Emily Bronte Reinforcements Single Elements

Emily Bronte

Reinforcements

Single elements of poetry, such as form, diction, and syntax can have powerful effects on the tone of a poem; however, it is when these elements are used in combination the tone becomes synergistic, and a single idea can be reinforced. The Prisoner and No Coward Soul of Mine, poems by Emily Bronte, use a combination of techniques to create a sense of enclosure.

The most evident technique Bronte uses is consistency of form. Just as gray mortar is indistinguishable from wall to wall and iron bars march in uniform single-file lines, Bronte's stanzas are almost invariably consistent.

No Coward Soul is Mine consists of seven stanzas: the first line of each stanza is iambic trimeter; the second and fourth are in iambic pentameter. The third lines of each stanza vary slightly; most of them are trochaic trimeter, but the first stanza contains an abbreviated line of trochaic hexameter, as does the last stanza. Even this differentiation has a predictable symmetry, and without detracting from the consistency of form, marks the beginning and end as significant.

The Prisoner contributes to its tone powerfully with sixteen stanzas of hexameter. The rhythm is tripped at the conflicting portions by shifting between trochaic and iambic hexameter. The climax of the poem is accompanied by a sudden variation in the number of feet: two of seven feet (lines fifty-two and fifty-three), one of eight feet (line fifty-four), and two more of seven feet (lines fifty-five and fifty-six). This variation conveys strong emotion that seems to overflow the constrains of meter. Furthermore, the enclosure symbolized by the majority of the form is broken in those lines, which is appropriate because the prisoner is describing why the prison will not remain her prison: "Yet these are little worth, your bolts and irons strong; / And, were they forged in steel, they could not hold me long" (Prisoner, 19-20).

Another technique that Bronte uses is analogous diction and syntax. Both diction and syntax and the feelings of the characters are directly linked so that any time the tone is a reflection of how the speaker is feeling instead of the purpose of the poem in its entirety.

No Coward Soul is Mine is not a self-glorifying piece, but rather a tribute to God and His power. Thus, the diction and syntax deride human purpose -- "Vain are the thousand creeds / That move men's hearts: unutterably vain / Worthless as withered weeds, / Or idlest froth amid the boundless main" (No, 9-12) -- and exalt divine purpose -- "Thou-Thou art Being and Breath, / And what Thou art may never be destroyed" (27-28). Alliteration and various flavors of internal rhyme are periodically used for emphasis. The line "worthless as withered weeds" (11) seems to grind in the utter abomination of personal pride.

The Prisoner has multiple characters, and thus the shifts in diction and syntax are more pronounced. The three characters are the speaker, a visitor to the dungeon who tells this story mostly in apology; the Warder, self-professed as "rough and rude" (Prisoner, 27); and the prisoner, a delicate girl "...as soft and mild / As sculptured marble saint" (13-14). The most noticeable shift is from the Warder, marked by hard consonants and guttural vowels -- "But hard as hardest flint the soul that lurks behind" (26) -- to the prisoner, who uses softer consonants with purer vowels: "When you my kindred's lives, MY lost life, can restore / Then may I weep and sue -- but never, friend, before!" (32).

These techniques spin a complex web of meaning that, rather than obscuring meaning, reinforce the meaning already clearly spoken. This clarity of expression is necessary for Bronte to establish the distance and isolation of the characters she creates, and the create a poem that can be read with the same meaning over many generations of readers.

No Coward Soul is Mine (Emily Bronte)

01 No coward soul is mine, 02 No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere:

03 I see Heaven's glories shine, 04 And Faith shines equal, arming me from Fear.

05 O. God within my breast, 06 Almighty, ever-present Deity!

07 Life, that in me has rest, 08 As I, undying Life, have power in Thee!

09 Vain are the thousand creeds

10 That move men's hearts: unutterably vain;

11 Worthless as withered weeds, 12 Or idlest froth amid the boundless main, 13 To waken doubt in one

14 Holding so fast by Thy infinity, 15 So surely anchored on 16 The steadfast rock of Immortality.

17 With wide-embracing love

18 Thy Spirit animates eternal years, 19 Pervades and broods above, 20 Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates, and rears.

21 Though earth and moon were gone, 22 And suns and universes ceased to be, 23 And Thou wert left alone, 24 Every existence would exist in Thee.

25 There is not room for Death, 26 Nor atom that his might could render void:

27 Thou -Thou art Being and Breath, 28 And what Thou art may never be destroyed.

The Prisoner (Emily Bronte)

01 In the dungeon-crypts idly did I stray, 02 Reckless of the lives wasting there away;

03 "Draw the ponderous bars! open, Warder stern!"

04 He dared not say me nay -- the hinges harshly turn.

05 "Our guests are darkly lodged," I whisper'd, gazing through 06 The vault, whose grated eye showed heaven more gray than blue;

07 (This was when glad Spring laughed in awaking pride;)

08 "Ay, darkly lodged enough!" returned my sullen guide.

09 Then, God forgive my youth; forgive my careless tongue;

10 I scoffed, as the chill chains on the damp flagstones rung:

11 "Confined in triple walls, art thou so much to fear, 12 That we must bind thee down and clench thy fetters here?"

13 The captive raised her face; it was as soft and mild

14 As sculptured marble saint, or slumbering unwean'd child;

15 It was so soft and mild, it was so sweet and fair, 16 Pain could not trace a line, nor grief a shadow there!

17 The captive raised her hand and pressed it to her brow;

18 "I have been struck," she said, "and I am suffering now;

19 Yet these are little worth, your bolts and irons strong;

20 And, were they forged in steel, they could not hold me long."

21 Hoarse laughed the jailor grim: "Shall I be won to hear;

22 Dost think, fond, dreaming wretch, that I shall grant thy prayer?

23 Or, better still, wilt melt my master's heart with groans?

24 Ah! sooner might the sun thaw down these granite stones.

25 "My master's voice is low, his aspect bland and kind, 26 But hard as hardest flint the soul that lurks behind;

27 And I am rough and rude, yet not more rough to see

28 Than is the hidden ghost that has its home in me."

29 About her lips there played a smile of almost scorn, 30 "My friend," she gently said, "you have not heard me mourn;

31 When you my kindred's lives, MY lost life, can restore, 32 Then may I weep and sue, -- but never, friend, before!

33 "Still, let my tyrants know, I am not doomed to wear

34-Year after year in gloom, and desolate despair;

35 A messenger of Hope comes every night to me, 36 And offers for short life, eternal liberty.