Anne Bradstreet.docx

Anne BradstreetAnne Bradstreet Anne Bradstreet (1612-1672) is one of the most important figures in the history of American Literature. She is considered by many to be the first American poet, and her first collection of poems, "The Tenth Muse Lately Sprung Up in America, By a Gentlewoman of Those Parts", doesn't contain any of her best known poems, it was the first book written by a woman to be published in the United States. Mrs. Bradstreet's work also serves as a document of the struggles of a Puritan wife against the hardships of New England colonial life, and in some way is a testament to plight of the women of the age. Anne's life was a constant struggle, from her difficult adaptation to the rigors of the new land, to her constant battle with illness. It is clear to see that Anne's faith was exemplary, and so was her love for children and her husband, Governor Simon Bradstreet. Anne's poems were written mainly during the long periods of loneliness while Simon was away on political errands. Anne, who was a well educated woman, also spent much time with her children, reading to them and teaching them as her father had taught her when she was young. While it is rather easy for us to view Puritan ideology in a bad light because of it's attitude towards women and strict moral code, her indifference to material wealth, her humility and her spirituality, regardless of religion, made her into a positive, inspirational role model for any of us. Another one of Anne's most important qualities was her strong intuition, although only subtly hinted at in her work, probably for fear of reprisal from the deeply religious Puritan community, one cannot help but feel her constant fascination with the human mind, and spirit, and inner guidance. Her style is deceptively simple, yet speaks of a woman of high intelligence and ideals who was very much in love, and had unconditional faith. While it was difficult for women to air their views in the 17th Century, Anne Bradstreet did so with ease, as her rich vocabulary and polyvalent knowledge brought a lyrical, yet logical quality to her work which made it pleasant for anyone to read. The Flesh and the Spirit In secret place where once I stood Close by the Banks of Lacrim flood, I heard two sisters reason on Things that are past and things to come. One Flesh was call'd, who had her eye On worldly wealth and vanity; The other Spirit, who did rear Her thoughts unto a higher sphere. "Sister," quoth Flesh, "what liv'st thou on Nothing but Meditation? Doth Contemplation feed thee so Regardlessly to let earth go? Can Speculation satisfy Notion without Reality? Dost dream of things beyond the Moon And dost thou hope to dwell there soon? Hast treasures there laid up in store That all in th' world thou count'st but poor? Art fancy-sick or turn'd a Sot To catch at shadows which are not? Come, come. I'll show unto thy sense, Industry hath its recompence. What canst desire, but thou maist see True substance in variety? Dost honour like? Acquire the same, As some to their immortal fame; And trophies to thy name erect Which wearing time shall ne'er deject. For riches dost thou long full sore? Behold enough of precious store. Earth hath more silver, pearls, and gold Than eyes can see or hands can hold. Affects thou pleasure? Take thy fill. Earth hath enough of what you will. Then let not go what thou maist find For things unknown only in mind." Spirit. "Be still, thou unregenerate part, Disturb no more my settled heart, For I have vow'd (and so will do) Thee as a foe still to pursue, And combat with thee will and must Until I see thee laid in th' dust. Sister we are, yea twins we be, Yet deadly feud 'twixt thee and me, For from one father are we not. Thou by old Adam wast begot, But my arise is from above, Whence my dear father I do love. Thou speak'st me fair but hat'st me sore. Thy flatt'ring shews I'll trust no more. How oft thy slave hast thou me made When I believ'd what thou hast said And never had more cause of woe Than when I did what thou bad'st do. I'll stop mine ears at these thy charms And count them for my deadly harms. Thy sinful pleasures I do hate, Thy riches are to me no bait. Thine honours do, nor will I love, For my ambition lies above. My greatest honour it shall be When I am victor over thee, And Triumph shall, with laurel head, When thou my Captive shalt be led. How I do live, thou need'st not scoff, For I have meat thou know'st not of. The hidden MAnnea I do eat; The word of life, it is my meat. My thoughts do yield me more content Than can thy hours in pleasure spent. Nor are they shadows which I catch, Nor fancies vain at which I snatch But reach at things that are so high, Beyond thy dull Capacity. Eternal substance I do see With which inriched I would be. Mine eye doth pierce the heav'ns and see What is Invisible to thee. My garments are not silk nor gold, Nor such like trash which Earth doth hold, But Royal Robes I shall have on, More glorious than the glist'ring Sun. My Crown not Diamonds, Pearls, and gold, But such as Angels' heads infold. The City where I hope to dwell, There's none on Earth can parallel. The stately Walls both high and trong Are made of precious Jasper stone, The Gates of Pearl, both rich and clear, And Angels are for Porters there. The Streets thereof transparent gold Such as no Eye did e're behold. A Crystal River there doth run Which doth proceed from the Lamb's Throne. Of Life, there are the waters sure Which shall remain forever pure. Nor Sun nor Moon they have no need For glory doth from God proceed. No Candle there, nor yet Torch light, For there shall be no darksome night. From sickness and infirmity Forevermore they shall be free. Nor withering age shall e're come there, But beauty shall be bright and clear. This City pure is not for thee, For things unclean there shall not be. If I of Heav'n may have my fill, Take thou the world, and all that will." Verses upon the Burning of our House In silent night when rest I took, For sorrow near I did not look, I waken'd was with thund'ring noise And piteous shrieks of dreadful voice. That fearful sound of "fire" and "fire," Let no man know is my Desire. I starting up, the light did spy, And to my God my heart did cry To straighten me in my Distress And not to leave me succourless. Then coming out, behold a space The flame consume my dwelling place. And when I could no longer look, I blest his grace that gave and took, That laid my goods now in the dust. Yea, so it was, and so 'twas just. It was his own; it was not mine. Far be it that I should repine, He might of all justly bereft But yet sufficient for us left. When by the Ruins oft I past My sorrowing eyes aside did cast And here and there the places spy Where oft I sate and long did lie. Here stood that Trunk, and there that chest, There lay that store I counted best, My pleasant things in ashes lie And them behold no more shall I. Under the roof no guest shall sit, Nor at thy Table eat a bit. No pleasant talk shall 'ere be told Nor things recounted done of old. No Candle 'ere shall shine in Thee, Nor bridegroom's voice ere heard shall bee. In silence ever shalt thou lie. Adieu, Adieu, All's Vanity. Then straight I 'gin my heart to chide: And did thy wealth on earth abide, Didst fix thy hope on mouldring dust, The arm of flesh didst make thy trust? Raise up thy thoughts above the sky That dunghill mists away may fly. Thou hast a house on high erect Fram'd by that mighty Architect, With glory richly furnished Stands permanent, though this be fled. It's purchased and paid for too By him who hath enough to do. A price so vast as is unknown, Yet by his gift is made thine own. There's wealth enough; I need no more. Farewell, my pelf; farewell, my store. The world no longer let me love; My hope and Treasure lies above.