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The complete poetical works of Thomas Hood

Edited, with notes by Walter Jerrold

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LORD DURHAM'S RETURN
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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LORD DURHAM'S RETURN

‘On revient toujours.’ —French Song.

‘And will I see his face again,
And will I hear him speak?’
—There's nae Luck about the House.

The Inconstant is come!’
It's in every man's mouth;
From the East to the West,
From the North to the South;
With a flag at her head,
And a flag at her stern;
Whilst the Telegraph hints
At Lord Durham's return.
Turn wherever you will,
It's the great talk and small;
Going up to Cornhill,
Going down to Whitehall;
If you ask for the news,
It's the first you will learn,
And the last you will lose,
My Lord Durham's return.
The fat pig in the sty,
And the ox in the stall,
The old dog at the door,
And the cat in the wall;
The wild bird in the bush,
And the hare in the fern,
All appear to have heard
Of Lord Durham's return.
It has flown all abroad,
It is known to goose-pens,
It is bray'd by the ass,
It is cackled by hens:
The Pintadas, indeed,
Make it quite their concern,
All exclaiming, ‘Come back!’
At Lord Durham's return.

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It's the text over wine,
And the talk after tea;
All are singing one tune,
Though not set in one key.
E'en the Barbers unite
Other gossip to spurn,
Whilst they lather away
At Lord Durham's return.
All the Painters leave off,
And the Carpenters go,
And the Tailor above
Joins the Cobbler below,
In whole gallons of beer
To expend what they earn
While discussing one pint,
My Lord Durham's return.
It is timed in the Times,
With the News has a run,
Goes the round of the Globe,
And is writ in the Sun,
Like the Warren on walls,
Fancy seems to discern,
In great letters of chalk,
‘Try Lord Durham's return!’
Not a murder comes out;
The reporters repine;
And a hanging is scarce
Worth a penny a line.
If a Ghost reappeared
With his funeral urn,
He'd be thrown in the shade
By Lord Durham's return.
No arrival could raise
Such a fever in town;
There's a talk about 'Change
Of the Stocks going down;
But the Butter gets up
Just as if in the churn,
It forgot it should come
In Lord Durham's return.
The most silent are loud;
The most sleepy awake;
Very odd that one man
Such a bustle can make!
But the schools all break up,
And both Houses adjourn,
To debate more at ease
On Lord Durham's return.
Is he well? is he ill?
Is he cheerful or sad?
Has he spoken his mind
Of the breeze that he had?
It was rather too soon
With home-sickness to yearn;
There will something come yet
Of Lord Durham's return.
There's a sound in the wind
Since that ship is come home;
There are signs in the air
Like the omens of Rome;
And the lamps in the street,
And the stars as they burn,
Seem to give a flare up
At Lord Durham's return!