THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS

ONE more Unfortunate,
Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death!

Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care;
Fashioned so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!

Look at her garments
Clinging like cerements:
Whilst the wave constantly
Drips from her clothing;
Take her up instantly,
Loving, not loathing.

Touch her not scornfully;
Think of her mournfully,
Gently and humanly;
Not of the stains of her;
All that remains of her

Now is pure womanly.
Make no deep scrutiny
Into her mutiny

Rash and undutiful;

Past all dishonor,

Death has left on her

Only the beautiful.

Still, for all slips of hers,

One of Eve's familyWipe those poor lips of hers Oozing so clammily.

Loop up her tresses

Escaped from the comb,

Her fair auburn tresses; Whilst wonderment guesses

Where was her home?

Who was her father?

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?

Alas! for the rarity
Of Christian charity
Under the sun!

O, it was pitiful!
Near a whole city full,
Home she had none.

Sisterly, brotherly,
Fatherly, motherly

Feelings had changed:
Love, by harsh evidence,
Thrown from its eminence;
Even God's providence
Seeming estranged.

Where the lamps quiver
So far in the river,

With many a light

From window and casement,
From garret to basement,
She stood, with amazement,
Houseless by night.

The bleak wind of March

Made her tremble and shiver;

But not the dark arch

Or the black flowing river:

Mad from life's history,
Glad to death's mystery,
Swift to be hurled-
Anywhere, anywhere
Out of the world!

In she plunged boldly—
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!

Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care;
Fashioned so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!

Ere her limbs frigidly
Stiffen too rigidly,

Decently, kindly,

Smooth and compose them;
And her eyes, close them,
Staring so blindly!

Dreadfully staring

Through muddy impurity,
As when with the daring

Last look of despairing,
Fixed on futurity.

Perishing gloomily,
Spurred by contumely,
Cold inhumanity,

Burning insanity,

Into her rest.

Cross her hands humbly
As if praying dumbly,

Over her breast!

Owning her weakness,

Her evil behavior,

And leaving, with meekness,

Her sins to her Saviour!

Thomas Hood (1799-1845]

THE SONG OF THE SHIRT
WITH fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat, in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread,-
Stitch-stitch-stitch!

In poverty, hunger, and dirt;

And still with a voice of dolorous pitch She sang the "Song of the Shirt!"

"Work-work-work

While the cock is crowing aloof! And work-work-work

Till the stars shine through the roof!

It's oh! to be a slave

Along with the barbarous Turk, Where woman has never a soul to save, If this is Christian work!

"Work-work-work

Till the brain begins to swim! Work-work-work

Till the eyes are heavy and dim! Seam, and gusset, and band,

Band, and gusset, and seam,— Till over the buttons I fall asleep, And sew them on in a dream!

"O men with sisters dear!

O men with mothers and wives! It is not linen you're wearing out, But human creatures' lives! Stitch-stitch-stitch,

In poverty, hunger and dirt,

Sewing at once, with a double thread,
A shroud as well as a shirt!

"But why do I talk of death,—
That phantom of grisly bone?
I hardly fear his terrible shape,
It seems so like my own,-

It seems so like my own

Because of the fasts I keep;

O God! that bread should be so dear,
And flesh and blood so cheap!

"Work-work-work!

My labor never flags;

And what are its wages? A bed of straw,

A crust of bread-and rags.

That shattered roof-and this naked floor

A table-a broken chair

And a wall so blank my shadow I thank
For sometimes falling there!

"Work-work-work

From weary chime to chime! Work-work-work

As prisoners work for crime! Band, and gusset, and seam,

Seam, and gusset, and band,—

Till the heart is sick and the brain benumbed, As well as the weary hand.

"Work-work-work

In the dull December light!

And work-work-work

When the weather is warm and bright!

While underneath the eaves

The brooding swallows cling,

As if to show me their sunny backs,

And twit me with the Spring.

"Oh but to breathe the breath

Of the cowslip and primrose sweet,

With the sky above my head,

And the grass beneath my feet!

For only one short hour

To feel as I used to feel,

Before I knew the woes of want

And the walk that costs a meal!