|
LI-LX
LI
Here Michael interposed: `Good saint! and devil!
Pray, not so fast; you both outrun discretion.
Saint Peter! you were wont to be more civil!
Satan! excuse this warmth of his expression,
And condescension to the vulgar`s level:
Event saints sometimes forget themselves in session.
Have you got more to say?` — `No.` — If you please
I`ll trouble you to call your witnesses.`
LII
Then Satan turn`d and waved his swarthy hand,
Which stirr`d with its electric qualities
Clouds farther off than we can understand,
Although we find him sometimes in our skies;
Infernal thunder shook both sea and land
In all the planets, and hell`s batteries
Let off the artillery, which Milton mentions
As one of Satan`s most sublime inventions.
LIII
This was a signal unto such damn`d souls
As have the privilege of their damnation
Extended far beyond the mere controls
Of worlds past, present, or to come; no station
Is theirs particularly in the rolls
Of hell assign`d; but where their inclination
Or business carries them in search of game,
They may range freely — being damn`d the same.
LIV
They`re proud of this — as very well they may,
It being a sort of knighthood, or gilt key
Stuck in their loins; or like to an `entré`
Up the back stairs, or such free-masonry.
I borrow my comparisons from clay,
Being clay myself. Let not those spirits be
Offended with such base low likenesses;
We know their posts are nobler far than these.
LV
When the great signal ran from heaven to hell —
About ten million times the distance reckon`d
From our sun to its earth, as we can tell
How much time it takes up, even to a second,
For every ray that travels to dispel
The fogs of London, through which, dimly beacon`d,
The weathercocks are gilt some thrice a year,
If that the summer is not too severe;
LVI
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,
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.
LVII
Upon the verge of space, about the size
Of half-a-crown, a little speck appear`d
(I`ve seen a something like it in the skies
In the Ćgean, ere a squall); it near`d,
And growing bigger, took another guise;
Like an aërial ship it tack`d, and steer`d,
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
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
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`t translate in full,
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,
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
Try if kings mayn`t be damn`d like me or you.
|
