Page:Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë, 1846).djvu/168

158 Fresh roots shall plant, fresh seed shall sow,

Till a new garden there shall grow,

Cleared of the weeds that fill it now,—

Mere human love, mere selfish yearning,

Which, cherished, would arrest me yet.

I grasp the plough, there's no returning,

Let me, then, struggle to forget.

But England's shores are yet in view,

And England's skies of tender blue

Are arched above her guardian sea.

I cannot yet Remembrance flee;

I must again, then, firmly face

That task of anguish, to retrace.

Wedded to home—I home forsake,

Fearful of change—I changes make;

Too fond of ease—I plunge in toil;

Lover of calm—I seek turmoil:

Nature and hostile Destiny

Stir in my heart a conflict wild;

And long and fierce the war will be

Ere duty both has reconciled.

What other tie yet holds me fast

To the divorced, abandoned past?

Smouldering, on my heart's altar lies

The fire of some great sacrifice,

Not yet half quenched. The sacred steel

But lately struck my carnal will,