Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell. Anne Bronte

responsive to her gaze.

       Aye,—­well that single tear may fall;

       Ten thousand might mine eyes recall,

       Which from their lids, ran blinding fast,

       In hours of grief, yet scarcely past,

       Well may'st thou speak of love to me;

       For, oh! most truly—­I love thee!

       Yet smile­—for we are happy now.

       Whence, then, that sadness on thy brow?

       What say'st thou? "We must once again,

       Ere long, be severed by the main?"

       I knew not this—­I deemed no more,

       Thy step would err from Britain's shore.

       ​"Duty commands?" 'Tis true­—'tis just;

       Thy slightest word I wholly trust,

       Nor by request, nor faintest sigh

       Would I, to turn thy purpose, try;

       But, William—­hear my solemn vow—­

       Hear and confirm!—­with thee I go.

       "Distance and suffering," did'st thou say?

       "Danger by night, and toil by day?"

       Oh, idle words, and vain are these;

       Hear me! I cross with thee the seas.

       Such risk as thou must meet and dare,

       I—­thy true wife—­will duly share.

       Passive, at home, I will not pine;

       Thy toils­—thy perils, shall be mine;

       Grant this—­and be hereafter paid

       By a warm heart's devoted aid:

       'Tis granted—­with that yielding kiss,

       Entered my soul unmingled bliss.

       Thanks, William—­thanks! thy love has joy,

       Pure—­undefiled with base alloy;

       'Tis not a passion, false and blind,

       Inspires, enchains, absorbs my mind;

       Worthy, I feel, art thou to be

       Loved with my perfect energy.

       This evening, now, shall sweetly flow,

       Lit by our clear fire's happy glow;

       ​And parting's peace-embittering fear,

       Is warned, our hearts to come not near;

       For fate admits my soul's decree,

       In bliss or bale—to go with thee!

      Currer.