Verse > Anthologies > Francis T. Palgrave, ed. > The Golden Treasury
Francis T. Palgrave, ed. (1824–1897). The Golden Treasury.  1875.
T. Hood
CCXXXI. 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
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 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. 

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