by Thomas Hood
SEA SONG
SERENADE
SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND.
SHOOTING PAINS
SILENCE.
SIR JOHN BOWRING
SKIPPING. A MYSTERY
SONG FOR THE NINETEENTH
SONG TO MY WIFE
SONG. MY MOTHER BIDS ME SPEND MY SMILES
SONG. O LADY, LEAVE THY SILKEN THREAD.
SONG. THE STARS ARE WITH THE VOYAGER.
SONG. THE SUMMER — THE SUMMER
SONG. THERE IS DEW FOR THE FLOW’RET
SONG: A LAKE AND A FAIRY BOAT
SONNET ON STEAM
SONNET TO A DECAYED SEAMAN
SONNET TO A SCOTCH GIRL, WASHING LINEN AFTER HER COUNTRY FASHION
SONNET TO A SONNET
SONNET TO LORD WHARNCLIFFE, ON HIS GAME BILL
SONNET TO MY WIFE.
SONNET TO OCEAN
SONNET TO VAUXHALL
SONNET WRITTEN IN A WORKHOUSE
SONNET WRITTEN IN KEATS’S ‘ENDYMION’
SONNET. — A SOMNAMBULIST
SONNET. — THINK SWEETEST
SONNET. BY EV’RY SWEET TRADITION OF TRUE HEARTS.
SONNET. I HAD A GIG-HORSE
SONNET. LOVE, DEAREST LADY, SUCH AS I WOULD SPEAK,
SONNET. LOVE, I AM JEALOUS OF A WORTHLESS MAN
SONNET. MY HEART IS SICK WITH LONGING, THO’ I FEED
SONNET. THE SKY IS GLOWING IN ONE RUDDY SHEET
SONNET. WRITTEN IN A VOLUME OF SHAKSPEARE.
SONNET: ALONG THE WOODFORD ROAD THERE COMES A NOISE
SONNET: THE WORLD IS WITH ME
SONNETS.
SPRING
STANZAS
STANZAS
STANZAS
STANZAS COMPOSED IN A SHOWER-BATH
STANZAS ON COMING OF AGE
STANZAS TO TOM WOODGATE, OF HASTINGS
STANZAS WRITTEN UNDER THE FEAR OF BAILIFFS
SUGGESTED BY A BUNCH OF ENGLISH GRAPES
SUGGESTIONS BY STEAM
SYMPTOMS OF OSSIFICATION
THE ANGLER’S FAREWELL
THE APPARITION
THE ASSISTANT DRAPERS’ PETITION
THE BACHELOR’S DREAM
THE BALLAD
THE BANDIT
THE BEADLE’S ANNUAL ADDRESS
THE BLUE BOAR
THE BOY AT THE NORE
THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS
THE BURNING OF THE LOVE-LETTER
THE CAPTAIN’S COW
THE CARELESSE NURSE MAYD
THE CHINA-MENDER
THE CIGAR
THE COMET AN ASTRONOMICAL ANECDOTE
THE COMPASS, WITH VARIATIONS
THE DEAD ROBBERY
THE DEATH-BED
THE DEMON-SHIP.
THE DEPARTURE OF SUMMER.
THE DESERT-BORN
THE DEVIL’S ALBUM
THE DOCTOR
THE DOUBLE KNOCK
THE DOVES AND THE CROWS
THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM.
THE DROWNING DUCKS
THE DUEL. A SERIOUS BALLAD
THE ELM TREE
THE EPPING HUNT.
THE EXILE.
THE FALL
THE FALL OF THE DEER.
THE FAREWELL
THE FLOWER
THE FORGE.
THE FORLORN SHEPHERD’S COMPLAINT
THE FORSAKEN.
THE FOX AND THE HEN
THE GHOST
THE GREEN MAN
THE HAUNTED HOUSE
THE IRISH SCHOOLMASTER.
THE KANGAROOS
THE KEY
THE KNIGHT AND THE DRAGON
THE LADY’S DREAM
THE LAMENT OF TOBY, THE LEARNED PIG
THE LARK AND THE ROOK
THE LAST MAN.
THE LAST WISH
THE LAY OF THE LABOURER
THE LEE SHORE
THE LOGICIANS
THE LORD MAYOR’S SHOW
THE LOST HEIR
THE MARY
THE MERMAID OF MARGATE.
THE MONKEY-MARTYR.
THE OLD POLER’S WARNING
THE PAINTER PUZZLED
THE PAUPER’S CHRISTMAS CAROL
THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES.
THE POACHER
THE POET’S PORTION
THE PROGRESS OF ART.
THE PURSUIT OF LETTERS
THE QUAKERS’ CONVERSAZIONE
THE ROMANCE OF COLOGNE
THE SAUSAGE-MAKER’S GHOST
THE SCHOOLMASTER’S MOTTO
THE SEA OF DEATH.
THE SEA SPELL.
THE SEASON
THE SHIP LAUNCH
THE SONG OF THE SHIRT
THE STAGE-STRUCK HERO
THE STAG-EYED LADY.
THE STEAM SERVICE
THE STREAMLET
THE SUB-MARINE
THE SUPPER SUPERSTITION
THE SURPLICE QUESTION
THE SWEEP’S COMPLAINT
THE SWEETS OF YOUTH
THE TURTLES
THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT.
THE TWO SWANS.
THE UNDYING ONE
THE UNITED FAMILY
THE UNIVERSITY FEUD
THE VISION
THE VOLUNTEER.
THE WATER LADY.
THE WATER PERI’S SONG.
THE WEE MAN.
THE WIDOW.
THE WORKHOUSE CLOCK
THERE’S NO ROMANCE IN THAT
THOSE EVENING BELLS
TIM TURPIN.
TIME, HOPE, AND MEMORY
TO ——
TO A BAD RIDER
TO A CHILD EMBRACING HIS MOTHER
TO A COLD BEAUTY.
TO A CRITIC
TO A FALSE FRIEND
TO A SLEEPING CHILD.
TO AN ABSENTEE.
TO AN ENTHUSIAST.
TO C. DICKENS, ESQ.
TO CELIA.
TO FANCY.
TO FANNY
TO HENRIETTA
TO HOPE.
TO MARY HOUSEMAID
TO MINERVA
TO MISS KELLY OF THE ENGLISH OPERA HOUSE
TO MR. WRENCH AT THE ENGLISH OPERA HOUSE
TO MY DAUGHTER ON HER BIRTHDAY.
TO MY DEAR MARIANNE
TO THOMAS BISH, ESQ.
TO* * * * *
TO* * * * * WITH A FLASK OF RHINE WATER
TOM TATTERS’ BIRTHDAY ODE
TRIMMER’S EXERCISE FOR THE USE OF CHILDREN
UP THE RHINE
VALENTINE’S DAY
VAUXHALL
VERSES IN AN ALBUM
VERSES MISTAKEN FOR AN INCENDIARY SONG
WRITTEN ON THE BACK OF THE FOREGOING
YE TOURISTS AND TRAVELLERS
YOUTH AND AGE
The Biography
8 Finchley Road, St. John’s Wood — Hood’s last home and where he died in 1845.
Thomas Hood by unknown artist, c. 1840
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION TO THOMAS HOOD by William Michael Rossetti
There were scarcely any events in the life of Thomas Hood. One condition there was of too potent determining importance — life-long ill health; and one circumstance of moment — a commercial failure, and consequent expatriation. Beyond this, little presents itself for record in the outward facts of this upright and beneficial career, bright with genius and coruscating with wit, dark with the lengthening and deepening shadow of death.
The father of Thomas Hood was engaged in business as a publisher and bookseller in the Poultry, in the city of London, — a member of the firm of Vernor, Hood, and Sharpe. He was a Scotchman, and had come up to the capital early in life, to make his way. His interest in books was not solely confined to their saleable quality. He reprinted various old works with success; published Bloomfield’s poems, and dealt handsomely with him; and was himself the author of two novels, which are stated to have had some success in their day. For the sake of the son rather than the father, one would like to see some account, with adequa
te specimens, of these long-forgotten tales; for the queries which Thomas Hood asks concerning the piteous woman of his Bridge of Sighs interest us all concerning a man of genius, and interest us moreover with regard to the question of intellectual as well as natural affinity: —
“Who was his father,
Who was his mother?
Had he a sister,
Had he a brother?”
Another line of work in which the elder Hood is recorded to have been active was the opening of the English book-trade with America. He married a sister of the engraver Mr. Sands, and had by her a large family; two sons and four daughters survived the period of childhood. The elder brother, James, who died early of consumption, drew well, as did also one or two of the sisters. It would seem therefore, when we recall Thomas Hood’s aptitudes and frequent miscellaneous practice in the same line, that a certain tendency towards fine art, as well as towards literature, ran in the family. The consumption which killed James appears to have been inherited from his mother; she, and two of her daughters, died of the same disease; and a pulmonary affection of a somewhat different kind became, as we shall see, one of the poet’s most inveterate persecutors. The death of the father, which was sudden and unexpected, preceded that of the mother, but not of James, and left the survivors in rather straitened circumstances.
Thomas, the second of the two sons, was born in the Poultry, on or about the 23d of May, 1799. He is stated to have been a retired child, with much quiet humor; chuckling, we may guess, over his own quaint imaginings, which must have come in crowds, and of all conceivable or inconceivable sorts, to judge from the products of his after years; keeping most of these fancies and surprises to himself, but every now and then letting some of them out, and giving homely or stolid bystanders an inkling of insight into the many-peopled crannies of his boyish brain. He received his education at Dr. Wanostrocht’s school at Clapham. It is not very clear how far this education extended: I should infer that it was just about enough, and not more than enough, to enable Hood to shift for himself in the career of authorship, without serious disadvantage from inadequate early training, and also without much aid thence derived — without, at any rate, any such rousing and refining of the literary sense as would warrant us in attributing to educational influences either the inclination to become an author, or the manipulative power over language and style which Hood displayed in his serious poems, not to speak of those of a lighter kind. We seem to see him sliding, as it were, into the profession of letters, simply through capacity and liking, and the course of events — not because he had resolutely made up his mind to be an author, nor because his natural faculty had been steadily or studiously cultivated. As to details, it may be remarked that his schooling included some amount — perhaps a fair average amount — of Latin. We find it stated that he had a Latin prize at school, but was not apt at the language in later years. He had however one kind of aptitude at it — being addicted to the use of familiar Latin quotations or phrases, cited with humorous verbal perversions.
In all the relations of family life, and the forms of family affection, Hood was simply exemplary. The deaths of his elder brother and of his father left him the principal reliance of his mother, herself destined soon to follow them to the tomb: he was an excellent and devoted son. His affection for one of his sisters, Anne, who also died shortly afterwards, is attested in the beautiful lines named The Deathbed, —
“We watched her breathing through the night.”
At a later date, the loves of a husband and a father seem to have absorbed by far the greater part of his nature and his thoughts: his letters to friends are steeped and drenched In “Jane,” “Fanny,” and “Tom junior.” These letters are mostly divided between perpetual family details and perennial jocularity: a succession of witticisms, or at lowest of puns and whimsicalities, mounts up like so many squibs and crackers, fizzing through, sparkling amid, or ultimately extinguished by, the inevitable shower — the steady rush and downpour — of the home-affections. It may easily be inferred from this account that there are letters which one is inclined to read more thoroughly, and in greater number consecutively, than Hood’s.
The vocation first selected for Hood, towards the age of fifteen, was one which he did not follow up for long — that of an engraver. He was apprenticed to his uncle Mr. Sands, and afterwards to one of the Le Keux family. The occupation was ill-suited to his constantly ailing health, and this eventually conduced to his abandoning it. He then went to Scotland to recruit, remaining there among his relatives about five years. According to a statement made by himself, he was in a merchant’s office within this interval; it is uncertain, however, whether this assertion is to be accepted as genuine, or as made for some purpose of fun. His first published writing appeared in the Dundee Advertiser in 1814 — his age being then, at the utmost, fifteen and a half; this was succeeded by some contribution to a local magazine. But as yet he had no idea of authorship as a profession.
Towards the middle of the year 1820, Hood was re-settled in London, improved in health, and just come of age. At first he continued practising as an engraver; but in 1821 he began to act as a sort of sub-editor for the London Magazine after the death of the editor, Mr. Scott, in a duel. He concocted fictitious and humorous answers to correspondents — a humble yet appropriate introduction to the insatiable habit and faculty for out-of-the-way verbal jocosity which marked-off his after career from that of all other excellent poets.
His first regular contribution to the magazine, in July, 1821, was a little poem To Hope: even before this, as early at any rate as 1815, he was in the frequent practice of writing correctly and at some length in verse, as witnessed by selections, now in print, from what he had composed for the amusement of his relatives. Soon afterwards, a private literary society was the recipient of other verses of the same order. The lines To Hope were followed, in the London Magazine, by the Ode to Dr. Kitchener and some further poems, including the important work, Lycus the Centaur — after the publication of which, there could not be much doubt of the genuine and uncommon powers of the new writer. The last contribution of Hood to this magazine was the Lines to a Cold Beauty. Another early work of his, and one which, like the verses To the Moon, affords marked evidence of the impression which he had received from Keats’s poetry, is the unfinished drama (or, as he termed it, “romance”) of Lamia: I do not find its precise date recorded. Its verse is lax, and its tone somewhat immature; yet it shows a great deal of sparkling and diversified talent. Hood certainly takes a rather more rational view than Keats did of his subject as a moral invention, or a myth having some sort of meaning at its root. A serpent transformed into a woman, who beguiles a youth of the highest hopes into amorous languid self-abandonment, is clearly not, in morals, the sort of person that ought to be left uncontrolled to her own devices. Keats ostentatiously resents the action of the unimpassioned philosopher Appollonius in revealing the true nature of the woman-serpent, and dissolving her spell. An elderly pedant to interfere with the pretty whims of a viper when she wears the outer semblance of a fine woman! Intolerable!
(Such is the sentiment of Keats; but such plainly is not altogether the conviction of Hood, although his story remains but partially developed.)
By this time it may have become pretty clear to himself and others that his proper vocation and destined profession was literature. Through the London Magazine, he got to know John Hamilton Reynolds (author of the Garden of Florence and other poems, and a contributor to this serial under the pseudonym of Edward Herbert), Charles Lamb, Allan Cunningham, De Quincey, and other writers of reputation. To Hood the most directly important of all these acquaintances was Mr. Reynolds; this gentleman having a sister, Jane, to whom Hood was introduced. An attachment ensued, and shortly terminated in marriage, the wedding taking place on the 5th of May, 1824. The father of Miss Reynolds was the head writing-master at Christ Hospital. She is stated to have had good manners, a cultivated mind, and literary tastes, though a high educational standa
rd is not always traceable in her letters. At any rate the marriage was a happy one; Mrs. Hood being a tender and attentive wife, unwearied in the cares which her husband’s precarious health demanded, and he being (as I have said) a mirror of marital constancy and devotion, distinguishable from a lover rather by his intense delight in all domestic relations and details than by any cooling-down in his fondness. It would appear that, in the later years of Hood’s life, he was not on entirely good terms with some members of his wife’s family, including his old friend John Hamilton Reynolds. What may have caused this I do not find specified: all that we know of the character of Hood justifies us in thinking that he was little or not at all to blame, for he appears throughout a man of just, honorable, and loving nature, and free besides from that sort of self-assertion which invites a collision. Every one, however, has his blemishes; and we may perhaps discern in Hood a certain over-readiness to think himself imposed upon, and the fellow-creatures with whom he had immediately to do a generation of vipers — a state of feeling not characteristic of a mind exalted and magnanimous by habit, or “gentle” in the older and more significant meaning of the term.
The time was now come for Hood to venture a volume upon the world. Conjointly with Reynolds, he wrote, and published in 1825, his Odes and Addresses to Great People. The title-page bore no author’s name; but the extraordinary talent and point of the work could hardly fail to be noticed, even apart from its appeal to immediate popularity, dealing as it did so continually with the uppermost topics of the day. It had what it deserved, a great success. This volume was followed, in 1826, by the first series of Whims and Oddities, which also met with a good sale; the second series appeared in 1827. Next came two volumes of National Tales, somewhat after the manner of Boccaccio (but how far different from his spirit may easily be surmised), which are now little known. The volume containing the Plea of the Midsummer Fairies, Hero and Leander, and some other of Hood’s most finished and noticeable poems, came out in 1827. The Midsummer Fairies itself was one of the authors own favorite works, and certainly deserved to be so, as far as dainty elegance of motive and of execution is concerned: but the conception was a little too ingeniously remote for the public to ratify the author’s predilection. The Hero and Leander will be at once recognized as modelled on the style of Elizabethan narrative poems: indeed Marlow treated the very same subject, and his poem, left uncompleted, was finished by Chapman. Hood’s is a most astonishing example of revivalist poetry: it is reproductive and spontaneous at the same time. It resembles its models closely, not servilely — significantly, not mechanically; and has the great merit of resembling them with comparative moderation. Elizabethan here both in spirit and in letter, Hood is nevertheless a little less extreme than his prototypes. Where they loaded, he does not find it needful to overload, which is the ready and almost the inevitable resource of revivalists, all but the fewest: on the contrary, he alleviates a little, — but only a little.
