3.  Bid that heart stay, and it will stay,
      To honour thy decree: 
    Or bid it languish quite away,
      And’t shall do so for thee.

4.  Bid me to weep, and I will weep,
      While I have eyes to see: 
    And having none, yet I will keep
      A heart to weep for thee.

5.  Bid me despair, and I’ll despair,
      Under that cypress tree: 
    Or bid me die, and I will dare
      E’en death, to die for thee.

6.  Thou art my life, my love, my heart,
      The very eyes of me: 
    And hast command of every part,
      To live and die for thee.

Grosart’s Text.

* * * * *

THOMAS HOOD

35. The Death Bed.

We watch’d her breathing through the night,
  Her breathing soft and low,
As in her breast the wave of life
  Kept heaving to and fro.

So silently we seem’d to speak,
  So slowly moved about,
As we had lent her half our powers
  To eke her living out.

Our very hopes belied our fears,
  Our fears our hopes belied—­
We thought her dying when she slept,
  And sleeping when she died.

For when the morn came dim and sad,
  And chill with early showers,
Her quiet eyelids closed—­she had
  Another morn than ours.

36. The Bridge of Sighs.

“Drown’d! drown’d!”—­Hamlet.

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

Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care;
Fashion’d 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 dishonour,
Death has left on her
Only the beautiful.

Still, for all slips of hers,
One of Eve’s family—­
Wipe 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! 
Oh! 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.