Le v he He eal 4,73't:~— : +2 +a 4a a 4 F 2 {Se i444 ee be > > Ta. $y 1% Fes Se i wwe 2 AP UNIVER®: * OF ILLINO' ‘ARY ATURBAN: .. °\viPAIGN . BOOKSTACKS 7 ss Return this book on or before the Latest Date stamped below. University of Illinois Library ion e JO FEB 13 1987 May [44 1.161—I141 aM a ND i f ey ALAR ve, reas AD arma site anus o rae a, Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2021 with funding from University of Illinois Uroana-Champaign httos://archive.org/details/thomashood0Ohood ~ cy 1 . » ’ ¥ . aie » fA | . = agai Seer tb 5 ee ha * waa vit ‘ ad hing i Ab-og i > nu _ : 7G “— FS A 4 Ue a a. | ocean ee be lees J CES . Res o det ue i. a a ny ae “e ot ‘mee 1 i @ pean ti A a —— THOMAS HOOD. ILLUSTRATED BY Cu Ce PAR Van DOr RoE: London : Be VMOXONSSON@AN De COP DOVER SEREE TD. New Pork : CASSELL, PETTER, AND GALPIN, BROADWAY. [AMERICAN EDITION. | igs yaa - . a . + THE VOLUME IS EDITED BY J. BERTRAND PAYNE. | f f THE DRAWINGS FOR THE HEAD-PIECES, INITIALS, AND FINIALS ARE BY J. MOYR SMITH, © AND HAVE BEEN ENGRAVED BY W. H. HOOPER. Fu 821 CONTENTS. THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS THe Lapy’s DREAM THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM RuTH OpE To MELANCHOLY QuEEN Mas Tue HaunTED HOUSE THe SONG OF THE SHIRT UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS , PAGE NS. “8 27 3D 39 59 Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her death ! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care; Fashion’d so slenderly, Young, and so fair ! B THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. Look at her garments Clinging like cerements ; Whilst the wave constantly Drips 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 her Now is pure womanly. Make no deep scrutiny Into her mutiny Rash and undutiful ; Past all dishonour, Death has left on her Only the beautiful. Still, for all slips of hers, One of Eve’s family— Wipe those poor lips of hers Oozing so clammily. THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. Loop up her tresses Escaped from the comb, Her fair auburn tresses ; Whilst wonderment guesses Where was her home? Who was her father ? Who was her mother ? Had she a sister ? Had she a brother? Or was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one Yet, than all other? Alas! for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun! Oh! it was pitiful! Near a whole city full, Home she had none. sisterly, brotherly, Fatherly, motherly, Feelings had changed : Love, by harsh evidence, THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. Thrown from its eminence; Even God’s providence Seeming estranged. Where the lamps quiver So far in the river, With many a light From window and casement, From garret to basement She stood, with amazement, Houseless by night. The bleak wind of March Made-her tremble and shiver: But not the dark arch, Or the black flowing river: Mad from life’s history Glad to death’s mystery, Swift to be hurl’d— Any where, any where Out of the world ! In she plunged boldly, No matter how coldly The rough river ran,— Over the brink of it, THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. Picture it—think of it, Dissolute Man! Lave in it, drink of it, Then, if you can! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care; Fashion’d so slenderly, Young, and so fair! Ere her limbs frigidly Stiffen too rigidly, Decently,—kindly,— Smoothe, and compose them ; And her eyes, close: them, Staring so blindly! Dreadfully staring Thro’ muddy impurity, As when with the daring Last look of despairing Fix’d on futurity. Perishing gloomily, Spurr’d by contumely, Cold inhumanity, Burning insanity, c THE “BRIDGE ORVSIGHS: Intos bensrest— Cross her hands humbly, As if praying dumbly, Over her breast ! Owning her weakness, Her evil behaviour, And leaving, with meekness, Her sins to her Saviour ! THE LADY’S DREAM. Her couch so warm and soft, . But her sleep was restless and broken still ; For turning often and oft From side to side, she mutter’d and moan’d, And toss’d her arms aloft. THE LADY'S DREAM. At last she started up, And gazed on the vacant air, With a look of awe, as if she saw, Some dreadful phantom there— And then in the pillow she buried her face From visions ill to bear. The very curtain shook, Her terror was so extreme; And the light that fell on the broider’d quilt Kept a tremulous gleam ; And her voice was hollow, and shook as she cried :— “Oh me! that awful dream! “That weary, weary walk, In the churchyard’s dismal ground ! And those horrible things, with shady wings, That came and flitted round,— Death, death, and nothing but death, In every sight and sound! THE LADY’S DREAM. “And oh! those maidens young, Who wrought in that dreary room, With figures drooping and spectres thin, And cheeks without a bloom; And the Voice that cried, ‘For the pomp of pride, We haste to an early tomb! «Ror the pomp and pleasure of Pride, We toil like Afric slaves, And only to earn a home at last, Where yonder cypress waves ;’— And then they pointed—I never saw A ground so full of graves! “And still the coffins came, With their sorrowful trains and slow; Coffin after coffin still, A sad and sickening show; From grief exempt, I never had dreamt Of such a World of Woe! D IO THE LADY'S DREAM. “Of the hearts that daily break Of the tears that hourly fall, Of the many, many troubles of life, That grieve this earthly ball— Disease and Hunger, and Pain, and Want, But now I dreamt of them all! “For the blind and the cripple were there, And the babe that pined for bread, And the houseless man and the widow poor Who begged—to bury the dead; The naked, alas, that I might have clad, The famish’d I might have fed! “The sorrow I might have sooth’d, And the unregarded tears ; For many a thronging shape was there, From long forgotten years, Ay, even the poor rejected Moor, Who raised my childish fears! THE LADY’S DREAM. II “Each pleading look, that long ago I scann’d with a heedless eye, Each face was gazing as plainly there, As when I pass’d it by: Woe, woe for me if the past should be Thus present when I die! “No need of sulphurous lake, No need of fiery coal, But only that crowd of human kind Who wanted pity and dole— In everlasting retrospect— Will wring my sinful soul! “Alas! I have walk’d through life Too heedless where I trod; Nay, helping to trample my fellow worm, And fill the burial sod— Forgetting that even the sparrow falls Not unmark’d of God! U. OF ILL LIB. 12 THE LADY'S DREAM. “T drank the richest draughts; And ate whatever 1s good— Fish, and flesh, and fowl, and fruit, Supplied my hungry mood; But I never remember’d the wretched ones That starve for want of food! ‘“‘T dress’d as the noble dress, In cloth of silver and gold, With silk, and satin, and costly furs, In many an ample fold; But I never remembered the naked limbs That froze with winter’s cold. “The wounds I might have heal’d The human sorrow and smart! And yet it never was in my soul To play so ill a part: But evil is wrought by want of Thought, As well as want of Heart!” THE LADY’S DREAM. 13 She clasp’d her fervent hands, And the tears began to stream ; Large, and bitter, and fast they fell, Remorse was so extreme: And yet, oh yet, that many a Dame Would dream the Lady’s Dream! 7 | AT =. ur tase We cde CNT = he 33 Y ie * e * : - 4 ti e io. tts 7 Ma ve + 7 3 rh +, o7 a ere . ‘ : 4 4 - rT 'y ' 4 ‘ 1 is . -~ > : ‘ ‘ - . Fa c~ re bg f y © ; wore “ ya PCy : m ; = * ~ \ > at 5 is 4 ; | . " a i] 7 - < . 7 . y ~ Gen I eee ; ; ; = ore ae 4 ; : Ks . : > . * : Z ¥ 5 o “fe 4 - 1 ; | | | | ; 3 x she us : * - . > : iat : } | : “s é SER oy r es ; # =f > . a * ~~ & P : ; A ' , ‘ ¥ 4 ¢ . | . met * = ; x 3 * z " ; ay . i = . M : ; a * "i | 5 . : : , a . g : 7 < fy L . A eos - : « ; ’ ~ LA « : . ’ ¢= An evening calm and cool, And four-and-twenty happy boys Came bounding out of school: There were some that ran and some that leapt, Like troutlets in a pool. Away they sped with gamesome minds, And souls untouch’d by sin; To a level mead they came, and there They drave the wickets in: Pleasantly shone the setting sun Over the town of Lynn. 16 THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. Like sportive deer they coursed about, And shouted as they ran,— Turning to mirth all things of earth, As only boyhood can; But the Usher sat remote from all A melancholy man! His hat was off, his vest apart, To catch heaven’s blessed breeze ; For a burning thought was in his brow, And his bosom ill at ease: So he lean’d his head on his hands, and read The book between his knees! Leaf after leaf, he turn’d it o’er, Nor ever glanced aside, For the peace of his soul he read that book In the golden eventide: Much study had made him very lean, And pale, and leaden-eyed. At last he shut the ponderous tome, With a fast and fervent grasp He strain’d the dusky covers close, And fix’d the brazen hasp: | “Oh, God! could I so close my mind, And clasp it with a clasp!” THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 17 Then leaping on his feet upright, Some moody turns he took,— Now up the mead, then down the mead, And past a shady nook,— And, lo! he saw a little boy That pored upon a book! “My gentle lad, what is’t you read— Romance or fairy fable? Or is it some historic page, Of kings and crowns unstable ?” The young boy gave an upward glance,— “Tt is ‘The Death of Abel.’” The Usher took six hasty strides, As smit with sudden pain,— six hasty strides beyond the place, Then slowly back again ; And down he sat beside the lad, And talk’d with him of Cain; And, long since then, of bloody men, Whose deeds tradition saves; Of lonely folk cut off unseen, And hid in sudden graves ; Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn, And murders done in caves; F 18 THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. And how the sprites of injured men Shriek upward from the sod,— Aye, how the ghostly hand will point To show the burial clod ; And unknown facts of guilty acts Are seen in dreams from God! He told how murderers walk the earth Beneath the curse of Cain,— With crimson clouds before their eyes, And flames about their brain: For blood has left upon their souls Its everlasting stain! “And well,” quoth he, “I know, for truth, Their pangs must be extreme,— Woe, woe, unutterable woe,— Who spill life’s sacred stream ! For why? Methought, last night, I wrought A murder, in my dream! ‘One that had never done me wrong— A feeble man, and old; I led him to a lonely field,— The moon shone clear and cold: Now here, said I, this man shall die, And I will have his gold! THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 19g “Two sudden blows with a ragged stick, And one with a heavy stone, One hurried gash with a hasty knife,— And then the deed was done: There was nothing lying at my foot But lifeless flesh and bone! “Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone, That could not do me ill; And yet I fear’d him all the more, For lying there so still: There was a manhood in his look, That murder could not kill! “ And, lo! the universal air Seem’d lit with ghastly flame ;— Ten thousand thousand dreadful eyes Were looking down in blame: I took the dead man by his hand, And call’d upon his name! ‘““Oh, God! it made me quake to see Such sense within the slain! But when I touch’d the lifeless clay, The blood gush’d out amain! For every clot, a burning spot Was scorching in my brain} 20 THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. “My head was like an ardent coal, My heart as solid ice; My wretched, wretched soul, I knew, Was at the Devil’s price ; A dozen times I groan’d; the dead Had never groan’d but twice! “ And now, from forth the frowning sky, From the heaven’s topmost height, I heard a voice—the awful voice Of the blood-avenging Sprite :— ‘Thou guilty man! take up thy dead And hide it from my sight! ’ “T took the dreary body up, And cast it ina stream,— A sluggish water, black as ink, | The depth was so extreme :— My gentle boy, remember this Is nothing but a dream! “Down went the corse with a hollow plunge, And vanish’d in the pool! Anon I cleansed my bloody hands, And wash’d my forehead cool, And sat among the urchins young, That evening in the school. THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 21 “Oh, heaven! to think of their white souls, And mine so black and grim! I could not share in childish prayer, Nor join in Evening Hymn: Like a Devil of the Pit I seem’d "Mid holy Cherubim ! “And peace went with them, one and all, And each calm pillow spread ; But Guilt was my grim chamberlain That lighted me to bed; And drew my midnight curtains round, With fingers bloody red! “All night I lay in agony, In anguish dark and deep; My fever’d eyes I dared not close, But stared aghast at Sleep: For Sin had render’d unto her The keys of Hell to keep! “All night I lay in agony, From weary chime to chime, With one besetting horrid hint, That rack’d me all the time; A mighty yearning, like the first Fierce impulse unto crime! G 22 THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. “One stern tyrannic thought, that made All other thoughts its slave ; Stronger and stronger every pulse Did that temptation crave,— Still urging me to go and see The dead Man in his grave! ‘Heavily I rose up, as soon As light was in the sky, And sought the black accursed pool With a wild misgiving eye; And I saw the dead in the river bed, For the faithless stream was dry. ‘Merrily rose the lark, and shook The dew-drop from its wing ; But I never mark’d its morning flight, I never heard it sing: For I was stooping once again Under the horrid thing. “With breathless speed, like a soul in chase, I took him up and ran ;— There was no time to dig a grave Before the day began : In a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves, I hid the murder’d man! THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 23 “And all that day I read in school, But my thought was other-where ; As soon as the mid-day task was done, In secret I was there: | And a mighty wind had swept the leaves, And still the corse was bare! “Then down I cast me on my face, And first began to weep, For I knew my secret then was one That earth refused to keep: Or land or sea, though he should be Ten thousand fathoms deep. “So wills the fierce avenging Sprite, Till blood for blood atones! Ay, though he’s buried in a cave, And trodden down with stones, And years have rotted off his flesh,— The world shall see his bones! “Oh, God! that horrid, horrid dream Besets me now awake! Again—again, with dizzy brain, The human life I take; And my red right hand grows raging hot, Like Cranmer’s at the stake. THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. “And still no peace for the restless clay, Will wave or mould allow; The horrid thing pursues my soul,— It stands before me now!” The fearful Boy look’d up and saw Huge drops upon his brow. That very night, while gentle sleep The urchin eyelids kiss’d, Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn, Through the cold and heavy mist ; And Eugene Aram walk’d between, With gyves upon his wrist. Tee SnuWA LAG 4 ‘ hes = 2. . - 4 ; F > . 4 ~ 4 * “ - al S - a > c Mg 4 ‘ + 4 § : 7 7 \ m ~* 7 ’ A 2 * te ¥ ; ' : “ _ — ey | ~ ; wea - , - . be » 7 . . . " ¥ . Like the sweetheart of the sun, On her cheek an autumn flush, Deeply ripen’d;—such a blush In the midst of brown was born, Like red poppies grown with corn. Round her eyes her tresses fell, Which were blackest none could tell, But long lashes veil’d a light, That had else been all too bright, H Clasp’d by the golden light of morn, Who many a glowing kiss had won. EBS k And her hat, with shady brim, Made her tressy forehead dim ;— Thus she stood amid the stooks, Praising God with sweetest looks :— Sure, I said, Heav’n did not mean, Where I reap thou shouldst but glean, Lay thy sheaf adown and come, Share my harvest and my home. ‘ . _- * s c ie > ‘ A . « . ‘ . . 7 9 . . * z : = . . ° _ * s* vA = s 7 he . - . > j - . - . - _ X ‘ i d > . - 2 . , - : ° ‘ ; ; = J . 7 . - * 4 wes s - ove . ~ ®, ¥ * ¥ - 4 s y ~ .- Ps a 3 . y : . . tA. . ¢ - ns a & z ‘ ; 5 4 ase ea , . ' 2 : a ¥ é * « 2 t 7 - 2 Fi. wl ac & 4 { . . ’ —s ‘ fs. b, - - —_ 7 . Al ‘ : > 4 © . od ‘ ¥ ‘ . : 7 re . » a b : L pol ‘ - f « - " ~. > af F 4 : il - ‘ . . 4 . . - j : ‘ ; - Fs af ; - . = \% ‘ ‘ ¢ . * ~ . - ° + = . * ” q : . » ; ‘ : +.» > . . 4 & ) ‘ » f , 7 : _ te = =" 4 aS 4 7 . , & ; eae fe a a are | 5 ; : ; 5 3 ee . . ; ane . . i] + : = i " « > . > - - - 7 h . ba 2 7 > . ~ ae — . “> a . . 5 5 . « . ™ be td 2 4 \ » aaa . . ° | . . . : . : ‘ ’ : 1 7 . é fk 5 . ; \ . . . ‘ ' S . : a ’ ; -s : 1 PT * By ; . . ) U \ * * ; e ¥ : - Py . ” * > : : * . ee - * e eT ee : 7 ° s + + hy “4 . » % A * 7 he . ' ‘ * - 2 ws . b Peet at ; re . 4 - . . * . “ e $ . ‘ . + - 9 7 * ly Ps SE: - r . . yn « ‘ . ~ Pa of * » > ™ . = . . o = . . ra sie 2 . x > r - . . - . > . : - e ¥e . . « , : ‘ , Z es “ 5 : 3 4 € a * - ” * ‘ Ff * . : te. . . < ad = - > ) - - - ne Fi F . ’ U - . . i - sf . » = . * ‘ : ‘ot « ys - . . > r L iba fs putas. anes a Kee thai by antares MS ee Nf Sh INN eee Ll a aii as SC NY f ai W yuna _ e// aw SS \S Serre rrr rere ee ee ee eer tt ————_ -J- Mot: SHH be Se, ODE TO MELANCHOLY. OME, let us set our careful breasts, Like Philomel, against the thorn, To aggravate the inward grief, That makes her accents so forlorn; The world has many cruel points, Whereby our bosoms have been torn, And there are dainty themes of grief, 28 ODE TO MELANCHOLY. In sadness to outlast the morn,— True honour’s dearth, affection’s death, Neglectful pride, and cankering scorn, With all the piteous tales that tears Have water’d since the world was born. The world !—it is a wilderness, Where tears are hung on every tree ; For thus my gloomy phantasy Makes all things weep with me! Come let us sit and watch the sky, And fancy clouds, where no clouds be; Grief is enough to blot the eye, And make heaven black with misery. Why should birds sing such merry notes, Unless they were more blest than we? No sorrow ever chokes their throats, Except sweet nightingale; for she Was born to pain our hearts the more With her sad melody. Why shines the Sun, except that he Makes gloomy nooks for Grief to hide, ODE TO MELANCHOLY. 29 And pensive shades for Melancholy, When all the earth is bright beside? Let clay wear smiles, and green grass wave, Mirth shall not win us back again, Whilst man is made of his own grave, And fairest clouds but gilded rain ! I saw my mother in her shroud, Her cheek was cold and very pale; And ever since I’ve look’d on all As creatures doom’d to fail! Why do buds Ope except to die? Ay, let us watch the roses wither, And think of our loves’ cheeks ; And oh! how quickly time doth fly To bring death’s winter hither ! Minutes, hours, days, and weeks, Months, years, and ages, shrink to nought ; An age past is but a thought! Ay, let us think of him awhile That, with a coffin for a boat, Rows daily o’er the Stygian moat, I 30 ODE TO MELANCHOLY. And for our table choose a tomb: There’s dark enough in any skull To charge with black a raven plume; And for the saddest funeral thoughts A winding-sheet hath ample room, Where Death, with his keen-pointed style, Hath writ the common doom. How wide the yew-tree spreads its gloom, And o’er the dead lets fall its dew, As if in tears it wept for them, The many human families That sleep around its stem! How cold the dead have made these stones, With natural drops kept ever wet ! Lo! here the best—the worst—the world Doth now remember or forget, Are in one common ruin hurl’d, And love and hate are calmly met ; The loveliest eyes that ever shone, The fairest hands, and locks of jet. Is’*t not enough to vex our souls, And fill our eyes, that we have set ODE TO MELANCHOLY. 31 Our love upon a rose’s leaf, Our hearts upon a violet ? Blue eyes, red cheeks, are frailer yet ; And sometimes at their swift decay Beforehand we must fret. The roses bud and bloom again ; But Love may haunt the grave of Love, And watch the mould in vain. O clasp me, sweet, whilst thou art mine, And do not take my tears amiss ; For tears must flow to wash away A thought that shows so stern as this: Forgive, if somewhile I forget, In woe to come, the present bliss ; As frighted Proserpine let fall Her flowers at the sight of Dis: Ev’n so the dark and bright will kiss— The sunniest things throw sternest shade, And there is ev’n a happiness That makes the heart afraid! Now let us with a spell invoke The full-orb’d moon to grieve our eyes; 32 ODE TO MELANCHOLY. Not bright, not bright, but, with a cloud Lapp’d all about her, let her rise All pale and dim, as if from rest The ghost of the late-buried sun Had crept into the skies. The Moon! she is the source of sighs, The very face to make us sad ; If but to think in other times The same calm quiet look she had, As if the world held nothing base, Of vile and mean, of fierce and bad; The same fair light that shone in streams, The fairy lamp that charmed the lad ; For so it is, with spent delights She taunts men’s brains, and makes them mad. All things are touch’d with Melancholy, Born of the secret soul’s mistrust, To feel her fair ethereal wings Weigh’d down with vile degraded dust ; Even the bright extremes of joy Bring on conclusions of disgust, Like the sweet blossoms of the May, ODE TO MELANCHOLY. a8 Whose fragrance ends in must. ORcivesheretncnmoerethipute: just, Her sighs and tears, and musings holy ; ‘neremisenosmusicuin) thes lite That sounds with idiot laughter solely ; There’s not a string attuned to mirth, But has its chord in Melancholy. C a 4 * . . . . . . . ‘ . ‘ ~ . . . . é - ‘ . - ‘ . . * . . ah. . . * ° . . . f . . . A 2 ¥ . . ° - * bad * Be . . . Y a a . . - . 7 . * . f i b: ; . : J * P . t . ’ , . oar Fe A . - . aie : . « *. oh - i ’ . * . ‘ . . . = . . e - F , ‘ e ° . * > . 1» t 5 ‘ 4 3 7 ivi hs . >“ * é eat * ba . ays . ‘ ; . . } Pog } : LAS a? Ad ae ba 4 A * ’ oe # - - ’ ' © ‘ % ‘ a * . b 3 4 cA : ' e ‘he " bs . : . . ° . = “~ e ‘ ° ’ " . ~ > a4 - . = . P 4 a a4 Ps. yy 2 7 R\’ 2 \ \ “i, My %, Z » Ss QUEEN MAB. LITTLE fairy comes at night, LchmeyccmateaplucmicGendalnise Drown, With silver spots upon her wings, And from the moon she flutters down. She has a little silver wand, And when a good child goes to bed She waves her wand from right to left, And makes a circle round its head. 36 QUEEN MAB. And then it dreams of pleasant things, Of fountains filled with fairy fish, And trees that bear delicious fruit And bow their branches at a wish: Of harbours filled with dainty scents From lovely flowers that never fade; Bright flies that glitter in the sun, And glow-worms shining in the shade: And talking birds with gifted tongues, For singing songs and telling tales, And pretty dwarfs to show the way Through. fairy hills and fairy dales. But when a bad child goes to bed, From left to right she weaves her rings, And then it dreams all through the night Of only ugly horrid things ! Then lions come with glaring eyes, And tigers growl, a dreadful noise, And ogres draw their cruel knives, To shed the blood of girls and boys. QUEEN MAB. 37 Then stormy waves rush on to drown, Or raging flames come scorching round, Fierce dragons hover in the air, And serpents crawl along the ground, Then wicked children wake and weep, And wish the long black gloom away ; But good ones love the dark, and find The night as pleasant as the day. Bi L107 * eters te Eg mp acne’ . $- maaee ig SE ete ~ 7 : - i . Ze . - ~ ° : - ' ? 1d i ¥ = 4 a , ‘ J 5 . " enc ‘ . ‘ 6 ~~ ° . ‘ . 4 . a 4 La * . _ - “ . Rs ; J ¥ . . 1% f ioe ‘ att < 7 7 % J tS x ‘ Fi > Smee a id : : ee oi. , : | Oye ee }) . U j . - 4 ; . Pa . 4 é, . 4 ‘ A " ‘ é : a a 1 OP " J a - . r + * nye ‘ i 7 4 e | : 4 gag ys , r- : ; . - 5 ‘a - ; + . : : . . . x . i . i . . a ; . . * . . ~ ' . . . 4 aa® . ¢ f i * . ¥ anil > » ona - : ' * y o “4, ‘ - + rent z ; «2 - tana vs : * / 3 be el 4 ‘ ’ ‘Sa \ b, : f% 59 e . P tA ‘ } : ° : . 73% - , ‘* ‘ ay : i . a Peet mn” ¥ * bd y " ear he . . . . > yi? i > , - ‘ : J ik, 7 i : > j a . . : b , - . » - ‘< Fs ‘ OR, THE HAUNTED HOUSE. A ROMANCE. AR Teele WOME dreams we have are nothing else but : dreams, ve Unnatural, and full of contradictions ; BZ Yet others of our most romantic schemes ] Are something more than fictions. It might be only on enchanted ground ; It might be merely by a thought’s expansion ; But, in the spirit or the flesh, I found An old deserted Mansion. 40 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. A residence for woman, child, and man, A dwelling place,—and yet no habitation ; A House,—but under some prodigious ban Of Excommunication. Unhinged the iron gates half open hung, Jarr’d by the gusty gales of many winters, That from its crumbled pedestal had flung One marble globe in splinters. No dog was at the threshold, great or small ; No pigeon on the roof—no household creature— No cat demurely dozing on the wall— Not one domestic feature. No human figure stirr’d, to go or come, No face look’d forth from shut or open casement ; No chimney smoked—there was no sign of Home From parapet to basement. With shatter’d panes the grassy court was starr’d ; The time-worn coping-stone had tumbled after! And thro’ the ragged roof the sky shone, barr’d With naked beam and rafter. THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 41 O’er all there hung a shadow and a fear; A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, The place is Haunted ! The flow’r grew wild and rankly as the weed, Roses with thistles struggled for espial, And vagrant plants of parasitic breed Had overgrown the Dial. But gay or gloomy, steadfast or infirm, No heart was there to heed the hour’s duration ; All times and tides were lost in one long term Of stagnant desolation. The wren had built within the Porch, she found Its quiet loneliness so sure and thorough ; And on the lawn,—within its turfy mound,— The rabbit made his burrow. The rabbit wild and gray, that flitted thro’ The shrubby clumps, and frisk’d, and sat, and vanished, But leisurely and bold, as if he knew His enemy was banish’d. M 42 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. The wary crow,—the pheasant from the woods— Lull’d by the still and everlasting sameness, Close to the mansion, like domestic broods, Fed with a “shocking tameness.” The coot was swimming in the reedy pond, Beside the water-hen, so soon affrighted ; And in the weedy moat the heron, fond Of solitude, alighted. The moping heron, motionless and stiff, That on a stone, as silently and stilly, Stood, an apparent sentinel, as if To guard the water-lily. No sound was heard except, from far away, The ringing of the witwall’s shrilly laughter, Or, now and then, the chatter of the jay, That Echo murmur’d after. But Echo never mock’d the human tongue; Some weighty crime, that Heaven could not pardon, A secret curse on that old Building hung, And its deserted Garden. THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 43 The beds were all untouch’d by hand or tool; No footstep marked the damp and mossy gravel, Each walk as green as is the mantled pool, For want of human travel. The vine unpruned, and the neglected peach, Droop’d from the wall with which they used to grapple; And on the kanker’d tree, in easy reach, Rotted the golden apple. But awfully the truant shunn’d the ground, The vagrant kept aloof, and daring Poacher ; In spite of gaps that thro’ the fences round Invited the encroacher. For over all there hung a cloud of fear, A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, The place is Haunted! The pear and quince lay squander’d on the grass ; The mould was purple with unheeded showers Of bloomy plums—a Wilderness it was Of fruits, and weeds, and flowers! 44 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. The marigold amidst the nettles blew, The gourd embraced the rose bush in its ramble, The thistle and the stock together grew, The holly-hock and bramble. The bear-bine with the lilac interlaced, The sturdy bur-dock choked its slender neighbour, The spicy pink. All tokens were effaced Of human care and labour. The very yew Formality had train’d To such a rigid pyramidal stature, For want of trimming had almost regain’d The raggedness of nature. The Fountain was a-dry—neglect and time Had marr’d the work of artisan and mason, And efts and croaking frogs, begot of slime, Sprawl’d in the ruin’d bason. The Statue, fallen from its marble base, Amidst the refuse leaves, and herbage rotten, Lay like the Idol of some by-gone race, ts name and rites forgotten. THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 45 On ev'ry side the aspect was the same, All ruin’d, desolate, forlorn and savage : No hand or foot within the precinct came To rectify or ravage. For over all there hung a cloud of fear, A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, The place is Haunted! O, veRY gloomy is the House of Woe, Where tears are falling while the bell is knelling, With all the dark solemnities which show That Death is in the dwelling. O very, very dreary is the room Where Love, domestic Love, no longer nestles, But, smitten by the common stroke of doom, The Corpse lies on the trestles ! But House of Woe, and hearse, and sable pall, The narrow home of the departed mortal, Ne’er look’d so gloomy as that Ghostly Hall, With its deserted portal! The centipede along the threshold crept, The cobweb hung across in mazy tangle, And in its winding sheet the maggot slept, At every nook and angle. THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 47 The keyhole lodged the earwig and her brood, The emmets of the steps had old possession, And marched in search of their diurnal food In undisturbed procession. As undisturb’d as the prehensile cell Of moth or maggot, or the spider’s tissue, For never foot upon that threshold fell, To enter or to issue. O’er all there hung the shadow of a fear, A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, The place is Haunted! Howbeit, the door I push’d—or so I dream’d— Which slowly, slowly gaped,—the hinges creaking With such a rusty eloquence, it seemed That Time himself was speaking. But Time was dumb within that Mansion old, Or left his tale to the heraldic banners, That hung from the corroded walls, and told Of former men and manners :— 48 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. Those tatter’'d flags, that with the open’d door, seem’d the old wave of battle to remember, While fallen fragments danced upon the floor, Like dead leaves in December. The startled bats flew out,—bird after bird, The screech-owl overhead began to flutter, And seemed to mock the cry that she had heard Some dying victim utter ! A shriek that echo’d from the joisted roof, And up the stair, and further still and further, Till in some ringing chamber far aloof It ceased its tale of murther! | Meanwhile the rusty armour rattled round, The banner shudder’d, and the ragged streamer ; All things the horrid tenor of the sound Acknowledged with a tremor. The antlers, where the helmet hung, and belt, Stirr’d as the tempest stirs the forest branches, Or as the stag had trembled when he felt The blood-hound at his haunches. THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 49 The window jingled in its crumbled frame, And thro’ its many gaps of destitution Dolorous moans and hollow sighings came, Like those of dissolution. The wood-louse dropped, and rolled into a ball, Touch’d by some impulse occult or mechanic ; And nameless beetles ran along the wall In universal panic. The subtle spider, that from overhead Hung like a spy on human guilt and error, Suddenly turn’d and up its slender thread Ran with a nimble terror. The very stains and fractures on the wall Assuming features solemn and terrific, Hinted some Tragedy of that old Hall, Lock’d up in hieroglyphic. Some tale that might, perchance, have solved the doubt, Wherefore amongst those flags so dull and livid, The banner of the BLoopy Hanp shone out So ominously vivid. 50 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. Some key to that inscrutable appeal, Which made the very frame of Nature quiver; And every thrilling nerve and fibre feel So ague-like a shiver. For over all there hung a cloud of fear, A sense of mystery the spirit daunted ; And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, The place is Haunted ! If but a rat had linger’d in the house, To lure the thought into a social channel ! But not a rat remain’d, or tiny mouse, To squeak behind the panel. Huge drops roll’d down the walls, as if they wept; And where the cricket used to chirp so shrilly, The toad was squatting, and the lizard crept On that damp hearth and chilly. For years no cheerful blaze had sparkled there, Or glanced on coat of buff or knightly metal ; The slug was crawling on the vacant chair,— The snail upon the settle. THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 51 The floor was redolent of mould and must, The fungus in the rotten seams had quicken’d ; While on the oaken table coats of dust Perennially had thicken’d. No mark of leathern jack or metal can, No cup—no horn—no hospitable token,— All social ties between that board and Man Had long ago been broken. There was so foul a rumour in the air, The shadow of a presence so atrocious ; No human creature could have feasted there, Even the most ferocious. For over all there hung a cloud of fear, A sense of mystery the spirit daunted ; And said, as plain as whisper in the air, The place is Haunted! "Tis hard for human actions to account, Whether from reason or from impulse only— But some internal prompting bade me mount The gloomy stairs and lonely. Those gloomy stairs, so dark, and damp, and cold, With odours as from bones and relics carnal, Deprived of rite, and consecrated mould, The chapel vault or charnel. Those dreary stairs, where with the sounding stress Of ev’ry step so many echoes blended, The mind, with dark misgivings, feared to guess How many feet ascended. The tempest with its spoils had drifted in, Till each unwholesome stone was darkly spotted, As thickly as the leopard’s dappled skin, With leaves that rankly rotted. THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 55 The air was thick—and in the upper gloom The bat—or something in its shape—was winging ; And on the wall, as chilly as a tomb, The Death’s-Head moth was clinging. That mystic moth, which, with a sense profound Of all unholy presence, augurs truly ; And with a grim significance flits round The taper burning bluely. Such omens in the place there seem’d to be, At ev'ry crooked turn, or on the landing, The straining eyeball was prepared to see Some Apparition standing. For over all there hung a cloud of fear, A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, And said as plain as whisper in the ear, The place is Haunted ! Yet no portentous Shape the sight amazed ; Each object plain, and tangible, and valid ; But from their tarnish’d frames dark Figures gazed, And Faces spectre-palid. y THE HAUNTED HOUSE. Not merely with the mimic life that lies Within the compass of Art’s simulation ; Their souls were looking thro’ their painted eyes With awful speculation. On ev'ry lip a speechless horror dwelt ; On evry brow the burthen of affliction ; The old Ancestral Spirits knew and felt The House’s malediction. Such earnest woe their features overcast, They might have stirr’d, or sigh’d, or wept, or spoken ; But, save the hollow moaning of the blast, The stillness was unbroken. No other sound or stir of life was there, Except my steps in solitary clamber, From flight to flight, from humid stair to stair, From chamber into chamber. Deserted rooms of luxury and state, That old magnificence had richly furnish’d With pictures, cabinets of ancient date, And carvings gilt and burnish’d. THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 55 Rich hangings, storied by the needle’s art With scripture history, or classic fable ; But all had faded, save one ragged part, Where Cain was slaying Abel. The silent waste of mildew and the moth Had marr’d the tissue with a partial ravage ; But undecaying frown’d upon the cloth Each feature stern and savage. The sky was pale; the cloud a thing of doubt; Some hues were fresh, and some decay’d and duller; But still the BLoopy HanpD shone strangely out With vehemence of colour! The Bitoopy Hanp that with a lurid stain Shone on the dusty floor, a dismal token, Projected from the casement’s painted pane, Where all beside was broken. The Bioopy Hanp significant of crime, That glaring on the old heraldic banner, Had kept its crimson unimpaired by time, In such a wondrous manner! THE HAUNTED HOUSE. O’er all there hung the shadow of a fear, A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, And said as plain as whisper in the ear, The place is Haunted! The Death Watch tick’d behind the panel’d oak, Inexplicable tremors shook the arras, And echoes strange and mystical awoke, The fancy to embarrass. Prophetic hints that fill’d the soul with dread, But thro’ one gloomy entrance pointing mostly, The while some secret inspiration said, That Chamber is the Ghostly! Across the door no gossamer festoon Swung pendulous—no web—no dusty fringes, No silky chrysalis or white cocoon About its nooks and hinges. The spider shunn’d the interdicted room, The moth, the beetle, and the fly were banish’d, And where the sunbeam fell athwart the gloom The very midge had vanish’d. THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 57 One lonely ray that glanced upon a Bed, As if with awful aim direct and certain, To show the BLtoopy HAanp in burning red Embroidered on the curtain. And yet no gory stain was on the quilt— The pillow in its place had slowly rotted; The floor alone retain’d the trace of guilt, Those boards obscurely spotted. Obscurely spotted to the door, and thence With mazy doubles to the grated casement— Oh what a tale they told of fear intense, Of horror and amazement! What human creature in the dead of night Had coursed like hunted hare that cruel distance? Had sought the door, the window in his flight, Striving for dear existence? What shrieking Spirit in that bloody room Its mortal frame had violently quitted ?>— Across the sunbeam, with a sudden gloom, A ghostly Shadow flitted. 3 58 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. Across the sunbeam, and along the wall, But painted on the air so very dimly, It hardly veil’d the tapestry at all, Or portrait frowning grimly. O’er all there hung the shadow of a fear, A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, The place is Haunted ! ta ee aa | rn ewe vite i ate ‘fF. j -—* os, bone oe re | _ 2 ow « THE SONG OF THE > = \ [ae = = j SiTH fingers weary and wore oy * Z ; * iar With evelids heavy and vad, “a A woman sat, In Ginwomayly tage —Piving: her: needle and shred. J =. Pa, . Stitch? aeach! agri th! Benvs In poverty, Pasar. fad wrt, » | And still with « Vise v dutaress mten She sang the "Seg of the Shart.” - 4 . ‘ - . ba . ‘ a . * - . ~ , - > etie O NGeO ae hes El Te With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread— Stitch! stitch! stitch! In poverty, hunger, and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch She sang the “Song of the Shirt.” 60 THE SONG OF THE SHIRT. “Work! work! work! While the cock is crowing aloof! And work—work—work, Till the stars shine through the roof! It’s Oh! to be a slave Along with the barbarous Turk, Where woman has never a soul to save, If this is Christian work! “ Work—work—work Till the brain begins to swim; W ork—work—work Till the eyes are heavy and dim! Seam, and gusset, and band, Band, and gusset, and seam, Till over the buttons I fall asleep, And sew them on in a dream! “Oh, Men, with Sisters dear! Oh, Men, with Mothers and Wives! It is not linen you’re wearing out, But human creatures’ lives! stitch=—stitch—=stitch® In poverty, hunger and dirt, Sewing at once, with a double thread, A Shroud as well as a Shirt. SONG) OF “THE SHIRT. 61 “But why do I talk of Death? That Phantom of grisly bone, I hardly fear his terrible shape, It seems so like my own— It seems so like my own, Because of thesiasts: li keep: Oh, God! that bread should be so dear, And flesh and blood so cheap! “ Work—work—work ! My labour never flags; And what are its wages? A bed of straw, A crust of bread—and rags. That shatter’d roof—and this naked floor— A table—a broken chair— And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank For sometimes falling there ! “ Work—work—work ! From weary chime to chime, Work—work—work— As prisoners work for crime! Band, and gusset, and seam, Seam, and gusset, and band, Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumb’d, As well as the weary hand. R 62 THE SONG OF THE SHIRT. “ Work—work—work, In the dull December light, And work—work—work, When the weather is warm and bright— While underneath the eaves The brooding swallows cling As if to show me their sunny backs And twit me with the spring. ‘Oh! but to breathe the breath Of the cowslip and primrose sweet— With the sky above my head, And the grass beneath my feet, For only one short hour To feel as I used to feel, Before I knew the woes of want And the walk that costs a meal! “Oh! but for one short hour! A respite however brief! No blessed leisure for Love or Hope, But only time for Grief! A little weeping would ease my heart, But in their briny bed My tears must stop, for every drop Hinders needle and thread!” THE SONG OF THE SHIRT. 63 With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread— Stitch! stitch! stitch! In poverty, hunger, and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch,— Would that its tone could reach the Rich !— She sang this “Song of the Shirt!” SWIFT AND CO,, KING STREET, REGENT STREET, We me 4), i qd ae ‘ +2 re SAM Pal ote To B nT Te ant is ‘ red tia BA EES ie 2, ests > Fe ENR ser tee bee SPN Me EE 8 Teg oat RBANA Hi 8 Aa eee Es ein ipa teeta TR NM se EH, Sabet ae ek eb teks SE boc Ne Se) pains sey 13) So 72 ere ue