THE BRIDGE.
I STOOD on the bridge at midnight,
As the clocks were striking the hour,
And the moon rose o'er the city,
Behind the dark-church tower.
* * * *
How often, oh, how often,
In the days that had gone by,
I had stood on the bridge at midnight
And gazed on that wave and sky!
LONGFELLOW.
THE BRIDGE (By Longus Socius.)
I stood on the bridge at midday,
And the crowd was striking in power,
And the roar rose from the City,
And the docks about the Tower.
And I made a bright reflection
On the waters under me,
Like a muddy highway flowing
With steamers to the sea.
* * * *
How often, oh, how often,
In omnibus or fly,
I have crossed the bridge at midday,
When you hardly could get by.
How often, oh, how often
I have wished the crowd beside
Were at Jericho or elsewhere,
Or the pathways were more wide.
For my heart was hot and restless,
And my mind was full of care,
Lest the train I wished to go by
Might start 'ere I got there.
* * * *
And I think how many thousand
Of crowd-encumbered men,
Each striving to stem the current,
Have missed their trains since then.
I see the long processions
Of the cabs and the 'busses go,
And the eager people restless,
Because they must walk so slow.
And for ever, and for ever,
For all that a party knows,
As long as the cabs and the 'busses
Must pause with their frequent "whoas,"
To cross it in either direction
Will take an hour or near,
So you simply must start at eleven,
If by twelve you would cross it clear.
Fun, November 3, 1866.