That night I saw them in my dreams, How changed from what I knew them! The dews had steeped their faded threads, The winds had whistled through them! I saw the wide and ghastly rents Where demon claws had torn them; A hole was in their amplest part, I have had many happy years, I saw them straddling through the air, But those young pantaloons have Alas! too late to win them; I saw them chase the clouds, as if The devil had been in them; They were my darlings and my pride, My boyhood's only riches, "Farewell, farewell," I faintly cried: "My breeches! O my breeches!" gone Forever and forever! And not till fate has cut the last Of all my earthly stitches, This aching heart shall cease to mourn My loved, my long-lost breeches! THOMAS HOOD. TO MY INFANT SON. THOυ happy, happy elf! In love's dear chain so bright a link, Thou idol of thy parents;-(Drat the boy! (But stop; first let me kiss away that There goes my ink.) Thou cherub, but of earth; (My love, he's poking peas into his Fit playfellow for fairies, by moon ear.) Thou merry, laughing sprite, With spirits, feather light, Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin. (My dear, 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! light pale, In harmless sport and mirth, (That dog will bite him, if he pulls his tail!) Thou human humming-bee, extracting honey From every blossom in the world that blows, Singing in youth's Elysium ever The bar-maid of the Crown he loved, From whom he never ranged; For though he changed his horses there, His love he never changed. He thought her fairest of all fares, One day, as she was sitting down He came, and knelt with all his fat, Said she, "My taste will never learn So I must beg you will come here But still he stoutly urged his suit, With vows, and sighs, and tears, It could not pierce her heart, although He drove the "Dart" for years. In vain he wooed, in vain he sued; While on his way to Stroud. He fretted all the way to Stroud, At last her coldness made him pine Alas! in vain he still assailed, Her heart withstood the dint; Though he had carried sixteen stone, He could not move a flint. Worn out, at last he made a vow To break his being's link; For he was so reduced in size At nothing he could shrink. Now some will talk in water's praise, And waste a deal of breath, But John, though he drank nothing else, He drank himself to death. The cruel maid that caused his love, There's Mr. Wick at Number Nine, At Number Seven there was a sale-- My mother often sits at work, And talks of props and stays, Some say his spirit haunts the Crown, And what a comfort I shall be Yet arts that thrive at Number Five I wish he had a gun! 'Tis hard, with plenty in the street, But only rather shy; And Mrs. Smith across the way But, la! be hardly seems to know But if he had he'd never deign To shoot with Number One! I'M NOT A SINGLE MAN. Yet every Miss reminds me this If they had hair in papers once, Bolt up the stairs they ran; They now sit still in dishabille – I'm not a single man! Miss Mary Bond was once so fond To study my antiques. Well, now she doesn't care a dump Once they made choice of my bass Her taste at once is modernized voice To share in each duet; So well I danced, I somehow chanced To stand in every set: They now declare I cannot sing, And dance on Bruin's plan; Me draw!-me paint!-me anything! I'm not a single man! Once I was asked advice, and tasked I'm not a single man! One used to stitch a collar then, I had more purses netted then My buttons then were Bachelor's - Oh, how they hated politics Thrust on me by papa: But now my chat-they all leave that Ah me, how strange it is, the change, I'm not a single man! My spouse is fond of homely life, I go to balls without my wife, And yet each Miss to whom I come, Go where I will, I but intrude, I'm left in crowded rooms, Like Zimmerman on Solitude, Or Hervey at his Tombs. From head to heel they make me feel Of quite another clan; Compelled to own, though left alone, I'm not a single inan! Miss Towne the toast, though she can boast A nose of Roman line, She should have seen that I have been And really married all I could |