Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ON THE THAMES EMBANKMENT, by LEWIS MORRIS (1833-1907)


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ON THE THAMES EMBANKMENT, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: In the hush of the midsummer night
Last Line: Of life, and fate, and death, and the dark swallowing sea.
Subject(s): London


IN the hush of the midsummer night
The roar of the City grew still,
There shivered a breeze thro' the sentinel trees,
Like a thin ghost fleeing the light.
Then the Dawn came up dreary and chill,
And not another sign of life might be
But the black river rolling seaward sullenly.

But, there by the parapet side,
Oh! what is that pitiful throng
Stretched supine, drowned deep in the waters of sleep,
Dotting the riverside pavement wide,
Like sere leaves down the vistas long;
That sum of hopeless, homeless misery
Fringing the sullen river labouring to the sea?

At times from Dome and from Tower,
High minster and abbey gray,
Falls the solemn swell of the echoing bell
With its knell of the world's dark hour,
With its hope of the heavenly Day;
But not a sound reaches those hapless ears
Drugged deep by drink and weariness and tears.

With no rest for the weary head,
The stern city's outcasts lie,
Ruined lives brief and long, the feeble, the strong,
With the granite their only bed,
Sad comrades in misery;
And the mouldering obelisk rears its wedge sublime
As erst by the old Nile in the infancy of Time.

Ah! beneficent magic of sleep,
Fair country of dreams thrice blest,
Where old hearts grow young and old love songs are sung,
Where the tired eyes forget to weep.
Where the stiffened limbs loosen in rest,
And folly, failure, wantonness, nay, crime,
Seem cleansed in those still depths, and all the stains of time.

There they dream till the aching limb
Wakes the sleeper to life's dull pain,
And the hoarse croak of Death chokes the labouring breath
And the dulled senses, happily dim,
Seem barbed with new anguish again;
And still no happier sight or sound may be
Than the black river labouring sullen to the sea.

But to one poor wanderer there
Comes the trampling of measured feet,
And the harsh command, which constrains him to stand
In the dark lantern's blinding glare
With a heart that forgets to beat;
Not thus his long dead mother woke her son
When work and bread were his and the brief night was done.

"Move on!" rings the short, sharp word:
But where shall the wanderer go,
With no share from birth in the niggardly earth,
More homeless than beast or than bird?
Whither carry his burden of woe?
Yet the Law speaks, and he must needs obey,
And hopeless fare alone upon his desperate way.

Then he sprang with a bitter cry
From his lair on the cold, hard stone,
Stood a moment upright in the Dawn's drear light,
Then bidding his comrades "Goodbye,"
Leapt into the depths with a groan.
A plunge, a sound, and that wrecked life is gone,
While the black leaden river rolls unheeding on.

Only a wanderer's life,
One of myriads who linger behind,
Crushed to earth, trampled down by the merciless town,
And its cruel struggle and strife,
Not the less to a questioning mind
These sad tales preach the solemn mystery
Of Life, and Fate, and Death, and the dark swallowing Sea.





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