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C.D. Warner, et al., comp.  The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes.  1917.
 
The Bridge of Sighs
By Thomas Hood (1799–1845)
 
“Drowned! drowned!”—HAMLET

ONE more unfortunate,
  Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
  Gone to her death!
 
Take her up tenderly,        5
  Lift her with care:
Fashioned 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 dishonor,
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
Oh, 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 hurled—
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:
Fashioned 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
  Through muddy impurity,
As when with the daring
Last look of despairing
  Fixed on futurity.
 
Perishing gloomily,        95
Spurred 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 behavior,
And leaving, with meekness,        105
  Her sins to her Savior!
 
 
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