Well up in north, north England,
It’s cold, but not like Greenland.
The hills are hilly, the winds are chilly,
and the girls are downright mean.
Two families lived quite comfortably,
But they never saw real jubilee.
For incest raised its ugly head,
When cousins were dreadfully, disgustingly wed.
With nothing to do but sit and chat,
Catherine gets hitched and has a baby at that.
Now she’s dead with a child in bed,
You think she should have just chatted instead.
Young Cathy now just sulks around,
While Joseph babbles like a clown.
His bushes are gone, now that’s a sad tale,
But Hareton got a girl--and you thought he’d fail.
Edgar Linton is dead, Linton Heathcliff is dead,
And Heathcliff Heathcliff, well, he’s sick in the head.
Both Catherines had, not one, but two men each.
What a regretful lesson their lives did teach.
Wait for the one you truly love,
For they will come like a pure white dove,
And show you what true happiness can be,
And then you’ll see real jubilee.
This poem shows the agony that many of the characters experience in the novel.
Because they only lived for what they thought they wanted at the moment and not what
would be best for them in the long run, their lives ended up much harsher and more
complicated than they would have liked. The only “model” character in the novel was
Hareton, because he accepted his role as servant in Heathcliff’s house and continually tried
for Cathy’s love even after she turned him away. Eventually she saw that he was the one
for her and returned his love. Because he waited, he won.