Branwell was the only son of the Brontë family, and the brother of the writers Charlotte, Emily and Anne.
He was born in 1817 and, as well as unsuccessfully following several employments, he was a minor painter and poet.
This is part of a biography from:
http://www.haworth-village.org.uk/brontes/branwell/branwell.asp
From June 1838 to May 1839 Branwell was working as a portrait painter in Bradford. In January 1840 he took up position as tutor for the Postlethwaite family at Broughton-In-Furness, in June 1840 he is dismissed.
In April 1841 he was employed as Clerk in Charge of Luddenden Foot station near Hebden Bridge. While there he was known to frequent the Lord Nelson Tavern. In March 1842 he is dismissed from his post as there was found to be a deficit in the station accounts, attributed to Branwell Bronte's incompetence rather than theft.
January 1843 Anne has managed to secure post of tutor for Branwell with the Robinson family at Thorp Green. In July 1845 he is dismissed from his post as tutor, It was discovered that he had an affair with Mrs Robinson.
For the next three years Branwell's state physically and mentally take a rapid decline due to his dependence on drink and opium and an increased state of self pity and worthlessness.
He hears of the death of Mr Robinson and attempts to try to rekindle his relationship with Mrs Robinson which fails.
On the 24th September 1848 Branwell died of chronic bronchitis / consumption, aged 31.
THORP GREEN
I sit, this evening, far away,
From all I used to know,
And nought reminds my soul to-day
Of happy long ago.
Unwelcome cares, unthought-of fears,
Around my room arise;
I seek for suns of former years
But clouds o'ercast my skies.
Yes--Memory, wherefore does thy voice
Bring old times back to view,
As thou wouldst bid me not rejoice
In thoughts and prospects new?
I'll thank thee, Memory, in the hour
When troubled thoughts are mine--
For thou, like suns in April's shower,
On shadowy scenes wilt shine.
I'll thank thee when approaching death
Would quench life's feeble ember,
For thou wouldst even renew my breath
With thy sweet word 'Remember'!
Branwell Bronte
If a man tries not to learn he grows old just like an ox! His body indeed grows old, but his wisdom does not grow.
