Shirley

by Charlotte Brontë

I was only repeating 'The Castaway.'" "I know. If you can remember it all, say it all." And as it was nearly dark, and, after all, Miss Keeldar was no formidable auditor, Caroline went through it. She went through it as she should have gone through it. The wild sea, the drowning mariner, the reluctant ship swept on in the storm, you heard were realized by her; and more vividly was realized the heart of the poet, who did not weep for "The Castaway," but who, in an hour of tearless anguish, traced a semblance to his own God-abandoned misery in the fate of that man-forsaken sailor, and cried from the depths where he struggled,— "No voice divine the storm allayed, No light propitious shone, When, snatched from all effectual aid, We perished—each alone! But I beneath a rougher sea, And whelmed in deeper gulfs than he." "I hope William Cowper is safe and calm in heaven now," said Caroline. "Do you pity what he suffered on earth?" asked Miss Keeldar. "Pity him, Shirley? What can I do else? He was nearly broken-hearted when he wrote that poem, and it almost breaks one's heart to read it. But he found relief in writing it—I know he did; and that gift of poetry—the most divine bestowed on man—was, I believe, granted to[Pg 197] allay emotions when their strength threatens harm. It seems to me, Shirley, that nobody should write poetry to exhibit intellect or attainment. Who cares for that sort of poetry? Who cares for learning—who cares for fine words in poetry? And who does not care ...

Remembering that great scene in the 1995 Sense & Sensibility where Marianne tries to force Edward Ferrars into a spirited reading of this passage!