Thomas Hood- Collected Poetical Works Read online

  To swell the vast dominion of the sea,

  In whose great presence I am held disgraced,

  And neighbor’d with a king that rivals me

  In ancient might and hoary majesty.”

  LXIV.

  “Whereas I ruled in Chaos, and still keep

  The awful secrets of that ancient dearth,

  Before the briny fountains of the deep

  Brimm’d up the hollow cavities of earth; —

  I saw each trickling Sea-God at his birth,

  Each pearly Naiad with her oozy locks,

  And infant Titans of enormous girth,

  Whose huge young feet yet stumbled on the rocks,

  Stunning the early world with frequent shocks.”

  LXV.

  “Where now is Titan, with his cumbrous brood,

  That scared the world? — By this sharp scythe they fell,

  And half the sky was curdled with their blood:

  So have all primal giants sigh’d farewell.

  No wardens now by sedgy fountains dwell,

  Nor pearly Naiads. All their days are done

  That strove with Time, untimely, to excel;

  Wherefore I razed their progenies, and none

  But my great shadow intercepts the sun!”

  LXVI.

  Then saith the timid Fay— “Oh, mighty Time!

  Well hast thou wrought the cruel Titans’ fall,

  For they were stain’d with many a bloody crime:

  Great giants work great wrongs, — but we are small,

  For love goes lowly; — but Oppression’s tall,

  And with surpassing strides goes foremost still

  Where love indeed can hardly reach at all;

  Like a poor dwarf o’erburthen’d with good will,

  That labors to efface the tracks of ill.—”

  LXVII.

  “Man even strives with Man, but we eschew

  The guilty feud, and all fierce strifes abhor;

  Nay, we are gentle as the sweet heaven’s dew,

  Beside the red and horrid drops of war,

  Weeping the cruel hates men battle for,

  Which worldly bosoms nourish in our spite:

  For in the gentle breast we ne’er withdraw,

  But only when all love hath taken flight,

  And youth’s warm gracious heart is hardened quite.”

  LXVIII.

  “So are our gentle natures intertwined

  With sweet humanities, and closely knit

  In kindly sympathy with human kind.

  Witness how we befriend, with elfin wit,

  All hopeless maids and lovers, — nor omit

  Magical succors unto hearts forlorn: —

  We charm man’s life, and do not perish it; —

  So judge us by the helps we showed this morn,

  To one who held his wretched days in scorn.”

  LXIX.

  “’Twas nigh sweet Amwell; — for the Queen had task’d

  Our skill to-day amidst the silver Lea,

  Whereon the noontide sun had not yet bask’d,

  Wherefore some patient man we thought to see,

  Planted in moss-grown rushes to the knee,

  Beside the cloudy margin cold and dim; —

  Howbeit no patient fisherman was he

  That cast his sudden shadow from the brim,

  Making us leave our toils to gaze on him.”

  LXX.

  “His face was ashy pale, and leaden care

  Had sunk the levell’d arches of his brow,

  Once bridges for his joyous thoughts to fare

  Over those melancholy springs and slow,

  That from his piteous eyes began to flow,

  And fell anon into the chilly stream;

  Which, as his mimick’d image show’d below,

  Wrinkled his face with many a needless seam,

  Making grief sadder in its own esteem.”

  LXXI.

  “And lo! upon the air we saw him stretch

  His passionate arms; and, in a wayward strain,

  He ‘gan to elegize that fellow wretch

  That with mute gestures answer’d him again,

  Saying, ‘Poor slave, how long wilt thou remain

  Life’s sad weak captive in a prison strong,

  Hoping with tears to rust away thy chain,

  In bitter servitude to worldly wrong? —

  Thou wear’st that mortal livery too long!’”

  LXXII.

  “This, with more spleenful speeches and some tears,

  When he had spent upon the imaged wave,

  Speedily I convened my elfin peers

  Under the lily-cups, that we might save

  This woeful mortal from a wilful grave

  By shrewd diversions of his mind’s regret,

  Seeing he was mere Melancholy’s slave,

  That sank wherever a dark cloud he met,

  And straight was tangled in her secret net.”

  LXXIII.

  “Therefore, as still he watch’d the water’s flow,

  Daintily we transform’d, and with bright fins

  Came glancing through the gloom; some from below

  Rose like dim fancies when a dream begins,

  Snatching the light upon their purple skins;

  Then under the broad leaves made slow retire:

  One like a golden galley bravely wins

  Its radiant course, — another glows like fire, —

  Making that wayward man our pranks admire.”

  LXXIV.

  “And so he banish’d thought, and quite forgot

  All contemplation of that wretched face;

  And so we wiled him from that lonely spot

  Along the river’s brink; till, by heaven’s grace,

  He met a gentle haunter of the place,

  Full of sweet wisdom gather’d from the brooks,

  Who there discuss’d his melancholy case

  With wholesome texts learned from kind nature’s books,

  Meanwhile he newly trimm’d his lines and hooks.”

  LXXV.

  Herewith the Fairy ceased. Quoth Ariel now —

  “Let me remember how I saved a man,

  Whose fatal noose was fastened on a bough,

  Intended to abridge his sad life’s span;

  For haply I was by when he began

  His stern soliloquy in life dispraise,

  And overheard his melancholy plan,

  How he had made a vow to end his days,

  And therefore follow’d him in all his ways.”

  LXXVI.

  “Through brake and tangled copse, for much he loathed

  All populous haunts, and roam’d in forests rude,

  To hide himself from man. But I had clothed

  My delicate limbs with plumes, and still pursued,

  Where only foxes and wild cats intrude,

  Till we were come beside an ancient tree

  Late blasted by a storm. Here he renew’d

  His loud complaints, — choosing that spot to be

  The scene of his last horrid tragedy.”

  LXXVII.

  “It was a wild and melancholy glen,

  Made gloomy by tall firs and cypress dark,

  Whose roots, like any bones of buried men,

  Push’d through the rotten sod for fear’s remark;

  A hundred horrid stems, jagged and stark,

  Wrestled with crooked arms in hideous fray,

  Besides sleek ashes with their dappled bark,

  Like crafty serpents climbing for a prey,

  With many blasted oaks moss-grown and gray.”

  LXXVIII.

  “But here upon his final desperate clause

  Suddenly I pronounced so sweet a strain,

  Like a pang’d nightingale, it made him pause,

  Till half the frenzy of his grief was slain,

  The sad remainder oozing from his brain

  In ti
mely ecstasies of healing tears,

  Which through his ardent eyes began to drain; —

  Meanwhile the deadly Fates unclosed their shears: —

  So pity me and all my fated peers!”

  LXXIX.

  Thus Ariel ended, and was some time hush’d:

  When with the hoary shape a fresh tongue pleads,

  And red as rose the gentle Fairy blush’d

  To read the records of her own good deeds: —

  “It chanced,” quoth she, “in seeking through the meads

  For honied cowslips, sweetest in the morn,

  Whilst yet the buds were hung with dewy beads.”

  And Echo answered to the huntsman’s horn,

  We found a babe left in the swaths forlorn.

  LXXX.

  “A little, sorrowful, deserted thing,

  Begot of love, and yet no love begetting;

  Guiltless of shame, and yet for shame to wring;

  And too soon banish’d from a mother’s petting,

  To churlish nurture and the wide world’s fretting,

  For alien pity and unnatural care; —

  Alas! to see how the cold dew kept wetting

  His childish coats, and dabbled all his hair,

  Like gossamers across his forehead fair.”

  LXXXI.

  “His pretty pouting mouth, witless of speech,

  Lay half-way open like a rose-lipp’d shell;

  And his young cheek was softer than a peach,

  Whereon his tears, for roundness, could not dwell,

  But quickly roll’d themselves to pearls, and fell,

  Some on the grass, and some against his hand,

  Or haply wander’d to the dimpled well,

  Which love beside his mouth had sweetly plann’d,

  Yet not for tears, but mirth and smilings bland.”

  LXXXII.

  “Pity it was to see those frequent tears

  Falling regardless from his friendless eyes;

  There was such beauty in those twin blue spheres,

  As any mother’s heart might leap to prize;

  Blue were they, like the zenith of the skies

  Softened betwixt two clouds, both clear and mild; —

  Just touched with thought, and yet not over wise,

  They show’d the gentle spirit of a child,

  Not yet by care or any craft defiled.”

  LXXXIII.

  “Pity it was to see the ardent sun

  Scorching his helpless limbs — it shone so warm;

  For kindly shade or shelter he had none,

  Nor mother’s gentle breast, come fair or storm.

  Meanwhile I bade my pitying mates transform

  Like grasshoppers, and then, with shrilly cries,

  All round the infant noisily we swarm,

  Haply some passing rustic to advise —

  Whilst providential Heaven our care espies.”

  LXXXIV.

  “And sends full soon a tender-hearted hind,

  Who, wond’ring at our loud unusual note,

  Strays curiously aside, and so doth find

  The orphan child laid in the grass remote,

  And laps the foundling in his russet coat,

  Who thence was nurtured in his kindly cot: —

  But how he prosper’d let proud London quote,

  How wise, how rich, and how renown’d he got,

  And chief of all her citizens, I wot.”

  LXXXV.

  “Witness his goodly vessels on the Thames,

  Whose holds were fraught with costly merchandise, —

  Jewels from Ind, and pearls for courtly dames,

  And gorgeous silks that Samarcand supplies:

  Witness that Royal Bourse he bade arise,

  The mart of merchants from the East and West:

  Whose slender summit, pointing to the skies,

  Still bears, in token of his grateful breast,

  The tender grasshopper, his chosen crest—”

  LXXXVI.

  “The tender grasshopper, his chosen crest,

  That all the summer, with a tuneful wing,

  Makes merry chirpings in its grassy nest,

  Inspirited with dew to leap and sing: —

  So let us also live, eternal King!

  Partakers of the green and pleasant earth: —

  Pity it is to slay the meanest thing,

  That, like a mote, shines in the smile of mirth: —

  Enough there is of joy’s decrease and dearth!”

  LXXXVII.

  “Enough of pleasure, and delight, and beauty,

  Perish’d and gone, and hasting to decay; —

  Enough to sadden even thee, whose duty

  Or spite it is to havoc and to slay:

  Too many a lovely race razed quite away,

  Hath left large gaps in life and human loving; —

  Here then begin thy cruel war to stay,

  And spare fresh sighs, and tears, and groans, reproving

  Thy desolating hand for our removing.”

  LXXXVIII.

  Now here I heard a shrill and sudden cry,

  And, looking up, I saw the antic Puck

  Grappling with Time, who clutch’d him like a fly,

  Victim of his own sport, — the jester’s luck!

  He, whilst his fellows grieved, poor wight, had stuck

  His freakish gauds upon the Ancient’s brow,

  And now his ear, and now his beard, would pluck;

  Whereas the angry churl had snatched him now,

  Crying, “Thou impish mischief, who art thou?”

  LXXXIX.

  “Alas!” quoth Puck, “a little random elf,

  Born in the sport of nature, like a weed,

  For simple sweet enjoyment of myself,

  But for no other purpose, worth, or need;

  And yet withal of a most happy breed;

  And there is Robin Goodfellow besides,

  My partner dear in many a prankish deed

  To make dame Laughter hold her jolly sides,

  Like merry mummers twain on holy tides.”

  XC.

  “’Tis we that bob the angler’s idle cork,

  Till e’en the patient man breathes half a curse;

  We steal the morsel from the gossip’s fork,

  And curdling looks with secret straws disperse,

  Or stop the sneezing chanter at mid verse:

  And when an infant’s beauty prospers ill,

  We change, some mothers say, the child at nurse:

  But any graver purpose to fulfil,

  We have not wit enough, and scarce the will.”

  XCI.

  “We never let the canker melancholy

  To gather on our faces like a rust,

  But glass our features with some change of folly,

  Taking life’s fabled miseries on trust,

  But only sorrowing when sorrow must:

  We ruminate no sage’s solemn cud,

  But own ourselves a pinch of lively dust

  To frisk upon a wind, — whereas the flood

  Of tears would turn us into heavy mud.”

  XCII.

  “Beshrew those sad interpreters of nature,

  Who gloze her lively universal law,

  As if she had not form’d our cheerful feature

  To be so tickled with the slightest straw!

  So let them vex their mumbling mouths, and draw

  The corners downward, like a wat’ry moon,

  And deal in gusty sighs and rainy flaw —

  We will not woo foul weather all too soon,

  Or nurse November on the lap of June.”

  XCIII.

  “For ours are winging sprites, like any bird,

  That shun all stagnant settlements of grief;

  And even in our rest our hearts are stirr’d,

  Like insects settled on a dancing leaf: —

  This is our small philosophy in brief,


  Which thus to teach hath set me all agape:

  But dost thou relish it? O hoary chief!

  Unclasp thy crooked fingers from my nape,

  And I will show thee many a pleasant scrape.”

  XCIV.

  Then Saturn thus: — shaking his crooked blade

  O’erhead, which made aloft a lightning flash

  In all the fairies’ eyes, dismally fray’d!

  His ensuing voice came like the thunder crash —

  Meanwhile the bolt shatters some pine or ash —

  “Thou feeble, wanton, foolish, fickle thing!

  Whom nought can frighten, sadden, or abash, —

  To hope my solemn countenance to wring

  To idiot smiles! — but I will prune thy wing!”

  XCV.

  “Lo! this most awful handle of my scythe

  Stood once a May-pole, with a flowery crown,

  Which rustics danced around, and maidens blithe,

  To wanton pipings; — but I pluck’d it down,

  And robed the May Queen in a churchyard gown,

  Turning her buds to rosemary and rue;

  And all their merry minstrelsy did drown,

  And laid each lusty leaper in the dew; —

  So thou shalt fare — and every jovial crew!”

  XCVI.

  Here he lets go the struggling imp, to clutch.

  His mortal engine with each grisly hand,

  Which frights the elfin progeny so much,

  They huddle in a heap, and trembling stand

  All round Titania, like the queen bee’s band,

  With sighs and tears and very shrieks of woe! —

  Meanwhile, some moving argument I plann’d,

  To make the stern Shade merciful, — when lo!

  He drops his fatal scythe without a blow!

  XCVII.

  For, just at need, a timely Apparition

  Steps in between, to bear the awful brunt;

  Making him change his horrible position,