Anne Bronte
Lines Written at Thorp Green
That summer sun, whose genial glow Now cheers my drooping spirit so Must cold and distant be, And only light our northern clime With feeble ray, before the time I long so much to
Appeal
Oh, I am very weary, Though tears no longer flow; My eyes are tires of weeping, My heart is sick of woe; My life is very lonely, My days pass heavily, I’m wearing of
Confidence
Oppressed with sin and woe, A burdened heart I bear, Opposed by many a mighty foe: But I will not despair. With this polluted heart I dare to come to Thee, Holy and mighty
The Captive Dove
Poor restless dove, I pity thee; And when I hear thy plaintive moan, I mourn for thy captivity, And in thy woes forget mine own. To see thee stand prepared to fly, And flap
Memory
Brightly the sun of summer shone, Green fields and waving woods upon, And soft winds wandered by; Above, a sky of purest blue, Around, bright flowers of loveliest hue, Allured the gazer’s eye. But
Song 2
Come to the banquet triumph in your songs! Strike up the chords and sing of Victory! The oppressed have risen to redress their wrongs; The Tyrants are o’erthrown; the Land is free! The Land
Fluctuations
What though the sun had left my sky; To save me from despair The blessed moon arose on high, And shone serenely there. I watched her, with a tearful gaze, Rise slowly o’er the
A Hymn
Eternal power of earth and air, Unseen, yet seen in all around, Remote, but dwelling everywhere, Though silent, heard in every sound. If e’er thine ear in mercy bent When wretched mortals cried to
Night
I love the silent hour of night, For blissful dreams may then arise, Revealing to my charmed sight What may not bless my waking eyes! And then a voice may meet my ear That
Power of Love
Love, indeed thy strength is mighty Thus, alone, such strife to bear Three ‘gainst one, and never ceasing Death, and Madness, and Despair! ‘Tis not my own strength has saved me; Health, and hope,
Farewell
Farewell to thee! but not farewell To all my fondest thoughts of thee: Within my heart they still shall dwell; And they shall cheer and comfort me. O, beautiful, and full of grace! If
The North Wind
That wind is from the North, I know it well; No other breeze could have so wild a swell. Now deep and loud it thunders round my cell, The faintly dies, And softly sighs,
A Voice From The Dungeon
I’m buried now; I’ve done with life; I’ve done with hate, revenge and strife; I’ve done with joy, and hope and love And all the bustling world above. Long have I dwelt forgotten here
Stanzas
Oh, weep not, love! each tear that springs In those dear eyes of thine, To me a keener suffering brings, Than if they flowed from mine. And do not droop! however drear The fate
Self Communion
‘The mist is resting on the hill; The smoke is hanging in the air; The very clouds are standing still: A breathless calm broods everywhere. Thou pilgrim through this vale of tears, Thou, too,