A claim to those of martyrs — like my own: | |
If I had had my sword, as I had on | |
150 | When I cut ears off, I had cut him down; |
But having but my | |
I only knock’d his head from out his hand. | |
XX | |
‘And then he set up such a headless howl, | |
That all the saints came out and took him in; | |
155 | And there he sits by St Paul, cheek by jowl; |
That fellow Paul – the parvenù! The skin | |
Of Saint Bartholomew, which makes his cowl | |
In heaven, and upon earth redeem’d his sin | |
So as to make a martyr, never sped | |
160 | Better than did this weak and wooden head. |
XXI | |
‘But had it come up here upon its shoulders, | |
There would have been a different tale to tell: | |
The fellow-feeling in the saints beholders | |
Seems to have acted on them like a spell; | |
165 | And so this very foolish head heaven solders |
Back on its trunk: it may be very well, | |
And seems the custom here to overthrow | |
Whatever has been wisely done below.’ | |
XXII | |
The angel answer’d, ‘Peter! do not pout: | |
170 | The king who comes has head and all entire, |
And never knew much what it was about — | |
He did as doth the puppet — by its wire, | |
And will be judged like all the rest, no doubt: | |
My business and your own is not to enquire | |
175 | Into such matters, but to mind our cue — |
Which is to act as we are bid to do.’ | |
XXIII | |
While thus they spake, the angelic caravan, | |
Arriving like a rush of mighty wind, | |
Cleaving the fields of space, as doth the swan | |
180 | Some silver stream (say Ganges, Nile, or Inde, |
Or Thames, or Tweed), and ’midst them an old man | |
With an old soul, and both extremely blind, | |
Halted before the gate, and in his shroud | |
Seated their fellow-traveller on a cloud. | |
XXIV | |
185 | But bringing up the rear of this bright host |
A Spirit of a different aspect waved | |
His wings, like thunder-clouds above some coast | |
Whose barren beach with frequent wrecks is paved; | |
His brow was like the deep when tempest-toss’d; | |
190 | Fierce and unfathomable thoughts engraved |
Eternal wrath on his immortal face, | |
And | |
XXV | |
As he drew near, he gazed upon the gate | |
Ne’er to be enter’d more by him or sin, | |
195 | With such a glance of supernatural hate, |
As made Saint Peter wish himself within; | |
He patter’d with his keys at a great rate, | |
And sweated through his apostolic skin: | |
Of course his perspiration was but ichor, | |
200 | Or some such other spiritual liquor. |
XXVI | |
The very cherubs huddled all together, | |
Like birds when soars the falcon; and they felt | |
A tingling to the tip of every feather, | |
And form’d a circle like Orion’s belt | |
205 | Around their poor old charge; who scarce knew whither |
His guards had led him, though they gently dealt | |
With royal manes (for by many stories, | |
And true, we learn the angels all are Tories). | |
XXVII | |
As things were in this posture, the gate flew | |
210 | Asunder, and the flashing of its hinges |
Flung over space an universal hue | |
Of many-colour’d flame, until its tinges | |
Reach’d even our speck of earth, and made a new | |
Aurora borealis spread its fringes | |
215 | O’er the North Pole; the same seen, when ice-bound, |
By Captain Parry’s crew, in ‘Melville’s Sound.’ | |
XXVIII | |
And from the gate thrown open issued beaming | |
A beautiful and mighty Thing of Light, | |
Radiant with glory, like a banner streaming | |
220 | Victorious from some world-o’erthrowing fight: |
My poor comparisons must needs be teeming | |
With earthly likenesses, for here the night | |
Of clay obscures our best conceptions, saving | |
Johanna Southcote, or Bob Southey raving. | |
XXIX | |
225 | ’Twas the archangel Michael: all men know |
The make of angels and archangels, since | |
There’s scarce a scribbler has not one to show, | |
From the fiends’ leader to the angels’ prince. | |
There also are some altar-pieces, though | |
230 | I really can’t say that they much evince |
One’s inner notions of immortal spirits; | |
But let the connoisseurs explain | |
XXX | |
Michael flew forth in glory and in good; | |
A goodly work of him from whom all glory | |
235 | And good arise; the portal past – he stood; |
Before him the young cherubs and saints hoary – | |
(I say | |
By looks, not years; and should be very sorry | |
To state, they were not older than St Peter, | |
240 | But merely that they seem’d a little sweeter). |
XXXI | |
The cherubs and the saints bow’d down before | |
That arch-angelic hierarch, the first | |
Of essences angelical, who wore | |
The aspect of a god; but this ne’er nursed | |
245 | Pride in his heavenly bosom, in whose core |
No thought, save for his Maker’s service, durst | |
Intrude, however glorified and high; | |
He knew him but the viceroy of the sky. | |
XXXII | |
He and the sombre silent Spirit met — | |
250 | They knew each other both for good and ill; |
Such was their power, that neither could forget | |
His former friend and future foe; but still | |
There was a high, immortal, proud regret | |
In either’s eye, as if ’twere less their will | |
255 | Than destiny to make the eternal years |
Their date of war, and their ‘champ clos’ the spheres. | |
XXXIII | |
But here they were in neutral space: we know | |
From Job, that Satan hath the power to pay | |
A heavenly visit thrice a year or so; | |
260 | And that ‘the sons of God,’ like those of clay, |
Must keep him company; and we might show | |
From the same book, in how polite a way | |
The dialogue is held between the Powers | |
Of Good and Evil — but ’twould take up hours. | |
XXXIV | |
265 | And this is not a theologic tract, |
To prove with Hebrew and with Arabic | |
If Job be allegory or a fact, | |
But a true narrative; and thus I pick | |
From out the whole but such and such an act | |
270 | As sets aside the slightest thought of trick. |
’Tis every tittle true, beyond suspicion, | |
And accurate as any other vision. | |
XXXV | |
The spirits were in neutral space, before | |
The gate of heaven; like eastern thresholds is | |
275 | The place where Death’s grand cause is argued o’er, |
And souls despatch’d to that world or to this; | |
And therefore Michael and the other wore | |
A civil aspect: though they did not kiss, | |
Yet still between his Darkness and his Brightness | |
280 | There pass’d a mutual glance of great politeness. |
XXXVI | |
The Archangel bow’d, not like a modern beau, | |
But with a graceful oriental bend, | |
Pressing one radiant arm just where below | |
The heart in good men is supposed to tend. | |
285 | He turn’d as to an equal, not too low, |
But kindly; Satan met his ancient friend | |
With more hauteur, as might an old Castilian | |
Poor noble meet a mushroom rich civilian. | |
XXXV II | |
He merely bent his diabolic brow | |
290 | An instant; and then raising it, he stood |
In act to assert his right or wrong, and show | |
Cause why King George by no means could or should | |
Make out a case to be exempt from woe | |
Eternal, more than other kings, endued | |
295 | With better sense and hearts, whom history mentions, |