Thomas Hood- Collected Poetical Works
Page 22
His voice is heard, though body there is none,
And rain-like music scatters from on high;
But Love would follow with a falcon spite,
To pluck the minstrel from his dewy height.
V.
For Love hath framed a ditty of regrets,
Tuned to the hollow sobbings on the shore,
A vexing sense, that with like music frets,
And chimes this dismal burthen o’er and o’er,
Saying, Leander’s joys are past and spent,
Like stars extinguish’d in the firmament.
VI.
For ere the golden crevices of morn
Let in those regal luxuries of light,
Which all the variable east adorn,
And hang rich fringes on the skirts of night,
Leander, weaning from sweet Hero’s side,
Must leave a widow where he found a bride.
VII.
Hark! how the billows beat upon the sand!
Like pawing steeds impatient of delay;
Meanwhile their rider, ling’ring on the land,
Dallies with love, and holds farewell at bay
A too short span. — How tedious slow is grief!
But parting renders time both sad and brief.
VIII.
“Alas!” (he sigh’d), “that this first glimpsing light,
Which makes the wide world tenderly appear,
Should be the burning signal for my flight
From all the world’s best image, which is here;
Whose very shadow, in my fond compare,
Shines far more bright than Beauty’s self elsewhere.”
IX.
Their cheeks are white as blossoms of the dark,
Whose leaves close up and show the outward pale,
And those fair mirrors where their joys did spark,
All dim and tarnish’d with a dreary veil,
No more to kindle till the night’s return,
Like stars replenish’d at Joy’s golden urn.
X.
Ev’n thus they creep into the spectral gray,
That cramps the landscape in its narrow brim,
As when two shadows by old Lethe stray,
He clasping her, and she entwining him;
Like trees, wind-parted, that embrace anon, —
True love so often goes before ’tis gone.
XI.
For what rich merchant but will pause in fear,
To trust his wealth to the unsafe abyss?
So Hero dotes upon her treasure here,
And sums the loss with many an anxious kiss,
Whilst her fond eyes grow dizzy in her head,
Fear aggravating fear with shows of dread.
XII.
She thinks how many have been sunk and drown’d,
And spies their snow-white bones below the deep,
Then calls huge congregated monsters round,
And plants a rock wherever he would leap;
Anon she dwells on a fantastic dream,
Which she interprets of that fatal stream.
XIII.
Saying, “That honied fly I saw was thee,
Which lighted on a water-lily’s cup,
When, lo! the flower, enamor’d of my bee,
Closed on him suddenly and lock’d him up,
And he was smother’d in her drenching dew;
Therefore this day thy drowning I shall rue.”
XIV.
But next, remembering her virgin fame,
She clips him in her arms and bids him go,
But seeing him break loose, repents her shame,
And plucks him back upon her bosom’s snow;
And tears unfix her iced resolve again,
As steadfast frosts are thaw’d by show’rs of rain.
XV.
O for a type of parting! — Love to love
Is like the fond attraction of two spheres,
Which needs a godlike effort to remove,
And then sink down their sunny atmospheres,
In rain and darkness on each ruin’d heart,
Nor yet their melodies will sound apart.
XVI.
So brave Leander sunders from his bride;
The wrenching pang disparts his soul in twain;
Half stays with her, half goes towards the tide, —
And life must ache, until they join again.
Now wouldst thou know the wideness of the wound? —
Mete every step he takes upon the ground.
XVII.
And for the agony and bosom-throe,
Let it be measured by the wide vast air,
For that is infinite, and so is woe,
Since parted lovers breathe it everywhere.
Look how it heaves Leander’s laboring chest,
Panting, at poise, upon a rocky crest!
XVIII.
From which he leaps into the scooping brine,
That shocks his bosom with a double chill;
Because, all hours, till the slow sun’s decline,
That cold divorcer will be ‘twixt them still;
Wherefore he likens it to Styx’ foul tide,
Where life grows death upon the other side.
XIX.
Then sadly he confronts his twofold toil
Against rude waves and an unwilling mind,
Wishing, alas! with the stout rower’s toil,
That like a rower he might gaze behind,
And watch that lonely statue he hath left,
On her bleak summit, weeping and bereft!
XX.
Yet turning oft, he sees her troubled locks
Pursue him still the furthest that they may;
Her marble arms that overstretch the rocks,
And her pale passion’d hands that seem to pray
In dumb petition to the gods above:
Love prays devoutly when it prays for love!
XXI.
Then with deep sighs he blows away the wave,
That hangs superfluous tears upon his cheek,
And bans his labor like a hopeless slave,
That, chain’d in hostile galley, faint and weak,
Plies on despairing through the restless foam,
Thoughtful of his lost love, and far-off home.
XXII.
The drowsy mist before him chill and dank,
Like a dull lethargy o’erleans the sea,
When he rows on against the utter blank,
Steering as if to dim eternity, —
Like Love’s frail ghost departing with the dawn;
A failing shadow in the twilight drawn.
XXIII.
And soon is gone, — or nothing but a faint
And failing image in the eye of thought,
That mocks his model with an after-paint,
And stains an atom like the shape she sought;
Then with her earnest vows she hopes to fee
The old and hoary majesty of sea.
XXIV.
“O King of waves, and brother of high Jove,
Preserve my sumless venture there afloat;
A woman’s heart, and its whole wealth of love,
Are all embark’d upon that little boat;
Nay! — but two loves, two lives, a double fate, —
A perilous voyage for so dear a freight.”
XXV.
“If impious mariners be stain’d with crime,
Shake not in awful rage thy hoary locks;
Lay by thy storms until another time,
Lest my frail bark be dash’d against the rocks:
O rather smooth thy deeps, that he may fly
Like Love himself, upon a seeming sky!”
XXVI.
“Let all thy herded monsters sleep beneath,
Nor gore him with crook’d tusks, or wreathëd horns;
Let no fierce sharks destroy him with their teeth,
Nor spine-fish wound him w
ith their venom’d thorns;
But if he faint, and timely succor lack,
Let ruthful dolphins rest him on their back.”
XXVII.
“Let no false dimpling whirlpools suck him in,
Nor slimy quicksands smother his sweet breath;
Let no jagg’d corals tear his tender skin,
Nor mountain billows bury him in death”; —
And with that thought forestalling her own fears,
She drowned his painted image in her tears.
XXVIII.
By this, the climbing Sun, with rest repair’d,
Look’d through the gold embrasures of the sky,
And ask’d the drowsy world how she had fared; —
The drowsy world shone brighten’d in reply;
And smiling off her fogs, his slanting beam
Spied young Leander in the middle stream.
XXXI.
His face was pallid, but the hectic morn
Had hung a lying crimson on his cheeks,
And slanderous sparkles in his eyes forlorn;
So death lies ambush’d in consumptive streaks;
But inward grief was writhing o’er its task,
As heart-sick jesters weep behind the mask.
XXX.
He thought of Hero and the lost delight,
Her last embracings, and the space between;
He thought of Hero and the future night,
Her speechless rapture and enamor’d mien,
When, lo! before him, scarce two galleys’ space,
His thoughts confronted with another face!
XXXI.
Her aspect’s like a moon, divinely fair,
But makes the midnight darker that it lies on;
’Tis so beclouded with her coal-black hair
That densely skirts her luminous horizon,
Making her doubly fair, thus darkly set,
As marble lies advantaged upon jet.
XXXII.
She’s all too bright, too argent, and too pale,
To be a woman; — but a woman’s double,
Reflected, on the wave so faint and frail,
She tops the billows like an air-blown bubble;
Or dim creation of a morning dream,
Fair as the wave-bleached lily of the stream.
XXXIII.
The very rumor strikes his seeing dead:
Great beauty like great fear first stuns the sense:
He knows not if her lips be blue or red,
Nor of her eyes can give true evidence:
Like murder’s witness swooning in the court,
His sight falls senseless by its own report.
XXXIV.
Anon resuming, it declares her eyes
Are tint with azure, like two crystal wells
That drink the blue complexion of the skies,
Or pearls outpeeping from their silvery shells:
Her polish’d brow, it is an ample plain,
To lodge vast contemplations of the main.
XXXV.
Her lips might corals seem, but corals near
Stray through her hair like blossoms on a bower;
And o’er the weaker red still domineer,
And make it pale by tribute to more power;
Her rounded cheeks are of still paler hue,
Touch’d by the bloom of water, tender blue.
XXXVI.
Thus he beholds her rocking on the water,
Under the glossy umbrage of her hair,
Like pearly Amphitrite’s fairest daughter,
Naiad, or Nereid, — or Syren fair,
Mislodging music in her pitiless breast,
A nightingale within a falcon’s nest.
XXXVII.
They say there be such maidens in the deep,
Charming poor mariners, that all too near
By mortal lullabies fall dead asleep,
As drowsy men are poison’d through the ear;
Therefore Leander’s fears begin to urge,
This snowy swan is come to sing his dirge.
XXXVIII.
At which he falls into a deadly chill,
And strains his eyes upon her lips apart;
Fearing each breath to feel that prelude shrill,
Pierce through his marrow, like a breath-blown dart
Shot sudden from an Indian’s hollow cane,
With mortal venom fraught, and fiery pain.
XXXIX.
Here then, poor wretch, how he begins to crowd
A thousand thoughts within a pulse’s space;
There seem’d so brief a pause of life allow’d,
His mind stretch’d universal, to embrace
The whole wide world, in an extreme farewell, —
A moment’s musing — but an age to tell.
XL.
For there stood Hero, widow’d at a glance,
The foreseen sum of many a tedious fact,
Pale cheeks, dim eyes, and wither’d countenance,
A wasted ruin that no wasting lack’d;
Time’s tragic consequents ere time began,
A world of sorrow in a tear-drop’s span.
XLI.
A moment’s thinking is an hour in words, —
An hour of words is little for some woes;
Too little breathing a long life affords
For love to paint itself by perfect shows;
Then let his love and grief unwrong’d lie dumb,
Whilst Fear, and that it fears, together come.
XLII.
As when the crew, hard by some jutty cape,
Struck pale and panick’d by the billow’s roar,
Lay by all timely measures of escape,
And let their bark go driving on the shore;
So fray’d Leander, drifting to his wreck,
Gazing on Scylla, falls upon her neck.
XLIII.
For he hath all forgot the swimmer’s art,
The rower’s cunning, and the pilot’s skill,
Letting his arms fall down in languid part,
Sway’d by the waves, and nothing by his will,
Till soon he jars against that glossy skin,
Solid like glass, though seemingly as thin.
XLIV.
Lo! how she startles at the warning shock,
And straightway girds him to her radiant breast,
More like his safe smooth harbor than his rock;
Poor wretch, he is so faint and toil-opprest,
He cannot loose him from his grappling foe,
Whether for love or hate, she lets not go.
XLV.
His eyes are blinded with the sleety brine,
His ears are deafen’d with the wildering noise;
He asks the purpose of her fell design,
But foamy waves choke up his struggling voice;
Under the ponderous sea his body dips,
And Hero’s name dies bubbling on his lips.
XLVI.
Look how a man is lower’d to his grave, —
A yearning hollow in the green earth’s lap;
So he is sunk into the yawning wave, —
The plunging sea fills up the watery gap;
Anon he is all gone, and nothing seen
But likeness of green turf and hillocks green.
XLVII.
And where he swam, the constant sun lies sleeping,
Over the verdant plain that makes his bed;
And all the noisy waves go freshly leaping.
Like gamesome boys over the churchyard dead;
The light in vain keeps looking for his face: —
Now screaming sea-fowl settle in his place.
XLVIII.
Yet weep and watch for him, though all in vain!
Ye moaning billows, seek him as ye wander!
Ye gazing sunbeams, look for him again!
Ye winds, grow hoarse with asking for Leander!
Ye did but spare him fo
r more cruel rape,
Sea-storm and ruin in a female shape!
XLIX.
She says ’tis love hath bribed her to this deed,
The glancing of his eyes did so bewitch her.
O bootless theft! unprofitable meed!
Love’s treasury is sack’d, but she no richer;
The sparkles of his eyes are cold and dead,
And all his golden looks are turn’d to lead!
L.
She holds the casket, but her simple hand
Hath spill’d its dearest jewel by the way;
She hath life’s empty garment at command,
But her own death lies covert in the prey;
As if a thief should steal a tainted vest,
Some dead man’s spoil, and sicken of his pest.
LI.
Now she compels him to her deeps below,
Hiding his face beneath her plenteous hair,
Which jealously she shakes all round her brow,
For dread of envy, though no eyes are there
But seals’, and all brute tenants of the deep,
Which heedless through the wave their journeys keep.
LII.
Down and still downward through the dusky green
She bore him, murmuring with joyous haste
In too rash ignorance, as he had been
Born to the texture of that watery waste;
That which she breathed and sigh’d, the emerald wave,
How could her pleasant home become his grave!
LIII.
Down and still downward through the dusky green