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The naked, also, that I might have clad, the famished I might
The wounds I might have healed! the human sorrow and smart !
An illustration of the effect of antithesis, and grotesqueness of fancy, we have in his Ode to his Son :
Thou happy, happy elf !
Thou tiny image of myself!
Thou merry, laughing sprite !
With spirits feather-light,
Thou cherub-brat of earth!
In harmless sport and mirth!
His Dame Eleanor Spearing, like his many other pieces, including Young Ben, Nelly Gray, and Ben Battle, exhibit his irresistible fond
ness for playing upon words. named :
Here is a passage from the first
She was deaf as 'a nail—that you cannot hammer
A meaning into, for all
Was all a sealed book to Dame Eleanor Spearing ;
And often her tears would rise to their founts-
That she couldn't audit the Gossips' accounts.
The Dream of Eugene Aram has been regarded as one of Hood's finest productions ; but a high critical authority thinks his Haunted House bears the palm, it is so wonderfully full of creative power.
“ It required the finest mental apprehension, the white heat of
The centipede along the threshold crept,
The cobweb hung across in mazy tangle,
At every nook and angle.
The emmets of the steps had old possession,
In undisturbed procession.
crooked turn, or on the landing,
Some apparition standing !
Of every step so many echoes blended,
How many feet ascended.
Even the ancestral portraits on the walls are filled with no mere simulated life,
Their souls were looking through their painted eyes
With awful speculation.
At the sound of the door creaking on its rusty hinges, it seems as though the murder would out at last. The screech-owl appears to “ mock the cry that she had heard some dying victim utter :"
A shriek that echoed from its joisted roof,
And up the stair, and further still and further, Till in some ringing chamber far aloof
It ceased its tale of murther !
Touched by some impulse, occult or mechanic; And nameless beetles ran along the wall,
In universal panic.
The subtle spider, that from overhead
Hung like a spy on human guilt and error, Suddenly turned, and up its slender thread
Ran with a nimble terror.
Prophetic hints that filled the soul with dread,
But through one gloomy entrance pointing mostly,
“That chamber is the ghostly !”
Swung pendulous,—no web, no dusty fringes,
About its nooks and hinges.
The moth, the beetle, and the fly were banished,
The very midge had vanished.
As if with awful aim direct and certain,
Embroidered on the curtain.
Here is a sweet passage from The Fairies :
Oh, these be Fancy’s revellers by night!
Stealthy companions of the downy moth-
Shunners of sunbeams in diurnal sloth :
These be the feasters on night's silver cloth, -
with shrilly trump, is their convener,
These be the pretty genii of the Aowers,
Daintily fed with honey and pure dew-
King Oberon, and all his merry crew,