The Humorous Poetry of the English Language; from Chaucer to Saxe Part 64

DOMESTIC POEMS.

THOMAS HOOD.

I.

GOOD-NIGHT.

The sun was slumbering in the west, my daily labors past; On Anna's soft and gentle breast my head reclined at last; The darkness closed around, so dear to fond congenial souls, And thus she murmured in my ear, "My love, we're out of coals.

"That Mister Bond has called again, insisting on his rent; And all the Todds are coming up to see us, out of Kent; I quite forgot to tell you John has had a tipsy fall;-- I'm sure there's something going on with that vile Mary Hall!

"Miss Bell has bought the sweetest milk, and I have bought the rest-- Of course, if we go out of town, Southend will be the best.

I really think the Jones's house would be the thing for us; I think I told you Mrs. Pope had parted with her NUS--

"Cook, by the way, came up to-day, to bid me suit myself-- And, what'd ye think? the rats have gnawed the victuals on the shelf.

And, Lord! there's such a letter come, inviting you to fight!

Of course you, don't intend to go--G.o.d bless you, dear, goodnight!"

II.

A PARENTAL ODE TO MY SON, AGED THREE YEARS AND FIVE MONTHS.

Thou happy, happy elf!

(But stop--first let me kiss away that tear)-- Thou tiny image of myself!

(My love, he's poking peas into his ear!) Thou merry, laughing sprite!

With spirits feather-light, Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin-- (Good heavens! the child is swallowing a pin!) Thou little tricksy Puck!

With antic toys so funnily bestuck, Light as the singing bird that wings the air-- (The door! the door! he'll tumble down the stair!) Thou darling of thy sire!

(Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore afire!) Thou imp of mirth and joy!

In Love's dear chain so strong and bright a link, Thou idol of thy parents--(Drat the boy!

There goes my ink!)

Thou cherub--but of earth; Fit playfellow for Fays, by moonlight pale, In harmless sport and mirth, (That dog will bite him if he pulls its tail!) Thou human humming-bee, extracting honey From every blossom in the world that blows, Singing in youth's elysium ever sunny, (Another tumb!--that's his precious nose!)

Thy father's pride and hope!

(He'll break the mirror with that skipping-rope!) With pure heart newly stamped from Nature's mint-- (Where did he learn that squint?) Thou young domestic dove!

(He'll have that jug off, with another shove!) Dear nursling of the Hymeneal nest!

(Are those torn clothes his best?) Little epitome of man!

(He'll climb upon the table, that's his plan!) Touched with the beauteous tints of dawning life-- (He's got a knife!)

Thou enviable being!

No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing, Play on, play on, My elfin John!

Toss the light ball--bestride the stick-- (I knew so many cakes would make him sick!) With fancies, buoyant as the thistle-down, Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk, With many a lamb-like frisk, (He's got the scissors, snipping at your gown!)

Thou pretty opening rose!

(Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose!) Balmy and breathing music like the South, (He really brings my heart into my mouth!)Fresh as the morn, and brilliant as its star-- (I wish that window had an iron bar!) Bold as the hawk, yet gentle as the dove-- (I'll tell you what, my love, I can not write, unless he's sent above!)

III.

A SERENADE.

"LULLABY, O, lullaby!"

Thus I heard a father cry, "Lullaby, O, lullaby!

The brat will never shut an eye; Hither come, some power divine!

Close his lids, or open mine!"

"Lullaby, O, lullaby!

What the devil makes him cry?

Lullaby, O, lullaby!

Still he stares--I wonder why, Why are not the sons of earth Blind, like puppies, from their birth?"

"Lullaby, O, lullaby!"

Thus I heard the father cry; "Lullaby, O, lullaby!

Mary, you must come and try!-- Hush, O, hush, for mercy's sake-- The more I sing, the more you wake!"

"Lullaby, O, lullaby!

Fie, you little creature, fie!

Lullaby, O, lullaby!

Is no poppy-syrup nigh?

Give him some, or give him all, I am nodding to his fall!"

"Lullaby, O, lullaby!

Two such nights and I shall die!

Lullaby, O, lullaby!

He'll be bruised, and so shall I-- How can I from bed-posts keep, When I'm walking in my sleep!"

"Lullaby, O, lullaby!

Sleep his very looks deny-- Lullaby, O, lullaby!

Nature soon will stupefy-- My nerves relax--my eyes grow dim-- Who's that fallen--me or him?"

ODE TO PERRY, THE INVENTOR OF THE STEEL PEN.

THOMAS HOOD

"In this good work, Penn appears the greatest, usefullest of G.o.d's instruments. Firm and unbending when the exigency requires it--soft and yielding when rigid inflexibility is not a desideratum--fluent and flowing, at need, for eloquent rapidity--slow and retentive in cases of deliberation--never spluttering or by amplification going wide of the mark--never splitting, if it can be helped, with any one, but ready to wear itself out rather in their service--all things as it were with all men--ready to embrace the hand of Jew, Christian, or Mohammedan--heavy with the German, light with the Italian, oblique with the English, upright with the Roman, backward in coming forward with the Hebrew--in short, for flexibility, amiability, const.i.tutional durability, general ability, and universal utility, It would be hard to find a parallel to the great Penn." --Perry's CHARACTERISATION OF A SETTLER.

O! Patent Pen-inventing Perrian Perry!

Friend of the goose and gander, That now unplucked of their quill-feathers wander, Cackling, and gabbling, dabbling, making merry, About the happy fen, Untroubled for one penny-worth of pen, For which they chant thy praise all Britain through, From Goose-Green unto Gander-Cleugh!--

Friend to all Author-kind-- Whether of Poet or of Proser-- Thou art composer unto the composer Of pens--yea, patent vehicles for Mind To carry it on jaunts, or more extensive PERRYgrinations through the realms of thought; Each plying from the Comic to the Pensive, An Omnibus of intellectual sort;

Modern improvements in their course we feel, And while to iron railroads heavy wares, Dry goods and human bodies, pay their fares, Mind flies on steel To Penrith, Penrhyn, even to Penzance; Nay, penetrates, perchance, To Pennsylvania, or, without rash vaunts, To where the Penguin haunts!

In times bygone, when each man cut his quill, With little Perryan skill, What horrid, awkward, bungling tools of trade Appeared the writing implements home-made!

What Pens were sliced, hewed, hacked, and haggled out, Slit or unslit, with many a various snout, Aquiline, Roman, crooked, square, and snubby.

Stumpy and stubby; Some capable of ladye-billets neat, Some only fit for ledger-keeping clerk, And some to grub down Peter Stubbs his mark, Or smudge through some illegible receipt; Others in florid caligraphic plans, Equal to s.h.i.+ps, and wiggy heads, and swans!

To try in any common inkstands, then, With all their miscellaneous stocks, To find a decent pen, Was like a dip into a lucky box: You drew--and got one very curly, And split like endive in some hurly-burly; The next unslit, and square at end, a spade, The third, incipient pop-gun, not yet made; The fourth a broom; the fifth of no avail, Turned upward, like a rabbit's tail; And last, not least, by way of a relief, A stump that Master Richard, James or John, Had tried his candle-cookery upon, Making "roast-beef!"