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Charlotte Bronte - Apostasy
Work rating: Medium

THIS last denial of my faith, 
  Thou, solemn Priest, hast heard; 
And, though upon my bed of death,
  I call not back a word.
Point not to thy Madonna, Priest,­
  Thy sightless saint of stone; 
She cannot, from this burning breast,
  Wring one repentant moan. 

Thou say`st, that when a sinless child, 
  I duly bent the knee,
And prayed to what in marble smiled 
  Cold, lifeless, mute, on me.
I did. But listen ! Children spring 
  Full soon to riper youth;
And, for Love`s vow and Wedlock`s ring, 
  I sold my early truth. 

`Twas not a grey, bare head, like thine, 
  Bent o`er me, when I said,
" That land and God and Faith are mine, 
  For which thy fathers bled."
I see thee not, my eyes are dim; 
  But, well I hear thee say,
" O daughter, cease to think of him 
  Who led thy soul astray. 

Between you lies both space and time; 
  Let leagues and years prevail
To turn thee from the path of crime, 
  Back to the Church`s pale."
And, did I need that thou shouldst tell 
  What mighty barriers rise
To part me from that dungeon-cell, 
  Where my loved Walter lies ? 

And, did I need that thou shouldst taunt 
  My dying hour at last,
By bidding this worn spirit pant 
  No more for what is past ? 
Priest­must I cease to think of him ?
  How hollow rings that word !
Can time, can tears, can distance dim
  The memory of my lord ? 

I said before, I saw not thee,
  Because, an hour agone,
Over my eye-balls, heavily,
  The lids fell down like stone.
But still my spirit`s inward sight
  Beholds his image beam
As fixed, as clear, as burning bright,
  As some red planet`s gleam. 

Talk not of thy Last Sacrament,
  Tell not thy beads for me;
Both rite and prayer are vainly spent,
  As dews upon the sea.
Speak not one word of Heaven above,
  Rave not of Hell`s alarms;
Give me but back my Walter`s love,
  Restore me to his arms ! 

Then will the bliss of Heaven be won;
  Then will Hell shrink away,
As I have seen night`s terrors shun
  The conquering steps of day.
`Tis my religion thus to love,
  My creed thus fixed to be;
Not Death shall shake, nor Priestcraft break
  My rock-like constancy ! 


Now go; for at the door there waits 
  Another stranger guest:
He calls­I come­my pulse scarce beats, 
  My heart fails in my breast.
Again that voice­how far away, 
  How dreary sounds that tone !
And I, methinks, am gone astray 
  In trackless wastes and lone. 

I fain would rest a little while:
  Where can I find a stay,
Till dawn upon the hills shall smile,
  And show some trodden way ?
" I come ! I come !" in haste she said,
   " `Twas Walter`s voice I heard !"
Then up she sprang­but fell back, dead, 
  His name her latest word.
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