Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, WRITTEN TO GAALDINE PRISON CAVES TO A.G.A., by EMILY JANE BRONTE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

WRITTEN TO GAALDINE PRISON CAVES TO A.G.A., by                 Poet's Biography
First Line: Thy sun is near meridian height
Last Line: This hell shall wring thy spirit too!
Alternate Author Name(s): Bell, Ellis
Subject(s): Conduct Of Life; Death; Dead, The


Thy sun is near meridian height
And my sun sinks in endless night
But if that night bring only sleep
Then I shall rest, while thou wilt weep.

And say not, that my early tomb
Will give me to a darker doom --
Shall these long, agonizing years
Be punished by eternal tears?

No, that I feel can never be;
A God of hate could hardly bear
To watch, through all eternity,
His own creation's dread despair!

The pangs that wring my mortal breast
Must claim from Justice, lasting rest:
Enough, that this departing breath
Will pass in anguish worse than death.

If I have sinned, long, long ago
That sin was purified by woe --
I've suffered on through night and day;
I've trod a dark and frightful way.

Earth's wilderness was round me spread
Heaven's tempests beat my naked head --
I did not kneel: in vain would prayer
Have sought one gleam of mercy there!

How could I ask for pitying love
When that grim concave frowned above
Hoarding its lightnings to destroy
My only and my priceless joy?

They struck and long may Eden shine
Ere I would call its glories mine
All Heaven's undreamt felicity
Could never blot the past from me --

No, years may cloud and death may sever
But what is done is done for ever --
And thou false friend, and treacherous guide,
Go sate thy cruel heart with pride --

Go, load my memory with shame;
Speak but to curse my hated name;
My tortured limbs in dungeons bind
And spare my life to kill my mind --

Leave me in chains and darkness now
And when my very soul is worn;
When reason's light has left my brow
And madness cannot feel thy scorn;

Then come again -- thou wilt not shrink;
I know thy soul is free from fear
The last full cup of triumph drink,
Before the blank of death be there --

Thy raving, dying victim see;
Lost, cursed, degraded -- all for thee!
Gaze on the wretch -- recall to mind
His golden days left long behind.

Does memory sleep in Lethean rest?
Or wakes its whisper in thy breast?
O memory, wake! Let scenes return
That even her haughty heart must mourn!

Reveal, where o'er a lone green wood
The moon of summer pours
Far down from heaven, its silver flood
On deep Elderno's shores --

There, lingering in the wild embrace
Youth's warm affections gave
She sits, and fondly seems to trace
His features in the wave --

And while, on that reflected face
Her eyes intently dwell:
'Fernando, sing tonight,' she says,
'The lays I love so well.'

He smiles and sings, though every air
Betrays the faith of yesterday:
His soul is glad to cast for her
Virtue and faith and Heaven away.

Well, thou hast paid me back my love!
But, if there be a God above
Whose arm is strong, whose word is true
This hell shall wring thy spirit too!





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