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    Cottage Poems
    Cottage Poems
    Cottage Poems
    Ebook88 pages46 minutes

    Cottage Poems

    By Patrick Brontë

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 25, 2013

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      Book preview

      Cottage Poems - Patrick Brontë

      Cottage Poems, by Patrick Bronte

      The Project Gutenberg eBook, Cottage Poems, by Patrick Bronte

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

      Title: Cottage Poems

      Author: Patrick Bronte

      Release Date: November 16, 2005 [eBook #17081]

      Language: English

      Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)

      ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COTTAGE POEMS***

      Transcribed from the 1893 J. M. Dent edition of Poems of Charlotte, Emily & Anne Brontë with Cottage Poems by Patrick Brontë by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk

      COTTAGE POEMS.

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

      When warm’d with zeal, my rustic Muse

      Feels fluttering fain to tell her news,

      And paint her simple, lowly views

            With all her art,

      And, though in genius but obtuse,

            May touch the heart.

      Of palaces and courts of kings

      She thinks but little, never sings,

      But wildly strikes her uncouth strings

            In some pool cot,

      Spreads o’er the poor hen fostering wings,

            And soothes their lot.

      Well pleased is she to see them smile,

      And uses every honest wile

      To mend then hearts, their cares beguile,

            With rhyming story,

      And lend them to then God the while,

            And endless glory.

      Perchance, my poor neglected Muse

      Unfit to harass or amuse,

      Escaping praise and loud abuse,

            Unheard, unknown,

      May feed the moths and wasting dews,

            As some have done.

      Her aims are good, howe’er they end—

      Here comes a foe, and there a friend,

      These point the dart and those defend,

            Whilst some deride her;

      But God will sweetest comforts blend,

            Whate’er betide her.

      Thus heaven-supported, forth she goes

      Midst flatterers, critics, friends, and foes;

      Secure, since He who all things knows

            Approves her aim,

      And kindly fans, or fostering blows

            Her sinking flame.

      Hence, when she shows her honest face,

      And tells her tale with awkward grace,

      Importunate to gain a place

            Amongst your friends,

      To ruthless critics leave her case,

            And hail her ends.

      To all my heart is kind and true,

      But glows with ardent love for you;

      Though absent, still you rise in view,

            And talk and smile,

      Whilst heavenly themes, for ever new,

            Our cares beguile.

      The happy seasons oft return,

      When love our melting hearts did burn,

      As we through heavenly themes were borne

            With heavenward eyes,

      And Faith this empty globe would spurn,

            And sail the skies.

      Or, when the rising sun shines bright,

      Or, setting, leaves the world in night,

      Or, dazzling, sheds his noon-day light,

            Or, cloudy, hides,

      My fancy, in her airy flight,

            With you resides.

      Where far you wander down the vale,

      When balmy scents perfume the gale,

      And purling rills and linnets hail

            The King of kings,

      To muse with you I never fail,

            On heavenly things.

      Where dashing cataracts astound,

      And foaming shake the neighbouring ground,

      And spread a hoary mist around,

            With you I gaze!—

      And think, amid’st the deaf’ning sound,

            On wisdom’s ways.

      Where rocky mountains prop the skies,

      And round the smiling landscape lies,

      Whilst you look down with tearful eyes

            On grovelling man,

      My sympathetic fancy flies,

            The scene to scan.

      From Pisgah’s top we then survey

      The blissful realms of endless day,

      And all the short but narrow way

            That lies between,

      Whilst Faith emits a heavenly ray,

            And cheers the scene.

      With you I wander on the shore

      To hear the angry surges roar,

      Whilst foaming through the sands they pour

            With constant roll,

      And meditations heavenward soar,

            And charm the soul.

      On life’s rough sea we’re tempest-driven

      In crazy

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