--I retain this little poem, not as
historically
accurate, but as
written and published before I heard the supposed facts of its first
verse contradicted.
written and published before I heard the supposed facts of its first
verse contradicted.
Christina Rossetti
"
IN THE ROUND TOWER AT JHANSI,
June 8, 1857.
A hundred, a thousand to one; even so;
Not a hope in the world remained:
The swarming, howling wretches below
Gained and gained and gained.
Skene looked at his pale young wife:--
"Is the time come? "--"The time is come! "--
Young, strong, and so full of life:
The agony struck them dumb.
Close his arm about her now,
Close her cheek to his,
Close the pistol to her brow--
God forgive them this!
"Will it hurt much? "--"No, mine own:
I wish I could bear the pang for both. "
"I wish I could bear the pang alone:
Courage, dear, I am not loth. "
Kiss and kiss: "It is not pain
Thus to kiss and die.
One kiss more. "--"And yet one again. "--
"Good by. "--"Good by. "
Note.
--I retain this little poem, not as historically accurate, but as
written and published before I heard the supposed facts of its first
verse contradicted.
DREAM-LAND.
Where sunless rivers weep
Their waves into the deep,
She sleeps a charmed sleep:
Awake her not.
Led by a single star,
She came from very far
To seek where shadows are
Her pleasant lot.
She left the rosy morn,
She left the fields of corn,
For twilight cold and lorn
And water springs.
Through sleep, as through a veil,
She sees the sky look pale,
And hears the nightingale
That sadly sings.
Rest, rest, a perfect rest
Shed over brow and breast;
Her face is toward the west,
The purple land.
She cannot see the grain
Ripening on hill and plain;
She cannot feel the rain
Upon her hand.
Rest, rest, forevermore
Upon a mossy shore;
Rest, rest at the heart's core
Till time shall cease:
Sleep that no pain shall wake,
Night that no morn shall break,
Till joy shall overtake
Her perfect peace.
AT HOME.
When I was dead, my spirit turned
To seek the much-frequented house
I passed the door, and saw my friends
Feasting beneath green orange-boughs;
From hand to hand they pushed the wine,
They sucked the pulp of plum and peach;
They sang, they jested, and they laughed,
For each was loved of each.
I listened to their honest chat:
Said one: "To-morrow we shall be
Plod plod along the featureless sands,
And coasting miles and miles of sea. "
Said one: "Before the turn of tide
We will achieve the eyrie-seat. "
Said one: "To-morrow shall be like
To-day, but much more sweet. "
"To-morrow," said they, strong with hope,
And dwelt upon the pleasant way:
"To-morrow," cried they, one and all,
While no one spoke of yesterday.
Their life stood full at blessed noon;
I, only I, had passed away:
"To-morrow and to-day," they cried;
I was of yesterday.
IN THE ROUND TOWER AT JHANSI,
June 8, 1857.
A hundred, a thousand to one; even so;
Not a hope in the world remained:
The swarming, howling wretches below
Gained and gained and gained.
Skene looked at his pale young wife:--
"Is the time come? "--"The time is come! "--
Young, strong, and so full of life:
The agony struck them dumb.
Close his arm about her now,
Close her cheek to his,
Close the pistol to her brow--
God forgive them this!
"Will it hurt much? "--"No, mine own:
I wish I could bear the pang for both. "
"I wish I could bear the pang alone:
Courage, dear, I am not loth. "
Kiss and kiss: "It is not pain
Thus to kiss and die.
One kiss more. "--"And yet one again. "--
"Good by. "--"Good by. "
Note.
--I retain this little poem, not as historically accurate, but as
written and published before I heard the supposed facts of its first
verse contradicted.
DREAM-LAND.
Where sunless rivers weep
Their waves into the deep,
She sleeps a charmed sleep:
Awake her not.
Led by a single star,
She came from very far
To seek where shadows are
Her pleasant lot.
She left the rosy morn,
She left the fields of corn,
For twilight cold and lorn
And water springs.
Through sleep, as through a veil,
She sees the sky look pale,
And hears the nightingale
That sadly sings.
Rest, rest, a perfect rest
Shed over brow and breast;
Her face is toward the west,
The purple land.
She cannot see the grain
Ripening on hill and plain;
She cannot feel the rain
Upon her hand.
Rest, rest, forevermore
Upon a mossy shore;
Rest, rest at the heart's core
Till time shall cease:
Sleep that no pain shall wake,
Night that no morn shall break,
Till joy shall overtake
Her perfect peace.
AT HOME.
When I was dead, my spirit turned
To seek the much-frequented house
I passed the door, and saw my friends
Feasting beneath green orange-boughs;
From hand to hand they pushed the wine,
They sucked the pulp of plum and peach;
They sang, they jested, and they laughed,
For each was loved of each.
I listened to their honest chat:
Said one: "To-morrow we shall be
Plod plod along the featureless sands,
And coasting miles and miles of sea. "
Said one: "Before the turn of tide
We will achieve the eyrie-seat. "
Said one: "To-morrow shall be like
To-day, but much more sweet. "
"To-morrow," said they, strong with hope,
And dwelt upon the pleasant way:
"To-morrow," cried they, one and all,
While no one spoke of yesterday.
Their life stood full at blessed noon;
I, only I, had passed away:
"To-morrow and to-day," they cried;
I was of yesterday.
