VI. Such were his fellow-servants; thus To bully one another's guilt. VII. He had a mind which was somehow At once circumference and centre Of all he might or feel or know; Nothing went ever out, although Something did ever enter. VIII. He had as much imagination As a pint-pot;-he never could From which to dart his contemplation, IX. Yet his was individual mind, In a new manner, and refined X. Thus-although unimaginative- XI. But from the first 'twas Peter's drift XII. She laughed the while with an arch smile, I love you well-but, if you please, XIII. ""Tis you are cold; for I, not coy, Yield love for love, frank, warm, and true; And Burns, a Scottish peasant boy His errors prove it-knew my joy More, learned friend, than you. XIV. "Bocca baciata non perde ventura, Anzi rinnuova come fa la luna: So thought Boccaccio, whose sweet words might cure a Male prude, like you, from what you now endure, a Low-tide in soul, like a stagnant laguna." XV. Then Peter rubbed his eyes severe, And smoothed his spacious forehead down XVI. The Devil was no uncommon creature; A toad-like lump of limb and feature, With mind and heart and fancy muddled. XVII. He was that heavy dull cold thing XVIII. Now he was quite the kind of wight Venison, turtle, hock, and claret- XIX. It was his fancy to invite Men of science, wit, and learning, XX. And men of learning, science, wit, XXI. And all the while, with loose fat smile, Homage to his unnoticed chair. XXII. Though to be sure this place was Hell; PART V.-GRACE. I. Among the guests who often stayed II. He was a mighty poet and A subtle-souled psychologist; All things he seemed to understand But his own mind, which was a mist. This was a man who might have turned A Heaven unto himself have earned: But he in shadows undiscerned Trusted, and damned himself to madness. IV. He spoke of poetry, and how Divine it was-" a light-a love A spirit which like wind doth blow As it listeth, to and fro; A dew rained down from God above; V. "A power which comes and goes like dream, And which none can ever trace Heaven's light on earth-Truth's brightest beam." And when he ceased there lay the gleam Of those words upon his face. VI. Now Peter, when he heard such talk, Stand like a man asleep, or baulk Or drop and break his master's plate. VII. At night he oft would start and wake. In a wild measure songs to make VIII. And on the universal sky And the wide earth's bosom green,- IX. For in his thought he visited The spots in which, ere dead and damned, He his wayward life had led; Yet knew not whence the thoughts were fed Which thus his fancy crammed. X. And these obscure remembrances XI. For, though it was without a sense He knew something of heath and fell. XII. He had also dim recollections Of pedlars tramping on their rounds; Milk-pans and pails; and odd collections Of saws and proverbs; and reflections Old parsons make in burying-grounds. XIII. But Peter's verse was clear, and came It augured to the earth: XIV. Like gentle rains on the dry plains, Making that green which late was grey, Or like the sudden moon that stains Some gloomy chamber's window-panes With a broad light like day. XV. For language was in Peter's hand Like clay while he was yet a potter: And he made songs for all the land Sweet both to feel and understand, As pipkins late to mountain cotter. D D Whereat the Devil took offence, And swore in his soul a great oath then, Of what was due to gentlemen! PART VI.-DAMNATION. I. "OH that mine enemy had written A book!" cried Job:-a fearful curse, If to the Arab, as the Briton, 'Twas galling to be critic-bitten: The Devil to Peter wished no worse. II. When Peter's next new book found vent, A copy of it slily sent, With five pound note as compliment, III. Then seriatim, month and quarter, IV. Another: "Let him shave his head. In that barbarian Shakspeare poking? V. One more: 'Is incest not enough And must there be adultery too? Grace after meat? Miscreant and liar? Thief! blackguard! scoundrel! fool! Hell fire VI. "By that last book of yours WE think You've double-damned yourself to scorn; |