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THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS.

[THOMAS HOOD, born 1798, was the son of a London bookseller. His works abound in sparkling wit and humour. His true power as a poet is best seen in such pieces as our extract. He died 3rd May, 1845.]

1. ONE more unfortunate,
Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death!

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

3. Look at her garments
Clinging like cerements:
Whilst the wave constantly
Drips from her clothing;
Take her up instantly,

Loving, not loathing,

4. 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.

5. Make no deep scrutiny
Into her mutiny

Rash and undutiful;

Past all dishonour,
Death has left on her

Only the beautiful.

6. Still, for all slips of hers,
One of Eve's family,

Wipe those poor lips of hers,
Oozing so clammily.

7. 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, or a nearer one
Yet, than all other?

8. Alas! for the rarity
Of Christian charity
Under the sun!
Oh! it was pitiful,
Near a whole city full,
Home had she none!

9. Sisterly, brotherly,
Fatherly, motherly,

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

10. Where the lamps quiver
So far in the river,
With many a light

From many a casement,
From garret to basement,
She stood, with amazement,
Houseless by night.

11. The bleak wind of March

Made her tremble and shiver,

But not the dark arch

Or the black flowing river.

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

14. Ere her limbs frigidly
Stiffen too rigidly,
Decently, kindly,

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

15. Dreadfully staring

Through muddy impurity,
As when with the daring,
Last look of despairing,
Fixed on futurity.

16. Perishing gloomily,
Spurr'd by contumely,
Bold inhumanity,
Burning insanity,
Into her rest;

Cross her hands humbly,
As if praying dumbly,
Over her breast!

17. Owning her weakness,
Her evil behaviour,

And leaving, with meekness,
Her sins to her Saviour.

HOOD.

TUBAL CAIN.

[CHARLES MACKAY, born 1814, is a well known poet and journalist. He still lives in a green old age, enjoying the honour which comes from honest work well done.]

1. OLD Tubal Cain was a man of might

In the days when Earth was young;
By the fierce red light of his furnace bright
The strokes of his hammer rung;

And he lifted high his brawny hand

On the iron glowing clear,

Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers,
As he fashioned the sword and spear.
And he sang "Hurra for my handiwork!
Hurra for the spear and sword!

Hurra for the hand that shall wield them well,
For he shall be king and lord!"

2. To Tubal Cain came many a one,
As he wrought by his roaring fire,
And each one prayed for a strong steel blade
As the crown of his desire:

And he made them weapons sharp and strong,
Till they shouted loud for glee,

And gave him gifts of pearl and gold,

And spoils of the forest free.

And they sang-" Hurra for Tubal Cain,

Who hath given us strength anew!
Hurra for the smith, hurra for the fire,
And hurra for the metal true!"

3. But a sudden change came o'er his heart Ere the setting of the sun,

And Tubal Cain was filled with pain

For the evil he had done;

He saw that men, with rage and hate,
Made war upon their kind,

That the land was red with the blood they shed
In their lust for carnage blind.

And he said "Alas! that ever I made,

Or that skill of mine should plan,
The spear and the sword for man whose joy

Is to slay his fellow-man."

4. And for many a day old Tubal Cain
Sat brooding o'er his woe;

And his hand forebore to smite the ore
And his furnace smouldered low.

But he rose at last with a cheerful face,
And a bright courageous eye,

And bared his strong right arm for work,
While the quick flames mounted high.

And he sang "Hurra for my handicraft!"

And the red sparks lit the air;

"Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made;" And he fashioned the first ploughshare.

5. And men, taught wisdom from the past, In friendship joined their hands,

Hung the sword in the hall, the spear on the wall, And ploughed the willing lands;

And sang-"Hurra for Tubal Cain,

Our staunch good friend is he ;
And for the ploughshare and the plough

To him our praise shall be.

But while oppression lifts its head,

Or a tyrant would be lord,

Though we may thank him for the plough,

We'll not forget the sword!"

MACKAY.

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