Page:Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë, 1846).djvu/66

56 False thought—false hope—in scorn be banished!

I am not loved—nor loved have been;

Recall not, then, the dreams scarce vanished,

Traitors! mislead me not again!

To words like yours I bid defiance,

'Tis such my mental wreck have made;

Of God alone, and self-reliance,

I ask for solace—hope for aid.

Morn comes—and ere meridian glory

O'er these, my natal woods, shall smile,

Both lonely wood and mansion hoary

I'll leave behind, full many a mile.

.

ANTICIPATION.

beautiful the earth is still,

To thee—how full of happiness!

How little fraught with real ill,

Or unreal phantoms of distress!

How spring can bring thee glory, yet,

And summer win thee to forget