Lesson 6 (Class IX)
Mild the Mist Upon the Hill
Emily Jane Bronte
About The Author and Text (āϞেāĻāĻ āĻāĻŦং āĻāϞ্āĻĒ āϏāĻŽ্āĻĒāϰ্āĻে)
Emily Jane Bronte (1818 -1848) was an English poet and novelist, best remembered for her only novel, Wuthering Heights, long considered a classic of English literature. In this poem the blue mist that surrounds the distant mountains reminds the poet of the happy days of youth and childhood that she has left behind. As she describes the landscape, she shifts from the present moment to the past, and then to the present again.
āĻāĻŽিāϞি āĻেāύ āĻŦ্āϰোāύ্āĻ (ā§§ā§Žā§§ā§Ž -ā§§ā§Žā§Ēā§Ž) āĻিāϞেāύ āĻāĻāĻāύ āĻংāϰেāĻী āĻāĻŦি āĻ āĻāĻĒāύ্āϝাāϏিāĻ, āϤিāύি āϤাঁāϰ āĻāĻāĻŽাāϤ্āϰ āĻāĻĒāύ্āϝাāϏ āĻāĻĻাāϰিং āĻšাāĻāĻāϏেāϰ āĻāύ্āϝ āϏāĻŦāĻেāϝ়ে āĻŦেāĻļি āϏ্āĻŽāϰāĻŖীāϝ় āĻিāϞেāύ, āϝেāĻিāĻে āĻĻীāϰ্āĻāĻাāϞ āϧāϰে āĻংāϰেāĻী āϏাāĻšিāϤ্āϝেāϰ āĻāĻāĻি āϏāϰ্āĻŦোāϤ্āϤāĻŽ āĻšিāϏাāĻŦে āĻŦিāĻŦেāĻāύা āĻāϰা āĻšāϤ। āĻāĻ āĻāĻŦিāϤাāϝ় āĻĻূāϰেāϰ āĻĒাāĻšাāĻĄ়āĻে āĻিāϰে āύীāϞ āĻুāϝ়াāĻļা āĻāĻŦিāĻে āϤাāϰ āϝৌāĻŦāύেāϰ āĻļৈāĻļāĻŦ āĻ āĻļৈāĻļāĻŦেāϰ āϏেāĻ āϏ্āĻŽৃāϤি āĻŽāύে āĻāϰিāϝ়ে āĻĻেāϝ় āϝেāĻা āϤিāύি āĻĒিāĻāύে āĻĢেāϞে āĻāϏেāĻেāύ। āϤিāύি āĻূāĻĻৃāĻļ্āϝāĻিāϰ āĻŦāϰ্āĻŖāύা āĻĻেāĻāϝ়াāϰ āϏাāĻĨে āϏাāĻĨে āϤিāύি āĻŦāϰ্āϤāĻŽাāύ āĻŽুāĻšুāϰ্āϤ āĻĨেāĻে āĻ āϤীāϤেāϰ āĻĻিāĻে āĻāĻŦং āϤাāϰāĻĒāϰে āĻāĻŦাāϰ āĻŦāϰ্āϤāĻŽাāύেāϰ āĻĻিāĻে āĻāϞে āϝাāύ।
Mild the Mist Upon the Hill Bengali Meaning
āĻšাāϞāĻা āĻুāϝ়াāĻļা āĻĒাāĻšাāĻĄ়েāϰ āĻāĻĒāϰে,
Telling not of storms to-morrow
āĻāĻাāĻŽিāĻাāϞ āĻāĻĄ়েāϰ āĻāĻĨা āĻŦāϞāĻে āύা;
No; the day has wept its fill,
āύা; āĻĻিāύ āϤাāϰ āĻĒ্āϰাāĻŖ āĻāϰে āĻেঁāĻĻেāĻে,
Spent its store of silent sorrow.
āĻাāϞি āĻāϰেāĻে āϏāĻ্āĻিāϤ āύীāϰāĻŦ āĻŦ্āϝāĻĨাāϰ āĻাāĻŖ্āĻĄাāϰ,
Oh, I’m gone back to the days of youth,
āĻāĻš, āĻāĻŽি āϝৌāĻŦāύেāϰ āĻĻিāύāĻুāϞিāϤে āĻĢিāϰে āĻāϏেāĻি,
I am a child once more
āĻāĻŽি āĻāϰāĻ āĻāĻāĻŦাāϰ āĻļিāĻļু;
And ‘neath my father’s sheltering roof,
āĻāĻŦং ‘āĻāĻŽাāϰ āĻŦাāĻŦাāϰ āĻāĻļ্āϰāϝ়āĻেāύ্āĻĻ্āϰāϰ āĻাāĻĻেāϰ āύিāĻে,
And near the old hall door.
āĻāĻŦং āĻĒুāϰাāύো āĻšāϞāĻāϰেāϰ āĻĻāϰāĻাāϰ āĻাāĻে।
I watch this cloudy evening fall,
āĻāĻŽি āĻāĻ āĻŽেāĻāϞা āϏāύ্āϧ্āϝা āĻĒāĻĄ়āϤে āĻĻেāĻি,
After a day of rain:
āĻāĻāĻĻিāύ āĻŦৃāώ্āĻিāϰ āĻĒāϰে:
Blue mists, sweet mists of summer pall
āύীāϞ āĻুāϝ়াāĻļা, āĻ্āϰীāώ্āĻŽেāĻাāϞেāϰ āύীāϰāϏ āĻŦāϞিāϝ়া āĻŽāύে āĻšāĻāϝ়া āĻŽিāώ্āĻি āĻুāϝ়াāĻļা āύেāĻŽে āĻāϏে
The horizon’s mountain-chain.
āĻĻিāĻāύ্āϤেāϰ āĻĒāϰ্āĻŦāϤāĻļৃāĻ্āĻāϞা।
The damp stands in the long, green grass
āϏ্āϝাঁāϤāϏেঁāϤে āĻĻীāϰ্āĻ, āϏāĻŦুāĻ āĻাāϏে āĻĻাঁāĻĄ়িāϝ়ে āĻāĻে
As thick as morning’s tears
āϤāϤāĻাāĻ āĻāύ āϝāϤāĻা āϏāĻাāϞেāϰ āĻ āĻļ্āϰু;
And dreamy scents of fragrance pass
āĻāĻŦং āϏ্āĻŦāĻĒ্āύাāϞু āϏুāĻāύ্āϧি āϏুāĻŦাāϏ āĻ āĻ্āϰāϏāϰ āĻšāϝ়ে āϝাāĻ্āĻে
That breath of other years.
āĻ āύ্āϝাāύ্āϝ āĻŦāĻāϰেāϰ āĻāĻ āĻļ্āĻŦাāϏ।

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