Written: September 3rd. 1845.  First Published: 1902.

Another Gondal poem. In the manuscript, a second 'l' has been deleted from the word 'untill' (2nd verse), and the word 'copse' added to the third: these alterations appear not to have been made by Anne. They may be in Charlotte's handwriting, or equally, in that of a later editor.

(See also: Chitham, 'The Poems of Anne Brontë', p.121 & p.187)

We know where deepest lies the snow,
And where the frost-winds keenest blow,
            O'er every mountain's brow,
We long have known and learnt to bear
The wandering outlaw's toil and care,
But where we late were hunted, there
            Our foes are hunted now.

We have their princely homes, and they
To our wild haunts are chased away,
            Dark woods, and desert caves.
And we can range from hill to hill,
And chase our vanquished victors still;
Small respite will they find until
            They slumber in their graves.

But I would rather be the hare,
That crouching in its sheltered lair
            Must start at every sound;
That forced from cornfields waving wide
Is driven to seek the bare hillside,
Or in the tangled copse to hide,
            Than be the hunter's hound.

Copyright © 2000 Michael Armitage

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