We watch'd her breathing through the night.

Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro.

So silently we seem'd to speak, So slowly moved about, As we had lent her half our powers To eke her living out.

Our very hopes belied our fears, Our fears our hopes belied-- We thought her dying when she slept, And sleeping when she died.

For when the morn came dim and sad, And chill with early showers, Her quiet eyelids closed--she had Another morn than ours.

ANTICIPATION.[11]

[Footnote 11: These impressive, if rather morbid, lines seem to have been hitherto overlooked by Hood's editors, and are here collected for the first time.]

"Coming events cast their shadow before."

I had a vision in the summer light-- Sorrow was in it, and my inward sight Ached with sad images. The touch of tears Gushed down my cheeks:--the figured woes of years Casting their shadows across sunny hours.

Oh, there was nothing sorrowful in flowers Wooing the glances of an April sun, Or apple blossoms opening one by one Their crimson bosoms--or the twittered words And warbled sentences of merry birds;-- Or the small glitter and the humming wings Of golden flies and many colored things-- Oh, these were nothing sad--nor to see _Her_, Sitting beneath the comfortable stir Of early leaves--casting the playful grace Of moving shadows in so fair a face-- Nor in her brow serene--nor in the love Of her mild eyes drinking the light above With a long thirst--nor in her gentle smile-- Nor in her hand that shone blood-red the while She raised it in the sun. All these were 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 Rotterdam, in which the ship was nearly lost, and Hood's health was permanently affected.]

Shall I rebuke thee, Ocean, my old love, That once, in rage, with the wild winds at strife, Thou darest menace my unit of a life, Sending my clay below, my soul above, Whilst roar'd thy waves, like lions when they rove By night, and bound upon their prey by stealth!

Yet didst thou n'er restore my fainting health?-- Didst thou ne'er murmur gently like the dove?

Nay, dost thou not against my own dear shore Full break, last link between my land and me?-- My absent friends talk in thy very roar, In thy waves' beat their kindly pulse I see, And, if I must not see my England more, Next to her soil, my grave be found in thee!

TO ----

COMPOSED AT ROTTERDAM.

I.

I gaze upon a city,-- A city new and strange,-- Down many a watery vista My fancy takes a range; From side to side I saunter, And wonder where I am; And can _you_ be in England, And _I_ at Rotterdam!

II.

Before me lie dark waters In broad canals and deep, Whereon the silver moonbeams Sleep, restless in their sleep; A sort of vulgar Venice Reminds me where I am; Yes, yes, you are in England, And I'm at Rotterdam.

III.

Tall houses with quaint gables, Where frequent windows shine, And quays that lead to bridges, And trees in formal line, And masts of spicy vessels From western Surinam, All tell me you're in England, But I'm in Rotterdam.