Ben Battle was a soldier bold, And used to war’s alarms; But a cannon-ball took off his legs, So he laid down his arms! Now as they bore him off the field, Said he, “Let others shoot, For here I leave my second leg, And the Forty-second Foot!” The army-surgeons made him limbs: Said he,–“They’re […]

I. Alack! ’tis melancholy theme to think How Learning doth in rugged states abide, And, like her bashful owl, obscurely blink, In pensive glooms and corners, scarcely spied; Not, as in Founders’ Halls and domes of pride, Served with grave homage, like a tragic queen, But with one lonely priest compell’d to hide, In midst […]

‘Twas off the Wash–the sun went down–the sea look’d black and grim, For stormy clouds, with murky fleece, were mustering at the brim; Titanic shades! enormous gloom!–as if the solid night Of Erebus rose suddenly to seize upon the light! It was a time for mariners to bear a wary eye With such a dark […]

[Note: Of course suggested by Coleridge and Southey’s Devil’s Walk. It is ablaze with wit and real imagination. Old nursery tales are not so well remembered in these days that it is superfluous to point out that the “fee” being a prelude to “faw” and “fum,” is taken from the formula of the Ogre in […]

Tim Turpin he was gravel blind, And ne’er had seen the skies: For Mature, when his head was made, Forgot to dot his eyes. So, like a Christmas pedagogue, Poor Tim was forc’d to do– Look out for pupils, for he had A vacancy for two. There’s some have specs to help their sight Of […]

“The clashing of my armor in my ears Sounds like a passing bell; my buckler puts me In mind of a bier; this, my broadsword, a pickaxe To dig my grave.” THE LOVER’S PROGRESS. I. ‘Twas in that memorable year France threaten’d to put off in Flat-bottom’d boats, intending each To be a British coffin, […]

There’s some is born with their straight legs by natur– And some is born with bow-legs from the first– And some that should have grow’d a good deal straighter, But they were badly nurs’d, And set, you see, like Bacchus, with their pegs Astride of casks and kegs: I’ve got myself a sort of bow […]

Amongst the sights that Mrs. Bond Enjoyed yet grieved at more than others, Were little ducklings in a pond, Swimming about beside their mothers– Small things like living water-lilies, But yellow as the daffo-dillies. “It’s very hard,” she used to moan, “That other people have their ducklings To grace their waters–mine alone Have never any […]

John Huggins was as bold a man As trade did ever know, A warehouse good he had, that stood Hard by the church of Bow. There people bought Dutch cheeses round, And single Glo’ster flat,– And English butter in a lump, And Irish–in a pat. Six days a week beheld him stand, His business next […]

“Resigned, I kissed the rod.” Well! I think it is time to put up! For it does not accord with my notions, Wrist, elbow, and chine, Stiff from throwing the line, To take nothing at last by my motions! I ground-bait my way as I go, And dip in at each watery dimple; But however […]

[Note: A parody of John Hamilton Reynolds’s once popular lines, beginning– “Go, where the water glideth gently ever,”] ON HER DEPARTURE FOR INDIA. Go where the waves run rather Holborn-hilly, And tempest make a soda-water sea, Almost as rough as our rough Piccadilly, And think of me! Go where the mild Madeira ripens her juice,– […]

‘Twas August–Hastings every day was filling– Hastings, that “greenest spot on memory’s waste”! With crowds of idlers willing and unwilling To be bedipped–be noticed–or be braced, And all things rose a penny in a shilling. Meanwhile, from window, and from door, in haste “Accommodation bills” kept coming down, Gladding “the world of-letters” in that town. […]

“Blow high, blow low.”–SEA SONG. As Mister B. and Mistress B. One night were sitting down to tea, With toast and muffins hot– They heard a loud and sudden bounce, That made the very china flounce, They could not for a time pronounce If they were safe or shot– For Memory brought a deed to […]

“Sweeping our flocks and herds.”–DOUGLAS. O Philanthropic men!– For this address I need not make apology– Who aim at clearing out the Smithfield pen, And planting further off its vile Zoology– Permit me thus to tell, I like your efforts well, For routing that great nest of Hornithology! Be not dismay’d, although repulsed at first, […]

“Like the two Kings of Brentford smelling at one nosegay.” In Brentford town, of old renown, There lived a Mister Bray, Who fell in love with Lucy Bell, And so did Mr. Clay. To see her ride from Hammersmith, By all it was allowed, Such fair outsides are seldom seen, Such Angels on a Cloud. […]

“Oh flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified!”–MERCUTIO I. ‘Twas twelve o’clock by Chelsea chimes, When all in hungry trim, Good Mister Jupp sat down to sup With wife, and Kate, and Jim. II. Said he, “Upon this dainty cod How bravely I shall sup”– When, whiter than the tablecloth, A GHOST came rising up! III. […]

[Note: Written in the album of Miss Smith, daughter of Mr. Horace Smith, of the Rejected Addresses. Miss Smith happily still survives to show her friends with pride these admirable verses, inscribed in Hood’s neat and clear handwriting.] LINES WRITTEN IN A YOUNG LADY’S ALBUM. A pretty task, Miss S—-, to ask A Benedictine pen, […]

(At No. 1, Newgate. Favored by Mr. Wontner.) O Mary, I believed you true, And I was blest in so believing; But till this hour I never knew– That you were taken up for thieving! Oh! when I snatch’d a tender kiss, Or some such trifle when I courted, You said, indeed, that love was […]

“Our Crummie is a dainty cow.”–Scotch Song. On that first Saturday in May, When Lords and Ladies, great and grand, Repair to see what each R.A. Has done since last they sought the Strand, In red, brown, yellow, green, or blue, In short, what’s called the private view,– Amongst the guests–the deuce knows how She […]

“Down, down, down, ten thousand fathoms deep.” Count Fathom. Who does not know that dreadful gulf, where Niagara falls, Where eagle unto eagle screams, to vulture vulture calls; Where down beneath, Despair and Death in liquid darkness grope, And upward, on the foam there shines a rainbow without Hope; While, hung with clouds of Fear […]