Rossetti Archive Textual Transcription

Document Title: Poems. A New Edition (1881), proof Signature C (Delaware Museum, revise proof)
Author: Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Date of publication: 1881 May 15
Publisher: F. S. Ellis
Printer: Strangeways and Walden
Issue: 1

The full Rossetti Archive record for this transcribed document is available.

Image of page 17 page: 17
Sig. C
  • ‘Oh his son still cries, if you forgive,
  • Sister Helen,
  • The body dies but the soul shall live.’
  • ‘Fire shall forgive me as I forgive,
  • Little brother!’
  • ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
  • As she forgives, between Hell and Heaven!)
  • 190‘Oh he prays you, as his heart would rive,
  • Sister Helen,
  • To save his dear son's soul alive.’
  • Fire cannot slay it, it shall thrive,
  • Little brother!
  • ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
  • Alas, alas, between Hell and Heaven!)
  • ‘He cries to you, kneeling in the road,
  • Sister Helen,
  • To go with him for the love of God!’
  • 200‘The way is long to his son's abode,
  • Little brother.’
  • ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
  • The way is long, between Hell and Heaven!)
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  • ‘A lady's here, by a dark steed brought,
  • Sister Helen,
  • So darkly clad, I saw her not.’
  • ‘See her now or never see aught,
  • Little brother!’
  • ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
  • 210 What more to see, between Hell and Heaven?)
  • ‘Her hood falls back, and the moon shines fair,
  • Sister Helen,
  • On the Lady of Ewern's golden hair.’
  • ‘Blest hour of my power and her despair,
  • Little brother!’
  • ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
  • Hour blest and bann'd, between Hell and Heaven!)
  • ‘Pale, pale her cheeks, that in pride did glow,
  • Sister Helen,
  • 220'Neath the bridal-wreath three days ago.’
  • ‘One morn for pride and three days for woe,
  • Little brother!’
  • ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
  • Three days, three nights, between Hell and Heaven!)
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  • ‘Her clasped hands stretch from her bending head,
  • Sister Helen;
  • With the loud wind's wail her sobs are wed.’
  • ‘What wedding-strains hath her bridal-bed,
  • Little brother?’
  • 230 ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
  • What strain s but death's, between Hell and Heaven? )
  • ‘She may not speak, she sinks in a swoon,
  • Sister Helen,—
  • She lifts her lips and gasps on the moon.’
  • ‘Oh! might I but hear her soul's blithe tune,
  • Little brother!’
  • ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
  • Her woe's dumb cry, between Hell and Heaven!)
  • ‘They've caught her to Westholm's saddle-bow,
  • 240 Sister Helen,
  • And her moonlit hair gleams white in its flow.’
  • ‘Let it turn whiter than winter snow,
  • Little brother!’
  • ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
  • Woe-withered gold, between Hell and Heaven!)
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  • ‘O Sister Helen, you heard the bell,
  • Sister Helen!
  • More loud than the vesper-chime it fell.’
  • ‘No vesper-chime, but a dying knell,
  • 250 Little brother!’
  • ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
  • His dying knell, between Hell and Heaven!)
  • ‘Alas! but I fear the heavy sound,
  • Sister Helen;
  • Is it in the sky or in the ground?’
  • ‘Say, have they turned their horses round,
  • Little brother?’
  • ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
  • What would she more, between Hell and Heaven?)
  • 260 ‘They have raised the old man from his knee,
  • Sister Helen,
  • And they ride in silence hastily.’
  • ‘More fast the naked soul doth flee,
  • Little brother!’
  • ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
  • The naked soul, between Hell and Heaven!)
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  • ‘Flank to flank are the white three steeds gone,
  • Sister Helen,
  • But the lady's dark steed goes alone.’
  • 270 ‘And lonely her bridegroom's soul hath flown,
  • Little brother.’
  • ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
  • The lonely ghost, between Hell and Heaven!)
  • ‘Oh the wind is sad in the iron chill,
  • Sister Helen,
  • And weary sad they look by the hill.’
  • ‘But he and I are sadder still,
  • Little brother!’
  • ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
  • 280 Most sad of all, between Hell and Heaven!)
  • ‘See, see, the wax has dropped from its place,
  • Sister Helen,
  • And the flames are winning up apace!’
  • ‘Yet here they burn but for a space,
  • Little brother!’
  • ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
  • Here for a space, between Hell and Heaven!)
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  • ‘Ah! what white thing at the door has cross'd,
  • Sister Helen?
  • 290 Ah! what is this that sighs in the frost?’
  • ‘A soul that's lost as mine is lost,
  • Little brother!’
  • ( O Mother, Mary Mother,
  • Lost, lost, all lost, between Hell and Heaven!)
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STRATTON WATER.
  • ‘O HAVE you seen the Stratton flood
  • That's great with rain to-day?
  • It runs beneath your wall, Lord Sands,
  • Full of the new-mown hay.
  • ‘I led your hounds to Hutton bank
  • To bathe at early morn:
  • They got their bath by Borrowbrake
  • Above the standing corn.’
  • Out from the castle-stair Lord Sands
  • 10 Looked up the western lea;
  • The rook was grieving on her nest,
  • The flood was round her tree.
  • Over the castle-wall Lord Sands
  • Looked down the eastern hill:
  • The stakes swam free among the boats,
  • The flood was rising still.
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  • ‘What's yonder far below that lies
  • So white against the slope?’
  • ‘O it's a sail o' your bonny barks
  • 20 The waters have washed up.’
  • ‘But I have never a sail so white,
  • And the water's not yet there.’
  • ‘O it's the swans o' your bonny lake
  • The rising flood doth scare.’
  • ‘The swans they would not hold so still,
  • So high they would not win.’
  • ‘O it's Joyce my wife has spread her smock
  • And fears to fetch it in.’
  • ‘Nay, knave, it's neither sail nor swans,
  • 30 Nor aught that you can say;
  • For though your wife might leave her smock,
  • Herself she'd bring away.’
  • Lord Sands has passed the turret-stair,
  • The court, and yard, and all;
  • The kine were in the byre that day,
  • The nags were in the stall.
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  • Lord Sands has won the weltering slope
  • Whereon the white shape lay:
  • The clouds were still above the hill,
  • 40 And the shape was still as they.
  • Oh pleasant is the gaze of life
  • And sad is death's blind head;
  • But awful are the living eyes
  • In the face of one thought dead!
  • ‘In God's name, Janet, is it me
  • Thy ghost has come to seek?’
  • ‘Nay, wait another hour, Lord Sands,—
  • Be sure my ghost shall speak.’
  • A moment stood he as a stone,
  • 50 Then grovelled to his knee.
  • ‘O Janet, O my love, my love,
  • Rise up and come with me!’
  • ‘O once before you bade me come,
  • And it's here you have brought me!
  • ‘O many's the sweet word, Lord Sands,
  • You've spoken oft to me;
  • But all that I have from you to-day
  • Is the rain on my body.
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  • ‘And many's the good gift, Lord Sands,
  • 60 You've promised oft to me;
  • But the gift of yours I keep to-day
  • Is the babe in my body.
  • ‘O it's not in any earthly bed
  • That first my babe I'll see;
  • For I have brought my body here
  • That the flood may cover me.’
  • His face was close against her face,
  • His hands of hers were fain:
  • O her wet cheeks were hot with tears,
  • 70 Her wet hands cold with rain.
  • ‘They told me you were dead, Janet,—
  • How could I guess the lie?’
  • ‘They told me you were false, Lord Sands,—
  • What could I do but die?’
  • ‘Now keep you well, my brother Giles,—
  • Through you I deemed her dead!
  • As wan as your towers seem to-day,
  • To-morrow they'll be look seem red.
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  • ‘Look down, look down, my false mother,
  • 80 That bade me not to grieve:
  • You'll look up when our marriage fires
  • Are lit to-morrow eve.
  • ‘O more than one and more than two
  • The sorrow of this shall see:
  • But it's to-morrow, love, for them,—
  • To-day's for thee and me.’
  • He's drawn her face between his hands
  • And her pale mouth to his:
  • No bird that was so still that day
  • 90 Chirps sweeter than his kiss.
  • The flood was creeping round their feet.
  • ‘O Janet, come away!
  • The hall is warm for the marriage-rite,
  • The bed for the birthday.’
  • ‘Nay, but I hear your mother cry,
  • “Go bring this bride to bed!
  • And would she christen her babe unborn
  • So wet she comes to wed?”
Image of page 28 page: 28
  • ‘I'll be your wife to cross your door
  • 100 And meet your mother's e'e.
  • We plighted troth to wed i' the kirk,
  • And it's there you'll wed with me.’
  • He's ta'en her by the short girdle
  • And by the dripping sleeve:
  • ‘Go fetch Sir Jock my mother's priest,—
  • You'll ask of him no leave.
  • ‘O it's one half-hour to reach the kirk
  • And one for the marriage-rite;
  • And kirk and castle and castle-lands
  • 110 Shall be our babe's to-night.’
  • ‘The flood's in the kirkyard, Lord Sands,
  • And round the belfry-stair.’
  • ‘I bade ye you fetch the priest,’ he said,
  • ‘Myself shall bring him there.
  • ‘It's for the lilt of wedding bells
  • We'll have the hail to pour,
  • And for the clink of bridle-reins
  • The plashing of the oar.
Image of page 29 page: 29
  • Beneath them on the nether hill
  • 120 A boat was floating wide:
  • Lord Sands swam out and caught the oars
  • And rowed to the hill-side.
  • He's wrapped her in a green mantle
  • And set her softly in;
  • Her hair was wet upon her face,
  • Her face was grey and thin;
  • And ‘Oh!’ she said, ‘lie still, my babe,
  • It's out you must not win!’
  • But woe's my heart for Father John
  • 130 As hard as he might pray,
  • There seemed no help but Noah's ark
  • Or Jonah's fish that day.
  • The first strokes that the oars struck
  • Were over the broad leas;
  • The next strokes that the oars struck
  • They pushed beneath the trees;
  • The last stroke that the oars struck,
  • The good boat's head was met,
  • And there the gate of the kirkyard
  • 140 Stood like a ferry-gate.
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  • He's set his hand upon the bar
  • And lightly leaped within:
  • He's lifted her to his left shoulder,
  • Her knees beside his chin.
  • The graves lay deep beneath the flood
  • Under the rain alone;
  • And when the foot-stone made him slip,
  • He held by the head-stone.
  • The empty boat thrawed i' the wind,
  • 150 Against the postern tied.
  • ‘Hold still, you've brought my love with me,
  • You shall take back my bride.’
  • But woe's my heart for Father John
  • And the saints he clamoured to!
  • There's never a saint but Christopher
  • Might hale such buttocks through!
  • And ‘Oh!’ she said, ‘on men's shoulders
  • I well had thought to wend,
  • And well to travel with a priest,
  • 160 But not to have cared or ken'd.
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  • ‘And oh!’ she said, ‘it's well this way
  • That I thought to have fared,—
  • Not to have lighted at the kirk
  • But stopped in the kirkyard.
  • ‘For it's oh and oh I prayed to God,
  • Whose rest I hoped to win,
  • That when to-night at your board-head
  • You'd bid the feast begin,
  • This water past your window-sill
  • 170 Might bear my body in.’
  • Now make the white bed warm and soft
  • And greet the merry morn.
  • The night the mother should have died,
  • The young son shall be born.
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THE STAFF AND SCRIP.
  • ‘Who rules these lands?’ the Pilgrim said.
  • ‘Stranger, Queen Blanchelys.’
  • ‘And who has thus harried them?’ he said.
  • ‘It was Duke Luke did this:
  • God's ban be his!’
  • The Pilgrim said: ‘Where is your house?
  • I'll rest there, with your will.’
  • ‘You've but to climb these blackened boughs
  • And you'll see it over the hill,
  • 10 For it burns still.’
  • ‘Which road, to seek your Queen?’ said he.
  • ‘Nay, nay, but with some wound
  • You'll fly back hither, it may be,
  • And by your blood i' the ground
  • My place be found.’
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