Ballads and Sonnets (1881), proof Signature G (Delaware Museum, early proof revise fragment) Dante Gabriel Rossetti 1 Text courtesy of The Delaware Art Museum Ballads and Sonnets Dante Gabriel Rossetti F. S. Ellis Chiswick Press, C. Whittingham and Co. London 1881 April 7 proof 83-84, 89-90 DGR Library, Delaware Art Museum 10 point; 6 point leading roman 17 2 cm 3.8 cm 2 cm 2.5 cm 19 x 12.8cm (crown octavo) Commentary
Introduction

These two loose leaves appear to be from a first author's proof of Signature G, and marked with changes that DGR decided upon after he had sent back a copy of that proof with his initial set of corrections and changes. The British Library set of proofs for the <hi rend="i">Ballads and Sonnets</hi> has a complete set of the first author's proofs for this signature.

Textual History: Composition

Textual History: Revision

In addition to these early fragmentary proof pages and an incomplete set of first revise proofs (undated and numbered 2), the library of the Delaware Art Museum has five complete sets of proofs for this signature: a complete copy of the first revise proof (undated and numbered 2); a complete copy of a subsequent revise (dated 22 Apr 81 and numbered 4), and a duplicate of that; a complete copy of the final proof (dated 17 May and numbered 5) and a duplicate of that as well. The British Library proofs have a copy of the first author's proofs for this signature (dated Apr 81 and numbered 1).

Printing History

Reception History

Historical

Literary

Translation

Autobiographical

Bibliographic

The Prince that was and the King to come, There in an instant gone to his doom. , Despite of all England's bended knee And maugre the Norman fealty! He was a Prince of lust and pride; He showed no grace till the hour he died. When he should be King, he oft would vow, He'd yoke the peasant to his own plough. O'er him the ships score their furrows now. God only knows where his soul did wake, But I saw him die for his sister's sake. By none but me can the tale be told, The butcher of Rouen, poor Berold. (Lands are swayed by a King on a throne.) 'Twas a royal train put forth to sea, Yet the tale can be told by none but me. (The sea hath no King but God alone.) And now the end came o'er the waters' womb Like the last great Day that's yet to come. With prayers in vain and curses in vain, The White Ship sundered on the mid-main: And what were men and what was a ship Were toys and splinters in the sea's grip. At last the morning rose on the sea Like an angel's wing that beat tow'rds me. Sore numbed I was in my sheepskin coat; Half dead I hung, and might nothing note, Till I woke sun-warmed in a fisher-boat. The sun was high o'er the eastern brim As I praised God and gave thanks to Him. That day I told my tale to a priest, Who charged me, till the shrift were releas'd, That I should keep it in mine own breast! . And with the priest I thence did fare To King Henry's court at Winchester. We spoke with the King's high chamberlain, And he wept and mourned again and again, As if his own son had been slain: And round us ever there crowded fast Great men with faces all aghast: And who so bold that might tell the thing Which now they knew to their lord the King? Much woe I learnt in their communing. The King had watched with a heart sore stirred For two whole days, and this was the third: And still to all his court would he say, “What keeps my son so long away?”