Thomas Hood- Collected Poetical Works Page 18

  Hast seen, perchance, unhappy white folks cook’d,

  And then made free of negro corporations?

  Poor wretches saved from cast away three-deckers —

  By sooty wreckers —

  From hungry waves to have a loss still drearier,

  To far exceed the utmost aim of Park —

  And find themselves, alas! beyond the mark,

  In the insides of Africa’s Interior!

  Live on, Giraffe! genteelest of raff kind!

  Admir’d by noble, and by royal tongues

  May no pernicious wind,

  Or English fog, blight thy exotic lungs!

  Live on in happy peace, altho’ a rarity,

  Nor envy thy poor cousin’s more outrageous

  Parisian popularity;

  Whose very leopard-rash is grown contagious,

  And worn on gloves and ribbons all about,

  Alas! they’ll wear him out!

  So thou shalt take thy sweet diurnal feeds —

  When he is stuff’d with undigested straw,

  Sad food that never visited his jaw!

  And staring round him with a brace of beads!

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

  CONTENTS

  THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES.

  HERO AND LEANDER.

  LYCUS THE CENTAUR.

  THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT.

  MINOR POEMS.

  A RETROSPECTIVE REVIEW.

  FAIR INES.

  THE DEPARTURE OF SUMMER.

  SONG: A LAKE AND A FAIRY BOAT

  ODE.

  BALLAD. SPRING IT IS CHEERY.

  HYMN TO THE SUN.

  TO A COLD BEAUTY.

  AUTUMN

  RUTH.

  THE SEA OF DEATH.

  BALLAD. SHE’S UP AND GONE, THE GRACELESS GIRL.

  I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER.

  BALLAD. SIGH ON, SAD HEART.

  THE WATER LADY.

  THE EXILE.

  TO AN ABSENTEE.

  SONG. THE STARS ARE WITH THE VOYAGER.

  ODE TO THE MOON.

  TO ——

  THE FORSAKEN.

  AUTUMN.

  ODE TO MELANCHOLY.

  SONNETS.

  ON MISTRESS NICELY, A PATTERN FOR HOUSEKEEPERS.

  SONNET. WRITTEN IN A VOLUME OF SHAKSPEARE.

  TO FANCY.

  TO AN ENTHUSIAST.

  DEATH.

  SONNET. BY EV’RY SWEET TRADITION OF TRUE HEARTS.

  ON RECEIVING A GIFT.

  SONNET TO MY WIFE.

  SONNET. LOVE, DEAREST LADY, SUCH AS I WOULD SPEAK,

  SILENCE.

  THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES.

  I.

  ’Twas in that mellow season of the year

  When the hot sun singes the yellow leaves

  Till they be gold, — and with a broader sphere

  The Moon looks down on Ceres and her sheaves;

  When more abundantly the spider weaves,

  And the cold wind breathes from a chillier clime; —

  That forth I fared, on one of those still eves,

  Touch’d with the dewy sadness of the time,

  To think how the bright months had spent their prime,

  II.

  So that, wherever I address’d my way,

  I seem’d to track the melancholy feet

  Of him that is the Father of Decay,

  And spoils at once the sour weed and the sweet; —

  Wherefore regretfully I made retreat

  To some unwasted regions of my brain,

  Charm’d with the light of summer and the heat,

  And bade that bounteous season bloom again,

  And sprout fresh flowers in mine own domain.

  III.

  It was a shady and sequester’d scene,

  Like those famed gardens of Boccaccio,

  Planted with his own laurels evergreen,

  And roses that for endless summer blow;

  And there were fountain springs to overflow

  Their marble basins, — and cool green arcades

  Of tall o’erarching sycamores, to throw

  Athwart the dappled path their dancing shades, —

  With timid coneys cropping the green blades.

  IV.

  And there were crystal pools, peopled with fish,

  Argent and gold; and some of Tyrian skin,

  Some crimson-barr’d; — and ever at a wish

  They rose obsequious till the wave grew thin

  As glass upon their backs, and then dived in,

  Quenching their ardent scales in watery gloom;

  Whilst others with fresh hues row’d forth to win

  My changeable regard, — for so we doom

  Things born of thought to vanish or to bloom.

  V.

  And there were many birds of many dyes,

  From tree to tree still faring to and fro,

  And stately peacocks with their splendid eyes,

  And gorgeous pheasants with their golden glow,

  Like Iris just bedabbled in her bow,

  Beside some vocalists, without a name,

  That oft on fairy errands come and go,

  With accents magical; — and all were tame,

  And peckled at my hand where’er I came.

  VI.

  And for my sylvan company, in lieu

  Of Pampinea with her lively peers,

  Sate Queen Titania with her pretty crew,

  All in their liveries quaint, with elfin gears,

  For she was gracious to my childish years,

  And made me free of her enchanted round;

  Wherefore this dreamy scene she still endears,

  And plants her court upon a verdant mound,

  Fenced with umbrageous woods and groves profound.

  VII.

  “Ah me,” she cries, “was ever moonlight seen

  So clear and tender for our midnight trips?

  Go some one forth, and with a trump convene

  My lieges all!” — Away the goblin skips

  A pace or two apart, and deftly strips

  The ruddy skin from a sweet rose’s cheek,

  Then blows the shuddering leaf between his lips,

  Making it utter forth a shrill small shriek,

  Like a fray’d bird in the gray owlet’s beak.

  VIII.

  And lo! upon my fix’d delighted ken

  Appear’d the loyal Fays. — Some by degrees

  Crept from the primrose buds that open’d then,

  Ana some from bell-shaped blossoms like the bees,

  Some from the dewy meads, and rushy leas,

  Flew up like chafers when the rustics pass;

  Some from the rivers, others from tall trees

  Dropp’d, like shed blossoms, silent to the grass,

  Spirits and elfins small, of every class.

  IX.

  Peri and Pixy, and quaint Puck the Antic,

  Brought Robin Goodfellow, that merry swain;

  And stealthy Mab, queen of old realms romantic,

  Came too, from distance, in her tiny wain,

  Fresh dripping from a cloud — some bloomy rain,

  Then circling the bright Moon, had wash’d her car,

  And still bedew’d it with a various stain:

  Lastly came Ariel, shooting from a star,

  Who bears all fairy embassies afar.

  X.

  But Oberon, that night elsewhere exiled,

  Was absent, whether some distemper’d spleen

  Kept him and his fair mate unreconciled,

  Or warfare with the Gnome (whose race had been

  Sometime obnoxious), kept him from his queen,

  And made her now peruse the starry skies

  Prophetical, with such an absent mien;

  Howbeit, the tears stole often to her eyes,

  And oft the Moon was incensed with her sigh
s —

  XI.

  Which made the elves sport drearily, and soon

  Their hushing dances languish’d to a stand,

  Like midnight leaves, when, as the Zephyrs swoon,

  All on their drooping stems they sink unfann’d, —

  So into silence droop’d the fairy band,

  To see their empress dear so pale and still,

  Crowding her softly round on either hand,

  As pale as frosty snowdrops, and as chill,

  To whom the sceptred dame reveals her ill.

  XII.

  “Alas,” quoth she, “ye know our fairy lives

  Are leased upon the fickle faith of men;

  Not measured out against Fate’s mortal knives,

  Like human gosamers, — we perish when

  We fade and are forgot in worldly kens —

  Though poesy has thus prolong’d our date,

  Thanks be to the sweet Bard’s auspicious pen

  That rescued us so long! — howbeit of late

  I feel some dark misgivings of our fate.”

  XIII.

  “And this dull day my melancholy sleep

  Hath been so thronged with images of woe,

  That even now I cannot choose but weep

  To think this was some sad prophetic show

  Of future horror to befall us so,

  Of mortal wreck and uttermost distress,

  Yea, our poor empire’s fall and overthrow,

  For this was my long vision’s dreadful stress,

  And when I waked my trouble was not less.”

  XIV.

  “Whenever to the clouds I tried to seek,

  Such leaden weight dragg’d these Icarian wings,

  My faithless wand was wavering and weak,

  And slimy toads had trespass’d in our rings —

  The birds refused to sing for me — all things

  Disown’d their old allegiance to our spells;

  The rude bees prick’d me with their rebel stings;

  And, when I pass’d, the valley-lily’s bells

  Rang out, methought, most melancholy knells.”

  XV.

  “And ever on the faint and flagging air

  A doleful spirit with a dreary note

  Cried in my fearful ear, ‘Prepare! prepare!’

  Which soon I knew came from a raven’s throat,

  Perch’d on a cypress-bough not far remote, —

  A cursed bird, too crafty to be shot,

  That alway cometh with his soot-black coat

  To make hearts dreary: — for he is a blot

  Upon the book of life, as well ye wot!—”

  XVI.

  “Wherefore some while I bribed him to be mute,

  With bitter acorns stuffing his foul maw,

  Which barely I appeased, when some fresh bruit

  Startled me all aheap! — and soon I saw

  The horridest shape that ever raised my awe, —

  A monstrous giant, very huge and tall,

  Such as in elder times, devoid of law,

  With wicked might grieved the primeval ball,

  And this was sure the deadliest of them all!”

  XVII.

  “Gaunt was he as a wolf of Languedoc,

  With bloody jaws, and frost upon his crown

  So from his barren poll one hoary lock

  Over his wrinkled front fell far adown,

  Well nigh to where his frosty brows did frown

  Like jagged icicles at cottage eaves;

  And for his coronal he wore some brown

  And bristled ears gather’d from Ceres’ sheaves,

  Entwined with certain sere and russet leaves.”

  XVIII.

  “And lo! upon a mast rear’d far aloft,

  He bore a very bright and crescent blade,

  The which he waved so dreadfully, and oft,

  In meditative spite, that, sore dismay’d,

  I crept into an acorn-cup for shade;

  Meanwhile the horrid effigy went by:

  I trow his look was dreadful, for it made

  The trembling birds betake them to the sky,

  For every leaf was lifted by his sigh.”

  XIX.

  “And ever, as he sigh’d, his foggy breath

  Blurr’d out the landscape like a flight of smoke:

  Thence knew I this was either dreary Death

  Or Time, who leads all creatures to his stroke.

  Ah wretched me!” — Here, even as she spoke,

  The melancholy Shape came gliding in,

  And lean’d his back against an antique oak,

  Folding his wings, that were so fine and thin,

  They scarce were seen against the Dryad’s skin.

  XX.

  Then what a fear seized all the little rout!

  Look how a flock of panick’d sheep will stare —

  And huddle close — and start — and wheel about,

  Watching the roaming mongrel here and there, —

  So did that sudden Apparition scare

  All close aheap those small affrighted things;

  Nor sought they now the safety of the air,

  As if some leaden spell withheld their wings;

  But who can fly that ancientest of Kings?

  XXI.

  Whom now the Queen, with a forestalling tear

  And previous sigh, beginneth to entreat,

  Bidding him spare, for love, her lieges dear:

  “Alas!” quoth she, “is there no nodding wheat

  Ripe for thy crooked weapon, and more meet, —

  Or wither’d leaves to ravish from the tree, —

  Or crumbling battlements for thy defeat?

  Think but what vaunting monuments there be

  Builded in spite and mockery of thee.”

  XXII.

  “O fret away the fabric walls of Fame,

  And grind down marble Cæsars with the dust:

  Make tombs inscriptionless — raze each high name,

  And waste old armors of renown with rust:

  Do all of this, and thy revenge is just:

  Make such decays the trophies of thy prime,

  And check Ambition’s overweening lust,

  That dares exterminating war with Time, —

  But we are guiltless of that lofty crime.”

  XXIII.

  “Frail feeble spirits! — the children of a dream!

  Leased on the sufferance of fickle men,

  Like motes dependent on the sunny beam,

  Living but in the sun’s indulgent ken,

  And when that light withdraws, withdrawing then; —

  So do we flutter in the glance of youth

  And fervid fancy, — and so perish when

  The eye of faith grows aged; — in sad truth,

  Feeling thy sway, O Time! though not thy tooth!”

  XXIV.

  “Where be those old divinities forlorn,

  That dwelt in trees, or haunted in a stream?

  Alas! their memories are dimm’d and torn,

  Like the remainder tatters of a dream:

  So will it fare with our poor thrones, I deem; —

  For us the same dark trench Oblivion delves,

  That holds the wastes of every human scheme.

  O spare us then, — and these our pretty elves, —

  We soon, alas! shall perish of ourselves!”

  XXV.

  Now as she ended, with a sigh, to name

  Those old Olympians, scatter’d by the whirl

  Of Fortune’s giddy wheel and brought to shame,

  Methought a scornful and malignant curl

  Show’d on the lips of that malicious churl,

  To think what noble havocs he had made;

  So that I fear’d he all at once would hurl

  The harmless fairies into endless shade, —

  Howbeit he stopp’d awhile to whet his blade.

  XXVI.

  Pit
y it was to hear the elfins’ wail

  Rise up in concert from their mingled dread,

  Pity it was to see them, all so pale,

  Gaze on the grass as for a dying bed; —

  But Puck was seated on a spider’s thread,

  That hung between two branches of a briar,

  And ‘gan to swing and gambol, heels o’er head,

  Like any Southwark tumbler on a wire,

  For him no present grief could long inspire.

  XXVII.

  Meanwhile the Queen with many piteous drops,

  Falling like tiny sparks full fast and free,

  Bedews a pathway from her throne; — and stops

  Before the foot of her arch enemy,

  And with her little arms enfolds his knee,

  That shows more grisly from that fair embrace;

  But she will ne’er depart. “Alas!” quoth she,

  “My painful fingers I will here enlace

  Till I have gain’d your pity for our race.”

  XXVIII.

  “What have we ever done to earn this grudge,

  And hate — (if not too humble for thy hating?) —

  Look o’er our labors and our lives, and judge

  If there be any ills of our creating;

  For we are very kindly creatures, dating

  With nature’s charities still sweet and bland: —

  O think this murder worthy of debating!”

  Herewith she makes a signal with her hand,

  To beckon some one from the Fairy band.

  XXIX.

  Anon I saw one of those elfin things,

  Clad all in white like any chorister,

  Come fluttering forth on his melodious wings,

  That made soft music at each little stir,

  But something louder than a bee’s demur

  Before he lights upon a bunch of broom,

  And thus ‘gan he with Saturn to confer, —

  And O his voice was sweet, touch’d with the gloom

  Of that sad theme that argued of his doom!