The Poetical Works of Thomas Hood, Volume 2

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Little, Brown, 1856

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Page 94 - Spurn'd by the young, but hugg'd by the old To the very verge of the churchyard mould ; Price of many a crime untold ; Gold ! -Gold ! Gold ! Gold...
Page 177 - Now, when he went from Nelly Gray, His heart so heavy got — And life was such a burden grown, It made him take a knot! So round his melancholy neck A rope he did entwine, And, for his second time in life Enlisted in the Line!
Page 175 - 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...
Page 271 - No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing, Play on, play on, My elfin John ! Toss the light ball — bestride the stick — (I knew so many cakes would make him sick ! ) With fancies buoyant as the thistle-down, Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk, With many a lamb-like frisk, (He 's got the scissors, snipping at your gown ! ) Thou pretty opening rose...
Page 269 - With antic toys so funnily bestuck, Light as the singing bird that wings the air, (The door ! the door ! he'll tumble down the stair '.) Thou darling of thy sire ! (Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore afire !) Thou imp of mirth and joy!
Page 270 - Touched with the beauteous tints of dawning life! (He's got a knife !) Thou enviable being ! No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing, Play on, play on, My elfin...
Page 270 - From ev'ry blossom in the world that blows, Singing in Youth's Elysium ever sunny, (Another tumble ! — that's his.
Page 176 - I loved a soldier once, For he was blithe and brave; But I will never have a man With both legs in the grave! "Before you had those timber toes, Your love I did allow, But then, you know, you stand upon Another footing now !" "Oh, Nelly Gray! Oh, Nelly Gray! For all your jeering speeches, At duty's call, I left my legs, In Badajos's breaches!
Page 303 - For my part getting up seems not so easy By half as lying. What if the lark does carol in the sky, Soaring beyond the sight to find him out — Wherefore am I to rise at such a fly ? I'm not a trout.
Page 329 - To his tuned spirit the wild heather-bells Ring Sabbath knells ; The jubilate of the soaring lark Is chant of clerk ; For choir, the thrush and the gregarious linnet ; The sod's a cushion for his pious want ; And, consecrated by the heav'n within it, The sky-blue pool, a font.

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