 | The complete poetical works of Thomas Hood |  |
A LEGEND OF NAVARRE
'Twas in the reign of Lewis, call'd the Great,
As one may read on his triumphal arches,
The thing befel I'm going to relate,
In course of one of those ‘pomposo’ marches
He lov'd to make, like any gorgeous Persian,
Partly for war, and partly for diversion.
As one may read on his triumphal arches,
The thing befel I'm going to relate,
In course of one of those ‘pomposo’ marches
He lov'd to make, like any gorgeous Persian,
Partly for war, and partly for diversion.
Some wag had put it in the royal brain
To drop a visit at an old chateau,
Quite unexpected, with his courtly train;
The monarch liked it,—but it happened so,
That Death had got before them by a post,
And they were ‘reckoning without their host,’
To drop a visit at an old chateau,
Quite unexpected, with his courtly train;
The monarch liked it,—but it happened so,
That Death had got before them by a post,
And they were ‘reckoning without their host,’
Who died exactly as a child should die,
Without one groan or a convulsive breath,
Closing without one pang his quiet eye,
Sliding composedly from sleep—to death;
A corpse so placid ne'er adorn'd a bed,
He seem'd not quite—but only rather dead.
Without one groan or a convulsive breath,
Closing without one pang his quiet eye,
Sliding composedly from sleep—to death;
A corpse so placid ne'er adorn'd a bed,
He seem'd not quite—but only rather dead.
All night the widow'd Baroness contriv'd
To shed a widow's tears; but on the morrow
Some news of such unusual sort arriv'd,
There came strange alteration in her sorrow;
From mouth to mouth it past, one common humming
Throughout the house—the King! the King is coming!
To shed a widow's tears; but on the morrow
Some news of such unusual sort arriv'd,
There came strange alteration in her sorrow;
From mouth to mouth it past, one common humming
Throughout the house—the King! the King is coming!
The Baroness, with all her soul and heart,
A loyal woman, (now called ultra-loyal,)
Soon thrust all funeral concerns apart,
And only thought about a banquet-royal;
In short, by help of earnest preparation,
The visit quite dismiss'd the visitation.
A loyal woman, (now called ultra-loyal,)
Soon thrust all funeral concerns apart,
And only thought about a banquet-royal;
In short, by help of earnest preparation,
The visit quite dismiss'd the visitation.
And spite of all her grief for the ex-mate,
There was a secret hope she could not smother,
That some one, early, might replace ‘the late’—
It was too soon to think about another;
Yet let her minutes of despair be reckon'd
Against her hope, which was but for a second.
There was a secret hope she could not smother,
80
It was too soon to think about another;
Yet let her minutes of despair be reckon'd
Against her hope, which was but for a second.
She almost thought that being thus bereft
Just then, was one of time's propitious touches;
A thread in such a nick so nicked, it left
Free opportunity to be a duchess;
Thus all her care was only to look pleasant,
But as for tears—she dropp'd them—for the present.
Just then, was one of time's propitious touches;
A thread in such a nick so nicked, it left
Free opportunity to be a duchess;
Thus all her care was only to look pleasant,
But as for tears—she dropp'd them—for the present.
Her household, as good servants ought to try,
Look'd like their lady—any thing but sad,
And giggled even that they might not cry,
To damp fine company; in truth they had
No time to mourn, thro' choking turkeys' throttles,
Scouring old laces, and reviewing bottles.
Look'd like their lady—any thing but sad,
And giggled even that they might not cry,
To damp fine company; in truth they had
No time to mourn, thro' choking turkeys' throttles,
Scouring old laces, and reviewing bottles.
Oh what a hubbub for the house of woe!
All, resolute to one irresolution,
Kept tearing, swearing, plunging to and fro,
Just like another French mob-revolution.
There lay the corpse that could not stir a muscle,
But all the rest seem'd Chaos in a bustle.
All, resolute to one irresolution,
Kept tearing, swearing, plunging to and fro,
Just like another French mob-revolution.
There lay the corpse that could not stir a muscle,
But all the rest seem'd Chaos in a bustle.
The Monarch came: Oh! who could ever guess
The Baroness had been so late a weeper!
The kingly grace and more than graciousness,
Buried the poor defunct some fathoms deeper,—
Could he have had a glance—alas, poor Being!
Seeing would certainly have led to D---ing.
The Baroness had been so late a weeper!
The kingly grace and more than graciousness,
Buried the poor defunct some fathoms deeper,—
Could he have had a glance—alas, poor Being!
Seeing would certainly have led to D---ing.
For casting round about her eyes to find
Some one to whom her chattels to endorse,
The comfortable dame at last inclin'd
To choose the cheerful Master of the Horse;
He was so gay,—so tender,—the complete
Nice man,—the sweetest of the monarch's suite.
Some one to whom her chattels to endorse,
The comfortable dame at last inclin'd
To choose the cheerful Master of the Horse;
He was so gay,—so tender,—the complete
Nice man,—the sweetest of the monarch's suite.
He saw at once and enter'd in the lists—
Glance unto glance made amorous replies;
They talk'd together like two egotists,
In conversation all made up of eyes;
No couple ever got so right consort-ish
Within two hours—a courtship rather shortish.
Glance unto glance made amorous replies;
They talk'd together like two egotists,
In conversation all made up of eyes;
No couple ever got so right consort-ish
Within two hours—a courtship rather shortish.
At last, some sleepy, some by wine opprest,
The courtly company began ‘nid noddin;’
The King first sought his chamber, and the rest
Instanter followed by the course he trod in.
I shall not please the scandalous by showing
The order, or disorder of their going.
The courtly company began ‘nid noddin;’
The King first sought his chamber, and the rest
Instanter followed by the course he trod in.
I shall not please the scandalous by showing
The order, or disorder of their going.
81
The old Chateau, before that night, had never
Held half so many underneath its roof;
It task'd the Baroness's best endeavour,
And put her best contrivance to the proof,
To give them chambers up and down the stairs,
In twos and threes, by singles, and by pairs.
Held half so many underneath its roof;
It task'd the Baroness's best endeavour,
And put her best contrivance to the proof,
To give them chambers up and down the stairs,
In twos and threes, by singles, and by pairs.
She had just lodging for the whole—yet barely;
And some, that were both broad of back and tall,
Lay on spare beds that served them very sparely;
However, there were beds enough for all;
But living bodies occupied so many,
She could not let the dead one take up any!
And some, that were both broad of back and tall,
Lay on spare beds that served them very sparely;
However, there were beds enough for all;
But living bodies occupied so many,
She could not let the dead one take up any!
The act was, certainly, not over decent:
Some small respect, e'en after death she ow'd him,
Considering his death had been so recent;
However, by command, her servants stow'd him,
(I am asham'd to think how he was slubber'd,)
Stuck bolt upright within a corner cupboard!
Some small respect, e'en after death she ow'd him,
Considering his death had been so recent;
However, by command, her servants stow'd him,
(I am asham'd to think how he was slubber'd,)
Stuck bolt upright within a corner cupboard!
And there he slept as soundly as a post,
With no more pillow than an oaken shelf:
Just like a kind accommodating host,
Taking all inconvenience on himself;
None else slept in that room, except a stranger,
A decent man, a sort of Forest Ranger.
With no more pillow than an oaken shelf:
Just like a kind accommodating host,
Taking all inconvenience on himself;
None else slept in that room, except a stranger,
A decent man, a sort of Forest Ranger.
Who, whether he had gone too soon to bed,
Or dreamt himself into an appetite,
Howbeit, he took a longing to be fed,
About the hungry middle of the night;
So getting forth, he sought some scrap to eat,
Hopeful of some stray pasty or cold meat.
Or dreamt himself into an appetite,
Howbeit, he took a longing to be fed,
About the hungry middle of the night;
So getting forth, he sought some scrap to eat,
Hopeful of some stray pasty or cold meat.
The casual glances of the midnight moon,
Bright'ning some antique ornaments of brass,
Guided his gropings to that corner soon,
Just where it stood, the coffin-safe, alas!
He tried the door—then shook it—and in course
Of time it opened to a little force.
Bright'ning some antique ornaments of brass,
Guided his gropings to that corner soon,
Just where it stood, the coffin-safe, alas!
He tried the door—then shook it—and in course
Of time it opened to a little force.
He put one hand in, and began to grope;
The place was very deep and quite as dark as
The middle night;—when lo! beyond his hope,
He felt a something cold, in fact, the carcase;
Right overjoy'd, he laugh'd, and blest his luck
At finding, as he thought, this haunch of buck!
The place was very deep and quite as dark as
The middle night;—when lo! beyond his hope,
He felt a something cold, in fact, the carcase;
Right overjoy'd, he laugh'd, and blest his luck
At finding, as he thought, this haunch of buck!
Then striding back for his couteau-de-chasse,
Determin'd on a little midnight lunching,
He came again and probed about the mass,
As if to find the fattest bit for munching;
Not meaning wastefully to cut it all up,
But only to abstract a little collop.
Determin'd on a little midnight lunching,
He came again and probed about the mass,
As if to find the fattest bit for munching;
82
But only to abstract a little collop.
But just as he had struck one greedy stroke,
His hand fell down quite powerless and weak;
For when he cut the haunch it plainly spoke
As haunch of ven'son never ought to speak;
No wonder that his hand could go no further—
Whose could?—to carve cold meat that bellow'd, ‘murther!’
His hand fell down quite powerless and weak;
For when he cut the haunch it plainly spoke
As haunch of ven'son never ought to speak;
No wonder that his hand could go no further—
Whose could?—to carve cold meat that bellow'd, ‘murther!’
Down came the Body with a bounce, and down
The Ranger sprang, a staircase at a spring,
And bawl'd enough to waken up a town;
Some thought that they were murder'd, some, the King,
And, like Macduff, did nothing for a season,
But stand upon the spot and bellow, ‘Treason!’
The Ranger sprang, a staircase at a spring,
And bawl'd enough to waken up a town;
Some thought that they were murder'd, some, the King,
And, like Macduff, did nothing for a season,
But stand upon the spot and bellow, ‘Treason!’
A hundred nightcaps gathered in a mob,
Torches drew torches, swords brought swords together,
It seem'd so dark and perilous a job;
The Baroness came trembling like a feather
Just in the rear, as pallid as a corse,
Leaning against the Master of the Horse.
Torches drew torches, swords brought swords together,
It seem'd so dark and perilous a job;
The Baroness came trembling like a feather
Just in the rear, as pallid as a corse,
Leaning against the Master of the Horse.
A dozen of the bravest up the stair,
Well lighted and well watch'd, began to clamber;
They sought the door—they found it—they were there—
A dozen heads went poking in the chamber;
And lo! with one hand planted on his hurt,
There stood the Body bleeding thro' his shirt,—
Well lighted and well watch'd, began to clamber;
They sought the door—they found it—they were there—
A dozen heads went poking in the chamber;
And lo! with one hand planted on his hurt,
There stood the Body bleeding thro' his shirt,—
No passive corse—but like a duellist
Just smarting from a scratch—in fierce position,
One hand advanc'd, and ready to resist;
In fact, the Baron doff'd the apparition,
Swearing those oaths the French delight in most,
And for the second time ‘gave up the ghost!’
Just smarting from a scratch—in fierce position,
One hand advanc'd, and ready to resist;
In fact, the Baron doff'd the apparition,
Swearing those oaths the French delight in most,
And for the second time ‘gave up the ghost!’
A living miracle!—for why?—the knife
That cuts so many off from grave grey hairs,
Had only carv'd him kindly into life.
How soon it changed the posture of affairs!
The difference one person more or less
Will make in families, is past all guess.
That cuts so many off from grave grey hairs,
Had only carv'd him kindly into life.
How soon it changed the posture of affairs!
The difference one person more or less
Will make in families, is past all guess.
There stood the Baroness—no widow yet:
Here stood the Baron—‘in the body’ still:
There stood the Horses' Master in a pet,
Choking with disappointment's bitter pill,
To see the hope of his reversion fail,
Like that of riding on a donkey's tail.
Here stood the Baron—‘in the body’ still:
There stood the Horses' Master in a pet,
Choking with disappointment's bitter pill,
To see the hope of his reversion fail,
Like that of riding on a donkey's tail.
83
The Baron liv'd—'twas nothing but a trance:
The lady died—'twas nothing but a death:
The cupboard-cut serv'd only to enhance
This postscript to the old Baronial breath:—
He soon forgave, for the revival's sake,
A little chop intended for a steak!
The lady died—'twas nothing but a death:
The cupboard-cut serv'd only to enhance
This postscript to the old Baronial breath:—
He soon forgave, for the revival's sake,
A little chop intended for a steak!
| The complete poetical works of Thomas Hood | |