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Thomas Hood - The Two Peacocks of Bedfont
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I
 
Alas! That breathing Vanity should go 
Where Pride is buried,—like its very ghost, 
Uprisen from the naked bones below, 
In novel flesh, clad in the silent boast 
Of gaudy silk that flutters to and fro, 
Shedding its chilling superstition most 
On young and ignorant natures—as it wont 
To haunt the peaceful churchyard of Bedfont!

 
II
 
Each Sabbath morning, at the hour of prayer, 
Behold two maidens, up the quiet green 
Shining, far distant, in the summer air 
That flaunts their dewy robes and breathes between 
Their downy plumes,—sailing as if they were 
Two far-off ships,—until they brush between 
The churchyard`s humble walls, and watch and wait 
On either side of the wide open`d gate,

 
III
 
And there they stand—with haughty necks before 
God`s holy house, that points towards the skies— 
Frowning reluctant duty from the poor, 
And tempting homage from unthoughtful eyes: 
And Youth looks lingering from the temple door, 
Breathing its wishes in unfruitful sighs, 
With pouting lips,—forgetful of the grace, 
Of health, and smiles, on the heart-conscious face;— 


IV
 
Because that Wealth, which has no bliss beside, 
May wear the happiness of rich attire; 
And those two sisters, in their silly pride, 
May change the soul`s warm glances for the fire 
Of lifeless diamonds;—and for health denied,— 
With art, that blushes at itself, inspire 
Their languid cheeks—and flourish in a glory 
That has no life in life, nor after-story.

 
V
 
The aged priest goes shaking his gray hair 
In meekest censuring, and turns his eye 
Earthward in grief, and heavenward in pray`r, 
And sighs, and clasps his hands, and passes by, 
Good-hearted man! what sullen soul would wear 
Thy sorrow for a garb, and constantly 
Put on thy censure, that might win the praise 
Of one so gray in goodness and in days? 


VI
 
Also the solemn clerk partakes the shame 
Of this ungodly shine of human pride, 
And sadly blends his reverence and blame 
In one grave bow, and passes with a stride 
Impatient:—many a red-hooded dame 
Turns her pain`d head, but not her glance, aside 
From wanton dress, and marvels o`er again, 
That heaven hath no wet judgments for the vain.

 
VII 

"I have a lily in the bloom at home," 
Quoth one, "and by the blessed Sabbath day 
I`ll pluck my lily in its pride, and come 
And read a lesson upon vain array;— 
And when stiff silks are rustling up, and some 
Give place, I`ll shake it in proud eyes and say— 
Making my reverence,—`Ladies, an you please, 
King Solomon`s not half so fine as these,`" 


VIII
 
Then her meek partner, who has nearly run 
His earthly course,—"Nay, Goody, let your text 
Grow in the garden.—We have only one— 
Who knows that these dim eyes may see the next? 
Summer will come again, and summer sun, 
And lilies too,—but I were sorely vext 
To mar my garden, and cut short the blow 
Of the last lily I may live to grow," 


IX
 
"The last!" quoth she, "and though the last it were— 
Lo! those two wantons, where they stand so proud 
With waving plumes, and jewels in their hair, 
And painted cheeks, like Dagons to be bow`d 
And curtsey`d to!—last Sabbath after pray`r, 
I heard the little Tomkins ask aloud 
If they were angels—but I made him know 
God`s bright ones better, with a bitter blow!"

 
X.
 
So speaking, they pursue the pebbly walk 
That leads to the white porch the Sunday throng, 
Hand-coupled urchins in restrainëd talk, 
And anxious pedagogue that chastens wrong, 
And posied churchwarden with solemn stalk, 
And gold-bedizen`d beadle flames along, 
And gentle peasant clad in buff and green, 
Like a meek cowslip in the spring serene;

 
XI
 
And blushing maiden—modestly array`d 
In spotless white,—still conscious of the glass; 
And she, the lonely widow, that hath made 
A sable covenant with grief,—alas! 
She veils her tears under the deep, deep shade, 
While the poor kindly-hearted, as they pass, 
Bend to unclouded childhood, and caress 
Her boy,—so rosy!—and so fatherless! 


XII
 
Thus, as good Christians ought, they all draw near 
The fair white temple, to the timely call 
Of pleasant bells that tremble in the ear.— 
Now the last frock, and scarlet hood, and shawl 
Fade into dusk, in the dim atmosphere 
Of the low porch, and heav`n has won them all, 
—Saying those two, that turn aside and pass, 
In velvet blossom, where all flesh is grass. 


XIII

Ah me! to see their silken manors trail`d 
In purple luxuries—with restless gold,— 
Flaunting the grass where widowhood has wail`d 
In blotted black,—over the heapy mould 
Panting wave-wantonly! They never quail`d 
How the warm vanity abused the cold; 
Nor saw the solemn faces of the gone 
Sadly uplooking through transparent stone: 


XIV
 
But swept their dwellings with unquiet light, 
Shocking the awful presence of the dead; 
Where gracious natures would their eyes benight, 
Nor wear their being with a lip too red, 
Nor move too rudely in the summer bright 
Of sun, but put staid sorrow in their tread, 
Meting it into steps, with inward breath, 
In very pity to bereaved death. 


XV
 
Now in the church, time-sober`d minds resign 
To solemn pray`r, and the loud chaunted hymn,— 
With glowing picturings of joys divine 
Painting the mist-light where the roof is dim; 
But youth looks upward to the window shine, 
Warming with rose and purple and the swim 
Of gold, as if thought-tinted by the stains 
Of gorgeous light through many-color`d panes; 


XVI
 
Soiling the virgin snow wherein God hath 
Enrobed his angels,—and with absent eyes 
Hearing of Heav`n, and its directed path, 
Thoughtful of slippers—and the glorious skies 
Clouding with satin,—till the preacher`s wrath 
Consumes his pity, and he glows and cries 
With a deep voice that trembles in its might, 
And earnest eyes grow eloquent in light: 


XVII
 
"Oh, that the vacant eye would learn to look 
On very beauty, and the heart embrace 
True loveliness, and from this holy book 
Drink the warm-breathing tenderness and grace 
Of love indeed! Oh, that the young soul took 
Its virgin passion from the glorious face 
Of fair religion, and address`d its strife, 
To win the riches of eternal life!" 


XVIII
 
"Doth the vain heart love glory that is none, 
And the poor excellence of vain attire? 
Oh go, and drown your eyes against the sun, 
The visible ruler of the starry quire, 
Till boiling gold in giddy eddies run, 
Dazzling the brain with orbs of living fire; 
And the faint soul down-darkens into night, 
And dies a burning martyrdom to light." 


XIX
 
Oh go, and gaze,—when the low winds of ev`n 
Breathe hymns, and Nature`s many forests nod 
Their gold-crown`d heads; and the rich blooms of heav`n 
Sun-ripen`d give their blushes up to God; 
And mountain-rocks and cloudy steeps are riv`n 
By founts of fire, as smitten by the rod 
Of heavenly Moses,—that your thirsty sense 
May quench its longings of magnificence! 


XX
 
"Yet suns shall perish—stars shall fade away— 
Day into darkness—darkness into death— 
Death into silence; the warm light of day, 
The blooms of summer, the rich glowing breath 
Of even—all shall wither and decay, 
Like the frail furniture of dreams beneath 
The touch of morn—or bubbles of rich dyes 
That break and vanish in the aching eyes." 


XXI
  
They hear, soul-blushing, and repentant shed 
Unwholesome thoughts in wholesome tears, and pour 
Their sin to earth,—and with low drooping head 
Receive the solemn blessing, and implore 
Its grace—then soberly with chasten`d tread, 
They meekly press towards the gusty door 
With humbled eyes that go to graze upon 
The lowly grass—like him of Babylon. 


XXII
 
The lowly grass!—O water-constant mind! 
Fast-ebbing holiness!—soon-fading grace 
Of serious thought, as if the gushing wind 
Through the low porch had wash`d it from the face 
For ever!—How they lift their eyes to find 
Old vanities!—Pride wins the very place 
Of meekness, like a bird, and flutters now 
With idle wings on the curl-conscious brow! 


XXIII
 
And lo! with eager looks they seek the way 
Of old temptation at the lowly gate; 
To feast on feathers, and on vain array, 
And painted cheeks, and the rich glistering state 
Of jewel-sprinkled locks,—But where are they, 
The graceless haughty ones that used to wait 
With lofty neck, and nods, and stiffen`d eye?— 
None challenge the old homage bending by. 


XXIV
 
In vain they look for the ungracious bloom 
Of rich apparel where it glow`d before,— 
For Vanity has faded all to gloom, 
And lofty Pride has stiffen`d to the core, 
For impious Life to tremble at its doom,— 
Set for a warning token evermore, 
Whereon, as now, the giddy and the wise 
Shall gaze with lifted hands and wond`ring eyes. 


XXV
  
The aged priest goes on each Sabbath morn, 
But shakes not sorrow under his gray hair; 
The solemn clerk goes lavender`d and shorn 
Nor stoops his back to the ungodly pair;— 
And ancient lips that pucker`d up in scorn, 
Go smoothly breathing to the house of pray`r; 
And in the garden-plot, from day to day, 
The lily blooms its long white life away. 


XXVI
  
And where two haughty maidens used to be, 
In pride of plume, where plumy Death had trod, 
Trailing their gorgeous velvets wantonly, 
Most unmeet pall, over the holy sod; 
There, gentle stranger, thou may`st only see 
Two sombre Peacocks. 
Age, with sapient nod 
Marking the spot, still tarries to declare 
How they once lived, and wherefore they are there.
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