The Works of Lord Byron, Volume 4

L >> Lord Byron >> The Works of Lord Byron, Volume 4

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44

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 ere saw a crowd
Of locusts numerous as the heavens saw these;[ha]
They shadowed with their myriads Space; their loud
And varied cries were like those of wild geese,[hb]
(If nations may be likened to a goose),
And realised the phrase of "Hell broke loose."[529]

LIX.

Here crashed a sturdy oath of stout John Bull,
Who damned away his eyes as heretofore:
There Paddy brogued "By Jasus!"--"What's your wull?"
The temperate Scot exclaimed: the French ghost swore
In certain terms I shan't translate in full,
As the first coachman will; and 'midst the war,[hc]
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,[hd]
Bitter as clubs in cards are against spades:[530]
All summoned by this grand "subpoena," to
Try if kings mayn't be damned like me or you.

LXI.

When Michael saw this host, he first grew pale,
As Angels can; next, like Italian twilight,
He turned all colours--as a peacock's tail,
Or sunset streaming through a Gothic skylight
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 addressed himself to Satan: "Why--
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 _political_, and I
Trust that, whatever may occur below,
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;
'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.

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
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 called "multifaced"[531]
By multo-scribbling Southey). "Then we'll call
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 answered, "There are many;
But you may choose Jack Wilkes as well as any."

LXVI.

A merry, cock-eyed, curious-looking Sprite[532]
Upon the instant started from the throng,
Dressed in a fashion now forgotten quite;
For all the fashions of the flesh stick long
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.[533]

LXVII.

The Spirit looked around upon the crowds
Assembled, and exclaimed, "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,
Behold a candidate with unturned coat![he]
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
Is the tribunal met: so now you know."
"Then I presume those gentlemen with wings,"[hf]
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.

"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,"
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,"
Replied the spirit, "since old scores are past,
Must I turn evidence? In faith, not I.
Besides, I beat him hollow at the last[534],
With all his Lords and Commons: in the sky
I don't like ripping up old stories, since
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[535], and shall be unwilling
To see him punished here for their excess,
Since they were both damned 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;
You turned to half a courtier[536] 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,
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
Where Belial, upon duty for the day[hg],
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 _gagged_--'twas one of his own Bills[537].

LXXIV.

"Call Junius!" From the crowd a shadow stalked[538].
And at the name there was a general squeeze,
So that the very ghosts no longer walked
In comfort, at their own aerial ease,
But were all rammed, and jammed (but to be balked,
As we shall see), and jostled hands and knees,
Like wind compressed and pent within a bladder,
Or like a human colic, which is sadder.[hh]

LXXV.

The shadow came--a tall, thin, grey-haired figure,
That looked as it had been a shade on earth[hi];
Quick in its motions, with an air of vigour,
But nought to mark its breeding or its birth;
Now it waxed little, then again grew bigger[hj],
With now an air of gloom, or savage mirth:
But as you gazed upon its features, they
Changed every instant--to _what_, none could say.

LXXVI.

The more intently the ghosts gazed, the less
Could they distinguish whose the features were;
The Devil himself seemed puzzled even to guess;
They varied like a dream--now here, now there;
And several people swore from out the press,
They knew him perfectly; and one could swear
He was his father; upon which another
Was sure he was his mother's cousin's brother:

LXXVII.

Another, that he was a duke, or knight,
An orator, a lawyer, or a priest,
A nabob, a man-midwife;[539] but the wight[hk]
Mysterious changed his countenance at least
As oft as they their minds: though in full sight
He stood, the puzzle only was increased;
The man was a phantasmagoria in
Himself--he was so volatile and thin.

LXXVIII.

The moment that you had pronounced him _one_,
Presto! his face changed, and he was another;
And when that change was hardly well put on,
It varied, till I don't think his own mother
(If that he had a mother) would her son
Have known, he shifted so from one to t'other;
Till guessing from a pleasure grew a task,[hl]
At this epistolary "Iron Mask."[540]

LXXIX.

For sometimes he like Cerberus would seem--
"Three gentlemen at once"[541] (as sagely says
Good Mrs. Malaprop); then you might deem
That he was not even _one_; now many rays
Were flashing round him; and now a thick steam
Hid him from sight--like fogs on London days:
Now Burke, now Tooke, he grew to people's fancies
And certes often like Sir Philip Francis.

LXXX.

I've an hypothesis--'tis quite my own;
I never let it out till now, for fear
Of doing people harm about the throne,
And injuring some minister or peer,
On whom the stigma might perhaps be blown;
It is--my gentle public, lend thine ear!
'Tis, that what Junius we are wont to call,[hm]
Was _really--truly_--nobody at all.

LXXXI.

I don't see wherefore letters should not be
Written without hands, since we daily view
Them written without heads; and books, we see,
Are filled as well without the latter too:
And really till we fix on somebody
For certain sure to claim them as his due,
Their author, like the Niger's mouth,[542] will bother
The world to say if _there_ be mouth or author.

LXXXII.

"And who and what art thou?" the Archangel said.
"For _that_ you may consult my title-page,"[543]
Replied this mighty shadow of a shade:
"If I have kept my secret half an age,
I scarce shall tell it now."--"Canst thou upbraid,"
Continued Michael, "George Rex, or allege
Aught further?" Junius answered, "You had better
First ask him for _his_ answer to my letter:

LXXXIII.

"My charges upon record will outlast[hn]
The brass of both his epitaph and tomb."
"Repent'st thou not," said Michael, "of some past
Exaggeration? something which may doom
Thyself if false, as him if true? Thou wast
Too bitter--is it not so?--in thy gloom
Of passion?"--"Passion!" cried the phantom dim,
"I loved my country, and I hated him.

LXXXIV.

"What I have written, I have written: let
The rest be on his head or mine!" So spoke
Old "_Nominis Umbra_;" and while speaking yet,
Away he melted in celestial smoke.
Then Satan said to Michael, "Don't forget
To call George Washington, and John Horne Tooke,
And Franklin;"[544]--but at this time there was heard
A cry for room, though not a phantom stirred.

LXXXV.

At length with jostling, elbowing, and the aid
Of Cherubim appointed to that post,
The devil Asmodeus[545] to the circle made
His way, and looked as if his journey cost
Some trouble. When his burden down he laid,
"What's this?" cried Michael; "why, 'tis not a ghost?"
"I know it," quoth the Incubus; "but he
Shall be one, if you leave the affair to me.

LXXXVI.

"Confound the renegado![546] I have sprained
My left wing, he's so heavy;[547] one would think
Some of his works about his neck were chained.
But to the point; while hovering o'er the brink
Of Skiddaw (where as usual it still rained),
I saw a taper, far below me, wink,
And stooping, caught this fellow at a libel--[ho]
No less on History--than the Holy Bible.

LXXXVII.

"The former is the Devil's scripture, and
The latter yours, good Michael: so the affair
Belongs to all of us, you understand.
I snatched him up just as you see him there,
And brought him off for sentence out of hand:
I've scarcely been ten minutes in the air--
At least a quarter it can hardly be:
I dare say that his wife is still at tea."[548]

LXXXVIII.

Here Satan said, "I know this man of old,
And have expected him for some time here;
A sillier fellow you will scarce behold,
Or more conceited in his petty sphere:
But surely it was not worth while to fold
Such trash below your wing, Asmodeus dear:
We had the poor wretch safe (without being bored
With carriage) coming of his own accord.

LXXXIX.

"But since he's here, let's see what he has done."
"Done!" cried Asmodeus, "he anticipates
The very business you are now upon,
And scribbles as if head clerk to the Fates.[hp]
Who knows to what his ribaldry may run,
When such an ass[549] as this, like Balaam's, prates?"
"Let's hear," quoth Michael, "what he has to say:
You know we're bound to that in every way."

XC.

Now the bard, glad to get an audience, which
By no means often was his case below,
Began to cough, and hawk, and hem, and pitch
His voice into that awful note of woe
To all unhappy hearers within reach
Of poets when the tide of rhyme's in flow;[550]
But stuck fast with his first hexameter,
Not one of all whose gouty feet would stir.

XCI.

But ere the spavined dactyls could be spurred
Into recitative, in great dismay
Both Cherubim and Seraphim were heard
To murmur loudly through their long array;
And Michael rose ere he could get a word
Of all his foundered verses under way,
And cried, "For God's sake stop, my friend! 'twere best--[551]
'_Non Di, non homines_'--you know the rest."[552]

XCII.

A general bustle spread throughout the throng,
Which seemed to hold all verse in detestation;
The Angels had of course enough of song
When upon service; and the generation
Of ghosts had heard too much in life, not long
Before, to profit by a new occasion:
The Monarch, mute till then, exclaimed, "What! what![553]
_Pye_[554] come again? No more--no more of that!"

XCIII.

The tumult grew; an universal cough
Convulsed the skies, as during a debate,
When Castlereagh has been up long enough
(Before he was first minister of state,
I mean--the _slaves hear now_); some cried "Off, off!"
As at a farce; till, grown quite desperate,
The Bard Saint Peter prayed to interpose
(Himself an author) only for his prose.

XCIV.

The varlet was not an ill-favoured knave;[hq][555]
A good deal like a vulture in the face,
With a hook nose and a hawk's eye, which gave
A smart and sharper-looking sort of grace
To his whole aspect, which, though rather grave,
Was by no means so ugly as his case;
But that, indeed, was hopeless as can be,
Quite a poetic felony "_de se_."

XCV.

Then Michael blew his trump, and stilled the noise
With one still greater, as is yet the mode
On earth besides; except some grumbling voice,
Which now and then will make a slight inroad
Upon decorous silence, few will twice
Lift up their lungs when fairly overcrowed;
And now the Bard could plead his own bad cause,
With all the attitudes of self-applause.

XCVI.

He said--(I only give the heads)--he said,
He meant no harm in scribbling; 'twas his way
Upon all topics; 'twas, besides, his bread,
Of which he buttered both sides; 'twould delay
Too long the assembly (he was pleased to dread),
And take up rather more time than a day,
To name his works--he would but cite a few--[hr]
"Wat Tyler"--"Rhymes on Blenheim"--"Waterloo."[556]

XCVII.

He had written praises of a Regicide;[557]
He had written praises of all kings whatever;
He had written for republics far and wide,
And then against them bitterer than ever;
For pantisocracy he once had cried[558]
Aloud, a scheme less moral than 'twas clever;
Then grew a hearty anti-jacobin--
Had turned his coat--and would have turned his skin.

XCVIII.

He had sung against all battles, and again
In their high praise and glory; he had called
Reviewing "the ungentle craft," and then[559]
Became as base a critic as e'er crawled--
Fed, paid, and pampered by the very men
By whom his muse and morals had been mauled:
He had written much blank verse, and blanker prose,
And more of both than any body knows.

XCIX.

He had written Wesley's[560] life:--here turning round
To Satan, "Sir, I'm ready to write yours,
In two octavo volumes, nicely bound,
With notes and preface, all that most allures
The pious purchaser; and there's no ground
For fear, for I can choose my own reviewers:
So let me have the proper documents,
That I may add you to my other saints."

C.

Satan bowed, and was silent. "Well, if you,
With amiable modesty, decline
My offer, what says Michael? There are few
Whose memoirs could be rendered more divine.
Mine is a pen of all work;[561] not so new
As it was once, but I would make you shine
Like your own trumpet. By the way, my own
Has more of brass in it, and is as well blown.[hs]

CI.

"But talking about trumpets, here's my 'Vision!'
Now you shall judge, all people--yes--you shall
Judge with my judgment! and by my decision
Be guided who shall enter heaven or fall.
I settle all these things by intuition,
Times present, past, to come--Heaven--Hell--and all,
Like King Alfonso[562]. When I thus see double,
I save the Deity some worlds of trouble."

CII.

He ceased, and drew forth an MS.; and no
Persuasion on the part of Devils, Saints,
Or Angels, now could stop the torrent; so
He read the first three lines of the contents:
But at the fourth, the whole spiritual show
Had vanished, with variety of scents,
Ambrosial and sulphureous, as they sprang,
Like lightning, off from his "melodious twang."[563]

CIII.

Those grand heroics acted as a spell;
The Angels stopped their ears and plied their pinions;
The Devils ran howling, deafened, down to Hell;
The ghosts fled, gibbering, for their own dominions--
(For 'tis not yet decided where they dwell,
And I leave every man to his opinions);
Michael took refuge in his trump--but, lo!
His teeth were set on edge, he could not blow!

CIV.

Saint Peter, who has hitherto been known
For an impetuous saint, upraised his keys,
And at the fifth line knocked the poet down;[564]
Who fell like Phaeton, but more at ease,
Into his lake, for there he did not drown;
A different web being by the Destinies
Woven for the Laureate's final wreath, whene'er
Reform shall happen either here or there.

CV.

He first sank to the bottom--like his works,
But soon rose to the surface--like himself;
For all corrupted things are buoyed like corks,[565]
By their own rottenness, light as an elf,
Or wisp that flits o'er a morass: he lurks,
It may be, still, like dull books on a shelf,
In his own den, to scrawl some "Life" or "Vision,"[ht]
As Welborn says--"the Devil turned precisian."[566]

CVI.

As for the rest, to come to the conclusion
Of this true dream, the telescope is gone[hu]
Which kept my optics free from all delusion,
And showed me what I in my turn have shown;
All I saw farther, in the last confusion,
Was, that King George slipped into Heaven for one;
And when the tumult dwindled to a calm,
I left him practising the hundredth psalm.[567]

R^a^ Oct. 4, 1821.

FOOTNOTES:

[492] {481}["Aye, he and the count's footman were jabbering French like
two intriguing ducks in a mill-pond; and I believe they talked of me,
for they laughed consumedly."--Farquhar, _The Beaux' Stratagem_, act
iii. sc. 2.]

[493] {482}[These were not the expressions employed by Lord Eldon. The
Chancellor laid down the principle that "damages cannot be recovered for
a work which is in its nature calculated to do an injury to the public,"
and assuming _Wat Tyler_ to be of this description, he refused the
injunction until Southey should have established his right to the
property by an action. _Wat Tyler_ was written at the age of nineteen,
when Southey was a republican, and was entrusted to two booksellers,
Messrs. Ridgeway and Symonds, who agreed to publish it, but never put it
to press. The MS. was not returned to the author, and in February, 1817,
at the interval of twenty-two years, when his sentiments were widely
different, it was printed, to his great annoyance, by W. Benbow (see his
_Scourge for the Laureate_ (1825), p. 14), Sherwood, Neely and Jones,
John Fairburn, and others. It was reported that 60,000 copies were sold
(see _Life and Correspondence of R. Southey_, 1850, iv. 237, 241, 249,
252).]

[494] [William Smith, M.P. for Norwich, attacked Southey in the House of
Commons on the 14th of March, 1817, and the Laureate replied by a letter
in the _Courier_, dated March 17, 1817, and by a letter "To William
Smith, Esq., M.P." (see _Essays Moral and Political_, by R. Southey,
1832, ii. 7-31). The exact words used were, "the determined malignity of
a renegade" (see Hansard's _Parl. Debates_, xxxv. 1088).]

[495] [One of Southey's juvenile poems is an "Inscription for the
Apartment in Chepstow Castle, where Henry Martin, the Regicide, was
imprisoned thirty years" (see Southey's _Poems_, 1797, p. 59). Canning
parodied it in the _Anti-jacobin_ (see his well-known "Inscription for
the Door of the Cell in Newgate, where Mrs. Brownrigg, the
'Prentice-cide, was confined, previous to her Execution," _Poetry of the
Anti-jacobin_, 1828, p. 6).]

[496] {484}[See "_The Vision, etc._, made English by Sir R. Lestrange,
and burlesqued by a Person of Quality:" _Visions, being a Satire on the
corruptions and vices of all degrees of Mankind_. Translated from the
original Spanish by Mr. Nunez, London, 1745, etc.

The Suenos or Visions of Francisco Gomez de Quevedo of Villegas are six
in number. They were published separately in 1635. For an account of the
"_Visita de los Chistes_," "A Visit in Jest to the Empire of Death," and
for a translation of part of the "Dream of Skulls," or "Dream of the
Judgment," see _History of Spanish Literature_, by George Ticknor, 1888,
ii. 339-344.]

[497]

["Milton's strong pinion now not Heav'n can bound,
Now Serpent-like, in prose he sweeps the ground,
In Quibbles, Angel and Archangel join,
And God the Father turns a School-divine."

Pope's _Imitations of Horace_, Book ii. Ep. i. lines 99-102.]

[498] [Walter Savage Landor (1775-1864) had recently published a volume
of Latin poems (_Idyllia Heroica Decem. Librum Phaleuciorum Unum_.
Partim jam primum Partim iterum atque tertio edit Savagius Landor.
Accedit Quaestiuncula cur Poetae Latini Recentiores minus leguntur, Pisis,
1820, 410). In his Preface to the _Vision of Judgement_, Southey
illustrates his denunciation of "Men of diseased hearts," etc. (_vide
ante_, p. 476), by a quotation from the Latin essay: "Summi poetae in
omni poetarum saeculo viri fuerunt probi: in nostris id vidimus et
videmus; neque alius est error a veritate longius quam magna ingenia
magnis necessario corrumpi vitiis," etc. (_Idyllia_, p. 197). It was a
cardinal maxim of the Lake School "that there can be no great poet who
is not a good man.... His heart must be pure" (see Table Talk, by S. T.
Coleridge, August 20, 1833); and Landor's testimony was welcome and
consolatory. "Of its author," he adds, "I will only say in this place,
that, to have obtained his approbation as a poet, and possessed his
friendship as a man, will be remembered among the honours of my life."
Now, apart from the essay and its evident application, Byron had
probably observed that among the _Phaleucia_, or Hendecasyllables, were
included some exquisite lines _Ad Sutheium_ (on the death of Herbert
Southey), followed by some extremely unpleasant ones on _Taunto_ and his
tongue, and would naturally conclude that "Savagius" was ready to do
battle for the Laureate if occasion arose. Hence the side issue. With
regard to the "Ithyphallics," there are portions of the Latin poems
(afterwards expunged, see _Poemata et Inscriptiones_, Moxon, 1847)
included in the Pisa volume which might warrant the description; but
from a note to _The Island_ (Canto II. stanza xvii. line 10) it may be
inferred that some earlier collection of Latin verses had come under
Byron's notice. For Landor's various estimates of Byron's works and
genius, see _Works_, 1876, iv. 44-46, 88, 89, etc.]