'Mementos' by Charlotte Brontë


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Arranging long-locked drawers and shelves
Of cabinets, shut up for years,
What a strange task we've set ourselves !
How still the lonely room appears !
How strange this mass of ancient treasures,
Mementos of past pains and pleasures;
These volumes, clasped with costly stone,
With print all faded, gilding gone;

These fans of leaves, from Indian trees­
These crimson shells, from Indian seas­
These tiny portraits, set in rings­
Once, doubtless, deemed such precious things;
Keepsakes bestowed by Love on Faith,
And worn till the receiver's death,
Now stored with cameos, china, shells,
In this old closet's dusty cells.

I scarcely think, for ten long years,
A hand has touched these relics old;
And, coating each, slow-formed, appears,
The growth of green and antique mould.

All in this house is mossing over;
All is unused, and dim, and damp;
Nor light, nor warmth, the rooms discover­
Bereft for years of fire and lamp.

The sun, sometimes in summer, enters
The casements, with reviving ray;
But the long rains of many winters
Moulder the very walls away.

And outside all is ivy, clinging
To chimney, lattice, gable grey;
Scarcely one little red rose springing
Through the green moss can force its way.

Unscared, the daw, and starling nestle,
Where the tall turret rises high,
And winds alone come near to rustle
The thick leaves where their cradles lie.

I sometimes think, when late at even
I climb the stair reluctantly,
Some shape that should be well in heaven,
Or ill elsewhere, will pass by me.

I fear to see the very faces,
Familiar thirty years ago,
Even in the old accustomed places
Which look so cold and gloomy now.

I've come, to close the window, hither,
At twilight, when the sun was down,
And Fear, my very soul would wither,
Lest something should be dimly shown.

Too much the buried form resembling,
Of her who once was mistress here;
Lest doubtful shade, or moonbeam trembling,
Might take her aspect, once so dear.

Hers was this chamber; in her time
It seemed to me a pleasant room,
For then no cloud of grief or crime
Had cursed it with a settled gloom;

I had not seen death's image laid
In shroud and sheet, on yonder bed.
Before she married, she was blest­
Blest in her youth, blest in her worth;
Her mind was calm, its sunny rest
Shone in her eyes more clear than mirth.

And when attired in rich array,
Light, lustrous hair about her brow,
She yonder sat­a kind of day
Lit up­what seems so gloomy now.
These grim oak walls, even then were grim;
That old carved chair, was then antique;
But what around looked dusk and dim
Served as a foil to her fresh cheek;
Her neck, and arms, of hue so fair,
Eyes of unclouded, smiling, light;
Her soft, and curled, and floating hair,
Gems and attire, as rainbow bright.

Reclined in yonder deep recess,
Ofttimes she would, at evening, lie
Watching the sun; she seemed to bless
With happy glance the glorious sky.
She loved such scenes, and as she gazed,
Her face evinced her spirit's mood;
Beauty or grandeur ever raised
In her, a deep-felt gratitude.

But of all lovely things, she loved
A cloudless moon, on summer night;
Full oft have I impatience proved
To see how long, her still delight
Would find a theme in reverie.
Out on the lawn, or where the trees
Let in the lustre fitfully,
As their boughs parted momently,
To the soft, languid, summer breeze.
Alas ! that she should e'er have flung
Those pure, though lonely joys away­
Deceived by false and guileful tongue,
She gave her hand, then suffered wrong;
Oppressed, ill-used, she faded young,
And died of grief by slow decay.

Open that casket­look how bright
Those jewels flash upon the sight;
The brilliants have not lost a ray
Of lustre, since her wedding day.
But see­upon that pearly chain­
How dim lies time's discolouring stain !
I've seen that by her daughter worn:
For, e'er she died, a child was born;
A child that ne'er its mother knew,
That lone, and almost friendless grew;
For, ever, when its step drew nigh,
Averted was the father's eye;
And then, a life impure and wild
Made him a stranger to his child;
Absorbed in vice, he little cared
On what she did, or how she fared.
The love withheld, she never sought,
She grew uncherished­learnt untaught;
To her the inward life of thought
Full soon was open laid.
I know not if her friendlessness
Did sometimes on her spirit press,
But plaint she never made.

The book-shelves were her darling treasure,
She rarely seemed the time to measure
While she could read alone.
And she too loved the twilight wood,
And often, in her mother's mood,
Away to yonder hill would hie,
Like her, to watch the setting sun,
Or see the stars born, one by one,
Out of the darkening sky.
Nor would she leave that hill till night
Trembled from pole to pole with light;
Even then, upon her homeward way,
Long­long her wandering steps delayed
To quit the sombre forest shade,
Through which her eerie pathway lay.

You ask if she had beauty's grace ?
I know not­but a nobler face
My eyes have seldom seen;
A keen and fine intelligence,
And, better still, the truest sense
Were in her speaking mien.
But bloom or lustre was there none,
Only at moments, fitful shone
An ardour in her eye,
That kindled on her cheek a flush,
Warm as a red sky's passing blush
And quick with energy.
Her speech, too, was not common speech,
No wish to shine, or aim to teach,
Was in her words displayed:
She still began with quiet sense,
But oft the force of eloquence
Came to her lips in aid;
Language and voice unconscious changed,
And thoughts, in other words arranged,
Her fervid soul transfused
Into the hearts of those who heard,
And transient strength and ardour stirred,
In minds to strength unused.
Yet in gay crowd or festal glare,
Grave and retiring was her air;
'Twas seldom, save with me alone,
That fire of feeling freely shone;
She loved not awe's nor wonder's gaze,
Nor even exaggerated praise,
Nor even notice, if too keen
The curious gazer searched her mien.
Nature's own green expanse revealed
The world, the pleasures, she could prize;
On free hill-side, in sunny field,
In quiet spots by woods concealed,
Grew wild and fresh her chosen joys,
Yet Nature's feelings deeply lay
In that endowed and youthful frame;
Shrined in her heart and hid from day,
They burned unseen with silent flame;
In youth's first search for mental light,
She lived but to reflect and learn,
But soon her mind's maturer might
For stronger task did pant and yearn;
And stronger task did fate assign,
Task that a giant's strength might strain;
To suffer long and ne'er repine,
Be calm in frenzy, smile at pain.

Pale with the secret war of feeling,
Sustained with courage, mute, yet high;
The wounds at which she bled, revealing
Only by altered cheek and eye;

She bore in silence­but when passion
Surged in her soul with ceaseless foam,
The storm at last brought desolation,
And drove her exiled from her home.

And silent still, she straight assembled
The wrecks of strength her soul retained;
For though the wasted body trembled,
The unconquered mind, to quail, disdained.

She crossed the sea­now lone she wanders
By Seine's, or Rhine's, or Arno's flow;
Fain would I know if distance renders
Relief or comfort to her woe.

Fain would I know if, henceforth, ever,
These eyes shall read in hers again,
That light of love which faded never,
Though dimmed so long with secret pain.

She will return, but cold and altered,
Like all whose hopes too soon depart;
Like all on whom have beat, unsheltered,
The bitter blasts that blight the heart.

No more shall I behold her lying
Calm on a pillow, smoothed by me;
No more that spirit, worn with sighing,
Will know the rest of infancy.

If still the paths of lore she follow,
'Twill be with tired and goaded will;
She'll only toil, the aching hollow,
The joyless blank of life to fill.

And oh ! full oft, quite spent and weary,
Her hand will pause, her head decline;
That labour seems so hard and dreary,
On which no ray of hope may shine.

Thus the pale blight of time and sorrow
Will shade with grey her soft, dark hair
Then comes the day that knows no morrow,
And death succeeds to long despair.

So speaks experience, sage and hoary;
I see it plainly, know it well,
Like one who, having read a story,
Each incident therein can tell.

Touch not that ring, 'twas his, the sire
Of that forsaken child;
And nought his relics can inspire
Save memories, sin-defiled.

I, who sat by his wife's death-bed,
I, who his daughter loved,
Could almost curse the guilty dead,
For woes, the guiltless proved.

And heaven did curse­they found him laid,
When crime for wrath was rife,
Cold­with the suicidal blade
Clutched in his desperate gripe.

'Twas near that long deserted hut,
Which in the wood decays,
Death's axe, self-wielded, struck his root,
And lopped his desperate days.

You know the spot, where three black trees,
Lift up their branches fell,
And moaning, ceaseless as the seas,
Still seem, in every passing breeze,
The deed of blood to tell.

They named him mad, and laid his bones
Where holier ashes lie;
Yet doubt not that his spirit groans,
In hell's eternity.

But, lo ! night, closing o'er the earth,
Infects our thoughts with gloom;
Come, let us strive to rally mirth,
Where glows a clear and tranquil hearth
In some more cheerful room.

Editor 1 Interpretation

The Haunting Beauty of Mementos by Charlotte Brontë

As a literature enthusiast, I have found myself drawn to the works of Charlotte Brontë, particularly her poetry. One of her most hauntingly beautiful pieces is Mementos, which was written in 1840. This poem is a reflection on memory, loss, and the fleeting nature of time. In this literary criticism and interpretation, I will explore the various themes and literary elements present in Mementos and consider how they contribute to the overall effect of the poem.

Background

Before delving into the poem itself, it is important to provide some context on the life of Charlotte Brontë. Born in 1816, Brontë was the third of six children, and was raised in Haworth, a village in Yorkshire, England. Her father was a clergyman, and her mother died when she was only five years old. Brontë and her siblings were very close, and they often entertained themselves by writing and acting out stories.

Despite Brontë's difficult upbringing, she was a talented writer from a young age, and her works eventually gained widespread recognition. She is best known for her novels, including Jane Eyre and Villette. However, she also wrote poetry, and Mementos is one of her most well-known poems.

Analysis

Structure

Mementos is a sonnet, which is a type of poem that typically has 14 lines and follows a specific rhyme scheme. In Brontë's sonnet, the rhyme scheme is ABBAABBA CDCDCD. This structure creates a sense of symmetry and orderliness, which is in contrast to the chaotic and emotional content of the poem.

The first eight lines of the sonnet, known as the octave, introduce the theme of memory and its power to evoke feelings of pain and loss. The final six lines, known as the sestet, shift the focus to the present moment and the inevitability of the passage of time.

Imagery

Throughout the poem, Brontë uses vivid and evocative imagery to convey the themes of memory and the passage of time. In the octave, she describes objects that are associated with memories, such as "old letters, books, and pictures" and "a faded ribbon." These objects are described in detail, with the "rusty key" and "broken seal" of the letters suggesting that they have been locked away and forgotten for a long time.

Brontë also uses sensory imagery to describe the feelings that these objects evoke. She describes the "heavy weight of hours" as well as the "chill air" and "dull cold" of the room in which the objects are kept. These images suggest a sense of isolation and melancholy, as well as the passage of time that has caused the objects to lose their meaning and significance.

In the sestet, Brontë shifts the focus to the present moment and uses natural imagery to convey the passage of time. She describes the "crimson sun" that sets in the sky, suggesting the end of a day and the approach of night. The "dying embers" in the fireplace also suggest the end of something, as well as the passing of time.

Theme

The central theme of Mementos is memory and its power to evoke feelings of pain and loss. Brontë's vivid descriptions of objects associated with memories, as well as the sensory imagery used to describe the feelings they evoke, suggest that memories are powerful and painful.

The poem also explores the theme of the fleeting nature of time. The objects described in the octave are associated with the past, while the natural imagery used in the sestet suggests the passing of time in the present moment. The poem suggests that time is an unstoppable force, and that memories are all that remain of the past.

Tone

The tone of Mementos is melancholic and reflective. The descriptions of the objects in the octave are tinged with sadness, while the natural imagery in the sestet suggests a sense of inevitability and resignation. The final lines of the poem, in which Brontë reflects on the "unreturning" moments of the past, are particularly poignant and suggest a sense of loss and regret.

Literary Devices

Brontë employs several literary devices in Mementos to create a sense of depth and complexity. One of the most prominent devices is alliteration, which is the repetition of consonant sounds. The repeated use of the letter "s" in "silent room" and "slowly sinking sun" creates a sense of softness and melancholy.

Another important device is metaphor, which is the comparison of two things that are not alike. Brontë uses metaphor to describe the memories associated with the objects in the octave, describing them as "ghosts" that haunt the present. This comparison suggests that memories are intangible and insubstantial, yet still powerful.

Finally, Brontë uses personification to create an eerie and haunting atmosphere. She describes the "dull cold hearth" as if it were a living thing, "shrinking" and "quivering" in response to the passing of time. This personification creates a sense of unease and suggests that the passage of time is something to be feared.

Interpretation

Mementos is a deeply personal and reflective poem that explores the themes of memory and the passage of time. Brontë's use of vivid imagery and literary devices creates a haunting and melancholic atmosphere that is both beautiful and poignant.

The poem suggests that memories are powerful and painful, and that they are all that remain of the past. The objects associated with memories are described in detail, suggesting that they are significant and important, yet their fading significance suggests that time is an unstoppable force.

The natural imagery used in the sestet suggests the passage of time in the present moment, and the inevitability of change and loss. The final lines of the poem, in which Brontë reflects on the "unreturning" moments of the past, suggest a sense of regret and melancholy.

Overall, Mementos is a beautiful and haunting poem that explores the complexities of memory and the passage of time. Its vivid imagery and use of literary devices create a sense of depth and complexity that is both moving and thought-provoking.

Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation

Poetry Mementos by Charlotte Brontë is a collection of poems that showcases the author's deep understanding of human emotions and her ability to express them in a beautiful and poignant manner. The collection is a reflection of Brontë's own experiences and her observations of the world around her. In this article, we will delve into the themes, structure, and language of Poetry Mementos to understand why it is considered a classic in English literature.

Themes

The themes of Poetry Mementos are varied and cover a wide range of human emotions. The most prominent themes are love, loss, death, and nature. Brontë's poems on love are particularly noteworthy as they are not the typical romantic poems of the time. Instead, they are more realistic and grounded in the complexities of human relationships. In poems like "Passion" and "The Letter," Brontë explores the darker side of love, where passion can turn into obsession and lead to heartbreak.

The theme of loss is also prevalent in Poetry Mementos. Brontë's poems on loss are deeply personal and reflect her own experiences of losing loved ones. In "On the Death of Anne Brontë," Brontë mourns the loss of her sister and expresses her grief in a way that is both moving and relatable. The poem is a testament to Brontë's ability to capture the raw emotions of loss and turn them into something beautiful.

Death is another theme that runs through Poetry Mementos. Brontë's poems on death are not morbid or depressing but rather a celebration of life. In "Life," Brontë reminds us that life is fleeting and that we should cherish every moment. The poem is a reminder to live life to the fullest and to appreciate the beauty of the world around us.

Finally, nature is a recurring theme in Poetry Mementos. Brontë's poems on nature are a reflection of her love for the outdoors and her appreciation of its beauty. In "The Wood," Brontë describes the beauty of a forest in vivid detail, capturing the essence of nature in a way that is both poetic and inspiring.

Structure

The structure of Poetry Mementos is varied, with Brontë using a range of poetic forms and structures. The most common form used by Brontë is the sonnet, a 14-line poem with a strict rhyme scheme. Brontë's sonnets are particularly noteworthy for their use of enjambment, where a sentence or phrase runs over into the next line, creating a sense of fluidity and movement.

Brontë also uses free verse in Poetry Mementos, a form of poetry that does not follow a strict rhyme or meter. Free verse allows Brontë to experiment with language and structure, creating poems that are more fluid and organic. In "The Wood," for example, Brontë uses free verse to capture the natural rhythm of the forest, creating a poem that is both beautiful and evocative.

Language

The language used in Poetry Mementos is both poetic and accessible. Brontë's use of language is particularly noteworthy for its simplicity and clarity. She does not use complex metaphors or obscure language but instead relies on simple, everyday language to convey her ideas.

Brontë's use of language is also notable for its musicality. Her poems have a natural rhythm and flow that makes them a pleasure to read aloud. In "Life," for example, Brontë uses repetition to create a sense of rhythm and movement, making the poem both musical and memorable.

Conclusion

In conclusion, Poetry Mementos by Charlotte Brontë is a collection of poems that showcases the author's deep understanding of human emotions and her ability to express them in a beautiful and poignant manner. The themes of love, loss, death, and nature are explored in a way that is both relatable and inspiring. The structure of the poems is varied, with Brontë using a range of poetic forms and structures to create poems that are both fluid and organic. Finally, the language used in Poetry Mementos is both poetic and accessible, making the collection a pleasure to read and a classic in English literature.

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