Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A PARTHIAN GLANCE, by THOMAS HOOD


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A PARTHIAN GLANCE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Come, my crony, let's think upon far-away days
Last Line: And I'm seeking to hide it -- by writing for bays!
Subject(s): Time


I.

COME, my Crony, let's think upon far-away days
And lift up a little Oblivion's veil;
Let's consider the past with a lingering gaze,
Like a peacock whose eyes are inclined to his tail.

II.

Ay, come, let us turn our attention behind,
Like those critics whose heads are so heavy, I fear,
That they cannot keep up with the march of the mind,
And so turn face about for reviewing the rear.

III.

Looking over Time's crupper and over his tail,
Oh, what ages and pages there are to revise!
And as farther our back-searching glances prevail,
Like the emmets, "how little we are in our eyes!"

IV.

What a sweet pretty innocent, half-a-yard long,
On a dimity lap of true nursery make!
I can fancy I hear the old lullaby song
That was meant to compose me, but kept me awake.

V.

Methinks I still suffer the infantine throes,
When my flesh was a cushion for any long pin --
Whilst they patted my body to comfort my woes,
Oh! how little they dreamt they were driving them in!

VI.

Infant sorrows are strong -- infant pleasures as weak --
But no grief was allow'd to indulge in its note;
Did you ever attempt a small "bubble and squeak,"
Thro' the Dalby's Carminative down in your throat?

VII.

Did you ever go up to the roof with a bounce?
Did you ever come down to the floor with the same?
Oh! I can't but agree with both ends, and pronounce
"Head or tails" with a child, an unpleasantish game!

VIII.

Then an urchin -- I see myself urchin, indeed,
With a smooth Sunday face for a mother's delight;
Why should weeks have an end? -- I am sure there was need
Of a Sabbath, to follow each Saturday-night.

IX.

Was your face ever sent to the housemaid to scrub?
Have you ever felt huckaback soften'd with sand?
Had you ever your nose towell'd up to a snub,
And your eyes knuckled out with the back of the hand?

X.

Then a school-boy -- my tailor was nothing in fault,
For an urchin will grow to a lad by degrees, --
But how well I remember that "pepper and salt"
That was down to the elbows, and up to the knees!

XI.

What a figure it cut when as Norval I spoke!
With a lanky right leg duly planted before;
Whilst I told of the chief that was kill'd by my stroke,
And extended my arms as "the arms that he wore!"

XII.

Next a Lover -- Oh! say, were your ever in love?
With a lady too cold -- and your bosom too hot!
Have you bow'd to a shoe-tie, and knelt to a glove?
Like a beau that desired to be tied in a knot?

XIII.

With the Bride all in white, and your body in blue,
Did you walk up the aisle -- the genteelest of men?
When I think of that beautiful vision anew,
Oh! I seem but the biffin of what I was then!

XIV.

I am wither'd and worn by a premature care,
And my wrinkles confess the decline of my days;
Old Time's busy hand has made free with my hair,
And I'm seeking to hide it -- by writing for bays!





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