Sonnets and Bonnets

I have to admit that I have never been much of a poetry reader, and asking me to write a poem is liable to send me into a panic. But I decided to jump right into the Sonnets and Bonnets theme and see what I could come up with. One type of poetry I  enjoyed when I was younger was that related to nature. My mother had a volume of Robert Frost’s works that I really liked. So, I decided to start my exploration of poetry in Jane Austen’s time by looking at the Lake Poets. After all, this was the Romantic Period (which reached its peak in the first half of the 1800s), and attitudes towards nature were changing. We know that Elizabeth Bennet enjoyed long walks, and I have always chosen to believe that she appreciated the beauty and wonder of the natural world. Marianne Dashwood strikes me as another Austen heroine who would feel the same, and perhaps Fanny Price.

In reading about the Lake Poets, I came across Charles Lamb (1775-1834). Lamb was a minor poet. He never made a living from his writing (poetry or otherwise), although I gather he found some success with them. Instead, he spent his entire career working for the East India Company. He was a contemporary of and long-time friends with Samuel Taylor Coleridge and William Wordsworth. It is perfectly reasonable, to me at least, to assume that Austen and her characters were aware of Charles Lamb and were familiar with his poetry. I found one in particular that I really liked. I am sharing it with you below in a very short vignette. The vignette takes place in that between time towards the end of Pride & Prejudice. Lydia and Wickham have married and been to visit Longbourn, but Bingley and Darcy have not returned to the neighbourhood. Elizabeth has no expectation of ever seeing Darcy again, which, of course, is very sad since she now recognises that she cares for him.

Elizabeth was standing just outside Longbourn on the stone-covered drive. The ground was too wet to take a walk, but the rain had ended the stifling late-summer heat, and the world smelt fresh and clean. A sense of peace filled her. She was glad Lydia and Wickham were gone, and although it pained her to think such things about one of her sisters, she hoped they would not meet again soon. It was difficult to think about what might have happened with Mr Darcy had not Lydia eloped with Wickham. But, she had resigned herself to a life without him. What choice did she have?

“Everything will be better again,” she said softly, though there was no one to hear her, except for a few birds and the trees.

She took a deep breath, and her eyes swept the landscape. The colours of the trees and grasses and flowers, even that of the stones upon which she stood, seemed sharper after the rain. When she caught sight of a rainbow, a delighted smile overtook her face, and she whispered the words of a poem she recalled.

After the tempest in the sky
How sweet yon rainbow to the eye!
Come, my Matilda, now while some
Few drops of rain are yet to come,
In this honeysuckle bower
Safely sheltered from the shower,
We may count the colours o’er.—

Seven there are, there are no more;
Each in each so finely blended,
Where they begin, or where are ended,
The finest eye can scarcely see.
A fixed thing it seems to be;
But, while we speak, see how it glides
Away, and now observe it hides
Half of its perfect arch—now we
Scarce any part of it can see.

What is colour? If I were
A natural philosopher,
I would tell you what does make
This meteor every colour take:
But an unlearned eye may view
Nature’s rare sights, and love them too.
Whenever I a rainbow see,
Each precious tint is dear to me;
For every colour find I there,
Which flowers, which fields, which ladies wear:
My favourite green, the grass’s hue,
And the fine deep violet-blue,
And the pretty pale blue-bell,
And the rose I love so well,
All the wonderful variations
Of the tulips, pinks, carnations,
This woodbine here both flower and leaf.

‘Tis a truth that’s past belief,
That every flower and every tree,
And every living thing we see,
Every face which we espy,
Every cheek and every eye,
In all their tints, in every shade,
Are from the rainbow’s colours made.

She offered her quiet thanks for the beauty and wonder of nature. Somehow, the sight of the rainbow brought hope to her heart. Everything will be well, she thought. Whatever happens, wherever I end up, I will be well, as long as there are rainbows to see now and again. With a smile on her lips, Elizabeth returned indoors.

Two days later, Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley returned to Netherfield.

I hope you enjoyed the poem and the vignette!
Lucy