Selected Poems (146 page)

I say that I can tell – ’twas half a minute:

I know the solar beams take up more time

Ere, pack’d up for their journey, they begin it;

But then their telegraph is less sublime,

445

And if they ran a race, they would not win it

‘Gainst Satan’s couriers bound for their own clime.

The sun takes up some years for every ray

To reach its goal — the devil not half a day.

LV II

Upon the verge of space, about the size

450

Of half-a-crown, a little speck appear’d

(I’ve seen a something like it in the skies

In the Ægean, ere a squall); it near’d,

And, growing bigger, took another guise;

Like an aerial ship it tack’d, and steer’d,

455

Or
was
steer’d (I am doubtful of the grammar

Of the last phrase, which makes the stanza stammer; –

LVIII

But take your choice); and then it grew a cloud;

And so it was – a cloud of witnesses.

But such a cloud! No land e’er saw a crowd

460

Of locusts numerous as the heavens saw these;

They shadow’d with their myriads space; their loud

And varied cries were like those of wild geese

(If nations may be liken’d to a goose),

And realised the phrase of ‘hell broke loose.’

LIX

465

Here crash’d a sturdy oath of stout John Bull,

Who damn’d away his eyes as heretofore:

There Paddy brogued ‘By Jasus!’ – ‘What’s your wull?’

The temperate Scot exclaim’d: the French ghost swore

In certain terms I shan’n’t translate in full,

470

As the first coachman will; and ’midst the roar

The voice of Jonathan was heard to express,

‘
Our
president is going to war, I guess.’

LX

Besides there were the Spaniard, Dutch, and Dane;

In short, an universal shoal of shades,

475

From Otaheite’s isle to Salisbury Plain,

Of all climes and professions, years and trades,

Ready to swear against the good king’s reign,

Bitter as clubs in cards are against spades:

All summon’d by this grand ‘subpoena,’ to

480

Try if kings mayn’t be damn’d like me or you.

LXI

When Michael saw this host, he first grew pale,

As angels can; next, like Italian twilight,

He turn’d all colours – as a peacock’s tail,

Or sunset streaming through a Gothic skylight

485

In some old abbey, or a trout not stale,

Or distant lightning on the horizon
by
night,

Or a fresh rainbow, or a grand review

Of thirty regiments in red, green, and blue.

LXII

Then he address’d himself to Satan: ‘Why –

490

My good old friend, for such I deem you, though

Our different parties make us fight so shy,

I ne’er mistake you for a
personal
foe;

Our difference is
political,
and I

Trust that, whatever may occur below,

495

You know my great respect for you: and this

Makes me regret whate’er you do amiss –

LXIII

‘Why, my dear Lucifer, would you abuse

My call for witnesses? I did not mean

That you should half of earth and hell produce;

500

’Tis even superfluous, since two honest, clean,

True testimonies are enough: we lose

Our time, nay, our eternity, between

The accusation and defence: if we

Hear both, ’twill stretch our immortality.’

LXIV

505

Satan replied, ‘To me the matter is

Indifferent, in a personal point of view:

I can have fifty better souls than this

With far less trouble than we have gone through

Already; and I merely argued his

510

Late majesty of Britain’s case with you

Upon a point of form: you may dispose

Of him; I’ve kings enough below, God knows!’

LXV

Thus spoke the Demon (late call’d ‘multifaced’

By multo-scribbling Southey). ‘Then we’ll call

515

One or two persons of the myriads placed

Around our congress, and dispense with all

The rest,’ quoth Michael: ‘Who may be so graced

As to speak first? there’s choice enough – who shall

It be?’ Then Satan answer’d, ‘There are many;

520

But you may choose Jack Wilkes as well as any.’

LXVI

A merry, cock-eyed, curious-looking sprite

Upon the instant started from the throng,

Dress’d in a fashion now forgotten quite;

For all the fashions of the flesh stick long

525

By people in the next world; where unite

All the costumes since Adam’s, right or wrong,

From Eve’s fig-leaf down to the petticoat,

Almost as scanty, of days less remote.

LXVII

The spirit look’d around upon the crowds

530

Assembled, and exclaim’d, ‘My friends of all

The spheres, we shall catch cold amongst these clouds;

So let’s to business: why this general call?

If those are freeholders I see in shrouds,

And ’tis for an election that they bawl,

535

Behold a candidate with unturn’d coat!

Saint Peter, may I count upon your vote?’

LXVIII

‘Sir,’ replied Michael, ‘you mistake; these things

Are of a former life, and what we do

Above is more august; to judge of kings

540

Is the tribunal met: so now you know.’

‘Then I presume those gentlemen with wings,’

Said Wilkes, ‘are cherubs; and that soul below

Looks much like George the Third, but to my mind

A good deal older – Bless me! is he blind?’

LXIX

545

‘He is what you behold him, and his doom

Depends upon his deeds,’ the Angel said.

‘If you have aught to arraign in him, the tomb

Gives license to the humblest beggar’s head

To lift itself against the loftiest.’ – ‘Some,’

550

Said Wilkes, ‘don’t wait to see them laid in lead,

For such a liberty – and I, for one,

Have told them what I thought beneath the sun.’

LXX

‘
Above
the sun repeat, then, what thou hast

To urge against him,’ said the Archangel. ‘Why,’

555

Replied the spirit, ‘since old scores are past,

Must I turn evidence? In faith, not I.

Besides, I beat him hollow at the last,

With all his Lords and Commons: in the sky

I don’t like ripping up old stories, since

560

His conduct was but natural in a prince.

LXXI

‘Foolish, no doubt, and wicked, to oppress

A poor unlucky devil without a shilling;

But then I blame the man himself much less

Than Bute and Grafton, and shall be unwilling

565

To see him punish’d here for their excess,

Since they were both damn’d long ago, and still in

Their place below: for me, I have forgiven,

And vote his “habeas corpus” into heaven.’

LXXII

‘Wilkes,’ said the Devil, ‘I understand all this;

570

You turn’d to half a courtier ere you died,

And seem to think it would not be amiss

To grow a whole one on the other side

Of Charon’s ferry; you forget that
his

Reign is concluded; whatsoe’er betide,

575

He won’t be sovereign more: you’ve lost your labour,

For at the best he will but be your neighbour.

LXXIII

‘However, I knew what to think of it,

When I beheld you in your jesting way

Flitting and whispering round about the spit

580

Where Belial, upon duty for the day,

With Fox’s lard was basting William Pitt,

His pupil; I knew what to think, I say:

That fellow even in hell breeds farther ills;

I’ll have him
gagg’d
– ’twas one of his own bills.

LXXIV

585

‘Call Junius!’ From the crowd a shadow stalk’d,

And at the name there was a general squeeze,