Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/My Old Hat
My Old Hat.
I had a hat—it was not all a hat,Part of the brim was gone—yet still I woreIt on, and people wondered as I passed.Some turned to gaze—others just cast an eyeAnd soon withdrew it, as 'twere in contempt.But still my hat, although so fashionlessIn complement extern, had that withinSurpassing show—my head continued warm;Being sheltered from the weather, spite of allThe want (as has been said before) of brim.
A change came o'er the colour of my hat.That which was black grew brown—and then men staredWith both their eyes (they stared with one before).The wonder now was twofold; and it seemedStrange that a thing so torn and old should stillBe worn by one who might but let that pass!I had my reasons, which might be revealedBut for some counter-reasons, far more strong,Which tied my tongue to silence. Time passed on,
Green spring, and flowery summer, autumn brown,And frosty winter came,—and went and came,And still through all the seasons of two years,In park and city, yea, at parties—balls—The hat was worn and borne. Then folks grew wildWith curiosity, and whispers rose,And questions passed about—how one so trimIn coats, boots, ties, gloves, trousers, could insconceHis caput in a covering so vile.
A change came o'er the nature of my hat.Grease-spots appeared—but, still in silence, onI wore it, and then family, and friendsGlared madly at each other. There was oneWho said—but hold—no matter what was said;A time may come when Iaway, awayNot till the season's ripe can I revealThoughts that do lie too deep for common minds—Till then the world shall not pluck out the heartOf this my mystery. When I will, I will!The hat was now greasy, and old, and torn,But torn, old, greasy, still I wore it on.
A change came o'er the business of this hat.Women, and men, and children scowled on me—My company was shunned—I was alone!None would associate with such a hat—Friendship itself proved faithless for a hat.She that I loved, within whose gentle breastI treasured up my heart, looked cold as death—Love's fires went out—extinguished by a hat.Of those who knew me best, some turned aside,And scudded down dark lanes; one man did placeHis finger on his nose's side, and jeered;Others in horrid mockery laughed outright;Yea, dogs, deceived by instinct's dubious ray,Fixing their swart glare on my ragged hat,Mistook me for a beggar, arid they barked.Thus women, men, friends, strangers, lovers, dogs,One thought pervaded all—it was my hat.
A change, it was the last, came o'er this hat,For lo! at length the circling months went round:The period was accomplished—and one dayThis tattered, brown, old greasy coverture(Time had endeared its vileness) was transferredTo the possession of a wandering sonOf Israel's fated race—and friends once more Greeted my digits with the wonted squeeze:Once more I went my way, along, along,And plucked no wondering gaze; the hand of scornWith its annoying finger, men, and dogs,Once more grew pointless, jokeless, laughless, growlless—And at last, not least of rescued blessings, love!Love smiled on me again, when I assumedA bran new chapeau of the Melton build;And then the laugh was mine, for, then out cameThe secret of this strangeness—'twas a bet,—A friend had laid me fifty pounds to ten,Three years I would not wear it—and I did!