Thomas Hood- Collected Poetical Works

by Thomas Hood

  Though they call’d — and perchance but to ask, had I seen

  Their loves, or to tell the vile wrongs that had been:

  But I stayed not to hear, lest the story should hold

  Some hell-form of words, some enchantment, once told,

  Might translate me in flesh to a brute; and I dreaded

  To gaze on their charms, lest my faith should be wedded

  With some pity, — and love in that pity perchance —

  To a thing not all lovely; for once at glance,

  Methought, where one sat, I descried a bright wonder

  That flow’d like a long silver rivulet under

  The long fenny grass, — with so lovely a breast,

  Could it be a snake-tail made the charm of the rest?

  So I roamed in that circle of horrors, and Fear

  Walk’d with me, by hills, and in valleys, and near

  Cluster’d trees for their gloom — not to shelter from heat —

  But lest a brute-shadow should grow at my feet;

  And besides that full oft in the sunshiny place

  Dark shadows would gather like clouds on its face,

  In the horrible likeness of demons (that none

  Could see, like invisible flames in the sun);

  But grew to one monster that seized on the light,

  Like the dragon that strangles the moon in the night;

  Fierce sphinxes, long serpents, and asps of the south;

  Wild birds of huge beak, and all horrors that drouth

  Engenders of slime in the land of the pest,

  Vile shapes without shape, and foul bats of the West,

  Bringing Night on their wings; and the bodies wherein

  Great Brahma imprisons the spirits of sin,

  Many-handed, that blent in one phantom of fight

  Like a Titan, and threatfully warr’d with the light;

  I have heard the wild shriek that gave signal to close,

  When they rushed on that shadowy Python of foes,

  That met with sharp beaks and wide gaping of jaws,

  With flappings of wings, and fierce grasping of claws,

  And whirls of long tails: — I have seen the quick flutter

  Of fragments dissevered, — and necks stretch’d to utter

  Long screamings of pain, — the swift motion of blows,

  And wrestling of arms — to the flight at the close,

  When the dust of the earth startled upward in rings,

  And flew on the whirlwind that follow’d their wings.

  Thus they fled — not forgotten — but often to grow

  Like fears in my eyes, when I walk’d to and fro

  In the shadows, and felt from some beings unseen

  The warm touch of kisses, but clean or unclean

  I knew not, nor whether the love I had won

  Was of heaven or hell — till one day in the sun,

  In its very noon-blaze, I could fancy a thing

  Of beauty, but faint as the cloud-mirrors fling

  On the gaze of the shepherd that watches the sky,

  Half-seen and half-dream’d in the soul of his eye.

  And when in my musings I gazed on the stream,

  In motionless trances of thought, there would seem

  A face like that face, looking upward through mine:

  With his eyes full of love, and the dim-drownd shine

  Of limbs and fair garments, like clouds in that blue

  Serene: — there I stood for long hours but to view

  Those fond earnest eyes that were ever uplifted

  Towards me, and wink’d as the water-weed drifted

  Between; but the fish knew that presence, and plied

  Their long curvy tails, and swift darted aside.

  There I gazed for lost time, and forgot all the things

  That once had been wonders — the fishes with wings,

  And the glimmer of magnified eyes that look’d up

  From the glooms of the bottom like pearls in a cup,

  And the huge endless serpent of silvery gleam,

  Slow winding along like a tide in the stream.

  Some maid of the waters, some Naiad, methought

  Held me dear in the pearl of her eye — and I brought

  My wish to that fancy; and often I dash’d

  My limbs in the water, and suddenly splash’d

  The cool drops around me, yet clung to the brink,

  Chill’d by watery fears, how that beauty might sink

  With my life in her arms to her garden, and bind me

  With its long tangled grasses, or cruelly wind me

  In some eddy to hum out my life in her ear,

  Like a spider-caught bee, — and in aid of that fear

  Came the tardy remembrance — Oh falsest of men!

  Why was not that beauty remember’d till then?

  My love, my safe love, whose glad life would have run

  Into mine — like a drop — that our fate might be one,

  That now, even now, — may-be, — clasp’d in a dream,

  That form which I gave to some jilt of the stream,

  And gazed with fond eyes that her tears tried to smother

  On a mock of those eyes that I gave to another!

  Then I rose from the stream, but the eyes of my mind,

  Still full of the tempter, kept gazing behind

  On her crystalline face, while I painfully leapt

  To the bank, and shook off the curst waters, and wept

  With my brow in the reeds; and the reeds to my ear

  Bow’d, bent by no wind, and in whispers of fear,

  Growing small with large secrets, foretold me of one

  That loved me, — but oh to fly from her, and shun

  Her love like a pest — though her love was as true

  To mine as her stream to the heavenly blue;

  For why should I love her with love that would bring

  All misfortune, like hate, on so joyous a thing?

  Because of her rival, — even Her whose witch-face

  I had slighted, and therefore was doom’d in that place

  To roam, and had roam’d, where all horrors grew rank,

  Nine days ere I wept with my brow on that bank;

  Her name be not named, but her spite would not fail

  To our love like a blight; and they told me the tale

  Of Scylla, — and Picus, imprison’d to speak

  His shrill-screaming woe through a woodpecker’s beak.

  Then they ceased — I had heard as the voice of my star

  That told me the truth of my fortunes — thus far

  I had read of my sorrow, and lay in the hush

  Of deep meditation, — when lo! a light crush

  Of the reeds, and I turn’d and look’d round in the night

  Of new sunshine, and saw, as I sipp’d of the light

  Narrow-winking, the realized nymph of the stream,

  Rising up from the wave with the bend and the gleam

  Of a fountain, and o’er her white arms she kept throwing

  Bright torrents of hair, that went flowing and flowing

  In falls to her feet, and the blue waters roll’d

  Down her limbs like a garment, in many a fold,

  Sun-spangled, gold-broider’d, and fled far behind,

  Like an infinite train. So she came and reclined

  In the reeds, and I hunger’d to see her unseal

  The buds of her eyes that would ope and reveal

  The blue that was in them; — they oped and she raised

  Two orbs of pure crystal, and timidly gazed

  With her eyes on my eyes; but their color and shine

  Was of that which they look’d on, and mostly of mine —

  For she loved me, — except when she blush’d, and they sank,

  Shame-humbled, to number the stones on the bank,

  Or her play-idle fingers, while lisping she told me

  Ho
w she put on her veil, and in love to behold me

  Would wing through the sun till she fainted away

  Like a mist, and then flew to her waters and lay

  In love-patience long hours, and sore dazzled her eyes

  In watching for mine ‘gainst the midsummer skies.

  But now they were heal’d, — O my heart, it still dances

  When I think of the charm of her changeable glances,

  And my image how small when it sank in the deep

  Of her eyes where her soul was, — Alas! now they weep,

  And none knoweth where. In what stream do her eyes

  Shed invisible tears? Who beholds where her sighs

  Flow in eddies, or sees the ascent of the leaf

  She has pluck’d with her tresses? Who listens her grief

  Like a far fall of waters, or hears where her feet

  Grow emphatic among the loose pebbles, and beat

  Them together? Ah! surely her flowers float adown

  To the sea unaccepted, and little ones drown

  For need of her mercy, — even he whose twin-brother

  Will miss him forever; and the sorrowful mother

  Imploreth in vain for his body to kiss

  And cling to, all dripping and cold as it is,

  Because that soft pity is lost in hard pain

  We loved, — how we loved! — for I thought not again

  Of the woes that were whisper’d like fears in that place

  If I gave me to beauty. Her face was the face,

  Far away, and her eyes were the eyes that were drown’d

  For my absence, — her arms were the arms that sought round

  And claspt me to nought; for I gazed and became

  Only true to my falsehood, and had but one name

  For two loves, and call’d ever on Ægle, sweet maid

  Of the sky-loving waters, — and was not afraid

  Of the sight of her skin; — for it never could be;

  Her beauty and love were misfortunes to me!

  Thus our bliss had endured for a time-shorten’d space,

  Like a day made of three, and the smile of her face

  Had been with me for joy, — when she told me indeed

  Her love was self-task’d with a work that would need

  Some short hours, for in truth ’twas the veriest pity

  Our love should not last, and then sang me a ditty,

  Of one with warm lips that should love her, and love her

  When suns were burnt dim and long ages past over.

  So she fled with her voice, and I patiently nested

  My limbs in the reeds, in still quiet, and rested

  Till my thoughts grew extinct, and I sank in a sleep

  Of dreams, — but their meaning was hidden too deep

  To be read what their woe was; — but still it was woe

  That was writ on all faces that swam to and fro

  In that river of night; — and the gaze of their eyes

  Was sad, — and the bend of their brows, — and their cries

  Were seen, but I heard not. The warm touch of tears

  Travell’d down my cold cheeks, and I shook till my fears

  Awaked me, and lo! I was couch’d in a bower,

  The growth of long summers rear’d up in an hour!

  Then I said, in the fear of my dream, I will fly

  From this magic, but could not, because that my eye

  Grew love-idle among the rich blooms; and the earth

  Held me down with its coolness of touch, and the mirth

  Of some bird was above me, — who, even in fear,

  Would startle the thrush? and methought there drew near

  A form as of Ægle, — but it was not the face

  Hope made, and I knew the witch-Queen of that place,

  Even Circe the Cruel, that came like a Death,

  Which I fear’d, and yet fled not, for want of my breath.

  There was thought in her face, and her eyes were not raised

  From the grass at her foot, but I saw, as I gazed,

  Her spite — and her countenance changed with her mind

  As she plann’d how to thrall me with beauty, and bind

  My soul to her charms, — and her long tresses play’d

  From shade into shine and from shine into shade,

  Like a day in mid-autumn, — first fair, O how fair!

  With long snaky locks of the adder-black hair

  That clung round her neck, — those dark locks that I prize,

  For the sake of a maid that once loved me with eyes

  Of that fathomless hue, — but they changed as they roll’d,

  And brighten’d, and suddenly blazed into gold

  That she comb’d into flames, and the locks that fell down

  Turn’d dark as they fell, but I slighted their brown,

  Nor loved, till I saw the light ringlets shed wild,

  That innocence wears when she is but a child;

  And her eyes, — Oh I ne’er had been witched with their shine,

  Had they been any other, my Ægle, than thine!

  Then I gave me to magic, and gazed till I madden’d

  In the full of their light, — but I sadden’d and sadden’d

  The deeper I look’d, — till I sank on the snow

  Of her bosom, a thing made of terror and woe,

  And answer’d its throb with the shudder of fears,

  And hid my cold eyes from her eyes with my tears,

  And strain’d her white arms with the still languid weight

  Of a fainting distress. There she sat like the Fate

  That is nurse unto Death, and bent over in shame

  To hide me from her the true Ægle — that came

  With the words on her lips the false witch had fore-given

  To make me immortal — for now I was even

  At the portals of Death, who but waited the hush

  Of world-sounds in my ears to cry welcome, and rush

  With my soul to the banks of his black-flowing river.

  Oh, would it had flown from my body forever,

  Ere I listen’d those words, when I felt with a start,

  The life-blood rush back in one throb to my heart,

  And saw the pale lips where the rest of that spell

  Had perished in horror — and heard the farewell

  Of that voice that was drown’d in the dash of the stream!

  How fain had I follow’d, and plunged with that scream

  Into death, but my being indignantly lagg’d

  Through the brutalized flesh that I painfully dragg’d

  Behind me: — O Circe! O mother of spite!

  Speak the last of that curse! and imprison me quite

  In the husk of a brute, — that no pity may name

  The man that I was, — that no kindred may claim —

  “The monster I am! Let me utterly be

  Brute-buried, and Nature’s dishonor with me

  Uninscribed!” — But she listen’d my prayer, that was praise

  To her malice, with smiles, and advised me to gaze

  On the river for love, — and perchance she would make

  In pity a maid without eyes for my sake,

  And she left me like Scorn. Then I ask’d of the wave,

  What monster I was, and it trembled and gave

  The true shape of my grief, and I turn’d with my face

  From all waters forever, and fled through that place,

  Till with horror more strong than all magic I pass’d

  Its bounds, and the world was before me at last.

  There I wander’d in sorrow, and shunned the abodes

  Of men, that stood up in the likeness of Gods,

  But I saw from afar the warm shine of the sun

  On the cities, where man was a million, not one;

  And I saw the white smoke of their altars ascending,

  That show’d where the hearts of many were
blending,

  And the wind in my face brought shrill voices that came

  From the trumpets that gather’d whole bands in one fame

  As a chorus of man, — and they stream’d from the gates

  Like a dusky libation poured out to the Fates.

  But at times there were gentler processions of peace

  That I watch’d with my soul in my eyes till their cease,

  There were women! there men! but to me a third sex

  I saw them all dots — yet I loved them as specks:

  And oft to assuage a sad yearning of eyes

  I stole near the city, but stole covert-wise

  Like a wild beast of love, and perchance to be smitten

  By some hand that I rather had wept on than bitten!

  Oh, I once had a haunt near a cot where a mother

  Daily sat in the shade with her child, and would smother

  Its eyelids in kisses, and then in its sleep

  Sang dreams in its ear of its manhood, while deep

  In a thicket of willows I gazed o’er the brooks

  That murmur’d between us and kiss’d them with looks;

  But the willows unbosom’d their secret, and never

  I return’d to a spot I had startled forever,

  Though I oft long’d to know, but could ask it of none,

  Was the mother still fair, and how big was her son?

  For the haunters of fields they all shunn’d me by flight;

  The men in their horror, the women in fright;

  None ever remain’d save a child once that sported

  Among the wild bluebells, and playfully courted

  The breeze; and beside him a speckled snake lay

  Tight strangled, because it had hiss’d him away

  From the flower at his finger; he rose and drew near

  Like a Son of Immortals, one born to no fear,

  But with strength of black locks and with eyes azure bright

  To grow to large manhood of merciful might.

  He came, with his face of bold wonder, to feel,

  The hair of my side, and to lift up my heel,

  And question’d my face with wide eyes; but when under

  My lids he saw tears, — for I wept at his wonder,

  He stroked me, and utter’d such kindliness then,

  That the once love of women, the friendship of men

  In past sorrow, no kindness e’er came like a kiss

  On my heart in its desolate day such as this!

  And I yearn’d at his cheeks in my love, and down bent,

  And lifted him up in my arms with intent