Volume I Part 9 (1/2)
While Branwell was occupying his leisure as stated in the last chapter, and otherwise employing himself in a desultory way, he pursued the poetic bent of his genius, and sought the improvement of his diction and verse. Among the earliest of his poetical productions, the following are, perhaps, the best. They are distinguished by a similar train of thought and reflection, and by similar sentiments of piety and devotion, as also by the same gloom and sadness of mood, which pervade the poems of his sisters. Indeed, without knowing they were actually Branwell's, we might easily believe them to be from the pen of Charlotte, Emily, or Anne.
The three following poetical essays are on 'Caroline,' under which name Branwell indicates his sister Maria; and, in two of them, he records his reminiscences of her death and funeral obsequies. The first of the three, which he has framed in the sentiments and words of a child, is ent.i.tled:
CAROLINE'S PRAYER,
OR THE CHANGE FROM CHILDHOOD TO WOMANHOOD.
'My Father, and my childhood's guide!
If oft I've wandered far from Thee; E'en though Thine only Son has died To save from death a child like me;
'O! still--to Thee when turns my heart In hours of sadness, frequent now-- Be Thou the G.o.d that once Thou wert, And calm my breast, and clear my brow.
'I'm now no more a little child O'ershadowed by Thy mighty wing; My very dreams seem now more wild Than those my slumbers used to bring.
'I further see--I deeper feel-- With hope more warm, but heart less mild; And former things new shapes reveal, All strangely brightened or despoiled.
'I'm entering on Life's open tide; So--farewell childhood's sh.o.r.es divine!
And, oh, my Father, deign to guide, Through these wide waters, Caroline!'
The second is:
ON CAROLINE.
'The light of thy ancestral hall, Thy Caroline, no longer smiles: She has changed her palace for a pall, Her garden walks for minster aisles: Eternal sleep has stilled her breast Where peace and pleasure made their shrine; Her golden head has sunk to rest-- Oh, would that rest made calmer mine!
'To thee, while watching o'er the bed Where, mute and motionless, she lay, How slow the midnight moments sped!
How void of sunlight woke the day!
Nor ope'd her eyes to morning's beam, Though all around thee woke to her; Nor broke thy raven-pinioned dream Of coffin, shroud, and sepulchre.
'Why beats thy breast when hers is still?
Why linger'st thou when she is gone?
Hop'st thou to light on good or ill?
To find companions.h.i.+p alone?
Perhaps thou think'st the churchyard stone Can hide past smiles and bury sighs: That Memory, with her soul, has flown; That thou canst leave her where she lies.
'No! joy _itself_ is but a shade, So well may its remembrance die; But cares, life's conquerors, never fade, So strong is their reality!
Thou may'st forget the day which gave That child of beauty to thy side, But not the moment when the grave Took back again thy borrowed bride.'
Here Branwell, though he has changed the form of expression and the circ.u.mstance of the loss, is still occupied with the same theme of family bereavement, with which Charlotte herself was so much impressed.
The following was intended as the first canto of a long poem. It also is ent.i.tled, 'Caroline;' and is the soliloquy of one 'Harriet,' who mourns for her sister, the subject of the poem, calling to mind her early recollection of the death and funeral of the departed one. It is extremely probable that Branwell made 'Harriet' a vehicle of expression for Charlotte or Emily, as he had adopted the name of 'Caroline' for Maria.
CAROLINE.
'Calm and clear the day declining, Lends its brightness to the air, With a slanted sunlight s.h.i.+ning, Mixed with shadows stretching far: Slow the river pales its glancing, Soft its waters cease their dancing, As the hush of eve advancing Tells our toils that rest is near.
'Why is such a silence given To this summer day's decay?
Does our earth feel aught of Heaven?
Can the voice of Nature pray?
And when daylight's toils are done, Beneath its mighty Maker's throne.
Can it, for noontide suns.h.i.+ne gone, Its debt with smiles repay?
'Quiet airs of sacred gladness Breathing through these woodlands wild, O'er the whirl of mortal madness Spread the slumbers of a child: These surrounding sweeps of trees Swaying to the evening breeze, With a voice like distant seas, Making music mild.
'Woodchurch Hall above them lowering Dark against the pearly sky, With its cl.u.s.tered chimneys towering, Wakes the wind while pa.s.sing by: And in old ancestral glory, Round that scene of ancient story, All its oak-trees, huge and h.o.a.ry, Wave their boughs on high.
''Mid those gables there is one-- The soonest dark when day is gone-- Which, when autumn winds are strongest, Moans the most and echoes longest.