Anne Brontë

Anne Brontë

1820–1849 · lived 29 years -- --

Anne Brontë was an English novelist and poet, the youngest of the three Brontë sisters. Her works often explored themes of social injustice, the constraints placed upon women, and the search for personal and spiritual freedom. She is known for her honest and often unflinching portrayal of characters and their struggles within the societal norms of her time.

n. 1820-01-17, Thornton, West Yorkshire · m. 1849-05-28, Scarborough

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Weep Not Too Much

Weep Not Too Much

Weep not too much, my darling;
Sigh not too oft for me;
Say not the face of Nature
Has lost its charm for thee.
I have enough of anguish
In my own breast alone;
Thou canst not ease the burden, Love,
By adding still thine own.
I know the faith and fervour
Of that true heart of thine;
But I would have it hopeful
As thou wouldst render mine.
At night, when I lie waking,
More soothing it will be
To say 'She slumbers calmly now,'
Than say 'She weeps for me.'

When through the prison grating
The holy moonbeams shine,
And I am wildly longing
To see the orb divine
Not crossed, deformed, and sullied
By those relentless bars
That will not show the crescent moon,
And scarce the twinkling stars,

It is my only comfort
To think, that unto thee
The sight is not forbidden The
face of heaven is free.
If I could think Zerona
Is gazing upward now Is
gazing with a tearless eye
A calm unruffled brow;

That moon upon her spirit
Sheds sweet, celestial balm, The
thought, like Angel's whisper,
My misery would calm.
And when, at early morning,
A faint flush comes to me,
Reflected from those glowing skies
I almost weep to see;

Or when I catch the murmur
Of gently swaying trees,
Or hear the louder swelling
Of the soulinspiring
breeze,
And pant to feel its freshness
Upon my burning brow,
Or sigh to see the twinkling leaf,
And watch the waving bough;


If, from these fruitless yearnings
Thou wouldst deliver me,
Say that the charms of Nature
Are lovely still to thee;
While I am thus repining,
O! let me but believe,
'These pleasures are not lost to her,'
And I will cease to grieve.

O, scorn not Nature's bounties!
My soul partakes with thee.
Drink bliss from all her fountains,
Drink for thyself and me!
Say not, 'My soul is buried
In dungeon gloom with thine;'
But say, 'His heart is here with me;
His spirit drinks with mine.'

A.E.
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Bio

Identification and basic context

Anne Brontë, also known by her pseudonym Acton Bell, was an English novelist and poet. She was the youngest of the Brontë siblings. Her family background was that of a clergyman's daughter in the early 19th century, a period of significant social and economic change. She was English and wrote in English.

Childhood and education

Born into a literary family, Anne's early life was shaped by her father's clerical duties and the remote parsonage at Haworth. She received a basic education at home and later attended Roe Head school with her sisters, though she did not stay long. She also served as a governess for a time. Early influences likely included religious teachings and the literary works her family read and discussed.

Literary trajectory

Anne Brontë began writing poetry early in life, a common practice among the Brontë siblings. Her literary career as a novelist began later, with the publication of 'Agnes Grey' in 1847, followed by 'The Tenant of Wildfell Hall' in 1848. These works, published under the pseudonym Acton Bell, were part of a joint publication with her sisters' novels.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Anne Brontë's major works include "Agnes Grey" (1847) and "The Tenant of Wildfell Hall" (1848). Her dominant themes revolved around the plight of governesses, the hypocrisy of society, marital abuse, alcoholism, and the struggle for female independence and moral integrity. Her style is characterized by its realism, directness, and moral earnestness, often presenting a stark contrast to the more romantic or Gothic elements found in her sisters' works. She was a pioneer in depicting the harsh realities faced by women in Victorian society, particularly in domestic and professional spheres. Her poetic voice is often clear, reasoned, and passionate about social justice.

Cultural and historical context

Anne Brontë lived during the Victorian era, a time of strict social conventions, particularly for women. As a woman, her professional options were limited, with governess positions being one of the few respectable avenues. The novel "The Tenant of Wildfell Hall" was controversial for its frank depiction of marital degradation and alcoholism, reflecting contemporary social issues and moral debates. She belonged to a generation of writers grappling with the changes brought about by industrialization and a growing awareness of social inequalities.

Personal life

Anne's personal life was marked by the close bonds with her sisters and father, and the tragic early deaths of her siblings. Her experiences as a governess likely informed "Agnes Grey." While not as publicly engaged as some contemporaries, her deep moral convictions and her passionate defense of her second novel suggest a strong personal will and commitment to her artistic vision.

Recognition and reception

Initially, Anne Brontë's novels, particularly "The Tenant of Wildfell Hall," faced criticism for their perceived coarseness and controversial subject matter. However, their literary merit and unflinching honesty have been increasingly recognized over time. "The Tenant of Wildfell Hall" is now considered a groundbreaking work of feminist literature and a powerful social commentary.

Influences and legacy

While direct influences are debated, Anne Brontë's writing shares a lineage with the realism of earlier novelists and her sisters' literary explorations. She, in turn, influenced subsequent generations of writers interested in social realism and feminist themes. Her legacy lies in her courageous depiction of female agency and her unflinching examination of social injustices, contributing significantly to the development of the novel as a vehicle for social critique.

Interpretation and critical analysis

"The Tenant of Wildfell Hall" has been interpreted as an early feminist text for its portrayal of a woman seeking escape from an abusive marriage and asserting her independence. Critics have analyzed its social realism, its psychological depth, and its theological undertones regarding redemption and personal responsibility.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Unlike her sisters Charlotte and Emily, Anne's temperament was often described as more reserved and outwardly conventional, yet her writing demonstrated a fierce independence of thought and a clear moral vision. Her dedication to her second novel, even after facing criticism, highlights a strong inner conviction.

Death and memory

Anne Brontë died at the age of 29, likely from tuberculosis, a disease that claimed many of her siblings. Her death occurred before her literary reputation had fully solidified, but her works have endured and grown in significance.

Poems

34

A Word To The 'Elect'

A Word To The 'Elect'

You may rejoice to think yourselves secure;
You may be grateful for the gift divine That
grace unsought, which made your black hearts pure,
And fits your earthborn
souls in Heaven to shine.
But, is it sweet to look around, and view
Thousands excluded from that happiness,
Which they deserved, at least, as much as you, Their
faults not greater, nor their virtues less?


And, wherefore should you love your God the more,
Because to you alone his smiles are given;
Because he chose to pass the many o'er,
And only bring the favoured few to Heaven?


And, wherefore should your hearts more grateful prove,
Because for ALL the Saviour did not die?
Is yours the God of justice and of love
And are your bosoms warm with charity?


Say, does your heart expand to all mankind?
And, would you ever to your neighbour do The
weak, the strong, the enlightened, and the blind As
you would have your neighbour do to you?


And, when you, looking on your fellowmen,
Behold them doomed to endless misery,
How can you talk of joy and rapture then? May
God withhold such cruel joy from me!


That none deserve eternal bliss I know;
Unmerited the grace in mercy given:
But, none shall sink to everlasting woe,
That have not well deserved the wrath of Heaven.


And, Oh! there lives within my heart
A hope, long nursed by me;
(And, should its cheering ray depart,
How dark my soul would be!)

That as in Adam all have died,
In Christ shall all men live;
And ever round his throne abide,
Eternal praise to give.

That even the wicked shall at last
Be fitted for the skies;
And, when their dreadful doom is past,
To life and light arise.

I ask not, how remote the day,
Nor what the sinner's woe,
Before their dross is purged away;


Enough for me, to know

That when the cup of wrath is drained,
The metal purified,

They'll cling to what they once disdained,
And live by Him that died.

Acton
86

A Hymn

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 thee,
And if indeed thy Son was sent
To save lost sinners such as me.


Then hear me now, while kneeling here;
I lift to thee my heart and eye
And all my soul ascends in prayer;
O give me give
me Faith I cry.


Without some glimmering in my heart,
I could not raise this fervent prayer;
But O a stronger light impart,
And in thy mercy fix it there!


While Faith is with me I am blest;
It turns my darkest night to day;
But while I clasp it to my breast
I often feel it slide away.


Then cold and dark my spirit sinks,
To see my light of life depart,
And every fiend of Hell methinks
Enjoys the anguish of my heart.


What shall I do if all my love,
My hopes, my toil, are cast away,
And if there be no God above
To hear and bless me when I pray?


If this be vain delusion all,
If death be an eternal sleep,
And none can hear my secret call,
Or see the silent tears I weep.


O help me God! for thou alone
Canst my distracted soul relieve;
Forsake it not it
is thine own,
Though weak yet longing to believe.


O drive these cruel doubts away
And make me know that thou art God;
A Faith that shines by night and day
Will lighten every earthly load.


If I believe that Jesus died
And waking rose to reign above,
Then surely Sorrow, Sin and Pride



Must yield to peace and hope and love.

And all the blessed words he said
Will strength and holy joy impart,
A shield of safety o'er my head,
A spring of comfort in my heart.
79

A Prisoner in a Dungeon Deep

A Prisoner in a Dungeon Deep

A prisoner in a dungeon deep
Sat musing silently;
His head was rested on his hand,
His elbow on his knee.
Turned he his thoughts to future times
Or are they backward cast?
For freedom is he pining now
Or mourning for the past?

No, he has lived so long enthralled
Alone in dungeon gloom
That he has lost regret and hope,
Has ceased to mourn his doom.

He pines not for the light of day
Nor sighs for freedom now;
Such weary thoughts have ceased at length
To rack his burning brow.

Lost in a maze of wandering thoughts
He sits unmoving there;
That posture and that look proclaim
The stupor of despair.

Yet not for ever did that mood
Of sullen calm prevail;
There was a something in his eye
That told another tale.

It did not speak of reason gone,
It was not madness quite;
It was a fitful flickering fire,
A strange uncertain light.

And sooth to say, these latter years
Strange fancies now and then
Had filled his cell with scenes of life
And forms of living men.

A mind that cannot cease to think
Why needs he cherish there?
Torpor may bring relief to pain
And madness to despair.

Such wildering scenes, such flitting shapes
As feverish dreams display:
What if those fancies still increase
And reason quite decay?

But hark, what sounds have struck his ear;
Voices of men they seem;

And two have entered now his cell;


Can this too be a dream?

'Orlando, hear our joyful news:
Revenge and liberty!

Your foes are dead, and we are come
At last to set you free.'

So spoke the elder of the two,
And in the captive's eyes

He looked for gleaming ecstasy
But only found surprise.

'My foes are dead! It must be then
That all mankind are gone.

For they were all my deadly foes
And friends I had not one.'
79

And yet my comrades marked it not,

And yet my comrades marked it not,
My voice was still the same;

They saw me smile, and o'er my face No
signs of sadness came;

They little knew my hidden thoughts
And they will never know

The anguish of my drooping heart,
The bitter aching woe!

Olivia Vernon.
83

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