soul spoke through his eyes, its wild poetic fire;  
10              And thus he raised his song.  
11        I shall not sing of Erin, beauteous isle,  
12        Nor of her courteous sons, for valour famed,  
13        Nor of Killarney, queen of lakes,---  
14        Adorned with nature's sweetest smile,  
 
[Page 97 ]  
 
15        And every grace that can be named,---  
16              To view whose charms,  
17              Insensibility herself awakes,  
18        Whilst soft sensation, her dull bosom warms.  
19        I would, with soaring mind, to higher notes aspire;  
20                 Beyond the pole,  
21                 My glowing soul,  
22        Would catch a spark, of pure seraphic fire,  
23        Where flows the Fount of life, through the divine abode,---  
24        I'd sing the praise of my Redeeming God.  
 
25           O, for a seraph's tongue!  
26           And harp immortal strung,  
27        And sweetly tuned, by Gabriel's hand,  
28              For highest themes divine!  
 
29           O, for a choral seraph-band,  
30           To join their aid to mine!  
31        But, even then, our notes would feeble prove;  
32           And in their greatest flight,  
33           Could never reach the height  
34              Of his due praise;  
35           The Ancient of eternal days,  
36              And God of love.  
 
37        He died! he died! the King of glory died!  
38        To rescue from his heavenly Father's ire,  
39        A guilty world, just sinking in eternal fire.  
40        I see! I see the fatal wood,  
41        Stained with his pure atoning blood!  
42                 Whilst looks benign,  
43                 Beam from his face divine,  
44        On the relentless band, by whom that face was marred,  
45              Repent ye murderous crew,  
46              There's mercy e'en for you,  
 
47        His boundless love, has not debarred  
48        Your guilty souls, from washing in the blood that's shed  
49              By your relentless hands.---  
50              But hark! his dying cry  
51              Has rent the saddened sky,  
52           And his unspotted soul is fled,  
53        Midst bright attendant seraph bands.---  
 
[Page 98 ]  
 
54           The rocks are rent, the dead arise,  
55        With heavings strange, the solid earth is torn:  
56           The conscious sun withdraws his light,  
57           As if unable to support the sight;  
58        And ten-fold night invades the saddened skies:  
59        E'en things inanimate, their great Creator mourn;  
60        Unfeeling man, alone, for whom he bled,  
61        Nor drops one pitying tear, nor mourns his Saviour dead!  
 
62        Assume, my harp, your softest, and most solemn tone;  
63        Let every mellow chord, in plaintive cadence moan:  
64              And whilst the hollow sound,  
65           Floats on the sighing breeze, around,  
66           Let echo, weeping in her gloomy cave,  
67              Repeat in soothing strain,  
68        (Whilst tears run down my aged cheeks like rain,)  
69        The King of glory bowed his sacred head,  
70        Gave up the ghost, and now is numbered with the dead,  
71              In the cold grave.  
 
72        But hark! a shout of triumph, rent the skies!  
73        And all the host of heaven, loud anthems sing,  
74              To their victorious King,  
75        As through their shining ranks he flies.---  
76        Burst from the vanquished grave, in heaven he reigns,  
77        Fast binding death, and hell, in captive chains.  
 
78        Again, again he comes! I see him in the air;  
79        The loudest notes that heavenly breath can blow,  
80              The coming God declare:  
81        Before his presence, rocks and mountains flow,  
82           In fiery torrents, o'er the burning ground;  
83        The shrivelling heavens, have passed away with dreadful sound:  
84              And loud angelic heralds say,  
85           "Come to judgment! come away!"  
86        Throughout the boundless whole, has fled,  
87           The voice sonorous, and has waked the dead!  
 
88           To the eternal throne,  
89        Where Jesus, judging, sits alone;  
90           The writhing dragon, of the gloomy deep,  
91        With all his hellish crew, repair,  
92           And trembling, wail, and weep,  
 
[Page 99 ]  
 
93        And gnash their teeth, in black despair.---  
94        The impetus resistless, hurries all along;  
95        The good, the bad, the old, the young,  
96              The quick, and dead,  
97           Are forth to judgment led,  
98           To hear their sentence passed,  
99           That shall for ever last.---  
100      See! opening hell, receives the wicked throng,---  
101         The righteous travel with their God,  
102      In shining ranks, along the heavenly road,  
103      To dwell, the seraphs bright among.  
 
104      The harp resumed a livelier tone,  
105      Its hollow murmurs, ceased to moan;  
106      His hand too nimble for the view,  
107      Still quick, and quicker, flew,  
108      Like lightning o'er the sounding strings;  
109      On to the blue summit of his speaking eyes,  
110      His soul enraptured, seemed with out-stretched wings,  
111      To aim its flight, beyond the glowing skies.---  
 
112      But now the sun had kissed the western main,  
113      And hummed the beetle o'er the dusky plain,  
114      Killarney, matchless lake, could scarce be seen;  
115      A misty veil o'erspread the lovely scene.---  
116      The woods and mountains, could be viewed no more,  
117      And jutting rocks, that hem its flowing shore.---  
118      The sweet musician, homeward took his way,  
119      Resolved to tune his harp, another day.  


THE COTTAGE IN THE WOOD,  
OR THE Art of Becoming Rich and Happy. 
 
 
[Page ]  
 
 
[Page 121 ]  
 


Brontë, Patrick, 1777-1861.:  The Pious Cottager's Sabbath. [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             DEEP in yon wood, beneath, a spreading tree,  
2          A humble mansion, peeping through the leaves,  
3          Sends up a column of blue curling smoke  
4          To hail the rising sun; whose golden beams,  
5          In rich variety of hues, divine,  
6          The tranquil east adorn.---Sleep, short and sweet,  
7          The sure reward of toilsome days has fled,  
8          And left the brisk inhabitants refresh'd,  
9          Attun'd, and in full tone sublime, for the  
10        High duties of a Sabbath-morn. Alert,  
11        And ever watchful to redeem the time,  
12        With quick dispatch, their breakfast they prepare.  
13        The chrystal spring, and grit of wholesome oats,  
14        With milk from udder of the playful goat,  
15        That browses by the hedge, affords a meal,  
16        Not such as pamper'd appetites would please,  
17        But such as suits the unperverted taste;  
18        Gives to the cheeks the opening rose of health,  
19        And strength and vigour to the gleeful nerves.  
 
20           The scanty wants of nature all supplied,  
21        With nimble fingers they put quickly on  
22        Their Sunday clothes, well sav'd and seldom worn,  
23        But when their duty calls them to appear,  
24        In neat, becoming, but not gay attire,  
25        Before their God, the Giver of all good.  
26        Now they assemble round the throne of grace,  
27        On bended knee: with contrite hearts and pure,  
28        And hands unstain'd by crime, they offer up  
29        The voice of prayer, to kind approving heaven.  
30        They plead that he who made the heart, would far  
31        Remove each wand'ring thought, and vain desire,  
32        And warm their bosoms with celestial zeal,  
33        That so they may, as God commands they should,  
34        The Sabbath dedicate to deeds divine.  
 
35           This work of duty done, they straight repair  
36        To acts of public worship, by the bells  
 
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37        Invited, that with heavenly music swell  
38        Upon the fresh'ning breeze---And as the way  
39        Is long, they carry plain and ready fare;  
40        Lest by returning home to better food,  
41        Their souls should lose the richer banquet of  
42        The afternoon. Thrice happy day of rest!  
43        How swift it passes o'er their heads! And as  
44        The smiling moments fly, they scatter from  
45        Their fragrant wings, ten thousand sweets exhal'd  
46        From the pure Fountain of Eternal life.  
47        In prayer and praise, and exposition true,  
48        The faithful legate of the skies, fulfils  
49        His sacred office. From his lips, touch'd with  
50        A living coal blown to the clearest flame  
51        By breath divine, there flows a tepid stream  
52        Of eloquence, that rushing o'er the soul,  
53        Fills it with ecstasies of pure delight.  
 
54           The holy, just, and strict condemning law,  
55        In Sinai's thunder cloth'd, he loud proclaims;  
56        The fatal sin original, is then  
57        Expos'd to the red bolts of angry heaven,---  
58        Whilst o'er the guilty conscience, flashing fierce,  
59        Conviction shakes the sinking frame: the still  
60        Small voice of the mild gospel, soothing says,  
61        'Behold the Lamb of God! the bleeding Lamb,  
62        Who by an offering of himself, removes  
63        The curse, and cancels all the guilt of a  
64        Lost world!---See, whilst he bleeds, with looks benign,  
65        In the sweet voice of mercy, he invites!---  
66        Come all ye weary laden souls and cast  
67        Your weight of sins on me: yea, come and live.'---  
68        Hope brightens at the cheering thought: despair  
69        Retires: the tear of grief is wip'd away:  
70        The world recedes: and Faith, on wings of fire,  
71        Ascends triumphant to the realms of bliss.  
 
72           Our Pious Cottagers, from scenes like these,  
73        Return, with hearts and souls prepar'd to taste  
74        Of purest joys; and in their humble shed,  
75        To close the day with holy worship meet.  
76        No worldly cares obtrude; no busy scenes,  
77        Their minds divert; theirs is the calm retreat,  
 
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78        The genial soil for deeds of heavenly growth,  
79        Where no rude winds disturb the rising plants,  
80        Nor rushing torrents whelm their broken stems,  
81        But warm prolific breezes softly breathe;  
82        And meditation like the dew from heaven,  
83        A rich variety diffuses wide,  
84        Of odorous, flow'ry, green, and fruitful gold.  
85        This is the golden harvest of the word,  
86        Where they who sow in sorrow, reap in joy:  
87        And man forgets the evils of this life,  
88        In sweetest antepast of bliss above.  
 
89           Now, wrapt in holy fire, they spend the time,  
90        In close perusal of the Sacred Book;  
91        Or, all their conversation rais'd to heaven,  
92        They dwell on Christ's Eternal Love, and see,  
93        Through Faith, the brightness of his face, and feel  
94        The breathings of his Spirit whisp'ring peace.  
 
95           When night around her sable curtain draws,  
96        And wearied nature claims her wonted boon---  
97        They take their frugal meal, and then in sweet  
98        Accord, with tuneful tongues, they joyful sing  
99        His praise, who on his bright eternal throne,  
100      Sways the vast sceptre of the boundless whole.  
101      With holy boldness, kneeling down, they call  
102      Him Father; all their wants make known, and crave  
103      A full supply.---He hears his children's voice,  
104      Well pleas'd; and gives them more than they can ask.---  
105      Secure beneath the shadow of his wings,  
106      They go to rest; sweet sleep their eyelids close,  
107      And fits them for the duties of the morn.  
 
108         How rich, how fair, are heavenly Wisdom's ways!  
109      How peaceful all her paths! the narrow road  
110      Of bliss, how dazzling bright?---None walk therein,  
111      But those who follow Christ, and bear his cross,  
112      With all the shame annex'd---and as they go,  
113      Ne'er dare to turn aside, nor backward cast  
114      A wishful look, but hasten on with firm  
115      Resolve, and steady peace, by faith upheld,  
116      The prize immortal, keeping still in view.  
 
 
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Brontë, Patrick, 1777-1861.:  THE  
Nightly Rebel;  
OR THE CIRCUMSTANCES  
OF WILLIAM BOWER'S CONVERSION,  
RELATED IN VERSE. [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          Around the table, polish'd goblets shine,  
2          Fill'd with brown ale, or crown'd with ruddy wine;  
3          Each quaffs his glass, and thirsty calls for more,  
4          Till maddening mirth, and song, and wild uproar,  
5          And idly fierce dispute, and brutal fight,  
6          Break the soft slumbers of the peaceful night.  
 
7          Without, within, above, beneath, around,  
8          Ungodly jests and deep-mouthed oaths resound;  
9          Pale reason trembling, leaves her rocking throne;  
10        Truth, honour, virtue, justice, all are flown---  
11        The sly dark-glancing harlot's fatal breath,  
12        Allures to sin and sorrow, shame and death;  
 
13        The gaming table too, that fatal snare,  
14        Beset with fiercest passions fell, is there;  
15        Remorse, despair, revenge, and deadly hate,  
16        With dark design, in bitter durance wait;  
17        Till scarlet murder waves his bloody hand,  
18        Gives in sepulchral tone the dread command:  
 
19        Then forth they rush, and from the secret sheath,  
20        Draw the keen blade, and do the work of death,  
21        The drowsy midnight bell, with iron tongue,  
22        Proclaims the parting hour to old and young.  
 
23        Some drench'd in wine, lie snoring on the floor;  
24        With reeling steps, some gain the outer door;  
25        Then darkling grope, or heedless miss their way,  
26        And sleep in miry beds, till dawn of day.  
 
27        Three giant sots, who drank for weeks together,  
28        Oft brav'd the fury of the foulest weather,  
29        And vauntingly had drain'd whole puncheons dry,  
30        Their horses mount, with wild triumphant cry,  
31        And on they gallop swifter than the gale.  
32        Though blackest shades the low'ring heavens veil.  
33        Like arrows swift they pierce the tangling wood,  
 
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34        Shoot down the glen, and stem the roaring flood,  
35        Leap on the bank, 'midst clouds of dashing spray,  
36        And fast through dangers dread, pursue their way!---  
 
37           But see! the night assumes a blacker hue,  
38        Deep thunders roll, quick gleams the lightning blue;  
39        The gusty storm comes on with whelming sweep;  
40        Uprooted oaks rush down the rocky steep;  
41        The streaming clouds, their copious torrents pour,  
42        And blacker still, the angry heavens low'r!  
43        Bright, and more bright, the quivering lightnings flash;  
44        Loud, and more loud, the rattling thunders crash;  
45        In hideous darkness, wind, and rain, and fire,  
46        Heaven seems to vent on man its hottest ire!---  
 
47           O, sinner! think on that great day of dread,  
48        When the last trump shall wake the drowsy dead,  
49        When for these thunders, falling skies shall sound,  
50        And for these lightnings, far as thought can bound,  
51        Through endless space, ten thousand worlds shall flame,  
52        And burn to ashes, wide creation's frame!  
 
53        But 'midst this din of elemental war,  
54        How speed our heroes? will they fearless dare  
55        The night's fell gloom, and all its ruthless ire?---  
56        Full on they drive through wind, and rain, and fire:  
57        The sounding whip, and bloody steel they ply;  
58        Their panting horses swift as lightning fly;  
59        Till passing underneath a spreading oak,  
60        The fire electrical, with sudden stroke  
61        Resistless, rends the stubborn mighty stock,  
62        And round the bark flies shivering, with the shock!---  
63        Then snorting loud, they darting sidelong, lay  
64        Unhurt, their riders, on the mossy way!  
65        And pass with reinless speed, the opening glade,  
66        And find meet shelter, in the friendly shade.  
 
67           Now, the exhausted lightnings harmless play,  
68        With lambent flame, pale as the milky way,  
69        That track serene, which by their mingling light,  
70        Remotest stars shed on the lovely night.  
71        The mellow thunder scarcely heard to roll,  
72        Far distant, mutters round the brightening pole;  
 
[Page 126 ]  
 
73        Hush'd are the winds, the breaking clouds retire,  
74        And countless stars light up their twinkling fire:  
75        The rising moon unfolds her silver beam,  
76        And gaily shines, on tow'r, and tree, and stream.  
77        No sound is heard, save where the tinkling rill,  
78        In tuneful cadence trickles down the hill;  
79        Or sweetest philomel, in yonder grove,  
80        Hails the fair scene, in warbling notes of love.  
81        But that the fields, and woods are drenched with rain,  
82        And that sing'd oak frowns darkly on the plain,  
83        The change so sudden, and so fair, might seem  
84        The idle workings of a fairy dream!  
 
85        Our heroes with the incident amaz'd,  
86        To angry heaven, their faultering voices rais'd:  
87        Like guilty Adam, sought the thickest wood,  
88        To shun the presence, and the voice of God.  
89        Their hearts more stubborn than the knotted oak,  
90        That sternly yielded to the thunderstroke,  
91        Made forc'd obeisance---but like it remain'd,  
92        Of all the softer juices, fairly drain'd,  
93        A harder, drier, more unbending stock,  
94        Scath'd, but not fertiliz'd, by the dread shock!  
 
95           Soon as the lovely moon illumes the sky,  
96        They hurl defiance at the powers on high;  
97        To songs obscene, their feign'd devotion change,  
98        As through the mazy wood, they fearless range!  
99        No lion roars, no hungry tiger growls,  
100      Nor wolf, nor leopard, through the forest prowls,  
101      Nor bending grass, nor plant, nor rustling brake,  
102      Conceals the terrors of the vengeful snake:  
103      So safe the way, so lovely, far and near,  
104      A lonely child, might dauntless gambol here.  
 
105         But, hark! a hurried tread sounds through the trees!  
106      Perchance, 'tis but the rustling of the breeze!---  
107      Or startled coney wild, or timid hare,  
108      Disturb'd, whilst browsing on its nightly fare!---  
109      Yet, three grim figures shot across the way,  
110      And glancing arms adorn'd their dark array!---  
 
111         Have giddy fumes disturb'd the 'wilder'd brain  
112      Of our bold revellers, with visions vain?  
 
[Page 127 ]  
 
113      Whate'er the cause; with wary step and slow,  
114      They move along---and often, sidelong throw  
115      A fearful look---their conscience up in arms,  
116      Shakes every languid joint, with dread alarms.  
117      At every sound, they stop, with painful start---  
118      Feel the cold bullet rankle in their heart;  
119      Or, panting writhe beneath the bloody knife,  
120      In nameless torture, issue forth their life;  
121      And then to judgment, hurry through the air,  
122      'Midst all the horrors fell of black despair!  
123      Imagination, in her sickly dies,  
124      Drew these sad images before their eyes;  
125      Pale guilt lent terrors to the airy forms,  
126      And shook the mental frame, with all her storms.  
 
127         O, for a pardon from the courts above!  
128      O, for one ray of pure celestial love;  
129      And that bright hope which gilds the gloom of death,  
130      Sweet comfort yielding with our yielding breath!  
131      So wish'd our revellers, for well they knew,  
132      How to distinguish 'twixt the false and true,  
133      And ne'er were infidels but when the dread,  
134      Of death's approach, had from their memory fled,  
135      And guilty bodings could no solace reap,  
136      Save in the hope of blank eternal sleep.  
 
137         But, as they wander'd on they knew not where,  
138      A prey to all the horrors of despair;  
139      A fond surmise, their throbbing breasts allay'd---  
140      'Perchance, our horses ran across the glade!---  
141      Their polish'd stirrups in the pale moonlight,  
142      Shook glittering terrors on the lovely night.'  
 
143         With eager grasp, the drowning wretch will seize,  
144      The willow bowing to the friendly breeze,  
145      Conceive a gleam of hope in his last breath,  
146      Still hold the treasure, in the grasp of death;  
147      E'en when a swollen corse he's dragg'd to land,  
148      The faithless reed, is clench'd within his hand!  
149      Thus, they on their fond image lean awhile,  
150      In jests profane, the lingering night beguile,  
151      Laugh at their idle fears, and mock their God,  
152      E'en whilst revealing his avenging rod!  
 
[Page 128 ]  
 
 
153         But, William, somewhat mov'd, in thoughtful mood,  
154      From his companions, at a distance stood;  
155      Sent up to heaven, a penitential prayer---  
156      But hark! two sudden shots burst through the air!---  
157      His gay companions groan, and wheeling round,  
158      With dizzy poize, fall lifeless on the ground;  
159      E'en ere the echoing peal dies in the wood,  
160      Their souls stand trembling at the bar of God!  
 
161         Pale William, horror-struck, stood like a rock---  
162      Till half recovering from the dreadful shock,  
163      With terror shook, at every whispering breeze,  
164      He stole beneath the overarching trees---  
165      Each moving shadow seem'd a robber grim;  
166      Each vapour gliding through the valley dim,  
167      Seem'd pale assassins form'd in dread array---  
168      The blackest shades of death beset his way---  
169      Still the grim figures mock'd his swimming sight,  
170      Till hope return'd with the returning light.  
 
171         When the gay morning sun illumin'd the skies,  
172      He grateful, rais'd to heaven, his weeping eyes;  
173      Resolv'd through grace divine, to mend his ways,  
174      And cheerful, hop'd for purer, happier days.  
175      Nor did he hope in vain; for as they tell,  
176      Who saw him daily, and who knew him well;  
177      He ne'er again, did ply the nightly bowl,  
178      He ne'er again did utter language foul,  
179      But led a sober, virtuous, godly life,  
180      Freed from all danger, sorrow, fear, and strife:  
181      And when the hour of dissolution came,  
182      And deadly dews o'erspread his sinking frame,  
183      His soul sweet rapture caught amidst the strife,  
184      And only languish'd into endless life. 
 


Brontë, Patrick, 1777-1861.:  EPITAPHS. [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)]
ON MARY BOWER. 
 
 
1          Is there a daughter kind and good,  
2          Who ne'er a parent's wish withstood,  
3          Whose sweetest task, whose daily food,  
4             Is to obey;  
 
[Page 129 ]  
 
5          Let her peruse, and to a flood  
6             Of tears, give way.  
 
7          Is there a wife, fond, true, and fair,  
8          Whose bosom never knows a care,  
9          Save what her husband's weal moves there,  
10           Let her bemoan,  
11        A sister dead; whom reptiles share,  
12           Beneath this stone.  
 
13        Is there a mother, whose kind heart,  
14        When her lov'd babes, from right depart,  
15        Inflicts the rod, yet feels the smart,  
16           Let her draw nigh,  
17        And all her fondest cares impart---  
18           And heave a sigh.  
 
19        Is there a lovely guileless maid,  
20        Whose case demands sweet counsel's aid,  
21        Here, let her wand'ring feet be stay'd,  
22           In sorrow free:  
23        A bright example lowly laid,  
24           Says, 'Follow me.'  
 
25        Let all the truly good and wise,  
26        Who knowledge, truth, religion, prize,  
27        With aching hearts, and tearful eyes,  
28           For Mary, mourn;  
29        For, hence she's fled beyond the skies,  
30           Ne'er to return.  
 
31        But, why weep o'er her senseless clay,  
32        Whose soul now basks in endless day!---  
33        Go, reader---go---she points the way,  
34           To joys above;  
35        Where death, and hell, ne'er couch for prey,  
36           And God is love. 

ON WILLIAM BOWER. 
 
1          Here, sceptic stop: perverse to own a lie!---  
2          A moment think---and lay your follies by.  
3          Stop, bloated epicure: learn from the dead,  
4          You leave the board with richest banquets spread.  
 
[Page 130 ]  
 
5          Stop, giddy crowds, that throng the road to hell,  
6          Here musing---break the soul-deluding spell.  
7          Behold a man, who like yourselves was toss'd,  
8          On stormy seas, with helm and compass lost;  
9          Till Christ the pole-star, glittered through the dark  
10        And grace to harbour blew the shatter'd bark---  
11        Beneath this stone, in cold obstruction, rest,  
12        With deepest night, and blank oblivion press'd,  
13        The bosom with another's joys o'erflown,  
14        The heart that bled for sorrows not its own;  
15        The head that plann'd how others ought to live,  
16        The hands that knew no pleasure, save, to give:  
17        The loving husband, father, neighbour, friend,  
18        All these, beneath, their ashes darkling blend---  
19        Yet, 'tis but sleep---his soul has ta'en its flight,  
20        And blooms unfading in the realms of light;  
21        And on that latest, most tremendous day,  
22        When earth and skies, shall, trembling, pass away;  
23        His body wak'd---with loud triumphant song,  
24        Shall fairer rise; 'midst the seraphic throng,  
25        Its shining consort join---whilst through the air,  
26        Angelic legions sing,--- 'Thrice happy pair!  
27        Wear these bright robes, partake of endless joy,  
28        Where sin, and death, and sorrow, ne'er annoy,  
29        Where Christ reflects his Father's brightest ray,  
30        And fills the heavens with eternal day! 


THE PHENOMENON  
OR, AN ACCOUNT IN VERSE, OF THE Extraordinary Disruption of a Bog, Which took place in the Moors of Haworth, On the 12th day of SEPTEMBER, 1824: 
 
 
[Page 201 ]  
 
 
[Page 202 ]  


TO MY YOUNG READERS. 
 

THROUGH the merciful providence of God, and the interposition of kind friends, you are now, as I suppose, in the first class in your Sunday-school, and, consequently are able to read considerably well. This is one reason why I have not been careful to select for you the easiest words and phrases, judging it proper that you should have a dictionary, and be able to find out in it the meaning of such phrases and words as you do not clearly understand. This talent of reading which you possess, will prove a blessing or a curse, just according to the use you make of it. If you read the scriptures and other good books only, your souls will be edified and comforted; but if you read every tract that is put into your hands by cunning and designing people, or eagerly search out for, and peruse such tracts and books as you know before to be bad, then you are sure to be corrupted and misled, and your talent of reading will become a source of sin and misery to yourselves and others.

Whatever may tend to give you unworthy notions of Christ; whatever may be calculated to make you think highly of yourselves, or to look down with discontentment upon your lot; whatever would aim at inflaming your natural passions, which are already much too fiery and ungovernable, is bad, and ought carefully to be avoided. Never let the fine style in which a book may be written, nor the recommendations of the licentious, though learned people, induce you to read it, if you have reason beforehand to conclude, that it will not make you both wiser and better. Should you have a taste for poetry or history, biography or science, you may find, within the range of what is altogether unexceptionable, excellent treatises on these subjects. The scriptures themselves afford the finest specimens of beauty and sublimity in the world. I have here written to you in the most interesting manner  
 
[Page 203 ]  
I could, on a subject which is of itself very interesting; and I have taken care occasionally to intersperse such observations, as might be profitable as well as pleasing.

The phenomenon I am about to speak of, was of an extraordinary nature. During the time of a tremendous storm of thunder, lightning, and rain, a part of the moors in my chapelry, at the time specified in the title-page, sunk into two wide cavities; the larger of which measured three hundred yards in length, about two hundred in breadth, and was five or six yards deep. From these cavities ran deep rivers, which uniting at the distance of a hundred yards, formed a vast volume of mud and water, varying from thirty to sixty yards in breadth, and from five to six in depth; uprooting trees, damaging, or altogether overthrowing solid stone bridges, stopping mills, and occasionally overwhelming fields of corn, all along its course of ten or fifteen miles. Now, the grand First Cause of this, and every other phenomenon, is God, whose instruments all are the elements, to execute his various purposes of infinite justice or mercy. Nevertheless, as to second causes, we may fairly reason thus:---

The moor in which this phenomenon took place, had, for years past, been rather soft and swampy; so that even during the summer season, it required a little precaution in the traveller, to go over it dryshod. It shook also to the tread, and contained several small oozing springs. At the distance of about half a mile, there were eminences also of a marshy nature. Under the surface of the ground, in all probability, a watery and muddy reservoir, or number of reservoirs, communicating with each other, may have been forming for many ages. On the day of the phenomenon, there were heavy rains, much lightning and thunder, and unusually great heat. These reservoirs may have been overcharged by the water that descended immediately upon them, and by that which oozed into them, from the neighbouring eminences. The extraordinary heat also, must have produced considerable expansion, which, in conjunction with the tremour occasioned by the loud thunder, may have caused the surface of the ground to shake and rend, and open a passage for the struggling elements. Whether this may be called the disruption of  
 
[Page 204 ]  
a bog, or an earthquake, is of no great consequence, either as it relates to the interest it may excite, or the effects it has produced. 


 


Brontë, Patrick, 1777-1861.:  The PHENOMENON, &c. [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 glowing East in lovely hues was drest,  
2          And twilight grey had sunk beneath the west;  
3          Star after star had vanished from the sight,  
4          Quench'd in the beams of morning's kindling light.  
5          The genial sun his blazing front uprear'd;  
6          And fast emerging, his vast orb appear'd  
7          In all its glory! Clouds and vapours flew,  
8          All was gold, and deep ethereal blue;  
9          Save a red halo, whose portentous glare,  
10        Or said, or seemed to say to all---"beware!"  
11        The sprightly lark ascending, hailed the morn,  
12        The linnet caroll'd in the dewy thorn;  
13        The blackbird's whistle echoed in the wood,  
14        The sportive fishes darted through the flood;  
15        The scudding hare brush'd off the twinkling dew,  
16        The crackling moorcock o'er the common flew;  
17        The milk-maid blithe, sung o'er her glowing pail,  
18        The lowing cattle gamboll'd through the vale;  
19        Each sturdy swain strode on to his employ,  
20        And loudly rung the laughing rural joy.  
21        The scene is passing fair, did not the eye  
22        That red portentous halo descry,  
23        The sounds are passing sweet, did not the ear  
24        Those deep-mouth'd oaths and jests unseemly hear!  
25        Where are those days, alas! by poets feign'd,  
26        Those spotless days, when every virtue reign'd;  
27        When Eden bloom'd without one tree of sin,  
28        And no fell serpent, guileful, lurk'd within:  
29        Those days, where are they? In the poet's brain,  
30        Whose warm fancy taught the flattering strain;  
31        Who painted what he wish'd, not what he knew,  
32        Deluding, and deluded as he drew.  
33        E'er since the flaming sword, in heavenly strife,  
34        With fiery circles coped the tree of life,  
 
[Page 205 ]  
 
35        Denying all access---the poison ran,  
36        Of that fair fruit infernal, the whole man  
37        Polluting; the bad juice, with subtle flow,  
38        Diffused itself throughout; and guilt and woe,  
39        And passions fell and fierce, and death's dark gloom,  
40        Usurp'd the seat of Eden's lovely bloom.  
41        One deadly tree in Eden only grows:  
42        Now, every heart its tree of knowledge shews.  
43        Ten thousand fallen Eves allurements try;  
44        Ten thousand Adams daily eat, and die.  
45        And had not He, the second Adam nam'd,  
46        Removed the guarding sword, that vengeful flam'd  
47        Above the tree of life, and access given  
48        To all, to eat, and live, and win his heaven,  
49        This guilty world had sunk beneath the ire  
50        Of justice infinite, in quenchless fire.  
 
51           The tide of time flowed on, till the bright sun  
52        Full half his course in cloudless skies had run;  
53        And from high noon his downward way address'd,  
54        And sought with glowing wheels the ruddy west.  
55        Hush'd were the winds, slept every whispering breeze,  
56        And not a leaf stirr'd on the noiseless trees:  
57        Yet, signs there were to philosophic eyes,  
58        Prognostications sure, that storms should rise  
59        Ere day's dark close. Late in the previous night,  
60        The reeling stars shot down with slanting light,  
61        The crackling blaze hiss'd from the burning wood,  
62        And a bright halo round the candle stood;  
63        Whose melting stem unfurl'd a curling shroud:  
64        Grimalkin thrumm'd, the crickets chirp'd aloud.  
65        Fitful and sighing, was the passing gale,  
66        And lingering echoes murmur'd through the vale.  
 
67           Now kawing rooks on rapid pinions move,  
68        For their lov'd home, the safe sequester'd grove;  
69        Far inland scream the frighten'd sea-gulls loud,  
70        High the blue heron sails along the cloud;  
71        The humming bees, sagacious, homewards fly,  
72        The conscious heifer snuffs the tempest nigh:  
73        But, see! the hazy sun has reached the west,  
74        The murmuring trees proclaim the coming blast.  
 
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75        Fast dusty whirlwinds drive along the plain,  
76        The gusty tempest gives the slacken'd rein;  
77        Low bend the trees, the lofty steeples rock,  
78        And firmest fabrics own the sullen shock.  
79        Condensing fast, the black'ning clouds o'erspread  
80        The low'ring sky: the frequent lightning red,  
81        With quivering glance, the streaming clouds do sunder  
82        And rumbles deep, and long, and loud, the thunder!  
 
83           The tempest gathering from the murky west,  
84        Rests on the peak, and forms a horrid crest.  
85        Down pour the heavy clouds their copious streams,  
86        Quick shoots the lightning's fiercely vivid gleams;  
87        And loud and louder peals the crashing thunder;  
88        The mountains shake as they would rend asunder.  
89        But, see! the solid ground, like ocean driven,  
90        With mighty force by the four winds of heaven,  
91        In strange commotion rolls its earthy tide---  
92        Whilst the riven mountain from its rugged side,  
93        A muddy torrent issues, dark and deep,  
94        That foaming, thunders down the trembling steep  
95        As high on Alpine hills, for ages past,  
96        The falling snows, pil'd by the stiff'ning blast,  
97        Rise a huge mountain on the dazzled eye,  
98        Jut o'er their base, far curling in the sky;  
99        Till, by their weight, these mighty masses fail,  
100      And breaking, thunder down the trembling vale;  
101      Bury whole towns in everlasting snow,  
102      And chill with horror pale, the world below.  
103      So, rocks on rocks, pil'd by the foaming flood,  
104      All its vast force with trembling base withstood;  
105      Till the indignant waves collecting fast,  
106      Form'd a dark lake, urged by the incumbent blast;  
107      And push'd at once, with wide resistless sway,  
108      The mighty mass, 'midst thund'ring sounds, away;  
109      Shook all the neighbouring hills, and thrill'd with fear,  
110      The peasant's heart, and stunn'd his listening ear!  
 
111         On whirring wings the startled moorcocks fly;  
112      The fleeing gunners pass unheeding by;  
113      The labouring peasants haste, with sturdy stride,  
114      To 'scape the danger of the coming tide;  
 
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115      The bleating sheep, or heedless, or too slow;  
116      The cattle with a loud, last dismal low;  
117      The bridges, trees and rocks, and earthy mounds,  
118      With thundering crash, and deepening hollow sounds,  
119      In dread confusion, tumble in the waves  
120      Of that thick flood, that darkens, foams, and raves,  
121      With loud resistless force, and loosen'd rein,  
122      Threatening to whelm the wide adjacent plain:  
123      And had not God, who stills the ocean's roar,  
124      And hems it in with one eternal shore,  
125      Said to the wide, the deep disparting hill---  
126      "Restrain thy foaming fury---peace, be still,  
127      When thou hast reach'd my last defined degree---"  
128      The country round had swum one murky sea;  
129      Whilst Albion loud had rais'd her plaintive wail,  
130      And he who writes had never told the tale.  
 
131         Thus, Power Infinite, and Love Divine,  
132      The utmost bounds of Satan's rage define;  
133      Even when he seems to roam without a rein,  
134      God counts the links of his eternal chain:  
135      Making his flood, that would the world assail,  
136      Flow through the limits of a narrow vale;  
137      Still lessening, till it gains its last degree,  
138      And sinks for aye in mercy's shoreless sea.  
 
139         As onward rolls the dark, resistless tide,  
140      Pale, trembling mortals, flee on either side.  
141      The clanking engines, and the busy mill,  
142      In thick obstruction, deep immersed, stand still.  
143      Grim devastation lord's it o'er the plain,---  
144      The gardens bloom, the mead, the yellow grain,  
145      The green plantation, and the brambly wood,  
146      Lie deeply buried in the murky flood.  
147      The finny tribe to 'scape these horrors try,  
148      And sunk in muddy suffocation die.  
149      The snowy geese, that crop the grassy brim,  
150      The motley ducks, that gabbling, featly swim  
151      With unsuspecting joy, await the roar  
152      Of that thick flood, that tangling, whelms them o'er.  
153      All nature sinks, and dies beneath the sway  
154      Of those black waves, that ponderous force their way,  
 
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155      O'er trees, and rocks, and high opposing mounds,  
156      Breasting along with hollow, thund'ring sounds!  
 
157         But as the fiercest passion soonest dies,  
158      And lightest fuel first in ashes lies,  
159      So this vast flood, that foam'd with loudest roar,  
160      Was, self-exhausted, soonest heard no more;  
161      For, long ere night was clad in sable vest,  
162      It sank within its banks, and went to rest;  
163      Whilst many a muddy stream went trickling still,  
164      With tinkling music down the neighbouring hill;  
165      And many a rivulet pursued its way,  
166      With wid'ning surface, till another day.  
 
167         If, whilst the torrent swept a narrow vale,  
168      Misgiving mortals shook with horror pale,  
169      How dread the horrors keen, that thrilling ran  
170      With dire foreboding through each soul of man,  
171      When the vast deluge, fathomless, was hurl'd  
172      A shoreless ocean, round a guilty world!  
173      And what a hell of dread will burn within  
174      The graceless soul, that trod the path of sin,  
175      When on the latest day of God's hot ire,  
176      The earth and heavens will sink in liquid fire!  
 
177         But, O! what heavenly joy will then impart  
178      Its strongest impulse to the pious heart,  
179      When the great Judge will loud approving say---  
180      "Come with me, to the heaven of heavens, away!"  
181      Whilst the seraphic choirs strike all their strings,  
182      And sing Hosannah to the King of kings!  
183      And the new earth and heavens wide echo round,  
184      The sweet, triumphal, loud, immortal sound! 


FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 
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Brontë, Patrick, 1777-1861.:  [Our blazing guest, long have you been] [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          Our blazing guest, long have you been,  
2          To us, and many more, unseen;  
3          Full seventy years have pass'd away  
4          Since last we saw you, fresh and gay---  
5          Time seems to do you little wrong---  
6          As yet, you sweep the sky along,  
7          A thousand times more glib and fast,  
8          Than railroad speed or sweeping blast---  
9          Not so---the things you left behind---  
10        Not so---the race of human kind.  
11        Vast changes in this world have been,  
12        Since by this world you last were seen:  
13        The child, who clapped his hands with joy,  
14        And hailed thee as a shining toy,  
15        Has pass'd, long since, that dusky bourne,  
16        From whence no travellers return;  
17        Or sinking now in feeble age,  
18        Surveys thee, as a hoary sage;  
19        Sees thee, a mighty globe serene,  
20        Wide hurried o'er the welkin sheen,  
21        In nebulous or solid state,  
22        For ends both wise, and good, and great;  
23        Or, to adjust and balance true  
24        The shining orbs of ether blue,  
25        Lest, erring in the heavenly plane,  
26        All should to chaos rush again;---  
27        Or if the sun, as Newton says,  
28        Still issues forth substantial rays,  
29        Emitting from his body bright,  
30        Exhausting sparks of rapid light---  
31        To give him back each spark and ray,  
32        Well gather'd, on thy airy way;  
33        Lest he should sink in wrinkled years,  
34        And leave in night the rolling spheres.  
35        Say, dost thou, then, all things that burn,  
36        Give to the Sun in thy return?  
37        And thus maintain his shining face  
38        In all the pride of youthful grace?  
39        If so, thou art less selfish far,  
40        Than many another shining star---  
41        Less selfish, far, than those below,  
42        Who gaze upon thy brilliant glow;  
 
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43        For, here on earth, both one and all,  
44        We try to rise on others' fall;  
45        And think our lustre shines the best,  
46        When dusky veils obscure the rest.  
47        But Newton sage and others say,  
48        The sun doth play you yea and nay;  
49        That, at each point of time, his force  
50        Attracts, repels, thy fiery course;  
51        In contradiction---strange to say---  
52        Lest you should wander from your way,  
53        And that, when he has got thy meed,  
54        He sends you on your way with speed.  
55        Alas! alas! should this be so?  
56        How many suns are here below,  
57        Save that they want both heat and light,  
58        And never shine, by day or night---  
59        Attract---repel---get all they can---  
60        And part with nought to living man!  
61        Some say thou art electric fire,  
62        And hast a tail of plague and ire---  
63        That all along thy airy way  
64        You shed on men a baleful sway;  
65        That on the nations near and far  
66        You sow the seeds of bloody war.  
67        Small need for these thy fatal arts;  
68        For we abound in wrathful hearts,  
69        And cunning heads, and blighting gales,  
70        And martial hands, and fiery tails---  
71        And swift to ill---for ill combine,  
72        With ready skill, surpassing thine.  
 
73           Thy course is chang'd, as sages say,  
74        And thou hast run a novel way,  
75        Just that the wond'ring world might own  
76        Thou hast a will and way thine own.  
77        In this, fair stranger, we're inclined  
78        To follow thee, and have our mind---  
79        Whate'er sarcastic mortals say,  
80        For we have orbits where to move,  
81        By impulse strong, of hate or love;  
82        And we have ends to answer here.  
83        Though in a dark and narrow sphere.  
 
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84        Since last this earth has seen thy face,  
85        Thou hast been wide in many a place---  
86        And many suns and worlds hast known,  
87        Besides these orbs we call our own;---  
88        Say, hast thou, in thy leisure hours,  
89        E'er scrutiniz'd a world like ours?---  
90        E'er seen such thinking worms of clay,  
91        Run wildly mad in such a way?---  
92        So brief in life---so prone to ill---  
93        So much averse to that great Will,  
94        That speaks in truth and boundless might  
95        And gave thee all thy speed, and light,  
96        And very being---and has said  
97        "Let all things be!" and they were made.  
 
98           But thou art on thy course, I see,  
99        And wilt not converse deign to me;---  
100      Nor man nor angles by their force  
101      Can for one moment stop thy course;---  
102      The Mighty God himself alone  
103      Can rein thy speed, and guide thee on.  
104      Then fare thee well, thou mighty star---  
105      Go---do thy errand, near and far.  
106      Ere thou dost here return again,  
107      Few things that now are shall remain.  
108      Tell distant worlds, on whom you shine,  
109      The hand that made thee is divine,---  
110      Round thy wide orbit shed thy rays,  
111      In token of the loudest praise  
112      To God who made thyself and all  
113      The stars around this earthly ball---  
114      Who shall beam forth, in glory bright,  
115      When all creation sets in night. 

P. Bronte.

Haworth, Oct. 20, 1835.