Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
Thomas Hood. 17981845654. The Bridge of Sighs
ONE more Unfortunate, | |
Weary of breath, | |
Rashly importunate, | |
Gone to her death! | |
Take her up tenderly, | 5 |
Lift her with care; | |
Fashion’d so slenderly | |
Young, and so fair! | |
Look at her garments | |
Clinging like cerements; | 10 |
Whilst the wave constantly | |
Drips from her clothing; | |
Take her up instantly, | |
Loving, not loathing. | |
Touch her not scornfully; | 15 |
Think of her mournfully, | |
Gently and humanly; | |
Not of the stains of her, | |
All that remains of her | |
Now is pure womanly. | 20 |
Make no deep scrutiny | |
Into her mutiny | |
Rash and undutiful: | |
Past all dishonour, | |
Death has left on her | 25 |
Only the beautiful. | |
Still, for all slips of hers, | |
One of Eve’s family— | |
Wipe those poor lips of hers | |
Oozing so clammily. | 30 |
Loop up her tresses | |
Escaped from the comb, | |
Her fair auburn tresses; | |
Whilst wonderment guesses | |
Where was her home? | 35 |
Who was her father? | |
Who was her mother? | |
Had she a sister? | |
Had she a brother? | |
Or was there a dearer one | 40 |
Still, and a nearer one | |
Yet, than all other? | |
Alas! for the rarity | |
Of Christian charity | |
Under the sun! | 45 |
O, it was pitiful! | |
Near a whole city full, | |
Home she had none. | |
Sisterly, brotherly, | |
Fatherly, motherly | 50 |
Feelings had changed: | |
Love, by harsh evidence, | |
Thrown from its eminence; | |
Even God’s providence | |
Seeming estranged. | 55 |
Where the lamps quiver | |
So far in the river, | |
With many a light | |
From window and casement, | |
From garret to basement, | 60 |
She stood, with amazement, | |
Houseless by night. | |
The bleak wind of March | |
Made her tremble and shiver; | |
But not the dark arch, | 65 |
Or the black flowing river: | |
Mad from life’s history, | |
Glad to death’s mystery, | |
Swift to be hurl’d— | |
Anywhere, anywhere | 70 |
Out of the world! | |
In she plunged boldly— | |
No matter how coldly | |
The rough river ran— | |
Over the brink of it, | 75 |
Picture it—think of it, | |
Dissolute Man! | |
Lave in it, drink of it, | |
Then, if you can! | |
Take her up tenderly, | 80 |
Lift her with care; | |
Fashion’d so slenderly, | |
Young, and so fair! | |
Ere her limbs frigidly | |
Stiffen too rigidly, | 85 |
Decently, kindly, | |
Smooth and compose them; | |
And her eyes, close them, | |
Staring so blindly! | |
Dreadfully staring | 90 |
Thro’ muddy impurity, | |
As when with the daring | |
Last look of despairing | |
Fix’d on futurity. | |
Perishing gloomily, | 95 |
Spurr’d by contumely, | |
Cold inhumanity, | |
Burning insanity, | |
Into her rest.— | |
Cross her hands humbly | 100 |
As if praying dumbly, | |
Over her breast! | |
Owning her weakness, | |
Her evil behaviour, | |
And leaving, with meekness, | 105 |
Her sins to her Saviour! |