475. L' INCONNUE
Is thy name Mary, maiden fair ?
Such should, methinks, its music be;
The sweetest name that mortals bear
Were best befitting thee;
And she to whom it once was given,
Was half of earth and half of heaven.
I hear thy voice, I see thy smile,
I look upon thy folded hair;
Ah! while we dream not they beguile,
Our hearts are in the snare ;
And she who chains a wild bird's wing
Must start not if her captive sing.
So, lady, take the leaf that falls,
To all but thee unseen, unknown;
When evening shades thy silent walls,
Then read it all alone;
In stillness read, in darkness seal,
Forget, despise, but not reveal!
477. FAREWELL, LIFE! MY SENSES SWIM
FAREWELL, Life! my senses swim;
And the world is growing dim;
Thronging shadows cloud the light,
Like the advent of the night,-
Colder, colder, colder still
Upward steals a vapour chill-
Strong the earthy odour grows-
I smell the Mould above the
Rose !
| Welcome, Life! the Spirit strives!
Strength returns, and hope revives;
Cloudy fears and shapes forlorn
Fly like shadows at the morn,—
O'er the earth there comes
Sunny light for sullen gloom,
Warm perfume for vapour cold,
I smell the Rose above the Mould.
T. HOOD.
478. IT WAS NOT IN THE WINTER
IT was not in the winter
Our loving lot was cast! It was the time of roses,
We plucked them as we passed ! That churlish season never frowned
On early lovers yet!— Oh no-the world was newly crowned
With flowers, when first we met.
'Twas twilight, and I bade you go,
But still you held me fast ;— It was the time of roses,
We plucked them as we passed! What else could peer my glowing cheek
That tears began to stud?— And when I asked the like of Love You snatched a damask bud,
And oped it to the dainty core
Still glowing till the last :-
It was the time of roses,
We plucked them as we passed!
479. MY MOTHER BIDS ME SPEND MY SMILES
My mother bids me spend my smiles
On all who come and call me fair,
As crumbs are thrown upon the tiles,
To all the sparrows of the air.
But I've a darling of my own
For whom I hoard my little stock-
What if I chirp him all alone,
And leave mamma to feed the flock!
480. TO MINERVA
My temples throb, my pulses boil, |
I'm sick of Song, and Ode, and
Ballad-
So, Thyrsis, take the Midnight Oil,
And pour it on a lobster salad.
My brain is dull, my sight is foul,
I cannot write a verse, or read,-
Then, Pallas, take away thine Owl,
And let us have a lark instead.
T. HOOD.
No sun-no moon!
No morn-no noon
No dawn-no dusk-no proper time of day
No sky-no earthly view
No distance looking blue
No road-no street-no 't'other side the way '
No end to any Row
No indications where the Crescents go
No top to any steeple
No recognitions of familiar people
No courtesies for showing 'em—
No knowing 'em!-
No travelling at all-no locomotion,
No inkling of the way-no notion-
'No go-by land or ocean—
No mail-no post-
No news from any foreign coast
No Park-no Ring-no afternoon gentility-
No company-no nobility-
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member-
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds-
November!
Он, saw ye not fair Ines ?
She's gone into the West,
To dazzle when the sun is down,
And rob the world of rest:
She took our daylight with her,
The smiles that we love best,
With morning blushes on her
And pearls upon her breast.
O, turn again, fair Ines,
Before the fall of night, For fear the Moon should shine alone,
And stars unrivalled bright; And blessed will the lover be
That walks beneath their light, And breathes the love against thy cheek
I dare not even write!
Would I had been, fair Ines,
That gallant cavalier,
Who rode so gaily by thy side,
And whispered thee so near!-
Were there no bonny dames at
home
Or no true lovers here,
That he should cross the seas to win
The dearest of the dear?
I saw thee, lovely Ines,
Descend along the shore,
With bands of noble gentlemen,
And banners waved before;
And gentle youth and maidens
And snowy plumes they wore;— It would have been a beauteous dream,
-If it had been no more.
Alas, alas, fair Ines,
She went away with song, With music waiting on her steps, And shoutings of the throng; But some were sad, and felt no mirth,
But only Music's wrong,
In sounds that sang Farewell,
farewell,
To her you've loved so long.
Farewell, farewell, fair Ines !
That vessel never bore
So fair a lady on its deck,
Nor danced so light before,—
Alas for pleasure on the sea,
And sorrow on the shore ! The smile that blessed one lover's heart
Has broken many more!
483. THE ONE more Unfortunate,
Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death!
Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care;
Fashioned so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!
Look at her garments
Clinging like cerements;
Whilst the wave constantly
Drips from her clothing;
Take her up instantly,
Loving, not loathing.-
Touch her not scornfully;
Think of her mournfully;
Gently and humanly;
Not of the stains of her,
All that remains of her
Now is pure womanly.
Make no deep scrutiny
Into her mutiny
Rash and undutiful:
Past all dishonour
Death has left on her
Only the beautiful.
Still, for all slips of hers,
One of Eve's family-
Wipe those poor lips of hers
Oozing so clammily.
Loop up her tresses,
Escaped from the comb,
Her fair auburn tresses;
Whilst wonderment guesses
Where was her home?
Who was her father?
Who was her mother?
Had she a sister?
Had she a brother?
Or was there a dearer one
Still, and a nearer one
Yet, than all other?
Alas! for the rarity
Of Christian charity
Under the sun!
Oh! it was pitiful!
Near a whole city full,
Home she had none !
Sisterly, brotherly,
Fatherly, motherly
Feelings had changed:
Love, by harsh evidence,
Thrown from its eminence;
Even God's providence
Seeming estranged.
Where the lamps quiver
So far in the river,
With many a light
From window and casement,
From garret to basement,
She stood, with amazement,
Houseless by night.
The bleak wind of March,
Made her tremble and shiver;
But not the dark arch,
Or the black flowing river:
Mad from life's history,
Glad to death's mystery
Swift to be hurled-
Anywhere, anywhere,
Out of the world!
In she plunged boldly,
No matter how coldly
The rough river ran,-
Over the brink of it,
Picture it, think of it,
Dissolute man!
Lave in it, drink of it,
Then, if you can!
Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care;
Fashioned so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!
Ere her limbs frigidly
Stiffen too rigidly,
Decently,-kindly,-
Smoothe and compose them:
And her eyes, close them,
Staring so blindly!
Like the sweetheart of the sun,
Who many a glowing kiss had won.
On her cheek an autumn flush,
Deeply ripened;-such a blush
In the midst of brown was born,
Like red poppies grown with corn.
Round her eyes her tresses fell,
Which were blackest none could
tell,
But long lashes veiled a light,
That had else been all too bright.
And her hat, with shady brim,
Made her tressy forehead dim-
Thus she stood amid the stooks,
Praising God with sweetest looks.
Sure, I said, heaven did not mean
Where I reap thou shouldst but glean,
Lay thy sheaf adown and come,
Share my harvest and my home.
485. FROM ANODE: AUTUMN '
THE squirrel gloats on his accomplished hoard,
The ants have brimmed their garners with ripe grain,
And honey bees have stored
The sweets of Summer in their luscious cells;
The swallows all have winged across the main ;
But here the Autumn melancholy dwells,
And sighs her tearful spells
Amongst the sunless shadows of the plain.
Alone, alone,
She sits and reckons up the dead and gone
With the last leaves for a love-rosary,
Whilst all the withered world looks drearily,
Like a dim picture of the drowned past
In the hushed mind's mysterious far away,
Doubtful what ghostly thing will steal the last
Into that distance, grey upon the grey.
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