Ballads and Sonnets (1881), proof Signature G (Delaware Museum, incomplete first revise proof) 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 proof 81-92, 95-96 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

This first revise proof of Signature G lacks pages 93-94, where DGR had made a correction in his first author's proofs. The British Library set of proofs for the <hi rend="i">Ballads and Sonnets</hi> has a set of the first author's proofs for this signature that shows the correction.

Textual History: Composition

Textual History: Revision

In addition to this incomplete first revise proof and a fragmentary two pages of first author's proofs, 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

G 2 Proof number added by printer. X Printer's mark in upper right corner. He gazed aloft, still rowing apace, And through the whirled surf he knew her face. To the toppling decks clave one and all As a fly cleaves to a chamber-wall. I Berold was clinging anear; I prayed for myself and quaked with fear, But I saw his eyes as he looked at her. He knew her face and he heard her cry, And he said, “Put back! she must not die!” And back with the current's force they reel Like a leaf that's drawn to a water-wheel. 'Neath the ship's travai ìl they scarce might float, But he rose and stood in the rocking boat. Low the poor ship leaned on the tide: O'er the naked keel as she best might slide, The sister toiled to the brother's side. He reached an oar to her from below, And stiffened his arms to clutch her so. But now from the ship some spied the boat, And “Saved!” was the cry from many a throat. And down to the boat they leaped and fell: It turned as a bucket turns in a well, And nothing was there but the surge and swell. 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. I Berold was down in the sea; And passing strange though the thing may be, Of dreams then known I remember me. Blithe is the shout on Harfleur's strand When morning lights the sails to land: And blithe is Honfleur's echoing gloam When mothers call the children home: And high do the bells of Rouen beat When the Body of Christ goes down the street. These things and the like were heard and shown In a moment's trance 'neath the sea alone; And when I rose, 'twas the sea did seem, And not these things, to be all a dream. The ship was gone and the crowd was gone, And the deep shuddered and the moon shone: And in a strait grasp my arms did span The mainyard rent from the mast where it ran; And on it with me was another man. Where lands were none 'neath the dim sea-sky, We told our names, that man and I. “O I am Godefroy de l'Aigle hight, And son I am to a belted knight.” “And I am Berold the butcher's son Who slays the beasts in Rouen town.” Then cried we upon God's name, as we Did drift on the bitter winter sea. But lo! a third man rose o'er the wave, And we said, “Thank God! us three may He save!” He clutched to the yard with panting stare, And we looked and knew Fitz-Stephen there. He clung, and “What of the Prince?” quoth he. “Lost, lost!” we cried. He cried, “Woe on me!” And loosed his hold and sank through the sea. And soul with soul again in that space We two were together face to face: And each knew each, as the moments sped, Less for one living than for one dead: And every still star overhead Seemed an eye that knew we were but dead. And the hours passed; till the noble's son Sighed, “God be thy help! my strength's foredone! “O farewell, friend, for I can no more!” “Christ take thee!” I moaned; and his life was o'er. Three hundred souls were all lost but one, And I drifted over the sea alone. 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?” And they said: “The ports lie far and wide That skirt the swell of the English tide; “And England's cliffs are not more white Than her women are, and scarce so light Her skies as their eyes are blue and bright; “And in some port that he reached from France The Prince has lingered for his pleasau ùnce.” But once the King asked: “What distant cry Was that we heard 'twixt the sea and sky?” And one said: “With suchlike shouts, pardie! Do the fishers fling their nets at sea.” And one: “Who knows not the shrieking quest When the sea-mew misses its young from the nest?” 'Twas thus till now they had soothed his dread, Albeit they knew not what they said: But who should speak to-day of the thing That all knew there except the King? Then pondering much they found a way, And met round the King's high seat that day: And the King sat with a heart sore stirred, And seldom he spoke and seldom heard. 'Twas then through the hall the King was 'ware Of a little boy with golden hair, 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.) blank page