Thomas Hood
¶[1798-1845]
Fair in Es
¶O 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 cheek,And pearls upon her breast.[906]0 turn again, fair Ines,Before the fall of night,For fear the Moon should shine alone,And stars unrivall'd bright;And blessed will the lover beThat walks beneath their light,And breathes the love against thy cheekI dare not even write!
¶Would I had been, fair Ines,That gallant cavalier,Who rode so gaily by thy side,And whisper'd thee so near!Were there no bonny dames at home,Or no true lovers here,That he should cross the seas to winThe 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 gay,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 boreSo fair a lady on its deck,Nor danced so light before,—[907]Alas for pleasure on the sea,And sorrow on the shore!The smile that bless'd one lover's heartHas broken many more!
The Bridge of Sighs
¶Look at her garmentsClinging like cerements;Whilst the wave constantlyDrips 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 herNow is pure womanly.
¶Make no deep scrutinyInto her mutinyRash and undutiful:Past all dishonour,Death has left on herOnly the beautiful.
¶Still, for all slips of hers,One of Eve's family—Wipe those poor lips of hersOozing so clammily.[908]Loop up her tressesEscaped from the comb,Her fair auburn tresses;Whilst wonderment guessesWhere was her home?
¶Who was her father?Who was her mother?Had she a sister?Had she a brother?Or was there a dearer oneStill, and a nearer oneYet, than all other?
¶Alas! for the rarityOf Christian charityUnder the sun!O! it was pitiful!Near a whole city full,Home she had none.
¶Sisterly, brotherly,Fatherly, motherlyFeelings had changed:Love, by harsh evidence,Thrown from its eminence;Even God's providenceSeeming estranged.
¶Where the lamps quiverSo far in the river,With many a lightFrom window and casement,From garret to basement,She stood, with amazement,Houseless by night.
¶The bleak wind of MarchMade her tremble and shiver;But not the dark arch,Or the black flowing river:[909]Mad from life's history,Glad to death's mysterySwift to be hurl'd—Anywhere, anywhereOut of the world!
¶In she plunged boldly,No matter how coldlyThe 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!
¶Ere her limbs frigidlyStiffen too rigidly,Decently, kindly,Smooth and compose them;And her eyes, close them,Staring so blindly!
¶Dreadfully staringThro' muddy impurity,As when with the daringLast look of despairingFix'd on futurity.
¶Perishing gloomily,Spurr'd by contumely,Cold inhumanity,Burning insanity,Into her rest.—Cross her hands humblyAs if praying dumbly,Over her breast![910]Owning her weakness,Her evil behaviour,And leaving, with meekness,Her sins to her Saviour.
The Deathbed
¶W E watch'd her breathing thro' the night,Her breathing soft and low,As in her breast the wave of lifeKept heaving to and fro.
¶So silently we seemed to speak,So slowly moved about,As we had lent her half our powersTo eke her living out.
¶Our very hopes belied our fears,Our fears our hopes belied—We thought her dying when she slept,And sleeping when she died.
¶But when the morn came dim and sadAnd chill with early showers,Her quiet eyelids closed—she hadAnother morn than ours.
Past and Present
¶I REMEMBER , I remember
¶The house where I was born,The little window where the sunCame peeping in at morn;He never came a wink too soonNor brought too long a day;But now, I often wish the nightHad borne my breath away.
¶I remember, I rememberThe roses, red and white,The violets, and the lily-cups—Those flowers made of light![911]The lilacs where the robin built,And where my brother setThe laburnum on his birthday,-The tree is living yet!
¶I remember, I rememberWhere I was used to swing,And thought the air must rush as freshTo swallows on the wing;My spirit flew in feathers thenThat is so heavy now,And summer pools could hardly coolThe fever on my brow.
¶I remember, I rememberThe fir-trees dark and high;I used to think their slender topsWere close against the sky:It was a childish ignorance,But now 'tis little joyTo know I'm farther off from HeavenThan when I was a boy.