Thomas Hood- Collected Poetical Works Page 21

  To marvel at this comer, brave and blunt,

  That dares Time’s irresistible affront,

  Whose strokes have scarr’d even the gods of old; —

  Whereas this seem’d a mortal, at mere hunt

  For coneys, lighted by the moonshine cold,

  Or stalker of stray deer, stealthy and bold.

  XCVIII.

  Who, turning to the small assembled fays,

  Doffs to the lily queen his courteous cap,

  And holds her beauty for a while in gaze,

  With bright eyes kindling at this pleasant hap;

  And thence upon the fair moon’s silver map,

  As if in question of this magic chance,

  Laid like a dream upon the green earth’s lap;

  And then upon old Saturn turns askance,

  Exclaiming, with a glad and kindly glance: —

  XCIX.

  “Oh, these be Fancy’s revelers by night!

  Stealthy companions of the downy moth —

  Diana’s motes, that flit in her pale light,

  Shunners of sunbeams in diurnal sloth; —

  These be the feasters on night’s silver cloth; —

  The gnat with shrilly trump is their convener,

  Forth from their flowery chambers, nothing loth,

  With lulling tunes to charm the air serener,

  Or dance upon the grass to make it greener.”

  C.

  “These be the pretty genii of the flow’rs,

  Daintily fed with honey and pure dew —

  Midsummer’s phantoms in her dreaming hours,

  King Oberon, and all his merry crew,

  The darling puppets of romance’s view;

  Fairies, and sprites, and goblin elves we call them,

  Famous for patronage of lovers true; —

  No harm they act, neither shall harm befall them,

  So do not thus with crabbed frowns appal them.”

  CI.

  O what a cry was Saturn’s then! — it made

  The fairies quake. “What care I for their pranks,

  However they may lovers choose to aid,

  Or dance their roundelays on flow’ry banks? —

  Long must they dance before they earn my thanks, —

  So step aside, to some far safer spot,

  Whilst with my hungry scythe I mow their ranks,

  And leave them in the sun, like weeds, to rot,

  And with the next day’s sun to be forgot.”

  CII.

  Anon, he raised afresh his weapon keen;

  But still the gracious Shade disarm’d his aim,

  Stepping with brave alacrity between,

  And made his sore arm powerless and tame.

  His be perpetual glory, for the shame

  Of hoary Saturn in that grand defeat! —

  But I must tell how here Titania, came

  With all her kneeling lieges, to entreat

  His kindly succor, in sad tones, but sweet.

  CIII.

  Saying, “Thou seest a wretched queen before thee,

  The fading power of a failing land,

  Who for a kingdom kneeleth to implore thee,

  Now menaced by this tyrant’s spoiling hand;

  No one but thee can hopefully withstand

  That crooked blade, he longeth so to lift.

  I pray thee blind him with his own vile sand,

  Which only times all ruins by its drift,

  Or prune his eagle wings that are so swift.”

  CIV.

  “Or take him by that sole and grizzled tuft,

  That hangs upon his bald and barren crown;

  And we will sing to see him so rebuff’d,

  And lend our little mights to pull him down,

  And make brave sport of his malicious frown,

  For all his boastful mockery o’er men.

  For thou wast born, I know, for this renown,

  By my most magical and inward ken,

  That readeth ev’n at Fate’s forestalling pen.”

  CV.

  “Nay, by the golden lustre of thine eye,

  And by thy brow’s most fair and ample span,

  Thought’s glorious palace, framed for fancies high,

  And by thy cheek thus passionately wan,

  I know the signs of an immortal man, —

  Nature’s chief darling, and illustrious mate,

  Destined to foil old Death’s oblivious plan,

  And shine untarnish’d by the fogs of Fate,

  Time’s famous rival till the final date!”

  CVI.

  “O shield us then from this usurping Time,

  And we will visit thee in moonlight dreams;

  And teach thee tunes, to wed unto thy rhyme,

  And dance about thee in all midnight gleams,

  Giving thee glimpses of our magic schemes,

  Such as no mortal’s eye hath ever seen;

  And, for thy love to us in our extremes,

  Will ever keep thy chaplet fresh and green,

  Such as no poet’s wreath hath ever been!”

  CVII.

  “And we’ll distil thee aromatic dews,

  To charm thy sense, when there shall be no flow’rs;

  And flavor’d syrups in thy drinks infuse,

  And teach the nightingale to haunt thy bow’rs,

  And with our games divert thy weariest hours,

  With all that elfin wits can e’er devise.

  And, this churl dead, there’ll be no hasting hours

  To rob thee of thy joys, as now joy flies”: —

  Here she was stopp’d by Saturn’s furious cries.

  CVIII.

  Whom, therefore, the kind Shade rebukes anew,

  Saying, “Thou haggard Sin, go forth, and scoop

  Thy hollow coffin in some churchyard yew,

  Or make th’ autumnal flow’rs turn pale, and droop;

  Or fell the bearded corn, till gleaners stoop

  Under fat sheaves, — or blast the piny grove; —

  But here thou shall not harm this pretty group,

  Whose lives are not so frail and feebly wove,

  But leased on Nature’s loveliness and love.”

  CIX.

  “’Tis these that free the small entangled fly,

  Caught in the venom’d spider’s crafty snare; —

  These be the petty surgeons that apply

  The healing balsams to the wounded hare,

  Bedded in bloody fern, no creature’s care! —

  These be providers for the orphan brood,

  Whose tender mother hath been slain in air,

  Quitting with gaping bill her darling’s food,

  Hard by the verge of her domestic wood.”

  CX.

  “’Tis these befriend the timid trembling stag,

  When, with a bursting heart beset with fears,

  He feels his saving speed begin to flag;

  For then they quench the fatal taint with tears,

  And prompt fresh shifts in his alarum’d ears,

  So piteously they view all bloody morts;

  Or if the gunner, with his arms, appears,

  Like noisy pyes and jays, with harsh reports,

  They warn the wild fowl of his deadly sports.”

  CXI.

  “For these are kindly ministers of nature,

  To soothe all covert hurts and dumb distress;

  Pretty they be, and very small of stature, —

  For mercy still consorts with littleness; —

  Wherefore the sum of good is still the less,

  And mischief grossest in this world of wrong; —

  So do these charitable dwarfs redress

  The tenfold ravages of giants strong,

  To whom great malice and great might belong.”

  CXII.

  “Likewise to them are Poets much beholden

  For secret favors in the midnight glooms;

  Brave Spen
ser quaff’d out of their goblets golden,

  And saw their tables spread of prompt mushrooms,

  And heard their horns of honeysuckle blooms

  Sounding upon the air most soothing soft,

  Like humming bees busy about the brooms, —

  And glanced this fair queen’s witchery full oft,

  And in her magic wain soar’d far aloft.”

  CXIII.

  “Nay I myself, though mortal, once was nursed

  By fairy gossips, friendly at my birth,

  And in my childish ear glib Mab rehearsed

  Her breezy travels round our planet’s girth,

  Telling me wonders of the moon and earth;

  My gramarye at her grave lap I conn’d,

  Where Puck hath been convened to make me mirth;

  I have had from Queen Titania tokens fond,

  And toy’d with Oberon’s permitted wand.”

  CXIV.

  “With figs and plums and Persian dates they fed me,

  And delicate cates after my sunset meal,

  And took me by my childish hand, and led me

  By craggy rocks crested with keeps of steel,

  Whose awful bases deep dark woods conceal,

  Staining some dead lake with their verdant dyes.

  And when the West sparkled at Phoebus’ wheel,

  With fairy euphrasy they purged mine eyes,

  To let me see their cities in the skies.”

  CXV.

  “’Twas they first school’d my young imagination

  To take its flights like any new-fledged bird,

  And show’d the span of winged meditation

  Stretch’d wider than things grossly seen or heard.

  With sweet swift Ariel how I soar’d and stirr’d

  The fragrant blooms of spiritual bow’rs!

  ’Twas they endear’d what I have still preferr’d,

  Nature’s blest attributes and balmy pow’rs,

  Her hills and vales and brooks, sweet birds and flow’rs.”

  CXVI.

  “Wherefore with all true loyalty and duty

  Will I regard them in my honoring rhyme,

  With love for love, and homages to beauty,

  And magic thoughts gather’d in night’s cool clime,

  With studious verse trancing the dragon Time,

  Strong as old Merlin’s necromantic spells;

  So these dear monarchs of the summer’s prime

  Shall live unstartled by his dreadful yells,

  Till shrill larks warn them to their flowery cells.”

  CXVII.

  Look how a poison’d man turns livid black,

  Drugg’d with a cup of deadly hellebore,

  That sets his horrid features all at rack, —

  So seem’d these words into the ear to pour

  Of ghastly Saturn, answering with a roar

  Of mortal pain and spite and utmost rage,

  Wherewith his grisly arm he raised once more,

  And bade the cluster’d sinews all engage,

  As if at one fell stroke to wreck an age.

  CXVIII.

  Whereas the blade flash’d on the dinted ground,

  Down through his steadfast foe, yet made no scar

  On that immortal Shade, or death-like wound;

  But Time was long benumb’d, and stood ajar,

  And then with baffled rage took flight afar,

  To weep his hurt in some Cimmerian gloom,

  Or meaner fames (like mine) to mock and mar,

  Or sharp his scythe for royal strokes of doom,

  Whetting its edge on some old Cæsar’s tomb.

  CXIX.

  Howbeit he vanish’d in the forest shade,

  Distantly heard as if some grumbling pard,

  And, like Nymph Echo, to a sound decay’d; —

  Meanwhile the fays cluster’d the gracious Bard,

  The darling centre of their dear regard:

  Besides of sundry dances on the green,

  Never was mortal man so brightly starr’d,

  Or won such pretty homages, I ween.

  “Nod to him, Elves!” cries the melodious queen.

  CXX.

  “Nod to him, Elves, and flutter round about him,

  And quite enclose him with your pretty crowd,

  And touch him lovingly, for that, without him,

  The silkworm now had spun our dreary shroud; —

  But he hath all dispersed Death’s tearful cloud,

  And Time’s dread effigy scared quite away:

  Bow to him then, as though to me ye bow’d,

  And his dear wishes prosper and obey

  Wherever love and wit can find a way!”

  CXXI.

  “‘Noint him with fairy dews of magic savors,

  Shaken from orient buds still pearly wet,

  Roses and spicy pinks, — and, of all favors,

  Plant in his walks the purple violet,

  And meadow-sweet under the hedges set,

  To mingle breaths with dainty eglantine

  And honeysuckles sweet, — nor yet forget

  Some pastoral flowery chaplets to entwine,

  To vie the thoughts about his brow benign!”

  CXXII.

  “Let no wild things astonish him or fear him,

  But tell them all how mild he is of heart,

  Till e’en the timid hares go frankly near him,

  And eke the dappled does, yet never start;

  Nor shall their fawns into the thickets dart,

  Nor wrens forsake their nests among the leaves,

  Nor speckled thrushes flutter far apart; —

  But bid the sacred swallow haunt his eaves,

  To guard his roof from lightning and from thieves.”

  CXXIII.

  “Or when he goes the nimble squirrel’s visitor,

  Let the brown hermit bring his hoarded nuts,

  For, tell him, this is Nature’s kind Inquisitor, —

  Though man keeps cautious doors that conscience shuts,

  For conscious wrong all curious quest rebuts, —

  Nor yet shall bees uncase their jealous stings,

  However he may watch their straw-built huts; —

  So let him learn the crafts of all small things,

  Which he will hint most aptly when he sings.”

  CXXIV.

  Here she leaves off, and with a graceful hand

  Waves thrice three splendid circles round his head;

  Which, though deserted by the radiant wand,

  Wears still the glory which her waving shed,

  Such as erst crown’d the old Apostle’s head,

  To show the thoughts there harbor’d were divine,

  And on immortal contemplations fed: —

  Goodly it was to see that glory shine

  Around a brow so lofty and benign! —

  CXXV.

  Goodly it was to see the elfin brood

  Contend for kisses of his gentle hand,

  That had their mortal enemy withstood,

  And stay’d their lives, fast ebbing with the sand.

  Long while this strife engaged the pretty band;

  But now bold Chanticleer, from farm to farm,

  Challenged the dawn creeping o’er eastern land,

  And well the fairies knew that shrill alarm,

  Which sounds the knell of every elfish charm.

  CXXVI.

  And soon the rolling mist, that ‘gan arise

  From plashy mead and undiscover’d stream,

  Earth’s morning incense to the early skies,

  Crept o’er the failing landscape of my dream.

  Soon faded then the Phantom of my theme —

  A shapeless shade, that fancy disavowed,

  And shrank to nothing in the mist extreme,

  Then flew Titania, — and her little crowd,

  Like flocking linnets, vanished in a cloud.

  HERO AND LEANDER.

>   TO S. T. COLERIDGE.

  It is not with a hope my feeble praise

  Can add one moment’s honor to thy own,

  That with thy mighty name I grace these lays;

  I seek to glorify myself alone:

  For that some precious favor thou hast shown

  To my endeavor in a bygone time,

  And by this token I would have it known

  Thou art my friend, and friendly to my rhyme!

  It is my dear ambition now to climb

  Still higher in thy thought, — if my bold pen

  May thrust on contemplations more sublime. —

  But I am thirsty for thy praise, for when

  We gain applauses from the great in name,

  We seem to be partakers of their fame.

  I.

  Oh Bards of old! What sorrows have ye sung,

  And tragic stories, chronicled in stone, —

  Sad Philomel restored her ravish’d tongue,

  And transform’d Niobe in dumbness shown;

  Sweet Sappho on her love forever calls,

  And Hero on the drown’d Leander falls!

  II.

  Was it that spectacles of sadder plights

  Should make our blisses relish the more high?

  Then all fair dames, and maidens, and true knights,

  Whose flourish’d fortunes prosper in Love’s eye,

  Weep here, unto a tale of ancient grief,

  Traced from the course of an old bas-relief.

  III.

  There stands Abydos! — here is Sestos’ steep,

  Hard by the gusty margin of the sea,

  Where sprinkling waves continually do leap;

  And that is where those famous lovers be,

  A builded gloom shot up into the gray,

  As if the first tall watch-tow’r of the day.

  IV.

  Lo! how the lark soars upward and is gone;

  Turning a spirit as he nears the sky,