Thomas Hood- Collected Poetical Works

by Thomas Hood

That rolls with gentle murmuring to lave

  The willow twig that loves to kiss the wave.

  One bright departing ray of golden fire

  Still hangs reluctant on the village spire;

  Like Hope’s last dream, it fondly lingers yet,

  Then leaves the highest pinnacle— ’tis set!

  And now the mountains, blending with the sky,

  Or, lost in clouds, elude the gazer’s eye,

  And wide and far the lengthened shadows round,

  Creep slow and silent o’er the darkened ground;

  And travelling on, obscuring hill and dale,

  The shades of night enshroud the quiet vale.

  Now sleeps the peasant, and forgets the while,

  In sweet oblivion, his daily toil;

  Now rest the weary, and perchance in sleep

  The wretched and unhappy cease to weep;

  Some few in pain, or revelry or woe,

  Or worldly cares, its influence forego.

  Perhaps it flies the dark uneasy bed,

  Where the pale invalid reclines his head;

  But chiefly Guilt its balmy sweets forsake,

  And the cursed murderer and robber wake,

  For Conscience and Remorse, that sleep not, seem

  To sting when waked and haunt their every dream.

  CANTO SECOND

  Through Arden’s pile the lighted tapers blazed,

  The sound of mirth and revelry was raised,

  And in the mazy dance light bounding feet

  The sprightly measure of the music beat,

  The song, the jest, the laugh, the bowl flew fast,

  And grey-haired Time smiled gaily as he passed;

  And ‘ joy to Arden and his bonny bride!’

  Was hymned by joyous tongues on every side;

  And oft they pledged the fair in sparkling wine,

  Inspiring wit that better seemed to shine.

  And there were lovely maids that blushed to hear

  The grateful praises whispered in their ear;

  And undisguised, love mingled with the rest, —

  A welcome, nor an uninvited guest;

  And there were beating hearts with rapture filled,

  And throbbing pulses that with pleasure thrilled,

  And eyes that shone with flames they could not veil,

  And tongues and lips that oft confirmed the tale,

  Or strove the avowal but in vain to shun,

  And all were happy — pleasing — pleased — but one!

  Clad as a mourner in a sable suit

  The stranger stood — pale, motionless, and mute,

  Nought could divert his glaring eyes aside,

  That gazed reproachfully upon the bride.

  In vain her supplicating glance she raised;

  Unmoved, immovable he sternly gazed;

  But when she wildly clasped her hands of snow

  He turned aside in pity to her woe.

  Still where he moved all gaiety was crushed,

  The dance was ended and the song was hushed,

  And if, perchance, the speaker’s glance had caught

  His countenance, with woe and fury fraught,

  He smiled no more — his face unconscious took

  The gloomy semblance of the other’s look,

  His speech was checked as sudden as his glee,

  Or ended in the whisper—’ Who is he?’

  ’Twas Ulric, on whose brow a sadder shade

  Half mourned the gloomy change his presence made,

  And while the dulcet sounds of music stole

  So soft, so sweetly o’er his stormy soul,

  His heart half softened, and his fury soothed,

  As ruffled waves by oily drops are smoothed,

  Inly he shuddered at himself, who stood

  To end the scene of happiness in blood!

  But when he pondered on his own sad fall,

  That left him dark and lone among them all,

  Or looked on some exulting at his cost,

  And revelling in joys himself had lost,

  Then roused the slumbering Demon in his breast,

  And mad designs that scarce could be repressed,

  As suddenly, he laid his eager hand

  And grasped impatiently the starting brand.

  Thus terrible he stood, when Arden pressed

  To view the figure of his stranger guest,

  And while in that stern countenance, with dread,

  The well-known features of the Chief he read,

  A damp, chill shuddering shook his startled frame,

  His tongue, too, trembled while he spoke the name,

  And his heart sank as his fixed eye-balls viewed

  The frowning look and threatening attitude.

  ‘Yes! I am he — deserted and despised,

  Whose heart is tortured and whose head is prized!

  Yes, I am he — your treachery has driven

  From all his kind — hope, happiness, and heaven;

  But shall you not sit mocking at my fall,

  Nor hold your banquets in my father’s hall;

  Nor shall you revel in her beauties now,

  Nor glory in the false one’s broken vow.

  No! I will act, in just resentment strong,

  As late avenger in each former wrong;

  Requite all injuries received of old,

  And match the justice man has dared withhold.’

  Thus spoke the Chief, and from his girdle drew

  His brazen bugle-horn, and loudly blew:

  Shrill rung the strain, and instant from without,

  Responsive rose the impatient robbers’ shout,

  Fierce rushed the ruffian band, and burst within,

  With mingling curses and terrific din,

  Like straining bloodhounds round the Chief they stood,

  And watched the signal for the work of blood.

  Brandished aloft the robbers’ weapons gleam,

  And, flashing, glance beneath the taper’s beam,

  While partially the broken rays illume

  Their rugged features, shaded by the plume

  That o’er each brow imparts a deeper gloom.

  Pale — trembling now, the ladies start aside,

  And crowd in fearful groups around the bride;

  The guests recoil afraid — e’en Arden shrinks,

  And on his knee a faltering suppliant sinks:

  ‘ Oh! I have wronged you, but in hour like this,

  When sparkles at my lip the cup of bliss,

  Can you behold it yet untasted shine

  And dash it down?’ —

  ‘Thus was it dashed from mine

  Thus did you blast each lingering hope, and steal

  The last sole joy my wounded soul could feel,

  And thus will I your budding hopes destroy

  And blight them ere they ripen into joy.

  Oh, Arden, you have driven me to deeds

  At which my soul revolts, my nature bleeds,

  For you have severed the last tie could bind

  My soul in amity with humankind.

  Stripped — exiled — deserted — under ban —

  In you I still possessed one friend in man;

  But, lo! your treachery has crowned my fall,

  Stolen my last friend, and made me foe to all.

  Then look around once more — behold these charms,

  And that fair bride, now severed from your arms;

  Mark the late partners of your joy and see

  The broken wreck of thy last revelry;

  And this, the scene of thy rejoicings view —

  Survey all these, and bid them all adieu,

  And tear from off your brow the bridal wreath

  Before you meet the cold embrace of death!’

  But ere his lingering arm could speed its aim,

  The trembling Adelaide affrighted came;

  Pale was her cheek, and tear-drops glistened there

 
; Bright as the gems that sparkled in her hair,

  And her clasped hands expressed a deep distress

  That ill accorded with the bridal dress,

  As thus in speechless agony of grief

  She bent her lovely form before the Chief.

  On Ulric’s brow, each trace of fury flown —

  The gloominess of grief remained alone.

  He dropped the fatal point — who could forbear

  When tears implored and beauty urged the prayer?

  But still internally his stubborn pride

  Strove the best feelings of his heart to hide,

  And still each pang he struggled to conceal,

  As though he deemed it weakness thus to feel.

  But Nature triumphed! Though he turned aside

  Abrupt, his changing countenance to hide,

  From his dark eyes unwonted tear-drops rushed

  (So from the smitten rock the waters gushed);

  Beneath his cloak he sought the drops to shroud,

  But bursting sighs bespoke his grief aloud.

  ‘Oh, Adelaide! a joyless wretch I came,

  With frenzied purpose and infernal aim,

  To’venge the falsehood that had caused my woe,

  And make thy blood as now thy tear-drops flow;

  But, lo! my heart forgets not that it knew

  The time, alas! it only throbbed for you,

  And, loving yet, rebels against my will,

  And prompts my faltering tongue to bless you still.

  Be blessed! Forget my love! The solemn vow

  That with my wretched heart is broken now.

  But, ah, to you may ne’er its sorrows reach,

  And I alone feel wretched in the breach;

  Forget all these! with that unhappy man

  Who bids you still be happy — if you can!’

  Faltering she answered, but her faint reply

  Was drowned amid the robbers’ angry cry,

  Whose scornful words strove vainly to condemn

  The Chieftain’s weakness as unknown to them;

  And one more daring seized the kneeling bride —

  ‘Be this my prize! I claim her first!’ he cried.

  Surprised and awed, accustomed to his sway,

  They loudly murmured, but they still obey;

  Amid them all he stands, unhurt, alone,

  And all the band submit and crouch to one! —

  ‘’Tis vain. No longer I pretend to wield

  The sword of justice, or the weak to shield,

  Or hurl that vengeance which the Final Day

  More surely and less blindly will repay.

  Enough! From all your oaths I now release;

  And this, my last command — Depart in peace.

  Your Chief no longer, in some private cell,

  Far from the busy haunts of men, I’ll dwell,

  And strive to wash my many crimes away

  By sorrowing nights, and sighs and tears by day.

  Would that ye also left your crimes, and then

  Were less a scourge and curse to better men!’

  As thus he spoke, in bitterness of heart,

  He, sad and sorrowing, turned him to depart;

  But, sudden bursting in the hall again,

  Came Wolf, and led a strong and armed train.

  ‘ Behold our prize! Yon sable plume behold!

  Seize — seize him! for his head is gold!

  On, comrades, on!’ — At once the robbers poured

  And seized the Chieftain ere he gained his sword.

  One only dared to strike in his defence,

  And smote the assailant, but at life’s expense.

  The Chieftain saw and seized the falling brand,

  And broke resistless from the circling band;

  Then, as a lion, when the foes surround,

  Springs on the first and tears him to the ground,

  Headlong he rushed — death followed on each stroke —

  And felled the foremost till the sabre broke.

  Thrice Arden joining in the unequal strife

  Had stayed the steel that pointed at his life;

  But soon a sword too keen — too surely prest —

  Escaped his zeal and gored the Chieftain’s breast.

  He staggered — sunk — and on the bloody ground

  Still feebly combated with all around,

  Then rose again and rushed against the foe. —

  Another effort and a final blow; —

  With steady purpose and unerring hand

  He raised the fragment of the faithless brand;

  On Wolf with violence he pressed the blade,

  And lifeless at his feet the robber laid!

  Again he falls — faint, wounded, and beset,

  He fights exhausted but undaunted yet.

  More close the circling foes assault him round,

  From every side he feels the biting wound;

  Blade after blade the crimson current drinks,

  And steals his strength — he struggles — wavers — sinks!

  The broken sabre quits his feeble grasp,

  And life just seems to hang upon a gasp.

  Now he can fight no more, but, doomed to die,

  Gazes on his murderers with angry eye:

  Loud swells the shout for triumph vilely won,

  The prize is conquered and the deed is done;

  But other spoil invites — they turn to where

  Bright diamonds sparkle ‘mid dishevelled hair

  Blest if no violence should take them there!

  In vain they kneel, and gentler pity claim,

  They plead to those who never knew the name.

  The robbers seize! — but, bursting from the wall,

  What sudden blaze illuminates the hall?

  It is the taper, or the robbers’ aim,

  Has set the lighted drapery in flame?

  All through the robbers burst their fearful way —

  Perhaps death to go — but never death to stay!

  ‘Who fired the curtain. ’Twas a foolish deed!

  Molest them not, but to the cave with speed.

  Haste, comrades, bear you body in your arms,

  Ere you red blaze the villagers alarms!’

  They seize the Chief unconscious of his lot,

  And wildly hurry from the fatal spot;

  And wondering villagers collect the while

  And gaze in terror on the burning pile.

  With rapid stride the blaze ascends on high,

  Now gains the roof and blushes in the sky;

  Each space, each chink, the fiery guest betrays,

  And through each window bursts the angry blaze,

  And rocking walls and burning beams impend,

  And crackling timbers with a crash descend!

  Downward they hurl, still blazing as they go,

  And fall, half-smothering the flames below!

  And lo! the brightest and the last of all —

  One turret trembles at its threatened fall;

  In vain through many a long and stormy age

  It braved the battle and the tempest’s rage,

  Now o’er its frowning crest, that once so proud

  Looked down exulting o’er the misty cloud,

  The roaring flames and spiral blazes curl,

  And fire and smoke in mingled eddies whirl; —

  It shakes — it totters on its shattered base,

  And headlong falls with brave Glenallan’s race.

  Soon will the nettle’s humble top alone

  Look proudly down upon the fallen stone;

  And waving grass will flourish o’er the head

  Of him who scarcely lingers from the dead.

  CANTO THIRD

  Loud crows the cock — the peasant’s slumbers cease!

  He wakes to days of innocence and peace;

  And with the lark that leaves the yellow corn

  Begins the matin song and hails the morn,
r />   While peering in the East, the rising sun

  Proclaims a bright, a new-born day begun;

  Aurora, blushing, hails the god of day,

  Who comes to kiss the glittering tears away;

  And opening buds and flowers expanding rise,

  And blush with colours borrowed from the skies.

  All wakens into life — the chiding hound

  And huntsman’s horn awake the echoes round,

  And rouse the stag who listens to the strain,

  Then starts away and bounds along the plain!

  Men, horses, hounds, the flying game pursue,

  And ruddy health attends the happy crew.

  Where’er they fall the pleasing rays adorn —

  Now gild the stream, and now the waving corn,

  On all they glow; — but ah! where’er they strike

  They gild the evil and the good alike;

  The cloud that’s golden when beneath the ray

  Is gloomy, dark and ugly when away.

  The beam that played upon the rosy bower

  Now gilds the summit of you dungeon tower,

  And, through the close and narrow grating cast,

  Is hailed by the sad captive as his last!

  With that first ray the fettered Chieftain rose

  From fearful visions and disturbed repose;

  For him that sun would never rise again.

  Towards the grate he dragged his heavy chain.

  ‘This is my latest day, but ere I die,

  Fain would I gaze upon the earth and sky.

  Oh, heavens! how lovely is the new-born day!

  All Nature smiles, all beautiful and gay,

  Oh, in my youth, what fairy dreams of bliss

  Would Fancy picture on a morn like this!

  When like the buds I felt my soul expand,

  And pictured love and joy on every hand!

  When ne’er expecting aught less fair to find,

  I ope’d my heart in love to all mankind.

  ‘ Ah! thus my fancy in my youth’s gay morn

  Would her bright images of life adorn;

  Yea — like you sky lark that so gaily sings

  To heaven, aspiring on exulting wings —

  Would leave this world below and wildly soar

  To add to that fair heaven one heaven more;

  Life, like you firmament she drew serene,

  Nor clouds obscured — nor storms disturbed the scene,

  And Friendship, Pleasure, Love, and Hope, were given

  To shine as stars in her ideal heaven!