V.

And now across a market
My doubtful way I trace,
Where stands a solemn statue,
The Genius of the place;
And to the great Erasmus
I offer my salaam;
Who tells me you’re in England,
But I’m at Rotterdam.

VI.

The coffee-room is open—­
I mingle in its crowd,—­
The dominos are noisy—­
The hookahs raise a cloud;
The flavor, none of Fearon’s,
That mingles with my dram,
Reminds me you’re in England,
And I’m at Rotterdam.

VII.

Then here it goes, a bumper—­
The toast it shall be mine,
In schiedam, or in sherry,
Tokay, or hock of Rhine;
It well deserves the brightest,
Where sunbeam ever swam—­
“The Girl I love in England”
I drink at Rotterdam!

LINES

ON SEEING MY WIFE AND TWO CHILDREN SLEEPING
IN THE SAME CHAMBER.[14]

[Footnote 14:  Written at Coblenz, where Hood and his family were then settled, in November 1835.]

And has the earth lost its so spacious round,
The sky its blue circumference above,
That in this little chamber there is found
Both earth and heaven—­my universe of love! 
All that my God can give me, or remove,
Here sleeping, save myself, in mimic death. 
Sweet that in this small compass I behove
To live their living and to breathe their breath! 
Almost I wish that, with one common sigh,
We might resign all mundane care and strife,
And seek together that transcendent sky,
Where Father, Mother, Children, Husband, Wife,
Together pant in everlasting life!

STANZAS.[15]

[Footnote 15:  Assigned by Hood’s son to the year 1835, but apparently only on conjecture.]

Is there a bitter pang for love removed,
  O God!  The dead love doth not cost more tears
Than the alive, the loving, the beloved—­
  Not yet, not yet beyond all hopes and fears! 
        Would I were laid
        Under the shade
Of the calm grave, and the long grass of years,—­

That love might die with sorrow:—­I am sorrow;
  And she, that loves me tenderest, doth press
Most poison from my cruel lips, and borrow
  Only new anguish from the old caress;
         Oh, this world’s grief
         Hath no relief

In being wrung from a great happiness. 
Would I had never filled thine eyes with love,
  For love is only tears:  would I had never
Breathed such a curse-like blessing as we prove;
  Now, if “Farewell” could bless thee, I would sever! 
         Would I were laid
         Under the shade
Of the cold tomb, and the long grass forever!

ODE TO RAE WILSON, ESQ.