dear
To heart and eye--but an invisible fear
Shook in the trees and chilled upon the air,
And if one spot was laughing brightest--there
My soul most sank and darkened in despair!--
As if the shadows of a curtained room
Haunted me in the sun--as if the bloom
Of early flow'rets had no sweets for me,
Nor apple blossoms any blush to see--
As if the hour had brought too bright a day--
And little birds were all too gay!--too gay!--
As if the beauty of that Lovely One
Were all a fable.--Full before the sun
Stood Death and cast a shadow long before,
Like a dark pall enshrouding her all o'er,
Till eyes, and lips, and smiles, were all no more!

TO A CHILD EMBRACING HIS MOTHER.

Love thy mother, little one!
Kiss and clasp her neck again,--
Hereafter she may have a son
Will kiss and clasp her neck in vain.
Love thy mother, little one!

Gaze upon her living eyes,
And mirror back her love for thee,--
Hereafter thou mayst shudder sighs
To meet them when they cannot see.
Gaze upon her living eyes!

Press her lips the while they glow
With love that they have often told,--
Hereafter thou mayst press in woe,
And kiss them till thine own are cold.
Press her lips the while they glow!

Oh, revere her raven hair!
Although it be not silver-gray;
Too early Death, led on by Care,
May snatch save one dear lock away.
Oh, revere her raven hair!

Pray for her at eve and morn,
That Heaven may long the stroke defer,--
For thou mayst live the hour forlorn
When thou wilt ask to die with her.
Pray for her at eve and morn!

STANZAS[12]

[Footnote 12: From Hood's novel of _Tylney Hall_, published in 1834;
apparently one of the many tender tributes originally addressed by Hood
to his wife.]

(FROM _TYLNEY HALL_.)

Still glides the gentle streamlet on,
With shifting current new and strange;
The water that was here is gone,
But those green shadows do not change.

Serene, or ruffled by the storm,
On present waves as on the past,
The mirrored grave retains its form,
The self-same trees their semblance cast.

The hue each fleeting globule wears,
That drop bequeaths it to the next,
One picture still the surface bears,
To illustrate the murmured text.

So, love, however time may flow,
Fresh hours pursuing those that flee
One constant image still shall show
My tide of life is true to thee!

SONNET TO OCEAN.[13]

[Footnote 13: Written in 1835 after Hood's disastrous voyage to