The Poetical Works of Thomas Hood, by Thomas Hood

The Two Swans.

A Fairy Tale.


Immortal Imogen, crown’d queen above

The lilies of thy sex, vouchsafe to hear

A fairy dream in honor of true love —

True above ills, and frailty, and all fear —

Perchance a shadow of his own career

Whose youth was darkly prison’d and long-twined

By serpent-sorrow, till white Love drew near,

And sweetly sang him free, and round his mind

A bright horizon threw, wherein no grief may wind.


I saw a tower builded on a lake,

Mock’d by its inverse shadow, dark and deep —

That seem’d a still intenser night to make,

Wherein the quiet waters sank to sleep —

And, whatso’er was prison’d in that keep,

A monstrous Snake was warden:— round and round

In sable ringlets I beheld him creep

Blackest amid black shadows to the ground,

Whilst his enormous head, the topmost turret crown’d.


From whence he shot fierce light against the stars,

Making the pale moon paler with affright;

And with his ruby eye out-threaten’d Mars —

That blaz’d in the mid-heavens, hot and bright —

Nor slept, nor wink’d, but with a steadfast spite

Watch’d their wan looks and tremblings in the skies;

And that he might not slumber in the night,

The curtain-lids were pluck’d from his large eyes,

So he might never drowse, but watch his secret prize.


Prince or princess in dismal durance pent,

Victims of old Enchantment’s love or hate,

Their lives must all in painful sighs be spent,

Watching the lonely waters soon and late,

And clouds that pass and leave them to their fate,

Or company their grief with heavy tears:—

Meanwhile that Hope can spy no golden gate

For sweet escapement, but in darksome fears

They weep and pine away as if immortal years.


No gentle bird with gold upon its wing

Will perch upon the grate — the gentle bird

Is safe in leafy dell, and will not bring

Freedom’s sweet key-note and commission-word

Learn’d of a fairy’s lips, for pity stirr’d —

Lest while he trembling sings, untimely guest!

Watch’d by that cruel Snake and darkly heard,

He leave a widow on her lonely nest,

To press in silent grief the darlings of her breast.


No gallant knight, adventurous, in his bark,

Will seek the fruitful perils of the place,

To rouse with dipping oar the waters dark

That bear that serpent image on their face.

And Love, brave Love! though he attempt the base,

Nerved to his loyal death, he may not win

His captive lady from the strict embrace

Of that foul Serpent, clasping her within

His sable folds — like Eve enthrall’d by the old Sin.


But there is none — no knight in panoply,

Nor Love, intrench’d in his strong steely coat:

No little speck — no sail — no helper nigh,

No sign — no whispering — no plash of boat:—

The distant shores show dimly and remote,

Made of a deeper mist — serene and gray —

And slow and mute the cloudy shadows float

Over the gloomy wave, and pass away,

Chased by the silver beams that on their marges play.


And bright and silvery the willows sleep

Over the shady verge — no mad winds tease

Their hoary heads; but quietly they weep

Their sprinkling leaves — half fountains and half trees:

Their lilies be — and fairer than all these,

A solitary Swan her breast of snow

Launches against the wave that seems to freeze

Into a chaste reflection, still below

Twin shadow of herself wherever she may go.


And forth she paddles in the very noon

Of solemn midnight like an elfin thing,

Charm’d into being by the argent moon —

Whose silver light for love of her fair wing

Goes with her in the shade, still worshipping

Her dainty plumage:— all around her grew

A radiant circlet, like a fairy ring;

And all behind, a tiny little clue

Of light, to guide her back across the waters blue.


And sure she is no meaner than a fay,

Redeem’d from sleepy death, for beauty’s sake,

By old ordainment:— silent as she lay,

Touched by a moonlight wand I saw her wake,

And cut her leafy slough, and so forsake

The verdant prison of her lily peers,

That slept amidst the stars upon the lake —

A breathing shape — restored to human fears,

And new-born love and grief — self-conscious of her tears.


And now she clasps her wings around her heart,

And near that lonely isle begins to glide,

Pale as her fears, and oft-times with a start

Turns her impatient head from side to side

In universal terrors — all too wide

To watch; and often to that marble keep

Upturns her pearly eyes, as if she spied

Some foe, and crouches in the shadows steep

That in the gloomy wave go diving fathoms deep.


And well she may, to spy that fearful thing

All down the dusky walls in circlets wound;

Alas! for what rare prize, with many a ring

Girding the marble casket round and round?

His folded tail, lost in the gloom profound,

Terribly darkeneth the rocky base;

But on the top his monstrous head is crown’d

With prickly spears, and on his doubtful face

Gleam his unwearied eyes, red watchers of the place.


Alas! of the hot fires that nightly fall,

No one will scorch him in those orbs of spite,

So he may never see beneath the wall

That timid little creature, all too bright,

That stretches her fair neck, slender and white,

Invoking the pale moon, and vainly tries

Her throbbing throat, as if to charm the night

With song — but, hush — it perishes in sighs,

And there will be no dirge sad-swelling, though she dies!


She droops — she sinks — she leans upon the lake,

Fainting again into a lifeless flower;

But soon the chilly springs anoint and wake

Her spirit from its death, and with new power

She sheds her stifled sorrows in a shower

Of tender song, timed to her falling tears —

That wins the shady summit of that tower,

And, trembling all the sweeter for its fears,

Fills with imploring moan that cruel monster’s ears.


And, lo! the scaly beast is all deprest,

Subdued like Argus by the might of sound —

What time Apollo his sweet lute addrest

To magic converse with the air, and bound

The many monster eyes, all slumber-drown’d:—

So on the turret-top that watchful Snake

Pillows his giant head, and lists profound,

As if his wrathful spite would never wake,

Charm’d into sudden sleep for Love and Beauty’s sake!


His prickly crest lies prone upon his crown,

And thirsty lip from lip disparted flies,

To drink that dainty flood of music down —

His scaly throat is big with pent-up sighs —

And whilst his hollow ear entranced lies,

His looks for envy of the charmed sense

Are fain to listen, till his steadfast eyes,

Stung into pain by their own impotence,

Distil enormous tears into the lake immense.


Oh, tuneful Swan! oh, melancholy bird!

Sweet was that midnight miracle of song,

Rich with ripe sorrow, needful of no word

To tell of pain, and love, and love’s deep wrong —

Hinting a piteous tale — perchance how long

Thy unknown tears were mingled with the lake,

What time disguised thy leafy mates among —

And no eye knew what human love and ache

Dwelt in those dewy leaves, and heart so nigh to break.


Therefore no poet will ungently touch

The water-lily, on whose eyelids dew

Trembles like tears; but ever hold it such

As human pain may wander through and through,

Turning the pale leaf paler in its hue —

Wherein life dwells, transfigured, not entomb’d,

By magic spells. Alas! who ever knew

Sorrow in all its shapes, leafy and plumed,

Or in gross husks of brutes eternally inhumed?


And now the winged song has scaled the height

Of that dark dwelling, builded for despair,

And soon a little casement flashing bright

Widens self-open’d into the cool air —

That music like a bird may enter there

And soothe the captive in his stony cage;

For there is nought of grief, or painful care,

But plaintive song may happily engage

From sense of its own ill, and tenderly assuage.


And forth into the light, small and remote,

A creature, like the fair son of a king,

Draws to the lattice in his jewell’d coat

Against the silver moonlight glistening,

And leans upon his white hand listening

To that sweet music that with tenderer tone

Salutes him, wondering what kindly thing

Is come to soothe him with so tuneful moan,

Singing beneath the walls as if for him alone!


And while he listens, the mysterious song,

Woven with timid particles of speech.

Twines into passionate words that grieve along

The melancholy notes, and softly teach

The secrets of true love — that trembling reach

His earnest ear, and through the shadows dun

He missions like replies, and each to each

Their silver voices mingle into one,

Like blended streams that make one music as they run.


“Ah! Love, my hope is swooning in my heart — ”

“Ay, sweet, my cage is strong and hung full high —”

“Alas! our lips are held so far apart,

Thy words come faint — they have so far to fly! —”

“If I may only shun that serpent-eye — ”

“Ah me! that serpent-eye doth never sleep; —”

“Then, nearer thee, Love’s martyr, I will die! —”

“Alas, alas! that word has made me weep!

For pity’s sake remain safe in thy marble keep!”


“My marble keep! it is my marble tomb —”

“Nay, sweet! but thou hast there thy living breath —”

“Aye to expend in sighs for this hard doom; —”

“But I will come to thee and sing beneath,”

“And nightly so beguile this serpent wreath; —”

“Nay, I will find a path from these despairs.”

“Ah, needs then thou must tread the back of death,

Making his stony ribs thy stony stairs. —

Behold his ruby eye, how fearfully it glares!”


Full sudden at these words, the princely youth

Leaps on the scaly back that slumbers, still

Unconscious of his foot, yet not for ruth,

But numb’d to dulness by the fairy skill

Of that sweet music (all more wild and shrill

For intense fear) that charm’d him as he lay —

Meanwhile the lover nerves his desperate will,

Held some short throbs by natural dismay,

Then down the serpent-track begins his darksome way.


Now dimly seen — now toiling out of sight,

Eclipsed and cover’d by the envious wall;

Now fair and spangled in the sudden light,

And clinging with wide arms for fear of fall;

Now dark and shelter’d by a kindly pall

Of dusky shadow from his wakeful foe;

Slowly he winds adown — dimly and small,

Watch’d by the gentle Swan that sings below,

Her hope increasing, still, the larger he doth grow.


But nine times nine the serpent folds embrace

The marble walls about — which he must tread

Before his anxious foot may touch the base:

Long in the dreary path, and must be sped!

But Love, that holds the mastery of dread,

Braces his spirit, and with constant toil

He wins his way, and now, with arms outspread,

Impatient plunges from the last long coil;

So may all gentle Love ungentle Malice foil!


The song is hush’d, the charm is all complete,

And two fair Swans are swimming on the lake:

But scarce their tender bills have time to meet,

When fiercely drops adown that cruel Snake —

His steely scales a fearful rustling make,

Like autumn leaves that tremble and foretell

The sable storm; — the plumy lovers quake —

And feel the troubled waters pant and swell,

Heaved by the giant bulk of their pursuer fell.


His jaws, wide yawning like the gates of Death,

Hiss horrible pursuit — his red eyes glare

The waters into blood — his eager breath

Grows hot upon their plumes:— now, minstrel fair!

She drops her ring into the waves, and there

It widens all around, a fairy ring

Wrought of the silver light — the fearful pair

Swim in the very midst, and pant and cling

The closer for their fears, and tremble wing to wing.


Bending their course over the pale gray lake,

Against the pallid East, wherein light play’d

In tender flushes, still the baffled Snake

Circled them round continually, and bay’d

Hoarsely and loud, forbidden to invade

The sanctuary ring — his sable mail

Roll’d darkly through the flood, and writhed and made

A shining track over the waters pale,

Lash’d into boiling foam by his enormous tail.


And so they sail’d into the distance dim,

Into the very distance — small and white,

Like snowy blossoms of the spring that swim

Over the brooklets — follow’d by the spite

Of that huge Serpent, that with wild affright

Worried them on their course, and sore annoy,

Till on the grassy marge I saw them ‘light,

And change, anon, a gentle girl and boy,

Lock’d in embrace of sweet unutterable joy!


Then came the Morn, and with her pearly showers

Wept on them, like a mother, in whose eyes

Tears are no grief; and from his rosy bowers

The Oriental sun began to rise,

Chasing the darksome shadows from the skies;

Wherewith that sable Serpent far away

Fled, like a part of night — delicious sighs

From waking blossoms purified the day,

And little birds were singing sweetly from each spray.

Last updated Sunday, March 27, 2016 at 11:55