Like gentle rains, on the dry plains,

Making that green which late was gray,
Or like the sudden moon, that stains
Some gloomy chamber's window panes

With a broad light like day.

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.

And Mr. the bookseller,

Gave twenty pounds for some ;-then scorning A footman's yellow coat to wear, Peter, too proud of heart, I fear,

Instantly gave the Devil warning.

Whereat the Devil took offence,

And swore in his soul a great oath then, “ That for his damned impertinence, He'd bring him to a proper sense

Of what was due to gentlemen!"

PART THE SIXTH.

DAMNATION.

“ O 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.

When Peter's next new book found vent,

The Devil to all the first Reviews A copy

of it slily sent, With five-pound note as compliment,

And this short notice" Pray abuse."

Then seriatim, month and quarter,

Appeared such mad tirades.—One said “ Peter seduced Mrs. Foy's daughter, Then drowned the mother in Ullswater,

The last thing as he went to bed.”

Another Let him shave his head !

Where's Dr. Willis ?-Or is he joking! What does the rascal mean or hope, No longer imitating Pope,

In that barbarian Shakspeare poking ?'

One more,

6 Is incest not enough, And must there be adultery too ? Grace after meat ? Miscreant and Liar! Thief! Blackguard! Scoundrel! Fool! Hell-fire

Is twenty times too good for you.

By that last book of yours we think

You ’ve double damned yourself to scorn ; We warned you whilst yet on the brink . You stood. From your black name will shrink

The babe that is unborn."

All these Reviews the Devil made

Up in a parcel, which he had Safely to Peter's house conveyed. For carriage, ten-pence Peter paid

Untied them-read them-went half-mad.

“What !” cried he, “ this is my reward

For nights of thought, and days of toil ?
Do poets, but to be abhorred
By men of whom they never heard,

Consume their spirits' oil ?

4 What have I done to them ?-and who

Is Mrs. Foy? 'Tis very cruel To speak of me and Emma so ! Adultery! God defend me! O

I've half a mind to fight a duel.

а

« Or,” cried he, a grave look collecting,

“Is it my genius, like the moon, Sets those who stand her face inspecting, That face within their brain reflecting,

Like a crazed bell-chime, out of tune ?”

For Peter did not know the town,

But thought, as country readers do,
For half a guinea or a crown,
He bought oblivion or renown

From God's own voice * in a review.

All Peter did on this occasion

Was, writing some sad stuff in prose.
It is a dangerous invasion
When poets criticize; their station

Is to delight, not pose.

The Devil then sent to Leipsic fair,

For Born's translation of Kant's book ; A world of words, tail foremost, where Right, wrong, false, true, and foul, and fair

As in a lottery-wheel are shook ;

Five thousand crammed octavo pages

Of German psychologics,-he Who his furor verborum assuages

* Vox populi vox Dei: as Mr. Godwin truly observes of a more famous saying, of some merit as a popular maxim, boste totally destitute of philosophical accuracy. VOL. III.

17

Thereon, deserves just seven months' wages

More than will e'er be due to me.

I looked on them nine several days,

And then I saw that they were bad; A friend, too, spoke in their dispraise, He never read them ;--with amaze.

I found Sir William Drummond had.

When the book came, the Devil sent

It to P. Verbovale,* Esquire,
With a brief note of compliment,
By that night's Carlisle mail. It went,

And set his soul on fire,—

Fire, which ex luce præbens fumum,

Made him beyond the bottom see Of truth's clear well—when I and you

Ma'am, Go, as we shall do, subter humum,

We may know more than he.

Now Peter ran to seed in soul

Into a walking paradox ;
For he was neither part nor whole,
Nor good, nor bad-nor knave nor fool,

-Among the woods and rocks