by P.H. Herbert.
Originally published in The Poet's Magazine (Leonard Lloyd) vol.2 #12 (Oct 1877).
Down to the brink of the river she came,
Paused for a moment and looked beneath:
Behind was her life with its sin and its shame—
Before was the darkness and stillness of death.
Just for a moment she paused aghast
In the face of death, as she trembled to think
Of the dismal roll of the deeds of the past
As her soul saw it now at eternity's brink.
Who that had known her in earlier years,
As the sweet fair girl—the village pride,
Ere her heart knew sorrow, her eyes knew tears,
Would have known her to-night by the river-side?
Squalid, forlorn, 'neath the pattering rain—
Haggard and pale, with despair in her eyes
With disease on her brow, and hell in her brain—
The blackest thing under the blackest of skies!
And where was he now with his manners so nice,
And his well-bred ways, and his tongue so gay,
But with heart that was cold as the winter's ice,
Who came to her home and stole her away?
Stole her away from the father that prized her—
From the mother that loved as a mother can:
Toyed for awhile with her, then had despised her,
And cast her adrift to the mercy of man.
Did she think of him there, as she paused by the river,
Or the love that she gave in that first long kiss;
Of the peace and the hope that had vanished for ever
From out of her heart when her lips met his?
No! her thoughts were away in the hill-side home,
And as memories came of those days long past,
And the fresh green fields where she loved to roam;
The tears that would save her were rising fast.
But the wailing cry of her murdered child,
Came out of the darkness under the bridge!
Then the mother's shriek rose frantic and wild
As she flung herself headlong over the edge—
A splash in the river—a gasp for breath!
And a gurgling groan as she sank again:
Then the waters were hushed in the presence of death,
And 'twas all their own with the wind and the rain.