9.
For in his thought he visited The spots in which, ere dead and d.a.m.ned, He his wayward life had led; _415 Yet knew not whence the thoughts were fed Which thus his fancy crammed.
10.
And these obscure remembrances Stirred such harmony in Peter, That, whensoever he should please, _420 He could speak of rocks and trees In poetic metre.
11.
For though it was without a sense Of memory, yet he remembered well Many a ditch and quick-set fence; _425 Of lakes he had intelligence, He knew something of heath and fell.
12.
He had also dim recollections Of pedlars tramping on their rounds; Milk-pans and pails; and odd collections _430 Of saws, and proverbs; and reflections Old parsons make in burying-grounds.
13.
But Peter"s verse was clear, and came Announcing from the frozen hearth Of a cold age, that none might tame _435 The soul of that diviner flame It augured to the Earth:
14.
Like gentle rains, on the dry plains, Making that green which late was gray, Or like the sudden moon, that stains _440 Some gloomy chamber"s window-panes With a broad light like day.
15.
For language was in Peter"s hand Like clay while he was yet a potter; And he made songs for all the land, _445 Sweet both to feel and understand, As pipkins late to mountain Cotter.
16.
And Mr. --, the bookseller, Gave twenty pounds for some;--then scorning A footman"s yellow coat to wear, _450 Peter, too proud of heart, I fear, Instantly gave the Devil warning.
17.
Whereat the Devil took offence, And swore in his soul a great oath then, "That for his d.a.m.ned impertinence _455 He"d bring him to a proper sense Of what was due to gentlemen!"
PART 6.
d.a.m.nATION.
1.
"O that mine enemy had written A book!"--cried Job:--a fearful curse, If to the Arab, as the Briton, _460 "Twas galling to be critic-bitten:-- The Devil to Peter wished no worse.
2.
When Peter"s next new book found vent, The Devil to all the first Reviews A copy of it slyly sent, _465 With five-pound note as compliment, And this short notice--"Pray abuse."
3.
Then seriatim, month and quarter, Appeared such mad tirades.--One said-- "Peter seduced Mrs. Foy"s daughter, _470 Then drowned the mother in Ullswater, The last thing as he went to bed."
4.
Another--"Let him shave his head!
Where"s Dr. Willis?--Or is he joking?
What does the rascal mean or hope, _475 No longer imitating Pope, In that barbarian Shakespeare poking?"
5.
One more, "Is incest not enough?
And must there be adultery too?
Grace after meat? Miscreant and Liar! _480 Thief! Blackguard! Scoundrel! Fool! h.e.l.l-fire Is twenty times too good for you.
6.
"By that last book of yours WE think You"ve double d.a.m.ned yourself to scorn; We warned you whilst yet on the brink _485 You stood. From your black name will shrink The babe that is unborn."
7.
All these Reviews the Devil made Up in a parcel, which he had Safely to Peter"s house conveyed. _490 For carriage, tenpence Peter paid-- Untied them--read them--went half mad.
8.
"What!" cried he, "this is my reward For nights of thought, and days, of toil?
Do poets, but to be abhorred _495 By men of whom they never heard, Consume their spirits" oil?
9.
"What have I done to them?--and who IS Mrs. Foy? "Tis very cruel To speak of me and Betty so! _500 Adultery! G.o.d defend me! Oh!
I"ve half a mind to fight a duel.
10.
"Or," cried he, a grave look collecting, "Is it my genius, like the moon, Sets those who stand her face inspecting, _505 That face within their brain reflecting, Like a crazed bell-chime, out of tune?"
11.
For Peter did not know the town, But thought, as country readers do, For half a guinea or a crown, _510 He bought oblivion or renown From G.o.d"s own voice (1) in a review.
12.
All Peter did on this occasion Was, writing some sad stuff in prose.
It is a dangerous invasion _515 When poets criticize; their station Is to delight, not pose.
13.
The Devil then sent to Leipsic fair For Born"s translation of Kant"s book; A world of words, tail foremost, where _520 Right--wrong--false--true--and foul--and fair As in a lottery-wheel are shook.
14.
Five thousand crammed octavo pages Of German psychologics,--he Who his furor verborum a.s.suages _525 Thereon, deserves just seven months" wages More than will e"er be due to me.
15.
I looked on them nine several days, And then I saw that they were bad; A friend, too, spoke in their dispraise,-- _530 He never read them;--with amaze I found Sir William Drummond had.
16.
When the book came, the Devil sent It to P. Verbovale (2), Esquire, With a brief note of compliment, _535 By that night"s Carlisle mail. It went, And set his soul on fire.
17.
Fire, which ex luce praebens fumum, Made him beyond the bottom see Of truth"s clear well--when I and you, Ma"am, _540 Go, as we shall do, subter humum, We may know more than he.
18.
Now Peter ran to seed in soul Into a walking paradox; For he was neither part nor whole, _545 Nor good, nor bad--nor knave nor fool; --Among the woods and rocks
19.
Furious he rode, where late he ran, Lashing and spurring his tame hobby; Turned to a formal puritan, _550 A solemn and uns.e.xual man,-- He half believed "White Obi".
20.
This steed in vision he would ride, High trotting over nine-inch bridges, With Flibbertigibbet, imp of pride, _555 Mocking and mowing by his side-- A mad-brained goblin for a guide-- Over corn-fields, gates, and hedges.