English Poetry II: From Collins to Fitzgerald.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.
Thomas Hood
563. The Bridge of Sighs
O
Weary of breath
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death!
Lift her with care;
Fashion’d so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!
Clinging like cerements;
Whilst the wave constantly
Drips from her clothing;
Take her up instantly,
Loving, not loathing.
Think of her mournfully,
Gently and humanly;
Not of the stains of her—
All that remains of her
Now is pure womanly.
Into her mutiny
Rash and undutiful:
Past all dishonour,
Death has left on her
Only the beautiful.
One of Eve’s family—
Wipe those poor lips of hers
Oozing so clammily.
Escaped from the comb,
Her fair auburn tresses;
Whilst wonderment guesses
Where was her home?
Who was her mother?
Had she a sister?
Had she a brother?
Or was there a dearer one
Still, and a nearer one
Yet, than all other?
Of Christian charity
Under the sun!
O! it was pitiful!
Near a whole city full,
Home she had none.
Fatherly, motherly
Feelings had changed:
Love, by harsh evidence,
Thrown from its eminence;
Even God’s providence
Seeming estranged.
So far in the river,
With many a light
From window and casement,
From garret to basement,
She stood, with amazement,
Houseless by night.
Made her tremble and shiver;
But not the dark arch,
Or the black flowing river:
Glad to death’s mystery
Swift to be hurl’d—
Anywhere, anywhere
Out of the world!
No matter how coldly
The rough river ran,
Over the brink of it,—
Picture it, think of it,
Dissolute Man!
Lave in it, drink of it,
Then, if you can!
Lift her with care;
Fashion’d so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!
Stiffen too rigidly,
Decently, kindly,
Smooth and compose them;
And her eyes, close them,
Staring so blindly!
Thro’ muddy impurity,
As when with the daring
Last look of despairing
Fix’d on futurity.
Spurr’d by contumely,
Cold inhumanity,
Burning insanity,
Into her rest.
—Cross her hands humbly
As if praying dumbly,
Over her breast!
Her evil behaviour,
And leaving, with meekness,
Her sins to her Saviour.