On this day in 1846 Charlotte Bronte wrote to publisher Aylott & Jones.

Aylott and Jones: Publishers and booksellers of Paternoster Row. Charlotte wrote to them 28 Jan 1846 to see if they would publish a short collection of poetry, if necessary “on the Author’s account.”

They agreed to publish it if the author covered the cost of paper and printing. On 6 Feb 1846 Charlotte revealed that the poems “are the work of three persons – relatives.” Thereafter the printing and publication went smoothly, Charlotte paying £31.10.0 in March and a further £5 in May, with some extra payment for advertising. Of this they received back £24.0.6 when Smith Elder bought and reissued the remaining sheets of the volume in 1848. There was in March “a little mistake” (to Aylott and Jones, 28 Mar 1846) which was possibly Branwell opening a letter or package, so Charlotte asked for post to be addressed to Miss Brontë instead of C. Brontë Esqre. By May Charlotte was sending the names of journals she wished to be sent review copies, and the early reviews were favorable enough for her to authorize in July the spending of a further £10 on advertisements, with a quote from The Critic , though these were later deferred or cancelled. Charlotte seems to have been very satisfied with her dealings with the firm, in spite of the meager sales of the volume. She enquired (6 Apr 1846) whether they would be interested in publishing “three distinct and unconnected tales,” this time not at the authors’ expense.

bronte poems

THE linnet in the rocky dells,
The moor-lark in the air,

The bee among the heather bells,

That hide my lady fair:

The wild deer browse above her breast;

The wild birds raise their brood;

And they, her smiles of love caressed,

Have left her solitude !

I ween, that when the grave's dark wall

Did first her form retain;

They thought their hearts could ne'er recall

The light of joy again.

They thought the tide of grief would flow

Unchecked through future years;

But where is all their anguish now,

And where are all their tears ?

Well, let them fight for honour's breath,

Or pleasure's shade pursue–

The dweller in the land of death

Is changed and careless too.

And, if their eyes should watch and weep

Till sorrow's source were dry

She would not, in her tranquil sleep,

Return a single sigh !

Blow, west-wind, by the lonely mound,

And murmur, summer-streams–

There is no need of other sound

To sooth my lady's dreams.

ELLIS.