 | The complete poetical works of Thomas Hood |  |
212
VERSES FROM ‘TYLNEY HALL’
[PLAY ON, YE TIMID RABBITS]
Play on, ye timid Rabbits!
For I can see ye run,
Ne'er thinking of a gun,
Or of the ferret's habits.
For I can see ye run,
Ne'er thinking of a gun,
Or of the ferret's habits.
Ye sportive Hares! go forcing
The dewdrop from the bent;
My mind is not intent
On greyhounds or on coursing.
The dewdrop from the bent;
My mind is not intent
On greyhounds or on coursing.
Feed on, ye gorgeous Pheasants!
My sight I do not vex
With cards about your necks,
Forestalling you for presents.
My sight I do not vex
With cards about your necks,
Forestalling you for presents.
Go gazing on, and bounding,
Thou solitary Deer!
My fancy does not hear
Hounds baying, and horns sounding.
Thou solitary Deer!
My fancy does not hear
Hounds baying, and horns sounding.
Each furr'd or feather'd creature,
Enjoy with me this earth,
Its life, its love, its mirth,
And die the death of nature!
Enjoy with me this earth,
Its life, its love, its mirth,
And die the death of nature!
[A DECLARATION]
If to believe that dreams were truth,And all the fond romance of youth;
Each pictured charm that fancy prized
In one fair form now realized—
If to sum up in that dear scope
My all of joy, my all of hope;
Where faithlessness there could be none,
For all the sex was merg'd in one—
If to be happy in her nearness,
Holding her very silk in dearness;
As if my heart could have no home
But where she was, or was to come—
If from the contact of a finger,
An after-bliss for days could linger,
A feeling kept secure and chaste
Till by the next sweet touch effac'd—
If to pine after pow'r and glory
But for one sake—if in love-story,
To make each tenderest phrase refer
All that is bright and good to her—
If with all thoughts to haunt her bow'r
True as the bee is to the flow'r;
Her image join'd with all day-scheming,
And nightly worshipped in all dreaming—
If these be signs that Love delivers,
I am thy lover, fair Grace Rivers!
213
[THE STREAMLET]
Still glides the gentle streamlet on,
With shifting current new and strange;
The water that was here is gone,
But those green shadows do not change.
With shifting current new and strange;
The water that was here is gone,
But those green shadows do not change.
Serene, or ruffled by the storm,
On present waves, as on the past,
The mirror'd grove retains its form,
The self-same trees their semblance cast.
On present waves, as on the past,
The mirror'd grove retains its form,
The self-same trees their semblance cast.
The hue each fleeting globule wears,
That drop bequeaths it to the next,
One picture still the surface bears,
To illustrate the murmur'd text.
That drop bequeaths it to the next,
One picture still the surface bears,
To illustrate the murmur'd text.
So, love, however time may flow,
Fresh hours pursuing those that flee,
One constant image still shall show
My tide of life is true to thee!
Fresh hours pursuing those that flee,
One constant image still shall show
My tide of life is true to thee!
TOM TATTERS' BIRTHDAY ODE
Come all you jolly dogs, in the Grapes, and King's Head, and Green Man, and Bell taps,
And shy up your hats—if you haven't hats, your paper and woollen caps,
Shout with me and cry Eureka! by the sweet Parnassian River,
While Echo, in Warner's Wood replies, Huzza! the young Squire for ever!
And shy up your hats—if you haven't hats, your paper and woollen caps,
Shout with me and cry Eureka! by the sweet Parnassian River,
While Echo, in Warner's Wood replies, Huzza! the young Squire for ever!
And Vulcan, Mars, and Hector of Troy, and Jupiter and his wife,
And Phoebus, from his forked hill, coming down to take a knife,
And Mercury, and piping Pan, to the tune of ‘Old King Cole,’
And Venus the Queen of Love, to eat an ox that was roasted whole.
And Phoebus, from his forked hill, coming down to take a knife,
And Mercury, and piping Pan, to the tune of ‘Old King Cole,’
And Venus the Queen of Love, to eat an ox that was roasted whole.
Sir Mark, God bless him, loves good old times, when beards wag, and every thing goes merry,
There'll be drinking out of gracecups, and a Boar's head chewing rosemary,
Maid Marian, and a Morris dance, and acting of quaint Moralities,
Doctor Bellamy and a Hobby horse, and many other Old Formalities.
There'll be drinking out of gracecups, and a Boar's head chewing rosemary,
Maid Marian, and a Morris dance, and acting of quaint Moralities,
Doctor Bellamy and a Hobby horse, and many other Old Formalities.
But there won't be any Psalm-singing saints, to make us sad of a Monday,
But Bacchus will preach to us out of a barrel, instead of the methodist Bundy.
We'll drink to the King in good strong ale, like souls that are true and loyal,
And a fig for Mrs. Hanway, camomile, sage and penny-royal;
And a fig for Master Gregory, that takes tipsy folks into custody,
He was a wise man to-morrow, and will be a wiser man yesterday.
But Bacchus will preach to us out of a barrel, instead of the methodist Bundy.
We'll drink to the King in good strong ale, like souls that are true and loyal,
And a fig for Mrs. Hanway, camomile, sage and penny-royal;
And a fig for Master Gregory, that takes tipsy folks into custody,
He was a wise man to-morrow, and will be a wiser man yesterday.
Come fill a bumper up, my boys, and toss off every drop of it!
Here's young Squire Ringwood's health, and may he live as long as Jason,
Before Atropos cuts his thread, and Dick Tablet, the bungling mason,
Chips him a marble tea-table, with a marble tea-urn a-top of it?
Quoth Tom in Tatters.
Here's young Squire Ringwood's health, and may he live as long as Jason,
Before Atropos cuts his thread, and Dick Tablet, the bungling mason,
Chips him a marble tea-table, with a marble tea-urn a-top of it?
Quoth Tom in Tatters.
| The complete poetical works of Thomas Hood | |