Complete Poetical Works of Thomas Hood Read online

  Thomas Hood

  (1799-1845)

  Contents

  The Life and Poetry of Thomas Hood

  BRIEF INTRODUCTION: THOMAS HOOD

  COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF THOMAS HOOD

  The Poems

  LIST OF POEMS IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER

  LIST OF POEMS IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER

  The Biography

  BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION TO THOMAS HOOD by William Michael Rossetti

  The Delphi Classics Catalogue

  © Delphi Classics 2016

  Version 1

  Thomas Hood

  By Delphi Classics, 2016

  COPYRIGHT

  Thomas Hood - Delphi Poets Series

  First published in the United Kingdom in 2016 by Delphi Classics.

  © Delphi Classics, 2016.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form other than that in which it is published.

  Delphi Classics

  is an imprint of

  Delphi Publishing Ltd

  Hastings, East Sussex

  United Kingdom

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  The Life and Poetry of Thomas Hood

  Poultry, Cheapside, a short street in the City of London, the historic nucleus and modern financial centre of the capital — Thomas Hood was born at 31 Poultry, Cheapside, London on 23 May 1799.

  An old print of the compter on Poultry, Cheapside, London

  The Poultry and Cheapside in the Victorian era

  Plaque in Cheapside marking the site of the house where Hood was born

  BRIEF INTRODUCTION: THOMAS HOOD

  By Richard Garnett

  THOMAS HOOD (1799–1845), poet, born on 23 May 1799 at 31 Poultry, London, was second son of Thomas Hood (d. 1811), a Scotchman, who was at the date of the poet’s birth partner in the bookselling firm of Vernor & Hood; the poet’s mother was a sister of the engraver Sands. After receiving some education at private schools in London, Hood entered a merchant’s counting-house there when about thirteen, but his health failed and he was sent to some of his father’s relatives at Dundee to recruit it. He remained in Dundee from 1815 to 1818, and occupied himself in reading and sketching, and in writing for local newspapers. On returning to London he was articled to his uncle the engraver, and subsequently to Le Keux; but the confinement of the profession proved too trying for his delicate constitution, and he turned to literature. Messrs. Taylor & Hessey, the publishers, old friends of his father, gave him in 1821 employment as an assistant sub-editor upon their ‘London Magazine,’ to which he was a constant contributor until its transference to other hands in 1823. His contributions, chiefly in verse, comprise examples of nearly all the styles of composition in which he subsequently excelled. He became acquainted with most of the then brilliant staff of contributors, including De Quincey, Hazlitt, and Charles Lamb, and in 1825 he published anonymously, in conjunction with John Hamilton Reynolds, ‘Odes and Addresses to Great People,’ which no less a critic than Coleridge ascribed to Lamb. On 5 May 1825 he married Reynolds’s sister Jane. Lamb’s lines, ‘On an Infant dying as soon as born,’ were prompted by the death of his first child. His time was now entirely devoted to authorship. The two series of ‘Whims and Oddities’ appeared respectively in 1826 and 1827, and were followed by the now entirely forgotten ‘National Tales,’ novelettes somewhat in the manner of Boccaccio. The ‘Plea of the Midsummer Fairies’ was published in 1827, and the dramatic romance of ‘Lamia,’ first printed in 1852 in the appendix to vol. i. of Jerdan’s ‘Autobiography,’ was probably written about this time. In 1829 Hood became editor of the ‘Gem,’ an annual which gave to light many remarkable productions, or at least productions of remarkable men, such as Tennyson. His own ‘Eugene Aram’s Dream’ was among them. In the same year he removed from Robert Street, Adelphi, to Winchmore Hill, where he spent three years. In 1832 he went to live at Wanstead. While there he had a hand in Reynolds’s ‘Gil Blas,’ and other dramatic pieces, which his son afterwards found it impossible to identify. The ‘Comic Annual,’ commenced in 1830, was a more substantial undertaking, and met with the most favourable reception. While at Wanstead he wrote his novel, ‘Tylney Hall’ (1834, 3 vols.), and his poem on the ‘Epping Hunt.’ Towards the close of 1834 Hood met with heavy pecuniary misfortunes, the cause of which is obscurely stated; they appear to have been due to the failure of a publisher. Rejecting the temptation to shield himself by a declaration of insolvency, he yielded up all his property to his creditors. Temporarily provided for by advances made to him by publishers on the mortgage of his brain, he retired to the continent with a view to economy while clearing off the liabilities yet remaining. Upon his voyage to Holland (March 1835) he was overtaken by a terrible storm, the effects of which seriously impaired his already weakly constitution. He settled successively at Coblentz (1835–7) and Ostend (1837–40), continuing his annual, and writing ‘Hood’s Own’ (1838) and ‘Up the Rhine,’ commenced in 1836 and published in 1839. Much of his correspondence during this period is preserved in the ‘Memorials’ published by his children; its gaiety and spirit are remarkable indeed for a consumptive patient almost worn out by continual attacks of exhausting illness. In 1840 he returned to England, living successively at Camberwell and St. John’s Wood, and began to write for the ‘New Monthly Magazine,’ of which, on the death of Theodore Hook in August 1841, he became the editor. In it appeared ‘Miss Kilmansegg,’ perhaps his masterpiece in his own most characteristic style. Still greater success was attained by the ‘Song of the Shirt,’ published anonymously in the Christmas number of ‘Punch’ for 1843. Hood, who could seldom agree with a publisher, retired from the editorship of the ‘New Monthly Magazine’ at the end of 1843, and with a partner established ‘Hood’s Magazine’ in January 1844, an undertaking too great for his strength. In the same year he collected some of his recent pieces in a volume called ‘Whimsicalities’ illustrated by Leech. But before Christmas 1844 he completely broke down, and from that date to his death never left his bed. The kindness of Sir Robert Peel soothed his last days by the bestowal of a pension of 100l., with remainder to his wife. The last production of Hood’s pen, and not the least valuable, was a letter to the statesman on the estrangement between classes in modern society. He died on 3 May 1845 at Devonshire Lodge, Finchley Road, and was buried in Kensal Green cemetery, where in 1854 a public monument was erected to him, adorned with bas-reliefs from ‘Eugene Aram’s Dream’ and the ‘Bridge of Sighs,’ and inscribed: ‘He sang the Song of the Shirt.’ His complete works have been edited thrice; the last time (1882–4) in eleven volumes. His poems were edited by Canon Ainger in 1897. His son Thomas and daughter Frances Freeling Broderip are noticed separately.

  There were two sides to Hood’s poetical character, either of which would have given him distinction; but his great and unique reputation rests upon the performances in which they appeared in combination. As a poet in the more conventional and restricted sense he was graceful, delicate, and tender, but not very powerful. As a humorist he was exuberant and endowed with a perfectly exceptional faculty of playing upon words. As a poet he is no unworthy disciple of Lamb and Hunt; as a humorist he was exuberant and endowed with a perfectly exceptional faculty of playing upon words. As a poet he is no unworthy disciple of Lamb and Hunt; as a humo
rist he resembles Barham, with less affluence of grotesque invention, but with a pathos to which Barham was a stranger. In his two most famous poems, the ‘Song of the Shirt’ and the ‘Bridge of Sighs,’ this pathos is almost detached from the humorous element in which it is commonly imbedded, and the result is two of the rarest achievements of contemporary verse — pieces equally attractive to the highest and the humblest, genuine Volkslieder of the nineteenth century. He is, however, most truly himself when the serious and the comic are inextricably combined, as in those masterpieces ‘Miss Kilmansegg’ and the ‘Epistle to Rae Wilson.’ Here he stands alone, even though the association of poetry and humour is the general note of his literary work. As a man he was highly estimable; and the tragic necessity laid upon him of jesting for a livelihood while in the very grasp of death imparts a painful interest to his biography.

  Charles Lamb by Henry Hoppner Meyer. Hood became a good friend of Lamb, who was one of the many poets and authors that he became associated with while working as sub-editor of The London Magazine.

  Thomas Hood’s wife, Jane Hood (née Reynolds)

  COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF THOMAS HOOD

  Oxford University Press Edition Edited by Walter Jerrold

  CONTENTS

  ODES AND ADDRESSES TO GREAT PEOPLE (1825)

  WHIMS AND ODDITIES. FIRST SERIES (1826)

  WHIMS AND ODDITIES. SECOND SERIES (1827)

  THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES, HERO AND LEANDER, LYCUS THE CENTAUR, AND OTHER POEMS (1827)

  THE EPPING HUNT (1829)

  COMIC MELODIES (1830)

  THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM, THE MURDERER

  VERSES FROM TYLNEY HALL (1834)

  HOOD’S OWN: OR, LAUGHTER YEAR TO YEAR (1839)

  POEMS FROM ‘UP THE RHINE’ (1840)

  WHIMSICALITIES: A PERIODICAL GATHERING (1844)

  MISCELLANEOUS UNCOLLECTED POEMS (1821-1845)

  JUVENILIA

  APPENDIX: J. H. REYNOLDS’S CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE ‘ODES AND ADDRESSES TO GREAT PEOPLE’ (1825)

  Early edition of ‘Whims and Oddities’

  How ‘The Song of the Shirt’ originally appeared in Punch in 1843

  ODES AND ADDRESSES TO GREAT PEOPLE (1825)

  CONTENTS

  ODE TO MR. GRAHAM, THE AERONAUT.

  A FRIENDLY ADDRESS TO MRS. FRY IN NEWGATE.

  ODE TO RICHARD MARTIN, ESQ.,

  M.P. FOR GALWAY.

  ODE TO THE GREAT UNKNOWN.

  ODE TO JOSEPH GRIMALDI, SENIOR.

  AN ADDRESS TO THE STEAM WASHING COMPANY.

  LETTER OF REMONSTRANCE

  ODE TO CAPTAIN PARRY

  ODE TO W. KITCHENER, M.D.

  ODE TO H. BODKIN, ESQ.

  ADDRESS TO MARIA DARLINGTON ON HER RETURN TO THE STAGE.

  ODE TO MR. GRAHAM, THE AERONAUT.

  “Up with me! — up with me into the sky!”

  WORDSWORTH — on a Lark.

  I.

  Dear Graham, whilst the busy crowd,

  The vain, the wealthy, and the proud,

  Their meaner flights pursue,

  Let us cast off the foolish ties

  That bind us to the earth, and rise

  And take a bird’s-eye view! —

  II.

  A few more whiffs of my segar

  And then, in Fancy’s airy car,

  Have with thee for the skies: —

  How oft this fragrant smoke upcurl’d

  Hath borne me from this little world,

  And all that in it lies! —

  III.

  Away! — away! — the bubble fills —

  Farewell to earth and all its hills! —

  We seem to cut the wind! —

  So high we mount, so swift we go,

  The chimney tops are far below,

  The Eagle’s left behind! —

  IV.

  Ah me! my brain begins to swim! —

  The world is growing rather dim;

  The steeples and the trees —

  My wife is getting very small!

  I cannot see my babe at all! —

  The Dollond, if you please! —

  V.

  Do, Graham, let me have a quiz;

  Lord! what a Lilliput it is.

  That little world of Mogg’s! —

  Are those the London Docks? — that channel,

  The mighty Thames? — a proper kennel

  For that small Isle of Dogs! —

  VI.

  What is that seeming tea-urn there?

  That fairy dome, St. Paul’s! — I swear,

  Wren must have been a Wren! —

  And that small stripe? — it cannot be

  The City Road! — Good lack! to see

  The little ways of men!

  VII.

  Little, indeed! — my eyeballs ache

  To find a turnpike. — I must take

  Their tolls upon my trust! —

  And where is mortal labor gone?

  Look, Graham, for a little stone

  Mac Adamiz’d to dust!

  VIII.

  Look at the horses! — less than flies! —

  Oh, what a waste it was of sighs

  To wish to be a Mayor!

  What is the honor? — none at all,

  One’s honor must be very small

  For such a civic chair! —

  IX.

  And there’s Guildhall!— ’tis far aloof —

  Methinks, I fancy through the roof

  Its little guardian Gogs,

  Like penny dolls — a tiny show! —

  Well, — I must say they’re rul’d below

  By very little logs! —

  X.

  Oh, Graham! how the upper air

  Alters the standards of compare;

  One of our silken flags

  Would cover London all about —

  Nay, then — let’s even empty out

  Another brace of bags!

  XI.

  Now for a glass of bright champagne

  Above the clouds! — Come, let us drain

  A bumper as we go! —

  But hold! — for God’s sake do not cant

  The cork away — unless you want

  To brain your friends below.

  XII.

  Think! what a mob of little men

  Are crawling just within our ken,

  Like mites upon a cheese! —

  Pshaw! — how the foolish sight rebukes

  Ambitious thoughts! — can there be Dukes

  Of Gloster such as these! —

  XIII.

  Oh! what is glory? — what is fame?

  Hark to the little mob’s acclaim,

  ’Tis nothing but a hum! —

  A few near gnats would trump as loud

  As all the shouting of a crowd

  That has so far to come! —

  XIV.

  Well — they are wise that choose the near,

  A few small buzzards in the ear,

  To organs ages hence! —

  Ah me! how distance touches all;

  It makes the true look rather small,

  But murders poor pretence

  XV.

  “The world recedes! — it disappears!

  Heav’n opens on my eyes — my ears

  With buzzing noises ring!” —

  A fig for Southey’s Laureat lore!” —

  What’s Rogers here? — Who cares for Moore

  That hears the Angels sing!—”

  XVI.

  A fig for earth, and all its minions! —

  We are above the world’s opinions,

  Graham! we’ll have our own! —

  Look what a vantage height we’ve got! —

  Now — do you think Sir Walter Scott

  Is such a Great Unknown?

  XVII.

  Speak up! — or hath he hid his name

  To crawl thro’ “subways” unto fame,

  Like Williams of Cornhill? —

  Speak up, my la
d! — when men run small

  We’ll show what’s little in them all,

  Receive it how they will! —

  XVIII.

  Think now of Irving! — shall he preach

  The princes down, — shall he impeach

  The potent and the rich,

  Merely on ethic stilts, — and I

  Not moralize at two mile high

  The true didactic pitch!

  XIX.

  Come: — what d’ye think of Jeffrey, sir?

  Is Gifford such a Gulliver

  In Lilliput’s Review,

  That like Colossus he should stride

  Certain small brazen inches wide

  For poets to pass through?

  XX.

  Look down! the world is but a spot.

  Now say — Is Blackwood’s low or not,

  For all the Scottish tone?

  It shall not weigh us here — not where

  The sandy burden’s lost in air —

  Our lading — where is’t flown?

  XXI.

  Now, — like you Croly’s verse indeed —