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Updated: May 2, 2025
He or some hero like him is "Honour's Martyr". This poem is not quoted for its beauty or its technique, but for its important place in the story. You can track the great Gondal hero down by that one fantastic name, "Zamorna". You have thus four poems, obviously related; and a fifth that links them, obviously, with the Gondal legend.
It is a case of "The Horse I rode at the battle of Zamorna", that is all. There has been too much talk about experience. What the critic, the impressionist, of the Brontës needs is to recover, before all things, the innocence of the eye. No doubt we all of us had it once, and can remember more or less what it was like. To those who have lost it I would say: Go back and read again Mrs.
Sometimes she is the lonely spirit that looks on in immortal irony, raised above good and evil. More often she is a happy god, immanent in his restless and manifold creations, rejoicing in this multiplication of himself. It is she who fights and rides, who loves and hates, and suffers and defies. She heads one poem naïvely: "To the Horse Black Eagle that I rode at the Battle of Zamorna."
He is the man of sin, the "son of war and love", the child "unblessed of heaven", abandoned by its mother, cradled in the heather and rocked by the winter storm, the doomed child, grown to its doom, like Heathcliff. The passions of Zamorna are the passions of Heathcliff. He dominates a world of savage loves and mortal enmities like the world of Wuthering Heights.
There are passages in this saga that reveal the very aspect of the soul of Heathcliff. Here are some of them. Zamorna, in prison, cries out to his "false friend and treacherous guide": There is the whole spirit of Wuthering Heights; the spirit of Catherine Earnshaw's dream; the spirit that in the last page broods over the moorland graveyard.
What do we, wanderer! here, so far away from home? I do not need thy breath to cool my death-cold brow; But go to that far land where she is shining now; Tell her my latest wish, tell her my dreary doom; Say that my pangs are past, but hers are yet to come. And there is Fernando, who stole his love from Zamorna. He is a sort of shadowy forerunner of Edgar Linton.
There is the yeoman Percy, the father of Mary whom Zamorna loved. And there is Zamorna. A large group of poems in the legend refer, obviously, I think, to the same person. Zamorna is the supreme hero, the Achilles of this northern Iliad.
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