lirik lagu the teacher' s monologue - ghizela rowe - charlotte bronte
the room is quiet, thoughts alone
people its mute tranquillity;
the yoke put on, the long task done,
i am, as it is bliss to be
still and untroubled. now, i see
for the first time, how soft the day
o’er waveless water, stirless tree
silent and sunny, wings its way
now, as i watch that distant hill
so faint, so blue, so far removed
sweet dreams of home my heart may fill
that home where i am known and loved:
it lies beyond; yon azure brow
parts me from all earth holds for me;
and, morn and eve, my yearnings flow
thitherward tending, changelessly
my happiest hours, aye ! all the time
i love to keep in memory
lapsed among moors, ere life’s first prime
decayed to dark anxiety
sometimes, i think a narrow heart
makes me thus mourn those far away
and keeps my love so far apart
from friends and friendships of to~day;
sometimes, i think ’tis but a dream
i measure up so jealously
all the sweet thoughts i live on seem
to vanish into vacancy:
and then, this strange, co~rs~ world around
seems all that’s palpable and true;
and every sight, and every sound
combines my spirit to subdue
to aching grief, so void and lone
is life and earthso worse than vain
the hopes that, in my own heart sown
and cherished by such sun and rain
as joy and transient sorrow shed
have ripened to a harvest there:
alas ! methinks i hear it said
“thy golden sheaves are empty air.”
all fades away; my very home
i think will soon be desolate;
i hear, at times, a warning come
of bitter partings at its gate;
and, if i should return and see
the hearth~fire quenched, the vacant chair;
and hear it whispered mournfully
that farewells have been spoken there
what shall i do, and whither turn?
where look for peace ? when cease to mourn?
’tis not the air i wished to play
the strain i wished to sing;
my wilful spirit slipped away
and struck another string
i neither wanted smile nor tear
bright joy nor bitter woe
but just a song that sweet and clear
though haply sad, might flow
a quiet song, to solace me
when sleep refused to come;
a strain to chase despondency
when sorrowful for home
in vain i try; i cannot sing;
all feels so cold and dead;
no wild distress, no gushing spring
of tears in anguish shed;
but all the impatient gloom of one
who waits a distant day
when, some great task of suffering done
repose shall toil repay
for youth departs, and pleasure flies
and life consumes away
and youth’s rejoicing ardour dies
beneath this drear delay;
and patience, weary with her yoke
is yielding to despair
and health’s elastic spring is broke
beneath the strain of care
life will be gone ere i have lived;
where now is life’s first prime?
i’ve worked and studied, longed and grieved
through all that rosy time
to toil, to think, to long, to grieve,
is such my future fate?
the morn was dreary, must the eve
be also desolate?
well, such a life at least makes death
a welcome, wished~for friend;
then, aid me, reason, patience, faith
to suffer to the end!
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